I got so insanely carried away, but again, I just cannot write a short story. I also never write smut so stfu (ᵕ≀ ̠ᵕ ). There will absolutely be mistakes, this isn't entirely proofread, and I cba rn so I'll do it later.
Summary: Duty weighs heavy when the clan expects you to stand shoulder to shoulder with the one you’ve spent years convincing everyone you loathe. Your father is the clan’s greatest warrior, closest friend to the Olo’eyktan, and their bond sealed your fates together long before you could draw a bow. You grew up running wild with the Sully children but the flawless eldest son always seemed to shadow your every step and you’ve perfected the scowl reserved only for him. The clan believes it and they accept your envy. Everyone except the parents who watch with quiet amusement, because they see what you both still refuse to name.
Or in which; you’re the warrior’s daughter, bound by expectation to the perfect future leader you claim to hate. You insist it’s true and everyone believes you. Except, parents always know their children best.
enemies to lovers, holy slowburn, slight soulmates (but not really?), childhood rivals, forced proximity, aged up Neteyem, so much smut!!! as always, my terrible gramma
Your composure is a facade. He knows it.
He knows it because he sees it.
In the way your scowl falters just a fraction as you swirl colorful insults through velvet words and he finally bites back. In the way you push against him when he even attempts to offer his help – because the basket you’re lugging looks absurdly full, and yet you still let him walk you the rest of the way to the village.
You snarl at him when he even attempts to correct your bow arm, and it used to make him flush with something sharp and ugly – envy, maybe? – because you didn’t have a problem with authority, he knows because you seem to take his fathers criticism’s just fine. When anyone else rectified you, you adjusted.
It was only ever a him problem.
Because when he corrected you, you hissed at him like his correcting hand was tipped with arrowheads and poisonous herbs.
You had a problem with Nateyam.
In his youth, he remembered how it would irk him to no end. Because as the firstborn son of the Olo’eyktan, he was meant to carry himself like the leader he would one day become; like an authority the clan respected without question and trusted to guide through rain, fire, or calm alike. Yet the one thing expected of him above all else — the one duty his father never let him forget, was simpler and far more aggravating.
He was supposed to get along with you.
You – the daughter to the clan's most formidable warrior, his father’s right hand man. You – who did not listen. Who did not trust him. Who always – always – questioned him. It may as well have been written in the stars by Eywa herself that the two of you were fated to fold neatly together with the same cloth your father’s cut for themselves. To be the next leaders of the village. And yet you resisted with every breath possible.
You rebelled, and scowled, and cursed at the mere mention of his name. You made it clear you wanted nothing to do with the Olo'eyktan's first born despite your role, and that made it so exceedingly hard to get along with you. It left his skin flushing that embarrassingly dark purple colour which made his mother chuckle whenever he spoke of you.
He tried to make sense of it. Of the way you rolled your eyes at his advice, or scowled when the two of you were paired in training once again and he couldn’t recall doing anything wrong. Not really.
You fought as normal children had, argued and competed as two eldest children to high-ranking parents would, but never with anything sharp enough to leave a lasting wound.. Nothing that should have haunted him like this.
However, he wasn’t a young boy anymore and time had an ironic way of sanding things down. He noticed what once felt like a raw hatred you wore like a book written in some foreign sky-language, suddenly became much more legible as his years grew to start with a two, almost as if he learned how to annotate his memories of you with the clarity he lacked as a teen.
One in particular he remembers most vividly. That evening by the central fire, where you were seated opposite him, and the air still carried the echo of that afternoon’s argument. He sat closest to the basket of ripe utumauti fruits, something he always recalled being your favourite through the years of shared meals, and he remembers the way it sat just beyond your reach on the woven mat.
When you asked for it low and casual, he didn’t think twice. Of course he picked it up and of course he leaned forward to pass it, because why would he not? He sat the closest, and both your siblings and his own had been too occupied in animated conversations with each other to notice.
He also remembers the way you had slapped his hand away with a guttural scoff, almost as if he was utterly ridiculous for even offering. The sting on both his knuckles and his pride had his brows furrowing instantly and that familiar anger, the kind only you could kindle so effortlessly, surged hot beneath his skin once more.
But it was only when the soft snickers rose from nearby – his mother and yours, seated side by side and watching the exchange with far too much interest –that he noticed.
You had still taken the basket.
“Hey!” He remembers the way your fathers voice cut from just to the left, “Play nice.”
And he’d assumed, as always, that your father was less than impressed at his daughter’s rude manners toward the Olo’eyktan’s son. But the reprimand softened almost immediately, chased by a low chuckle that started only after Jake failed to hide a snort of his own beside him.
The two men were already leaning into one another, shoulders touching, Jake’s head tipped low as one hand, holding a piece of half bitten meat hung limply by his mouth, trying and failing to hide his laughs through a mouthful of food.
The nudges of your sister's elbow into your side was the last thing he remembered noticing, sharp and mocking but quickly followed by the look you shot her. It was a silent warning in that strange language he’d never understood as a boy – the one you did with your eyes alone, but one he was now, uncomfortably, starting to. Because you ate your fruit without ceremony, eyes trained forward and stubbornly refusing to drift his way, yet the basket sat firmly in your hands all the same.
That was when Neteyam stopped letting it irk him. When he realised why everyone else around him seemed to find that mean spirit you reserved only for him so humorous, despite his distress. You were composed, yes, but he finally understood why.
Your composure was a lie.
And once it stopped irking him, once it settled into something he thought he understood, all the memories of you persistently adorning that scowl that seemed to exist only for him suddenly lost their bite. For a moment he felt like he had maybe started to figure you out.
But recently, something had changed, subtly at first, then all at once. What was once harmless irritation had suddenly sharpened into something more volatile. You didn't just brush him off anymore, you snapped before he'd even opened his mouth, and flinched away the moment he so much as reached to steady the basket. It was as if every breath he took was a disruption, and his presence had become something you could no longer tolerate in silence.
That mean spirit wasn't funny anymore, because now it was relentless.
Which was why, standing across from you now, he didn’t brace for your signature fang baring scowl. He expected it in a way that made him sigh with knowing fatigue, and yet a little bit of smugness all the same.
“Why must you always be so difficult?” The words surfaced in that defeated tone he reserved only for you and your impertinence for him.
Your body shifted back and you leaned against your heels to glance over your shoulder at where he stood behind you. You were still kneeling over the stump of braided vines you had been meticulously shredding into winding fibres with your knife.
“I am not.” And there it was – that scowl he expected. It twisted your face into that familiar snarl, upper lip curling to flash the set of fangs he saw more than his own. “You just insist on hovering.”
“We were sent out here to collect fibre together. You ‘insist’ on making it a one man job.”
You didn’t look at him again, instead, turning back to the vines where your blade already resumed its steady work, as if his presence were nothing more than a distraction.
“I do not need a partner to cut fibre,” Your response was flat as if it were such an obvious observation, and then you sighed, a long drawn out exhale to yourself. “So ridiculous.”
The scoff that followed was harsh and hidden under your breath.
Despite its low delivery, the sound didn't slip Neteyam’s ear, and he raised an unassertive brow at what he thought he heard, the corner of his mouth tipping low in confusion. “What is?”
His confusion hit you like a sudden gust of wind, and with a growl that spoke as if you couldn't believe he dared asking, you quickly shot up with a whirl, tail whipping fast with a force Neteyam had to step back to avoid. You were facing him completely, now.
“That our fathers insist on sending us out here together like we are still little children. I do not need a partner and I certainly do not need any partner of mine to be you.”
The words landed harsher than the scowl ever could. For a moment he only stared at you, really observing your features twisted with perplexed anger, yet comically softened by what he could only describe as a pout in your lip. He took in the way your stance squared and the way your grip curled around the knife with agitated force.
You may not think you acted like one, but great mother, you looked like a child right now.
“Right, you are not a child.” He said at last, voice level. “But maybe our fathers would not feel the need to treat you like one if you stopped acting as one.”
“Excuse me?”
The grip on your knife tightened, handle creaking under the pressure of your grasp that almost splintered the wood. The corner of your mouth twitched up once again in that scowl that bared the top of your right fang to his watchful eyes, and your tone was so even it almost made him falter.
Neteyam held his ground, though. And instead, he replied carefully in an attempt to diffuse that constantly building tension just a little.
“You make an enemy of me in everything we do, as if we haven’t been paired together since we were barely old enough to hold a blade. If you wish to be met as an adult, you cannot bare your teeth at every word spoken to you, Fang.”
That age old nickname rolled like honey off his tongue but struck your ears and curdled into venom. Your fists curled so tight your claws bit crescent marks into your palms, and the muscles along your jaw tightened until you felt the throb of it.
Fang. You despised when he called you that. The way he reduced you to nothing but the sneer he so often deserved.
With a slow drawn out breath that carried no warmth, you bared the edge of a laugh that held no humour, letting your mocking reply land bitter and sour on your tongue.
“Perfect Olo'eyktan's son, always so composed and responsible. Maybe I would enjoy my time with you more if Eywa hadn’t shaped you so stiff in the tail you forgot how to bend, Tawtute.”
For a heartbeat, the words hung between you like a knocked bowstring waiting to snap with release. Then Neteyam’s jaw tightened, because he always hated when you commented on the human in him, as if it made him less Navi. Less than you.
A Tawtute, a sky-person, as if it were an insult. Spoken like a curse, when all he’d ever done was try to prove it wasn’t.
He let the silence stretch a moment longer, before taking one deliberate breath to regulate his reeling thoughts, choosing to ignore your bait. Low hanging fruit as his father would call it.
“You forget how many times that stiffness kept you from getting hurt.”
You turned back toward the vines with a scoff, knife biting down harder than before. The fibres split unevenly, curling away beneath the force of your hands. “I do not need to be helped by someone who can barely hold their bow arm high enough to knock an arrow. I do not listen to you.”
“Yes,” Neteyam scoffed a humorless laugh, “you never do.”
He sank down into a squat then as well, finally turning his attention to the pile of finished fibres you had shoved aside. His hands were quick to gather a few filaments between his pointer and thumb, testing the strands between the fingers as he twisted the two together, before giving them a short, sharp tug. They held for one, and held for another as he stretched them further, then finally faltered with a snap as he pulled them taught enough.
His mouth twitched down.
“You cut angry,” He observed with a growl. “Uneven. Wasteful.”
You spun once more, this time in your squatted position to meet him at eye level, the knife still gripped between your four fingers almost as a threat. “You waste them with your stupidity! Of course they break when you only weave two fibres!”
“They need to be thick enough for bowstrings, to hold knocked arrows in new bows.” He countered.
You sneered with a slight hiss, leaning further into him. “Then don’t use them.”
“Oh no, I will.” He smirked, as he finally began his job, looping the fibres together, securing them with practiced ease. “Someone has to make sure we don’t come back empty-handed.”
You shot him a glare. “I said I do not need your-”
“You do not need my help,” He finished for you, clearly way too amused now. “I know. You have said it at least five times since we left the clearing.”
He leant closer as he spoke, not directly into your space, but just enough that you had to shift your stance to keep working without him intruding. His looming shadow falling over the stump you worked on, over your hands and the blade that suddenly seemed to falter under a different kind of pressure now.
“And yet,” he continued, eyes never leaving the strands as he calmly coiled the fibres, “you keep cutting while I bind. Funny how that works.”
You stopped your movements, sending him a glare out the side of your eye, one that had your lashes feeling heavy and jaw slightly agape.
“Get out of my way.” You spat, but it was as if you couldn’t convey the weight of anger you meant to land. Your tone was weak and almost a little desperate.
“You always rush when you are angry,” he ignored your demand - if it could even be called that - with a tone that was almost conversational. “Your tail gives you away.”
Your eyes flashed with the realisation that he had even been looking long enough to notice your tells, and your cheeks suddenly flared with something warm and hot that turned you purple.
“Stop watching me, Tawtute.” This time your voice really did sound desperate.
“I can’t. You make it difficult.”
You were close enough to see the faint curve of that infuriating smile he loved to wear, and to feel the heat of him radiating that smug confidence he wore like a headpiece.
Years of success at keeping him as far away as one could be from someone they worked with on a near daily basis, you felt had suddenly dwindled into an endless array of interactions where he always managed to dominate the conversation. Reduced to this. To the way he always stood too close now, and spoke too smugly, as if he had suddenly decided that he finally had you all figured out.
Despite your lack of response, he broke the silence, voice dipping just enough to grate, “You know, for someone who insists she doesn’t listen to me, you react an awful lot when I speak.”
“Because you are provoking me!” You snapped in a low growl.
“You glare like you are about to strike me." He replied, entirely too amused.
“Lucky I am working, because you would deserve it if I did.” The words landed like a pathetic cry, and suddenly it felt like you were deficient of every insult you had ever known, reduced to the same childish fury you’d sworn you’d outgrown.
“Oh are you? Would not have guessed, with the way you are looking at me like a Yerik in the firelight.”
Eywa, if you didn’t look angry before.
“Neteyam!”
This time, you hissed it like a venomous mantra, fangs bared and legs snapping up to your full height as you leaned into his space, close enough to let the words bite the air. Your ears pinned sharp against your braids, and his jaw set as he met your glare without yielding, tension pulling tight between you like that drawn bowstring–
“Oh good, you’re fighting again.”
A sudden unexpected third voice had both your heads spinning towards the break in the clearing just a few yards East, where a very unimpressed Lo’ak tread carelessly down the path with a barely-contained giggling Kiri besides him. Kiri moved with a balled fist pressed against her pursed mouth, supported by an arm crossed along her chest in an attempt to hide her amusement.
“It’s more like flirting again.” The words Kiri muttered were small and meek but Eywa, if they didn’t hit large.
Both you and Neteyam froze at the intrusion, then stilled at the implication, a beat passing before you each stepped back in the same beat of time. He rose to his feet far too quickly besides you, your eyes blown wide in something too closely resembling horror, while Neteyam merely rolled his, tired and resigned, straightening back into the perfect son like it was second nature once more.
“Stop being a skxawng, Lo’ak–.”
“–We are not flirting, Kiri.”
The words collided in the air, yours to Kiri a hiss and his to Lo’ak a sigh, overlapping with a defensive tilt that had the other two chuckling harder.
Lo’ak’s mouth twitched. “Wow." He stated. “Touched a sensitive nerve.”
And Neteyam, the all mighty responsible son he is, didn’t reach for the bait Lo'ak hung so low for him, instead, he crossed his arms with a sigh at his unexpected presence. “What are you doing here?”
The answer came before either of them could speak, as a sudden fifth voice came echoing from the brush of leaves. A small, blurred figure soon came dashing out of the tree scape, making a b-line straight to the centre of the clearing in a full stumbling sprint. She was headed directly towards where you stood in a pout next to Neteyam.
“Dad said to come get you two because you’re taking too long!”
Kiri and Lo’ak's eyes grew wide. And with a quick exchanged glance of horror, at the same time they barked. “Tuk!”
But she ran right past them, as if their voices fell silent to the wind.
Lo’ak lunged forward, catching her by the arm just before she could skid to a stop at your feet. The glare he sent her sharp and immediate enough to make her shrink in on herself, ears drooping as she braced for the scolding she knew was soon to come.
“Dad told us to come get them,” He corrected, gesturing between himself and Kiri. “That wasn’t an invitation to follow.”
Tuk's round eyes glint up with that innocent reasoning you just couldn't deny, her pupils glossing over as she pouted heavy in protest and twisted her head to look at you and Neteyam.
“But Dad said you’ve been out here alone long enough!”
Tuk protested, twisting free of Lo’ak’s grip with a determined wriggle and darting straight to you. The moment she was within your range, she grabbed your forearm with both of hers, tugging urgently as she looked up with those wide, worried eyes.
“He told mom that if you and Neteyam keep fighting like this, you’ll probably end up at the Tree of Souls by tonight!” She paused, then her voice pitched higher with pure betrayal. “But you can’t! You promised you’d help me braid my new beads tonight!”
For a heartbeat, the clearing went unnervingly still. You stared still as stone down at Tuk, mortification burning hot beneath your skin at the implication that flew right over her head but knocked you right up yours instead. And besides you, Neteyam fared no better, looking as if the world had briefly knocked him off balance too, His eyes widening just enough to betray him before he could pull himself back together.
In stark contrast just a ways away, Lo’ak let out a sharp bark of laughter, doubling over with his grip on Kiri's arm, just as she finally outright lost the battle she’d been silently fighting, turning away from the set of two dazed and angered eyes with a hand clamped over her mouth.
She shook with quiet, uncontrollable cackles, restraint entirely gone, fed by the matching looks of mortification plastered across both your faces. The two of you looked ridiculous.
And Tuk, sweet innocent Tuk, oblivious to the chaos her words had detonated in the once silent clearing, glared up at Neteyam's shell-shocked face with furrowed brows and that pouty sneer.
“Stupid Neteyam.” She declared, voice ringing with righteous indignation. “You can’t take Y/N anywhere tonight. Eywa heard it - she’s with me today!”
She punctuated the proclamation with the scrunch of her nose and a quick, defiant flick of her tongue, poked in his direction.
For a split second, Neteyam only stared at her, still caught somewhere between the weight of what had just been said and the very real presence of his little sister. Then he blinked, jaw tightening as the annoyingly-older brother instinct finally won out over shock. With a sharp, almost automatic motion, he reached out and pinched her tongue between his fingers. An act that had Tuk squealing and flailing in protest.
“Oi!” Tuk yelped, recoiling instantly, clutching her tongue with a gasp.
Neteyam let the sound settle before he spoke. He shot you a brief, weary glance, as if checking whether you’d reacted at all, then turned back to his sister, composure sliding firmly back into place. His voice level and measured with a delicate care he reserved specifically for her.
“That is entirely enough out of you. Someone needs to give you a lesson about eavesdropping." He glanced back at his brother and sister, motioning a hand to the two still giggling. "Time to take you home before we all get scolded.”
Tuk’s ears drooped immediately, shoulders curling inward as she shifted her weight from foot to foot, fingers still hovering protectively near her mouth. She opened her lips as if to argue, then thought better of it, gaze flicking between Neteyam and the ground with exaggerated remorse.
That was when Kiri scoffed, the tension finally cracking as ahe straightened, still grinning as she shouted. “He's right, you’ve caused enough trouble. Come on, teylupil.”
She didn’t wait for her to comply, instead walking to grab her, planting two steady hand on each of her shoulders, then began steering her away with decisive finality, already turning her toward the path before she could wriggle free.
“But I didn’t do anything!” Tuk protested.
“Tell it to dad.” Kiri laughed.
Tuk craned her neck back toward you one last time as Kiri dragged her away, voice pitching higher with urgency. “Y/n, don’t forget my hair-!”
“I know,” you cut in quickly, the words tossed over your shoulder like a promise already made as the two disappeared down the winding path in a lingering bicker.
Lo’ak remained a heartbeat longer. His gaze flicking between you and Neteyam, something quiet and knowing glinting behind his eyes as his mouth twitched with barely restrained amusement.
You caught it quickly, and shut it down even quicker, face smoothing into neutrality as you turned away, dropping back into a crouch before the stump as if nothing had been disturbed in you.
“We will collect the threads and follow.” Your voice came out flat and deliberately ungiving, spoken without the fault or fracture he was clearly waiting to see. Whatever reaction they had hoped to draw out of you never came, instead, your expression smoothed into something unreadable, as if nothing at all had happened in the last few minutes.
When he didn't get it from you, Lo’ak redirected his attention to Neteyam with a long, assessing look. He was waiting for the reaction you refused to give, and when he found nothing but the faint quirk of Neteyam’s mouth, he huffed a quiet laugh and finally began his own descent toward the start of the winding path back to the village.
“Dad’s pissed.” He called over his shoulder. “Try not to be too long.”
The brush swallowed him soon after as well, laughter and murmured whispers dissolving into the low hum of the forest. And then the clearing fell still again.
You let out a slow breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, shoulders rolling as the tension finally bled off. Remembering yourself, you turned back to the stump, your hands moved quickly now, rough and efficient, gruffly snatching clumps full of fibre from the scattered pile. You stuffed them into the woven basket Neteyam had brought, as if keeping busy might quiet everything still coiled tight beneath your skin.
For a moment, Netayem watched. It almost seemed like that armored composure of yours was taut as rigid as usual, as if nothing in the last five minutes had made you falter for even a moment. To anyone else, maybe, it did appear as so, but he knew you well enough to see the way your jaw clenched so tight he’d envisioned you cracking a molar, and the harsher than necessary grip in your fingers as you haphazardly tossed the fibre around. Not to mention the stutter in your tail’s path, the tell he’d learned long ago as the one that always surfaced when you were lying.
It left him releasing a chuckle he couldn't contain, a deep, rumbling sound which made your ears twitch sideways in annoyance. You paused in your frantic movements, head snapping to the side in a motion which left your glowing amber eyes glaring daggers at his towering form.
“What?” You spat, tired, irritated and painfully obvious to him – embarrassed.
“Still upset about what Kiri said?"
Your jaw clenched, fangs peeking as you whipped fully around to face him, rising to your full height at the implication. The basket thumped forgotten at your feet as the tension tipped to a peak beyond your capacity, and you stalked towards him with an almost predatory sway.
"I am not angry about that ridiculous–” You cut yourself off, taking a moment to collect the basket off the ground, along with a breath of humid air, allowing it to sit in your lungs before releasing in a desperate attempt to somewhat self-regulate. “Do not flatter yourself, Tawtute. Flirting? With you? I'd sooner make Tsaheylu with a thanator."
His eyes gleamed with mischief, but it wasn’t the boyish, innocent kind he wore when messing with his siblings. This one was the kind he wore only where you were involved, deliberate and cocky, slipping neatly beneath the cracks in your composure because he knew where to press.
The careful, responsible mask he wore all the time loosened just enough to reveal the tease underneath, a glimpse of something warmer and far more dangerous than his jabs at you ever were. He didn’t crowd you with his body so much as he crowded you with his unyielding certainty, leaning in just the smallest amount, voice dropping into something that felt like it belonged in the a dark room rather than under the open light of tree canopies.
“Funny,” He murmured, and Eywa, the way he said it made your spine want to curl. “Your tail is flicking like it does when you lie. And you react so much when I get close, almost as if... as if you enjoy it.”
Heat hit you so fast it was humiliating, up your neck, across your cheeks, down your chest - anger and something you refused to name twisting together until you couldn’t tell which was which. Your hand shoved into his chest on instinct, a firm press meant to reassert space, meant to remind him you were not something to be read and teased apart like the vines beneath your knife.
But his skin under your palm was solid and warm, his breath even, his posture maddeningly steady. You hated that he didn’t move. You hated that the push didn’t become a shove, that your body betrayed you with restraint and a split-second hesitation that had nothing to do with strength. Your pulse seemed to jump when he watched you like this.
“Back off,” You snapped instead, aiming for venom and getting something too light, too strained. You lifted your chin as if height alone could restore your pride. “I do not enjoy anything about you hovering like a skxawng who thinks he is Eywa’s gift to the clan.”
You couldn’t handle it anymore, the way his eyes bore into yours like they read every thought, so you moved to leave the clearing, to be as far away from him as can be.
Neteyam didn’t move. His eyes stayed locked on yours, unblinking, the gold in them catching the filtered light until they looked almost feral. The smirk was gone and in its place was something colder as he took one slow step forward, crowding you until the basket handle dug into your hip and the scent of him, warm skin, crushed leaves, the faint sweat from the summer heat, filled every breath.
“Gift?” He repeated, voice quiet and flat, the kind of quiet that made your spine prickle. “I am the one stuck dragging your half-finished work back to the village every time you storm off. That sound like a gift to you?”
Something in his words snapped the tension in a way that almost had a stifled laugh escaping you. The image of perfect Neteyam, future Olo’eyktan, the ever-responsible son, trudging behind you with a basket full of your messy fibers and a everpresent moping frown to match struck you as absurdly funny considering he was the one who always offered to do it anyways. That short, sharp laugh escaped before you could stop it, low and mocking, cutting through the thick air between you.
“Poor you.” You sang, voice dripping with false sympathy as the anger flipped into something crueler and entirely more enjoyable. “All that dragging must be so exhausting for such meek shoulders to carry.”
His eyes narrowed, the feral glint sharpening into irritation, but you were already moving. You jerked the basket from where it pressed against your hip and shoved it hard into his front, the woven edge leaving him doubling slightly from the sudden jab to his ribs, a smack that landed with a satisfying thud.
A few loose fibers fluttered to the ground as he stumbled back a few steps and caught the basket on reflex, fingers curling tight around the rim. The motion finally giving you the space you longed to breathe once again.
“Except, you came here knowing you were going to do it anyways. So, there,” You said, stepping back with a grin that showed too many teeth. “Problem solved. You can carry it all the way home anyways, like the dutiful son you are. Try not to strain yourself complaining about it later.”
Neteyam’s jaw clenched hard enough that you could see the muscle jump beneath his skin, his ears pinning back flat against his skull. The feral edge in his eyes flared hotter, and for a second you thought he might actually snap, toss the basket aside and give you the fight you both pretended you didn’t want.
Instead, he gripped the handle tighter, knuckles paling and barked, “Fnawe’tu skxawng!”
The insult landed far too humorously for you to care, Instead you tilted your head back with an overly delighted smirk, very amused by his irate slurs and the way his facade cracked. “You call me the stubborn idiot? But you carry the basket anyway. Funny how that works?”
He exhaled through his nose, blood boiling at the way you managed to throw his earlier words back at him. The sound was almost a growl, and he took one deliberate step onto the path after you. “Start walking, Fang. The sooner we get back, the sooner I am rid of you for the day.”
“Perfect!" You grinned, but the grin quickly dropped. "Twelve whole hours before you find another excuse to follow me around tomorrow.”
You barely glanced back to see if he was following when you took off towards the village, because you already knew he was.
The clearing was loud with voices and laughter, bodies packed close as food and weapons were passed around in uneven circles, and it felt like the whole village had decided to breathe in the same place at once.
Someone had dragged a fresh kill in not long ago and the smell still hung in the air, mingling with roasted meat, crushed herbs, and the faint sting of smoke from the fire that kept getting fed as if it might swallow the night. Nets of fruit were being unknotted and handed off, cups passed between hands, blades checked and re-sheathed in the same idle rhythm people used when they were safe enough to relax but still too wound up to sit still.
You were wedged between a few of your friends near the edge of one of the many circles, packed close enough that their shoulders kept bumping yours when someone laughed too hard or shifted in their seat. Ki’tiri had been retelling an exaggerated recall of her day on patrol, her eyes gleaming with irate exasperation as she animatedly spoke of the moment Lo’ak decided to start throwing stones out of boredom, nearly nailing Mo’at on the head from the overhang.
Tuk sat too. She had found you the moment you settled onto the woven mat, darting straight to your side to claim her usual spot and spend her evening meal with you instead of her siblings or friends. It's something that had become so common during communal mealtimes that your friends had come to expect the young Sully girl attaching herself to your side like a second tail. It was as if the decision had been made somewhere in her head and the rest of the world simply had to accept it, and now she perched happily at your side like she belonged there.
Her small hand gripped your wrist with the possessive certainty only children had, and she fidgeted with the jewels decorated across your fingers, twisting the woven strands carefully as if she were inspecting treasure. The beads you’d braided fresh not even a few weeks before clinked softly each time she moved, and every now and then she would lean her head against your arm and sigh, pleased with herself like she’d taken down a Thanator.
“Will you make these for me too?” She asked – more like stated – for what had to be the third time tonight, thumb brushing the tiny knotwork with awe.
“When you stop trying to steal mine..” You murmured back, and she grinned, utterly unbothered by the threat.
You let yourself settle into it for a moment, letting the noise wash over you because it was easier than thinking after long days training, because nights like this were meant to feel simple and unwinding. You were halfway through listening to your friend complain about yet another act of stupidity Lo’ak had attempted on their patrol together, when Tuk’s fingers suddenly stilled on your ring, halting and tightening hard enough that the movement forced you to glance down at the girl with a concerned furrow of your brow.
“What?” You muttered, eyeing her of an answer before she spoke it.
Tuk’s eyes flicked past you toward the centre of the clearing, eyeing something in the distance that left you searching the vicinity in hopes of catching the focus of her gaze. Her mouth fell slightly, an almost angered look settling across her face before she scoffed, turning back to you in a huff that had her drawing closer.
“Neteyam is with that noisy woman again. An’aya.”
She spat the name in that high-pitched mocking tone children did, and at first, you didn’t react. Not outwardly, at least. But something in your chest tightened all the same, small and sadistic, as if it even mattered at all.
You followed Tuk’s gaze without meaning to, your eyes slipping past the firelight and moving bodies until they found him almost instinctively. Neteyam sat just beyond the centre of the clearing, leaned back against a stack of supply crates, relaxed in the way you only ever saw when he was amongst people he trusted, his shoulders were loose and his attention tilted toward the woman beside him.
An’aya was speaking animatedly, hands moving as she spoke and laughed so easily, and Neteyam had angled himself toward her without thinking, one knee bent beside his chest, head dipped slightly so he could hear her better over the noise.
It irked you. And it irked you more that it even irked you in the first place. Because you hated him. You told yourself it irked you because you hated that he was enjoying himself. Right. Of course.
But the irritation still sat heavy and ugly in your chest, coiling tighter the longer you watched, and you hated that too, hated that your attention wouldn’t let it go, and that your mood had soured so fast despite being so fine just a moment ago.
There was no reason for it. None that made sense. You hated that stuck up tawtute more than anyone else and you argued with him so much you made a sport out of it. So why did your chest tighten when he didn't brush away the hand she put on his shoulder?
Tuk noticed the shift in your mood right away. Her nose wrinkled as her grip tightened again and she leaned in closer, glaring openly now.
“I don’t like her,” she muttered, voice fierce and final. “She talks too much. And she sits too close to Neteyam. And she laughs at his jokes even when they’re not funny.”
You attempted for even a minuscule moment to draw yourself back, to brush it away and forget it ever made you feel anything by resorting to your usual self regulation habits – insulting the man.
“Nothing Neteyam says is funny.” But not even that seemed to work to calm you because that irrationally confusing feeling still clawed at your chest.
“That’s not true,” Tuk called out immediately, tilting her small face up at you with those wide eyes. “You laugh at him all the time! Just not when he’s looking.”
She leaned in closer, voice dropping into something hurt and almost bordering a whine. “He’s supposed to sit with us.”
“That is not how this works.” You snapped the reply too quick, eyes diverting from the scene to pick up another piece of utumauti fruit as if it never bothered you.
Tuk’s eyes rolled at the response she should have predicted. She never understood why you acted so weird about it, when it was obvious to her that you liked her brother - because that was just what people did when they liked someone. They got weird and sharp and pretended they didn’t. She didn't see it elswhere often, but she knew it because that was what you and Neteyam did.
Your friends had gone quiet at the sudden stir occurring just beside them. Ki’tiri quickly noticed the shift in your mood and tilted her head, studying you now with open curiosity.
“Why are you angry?” She cut in plainly. “Did he do something again?”
“No." You replied stark. “How could he? Neteyam is all the way over there.”
Ki’tiri exchanged a quick, knowing glance with the friends beside you. “I didn't even mention his name." And the corner of her mouth lifted as a chorus of light giggles sung around the circle.
You answered with a quick, harsh warning glare, a motion that had the laughs slowly dying but the smiles still lingering in a knowing gleam. Ki’tiri leaned in again, allowing you the dignity of ending her teasing, feeling almost a little bad at how astoundingly purple you looked.
"You’re getting upset,” She stated simply and not unkindly. “You do that only where Neteyam is involved.”
“I am not upset.” But you were too far maddened for that to be convincing. “And he is not involved. I have been sat here, and he has been there this entire time.”
The lie hung heavy and brittle as you clicked your tongue. Tsk.
"Yeah, sat with that healer girl." Mikatxi interjected low and humoured.
Your chest tightened, sharp and sudden, like the threads Neteyam pulled too taut in the woods and before you could bite it back, the denial tore out of you, louder than intended and edged with fury.
“I do NOT care who he sits with!” You hissed, voice cracking on the volume. “He can sit in her lap for all the stars in the sky care! I would not notice if Eywa herself told me!”
“Seems like you do…”
“—What is going on!?”
The voice carried across the fire, calm but accusatory, and edged with something that made the fine hairs along your arms rise. In your bladed fury, you let your voice spike too high and missed the one pair of eyes that had locked onto you from beyond the fire.
Neteyam hadn’t stood, he hadn’t even moved from his spot. But he had leaned forward with a watchful, almost concerned eye, braids swinging low and hand hanging off his elevated knee as he observed with what you knew was that stupidly disingenuous concern.
The way he intervened like he was already rehearsing for Olo’eyktan burned you, as if he believed he could snuff out any simmering flame with his big, proud words simply because his blood said so.
And that wasn’t even half your problem. The problem was that An’aya followed his gaze immediately, curiosity sparking as she turned to see what had drawn his attention, blinking and glancing between the two of you, clearly lost by why he interrupted her mid sentence.
That alone was enough to make your teeth grind. Because what was your relationship with that skxawng any of her business?
“We’re fine.” You called back, sharper than necessary, your eyes not even bothering to glance his way once. “Try having your own conversations instead of monitoring everyone else, tawtute.”
Neteyam’s mouth tightened just slightly at the insult, a breath leaving him slow and measured as if he were counting to three in his head. He didn’t rise, not yet. Only tipped his chin and let a quick “Eywa help me,” fall to the air before pushing himself to his feet at last.
He crossed the space between you in a way that had your fist tightening in anticipation for yet another argument, only fueled by the image of An’aya hot on his heels like a second tail of his own, close enough to the boy that it felt intentional whether it was or not. Tuk sat up, planting herself more firmly at your side like a guard animal half her size.
“I said we are fine,” you warned as he stopped in front of you.
Your friends ogled at the two of you, already bracing for the next round of your endless bickering.
“And I said I was just asking.” His voice was calm but firm, and his eyes began searching your face for something, as if he could find whatever it was if he looked hard enough. “You are upset.”
You sputtered a short sudden laugh but your tone held no humour. “Right, I forgot I am only allowed to feel some way once you have approved of it first. I forgot I need my warden to tail me through the village and make sure I am behaving. Shall you go report my mood back to our fathers now?”
Neteyam’s jaw flexed, his calm finally straining at the edges.
“That is not what I am doing. You know I do not–”
“You do!" Your outburst came hard against his sentence, not having the patience nor heart to hear his excuses. “My tail flicks too harshly, and it is enough to call council with our fathers! Tell them to rest easy, golden son. I am not about to reign war over one evening meal.”
Neteyam sighed, rubbing a hand over his face like he was bracing himself. “Well, you don’t have to turn everything I say into a fight.”
“And you don’t have to turn everything I do into your problem to solve. The mantle still sits on your fathers head, you are allowed to have a personality until then.”
An overdramatically long groan suddenly sounded to the left of you, and both your eyes snapped over to Tuks exaggeratingly agitated from, as she sighed in that childish way she did.
“Stop fighting!” She begged, voice whiny with pure childish exasperation. “You guys always pretend like you don't want to talk, and then Neteyam comes and you fight forever because he won’t leave you alone, but then you don't tell him to go away, and it's annoying!"
“Tuk!” Both you and Neteyam barked simultaneously, horror gleaming in both of your eyes because that was so obviously not true!
“That is what happens." She insisted stubbornly. "You do it all the time.”
"No!" You rejected. "We argue because he hovers!"
An’aya, from the shadow of Neteyam’s shoulder, suddenly appeared forward, finally establishing her presence with a smile that was not wide nor warm, but enough to show she was not very fond of the girl her friend had been talking to.
"Maybe, if we did not worry about what you might do next, Neteyam would not be expected to hover and act like Olo’eyktan already."
Your head turned slowly toward her, blood finally boiling beyond that point that only Neteyam’s presence could push it to. Because who was she to imply you were a burden he had to shoulder, a mess he had to trail behind and fix every time you existed too loudly for her liking?
And especially who did she think she was inserting herself into Neteyam’s problems as if they were her own. ‘If we did not worry’ — as if she had any right to speak for the frustration he supposedly felt?
You let your eyes trail to her far too self-satisfied form, sneering with the scowl you usually only reserved for that gawking fool besides her. But if she insisted on acting as his equal, she could be handled like him too.
“Oh, is that your healer’s wisdom speaking, or are you only borrowing the golden son’s voice while he is too busy ogling to use it himself?”
Her smile faltered and her chin lifted a fraction as her eyes narrowed in something mimicking offence. And then your gaze snapped to Neteyam, fury bright and uncontained now that the girl he had dragged to your circle had suddenly felt all too comfortable insulting you in front of all your friends.
“Maybe our fathers should stick her as your new training partner since she is already so good at handling me."
"Fang—" Neteyam's voice was eerily low.
"—Now that my guard dog has a guard dog.”
And then he stiffened. “Enough.”
But you didn't stop. “Is this what you tell people about me?”
Neteyam opened his mouth to speak, visibly caught off guard by the sudden accusation.
“That is not–” He started for the umpteenth time but again you didn’t let him finish.
“I would think you respected me even a little, enough, considering all my father has done for you and your family. Enough considering you always like to remind me that 'we are partners.' But you let your women speak to me like I am beneath you.” You scoffed softly, the sound carrying just far enough to be heard.
“A leader, they say you will be.” You continued, words mocking. “Tell me how this is keeping the peace. Seems your peace is built on my silence. Both your peace and our fathers.”
You rose without haste, the motion deliberate enough that the space around you seemed to shift with it. The ground felt steady beneath your feet, solid in a way your chest had not been for the last several breaths, and for the first time that night you welcomed the clarity that came with deciding to leave rather than be dismissed.
“Y/n, no– please don’t be mad,” Tuk whined, the plea tumbling out of her in a rush as she reached for you, fingers brushing the edge of your wrist but failing to catch hold. Her face pinched with genuine worry. "I didn't mean to make it worse."
“You did not.” You said shortly. “This is not on you, Tuk.”
And then you turned and left without a word, the sudden absence of your presence cutting through the clearing sharper than any insult you had ever sent him, and for the first time Neteyam did not know whether you were just angry or actually hurt by what had happened.
It was confusing because you had never let any interaction between the two of you get to you like this, yet now that you had chosen distance in place of where you would usually just choose name calling, he couldn’t help the feeling like he’d missed something far too important while it was happening.
The noise resumed all too quickly behind you, laughter reclaiming the air as if nothing had shifted at all, but he stayed where he was, unease settling low in his chest as he watched your retreating form saunter away, hips swaying with jolting anger and body tempting his eyes to never shift.
He didn’t know when he started noticing things like that. The way your hips rolled as you walked, the flex of the muscles along your thighs with each step, and the way the line of your back shifted as you moved.
It sat wrong that he noticed these things about you, because he didn’t notice them on anyone else. More than anything else, the fact that you hadn’t looked back sat even worse. And the fact that he felt that hollow pull, tight and wrenching in his chest because of it, sat the worst of all.
“At least you don't have to worry about watching her anymore." An’aya’s voice cut in beside him, light and coaxing, like she was trying to pull him back by the wrist.
Neteyam nodded absently, already half elsewhere, the hollow feeling in his chest refusing to settle. Even as he turned back toward the fire, his attention lagged behind, tethered not to the laughter or the conversation resuming around him, but to the quiet space you’d left behind. To the quiet, unwelcome understanding that this time, you hadn’t walked away to cool off – you had walked away because he had apparently crossed a line he didn’t even realise he was dancing.
One delicate, purposeful step after the other. Neteyam watched your sultry hips as they worked against the motion of your legs, swaying against the gracefully deliberate rhythm of your strut. Every step was intentional, not a single wasted motion and certainly no hesitation, each one drawing a slow, tightening circle around him. You eyed him like prey and circled him like a predator.
He, too, circled your figure. Less graceful in his approach, his steps heavier and more grounded, but just as analytical with his eyes all the same. He told himself he tracked your figure because he had to, that he noticed how dangerously alluring you looked in your stride because he was being tactical, certainly not because he found it mesmerising.
Partnered again. You almost rolled your eyes had it not been for the undivided attention you locked onto his solid figure.
You suspected that they were doing it on purpose now, because whenever given the opportunities, your fathers paired the two of you as if it was something written into the roots of the forest itself. As if Eywa refused to separate you.
Jake’s voice cut through the air before either of you could make a move.
“Enough posturing,” he barked from the edge of the ring, arms crossed, gaze sharp and unimpressed. “This isn’t a mating dance. Someone's going to have to make a move soon enough. Engage.”
The command barely left Jake’s mouth before you jolted.
You didn’t rush him all at once because that was never your style. You shifted your weight and pivoted to your right instead, just as your tail came down with a sharp snap to the left, a deliberate ploy to feint him around you with sound.
Neteyam stuttered for a moment, nearly diving left and falling for the bait, but caught himself immediately, because of course he did. His jaw tightened as he corrected, blocking you by widening his stance, shoulders settling into a space much larger than you had accounted for.
You collided with his chest, steadying yourself with a tight hand clamped around his forearm that flexed under your grip. It was a successful motion that kept you upright, but your proximity to Neteyam left you vulnerable to an open hand palm against your shoulder, knocking you a step back. It was a warning shot, not meant to land hard, but it angered you all the same.
“Good feint, Y/n. Nice recovery, Neteyam.” Jake called out.
Your eyes never pivoted from Neteyam, but Jake's words riled you further, knowing he got praise for the first hit.
"Is that all you have?" You taunted, circling again, your breath steady despite the fire igniting in your veins. "Afraid to hit me for real, golden boy?"
Neteyam’s ears flicked at your taunt, but his expression stayed infuriatingly calm. He rolled the shoulder you’d nearly landed on earlier, circling with you, mirroring your steps like he’d memorized every rhythm you’d ever moved to.
“Well, would not want to mess up that pretty face.”
You flared your teeth in a hiss at his words, fangs bared and all, as the implication of them did not evade you. The idea that you were too feminine to fight. Bullshit.
It was bait, you knew it deep within, and yet you lunged for it all the same.
You dropped low, striking dirty with a sweeping leg that made contact with his ankles while your hands aimed for his torso. He leaped back to counter, but you were faster, leaping with a twist and raking your manicured claws down his ribs just to watch him hiss.
You landed in a crouch behind him, tail lashing with triumph at the hit but he countered instantly, arm hooking yours, using your momentum to flip you over his hip, but you held tightly, and this time you both went down. You snapped right to the ground, landing with a splat and a breathy groan, which he followed taut behind with, and soon you were caged beneath him as his braids fell around your face like a curtain.
“Careful,” he murmured, voice rough, eyes dropping to your mouth, “keep rubbing up on me like that and people may talk.”
Damn his Sully tongue and their dirty human minds. Only they – only he, were rash enough to say such vulgar words.
Heat flared in your face, nothing else but pure rage, and you answered with a growl, driving your knee up sharp between his legs. Not hard enough to hurt, you think, but just enough to make him block instinctively and give you room to twist.
You both rolled again, a tangle of limbs and snarls across the dirt, kicking up dust around you until you came out to a stop, this time you were on top, straddling his waist, thighs clamped tight, hands slamming his wrists into the dirt beside his head.
“I will kill you!”
Neteyam’s eyes blazed up at you, all traces of amusement gone. His ears pinned flat against his skull, jaw clenched so tight you saw the muscle jump. He bucked hard beneath you, trying to throw your weight, muscles straining as he fought your hold.
“Get. off. of. me.” He snarled, voice low and dangerous through his squirms against you, wrists twisting against your grip. “Why must you always turn it into this?”
You dug your nails in deeper, refusing to budge, chest heaving with anger. “You started it with your filthy mouth. Think you can say whatever you want and I will just take it?”
He arched again, harder this time, nearly unseating you from his lap and you slid to settle on his chest. His breath came in harsh pants now, struggling under the weight of you on his lungs, but his eyes still burned up at you with pure defiance.
The shift gave him a perfect view of you, sweaty and furious as you loomed above him, your braids wild, chest heaving and skin gleaming with a sheen of sweat. A deep flush crept up his neck and face at the sight, dark purple blooming across his cheeks and he prayed to Eywa it looked like it was from a lack of air to everyone watching.
“I am trying to win a damn spar, not handle your tantrum.” He said through short breaths. “Yield!”
“Force me, Tawtute,” you hissed, grinding your knees harder into his sides.,“or keep dancing for your sempul like the skxawng you are.”
His face darkened at that, a fresh wave of fury rolling off of him. He surged up with a grunt, flipping you both violently in a cloud of dust that kicked as you grappled. It was a flurry of elbows and knees jabbing at whatever body parts they could reach, claws scratching, fangs baring, and hisses sounding out like a tussle of five years olds.
He landed a sharp elbow to your ribs and you responded by snatching at his long swinging kuru braid and tugging hard, pinning him for a split second before you broke free with a snarl.
The spar had turned ugly so fast, leaving no time for anyone to register what it was until it already had become it. A catfight. There was no practiced technique or poise left in the swings, just primitive fighting and petty aggression mixed with ragged breaths and dirt covered bodies, every strike fuelled by years of building resentment. And Jake was done watching it.
"That's enough!" he barked again, the sound cracked through the clearing like a whip. He dragged a tired hand down his face, exhaling through his nose before turning on you both with an outstretched arm that sliced downward in a sharp, commanding arc. "Get off!"
His voice was so final, it had you cowering in your skin and scampering clumsily off and away from Neteyams heaving figure mirroring your own. You subtly brushed the dirt clinging to your arms in an attempt to salvage even an ounces worth of dignity, but it wasn't working, because your hands still shook and beneath it all, that ugly vulnerability lingered heavy as Jakes eyes beat down on you.
He continued.
"It was funny at first, cute even, when you two were teens and it didn't matter. But by Eywa, you're adults now. You have responsibilities and the clan is going to depend on you."
The authority in his voice pinned you both in place.
"I'm sorry, sir," Neteyam spoke with a breathy compliance, eyes trained downwards in a way that almost left you scoffing at how pathetic he looked - at how quickly he folded under the pressure of his father despite talking so big against you moments ago. It took everything in you not to roll your eyes while being lectured by his father about acting mature.
So, you muttered through gritted teeth, "Yes, sir," forcing the words out whilst fighting every instinct that screamed at you to glare at Neteyam instead of Jake.
“You two are going to be the leaders of this clan some day.”
The words hung in the air, innocent enough in theory, until the accidental meaning behind them hit like a physical blow. A heavy pause followed, and it took Jake just a lingering moment to notice the way you both began shifting apart, blue faces crawling into flushed purple ones. It only took him one more to swallow the unintended phrases before he was puffing a slow breath through his teeth to calm himself as it clicked. You hoped he hadn't, but of course he saw it. Eywa, the two of you couldn’t even look at each other over words he didn’t even mean that way!
Realization dawned on his face, and he let out a long, exasperated sigh. "And this – this right here – is exactly what I mean. Every little thing turns into a problem between you. You don’t even know how to keep your composure over a misunderstanding.”
He jabbed a finger toward Neteyam. "You will be Olo'eyktan one day." Then the finger swung to you. "And you will be the clan's head warrior. His right hand. His most trusted." Jake pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sooner or later, you have got to get along. The people need to see unity, not... whatever humilation ritual this is."
He said the line so defeatedly, as if his two greatest proteges had become his two biggest failures in that moment, and it left you deflating in embarrassment at the notion that your rivalry with his son had turned into something beyond comprehensive words. Instead, reduced to “hell” - to weird sky people words.
Shameful.
The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on. You stared at the ground, heat crawling up your neck, wishing the disturbed dirt would just open and swallow you whole. Because it was almost as if your own father had just admitted that you were acting a fool. As Jake Sully, the man who raised you almost as his own was sighing down at you and his idiot son with weary frustration. You knew he didn’t mean it cruelly, but that didn’t make the cut sting any less deep. Now you felt horrible.
"I am sorry, Olo'eyktan."
Tch.
The tiniest huff of breath from Neteyam’s direction was a sudden jolt to the system. It interrupted your miserable reflections with something edging toward amusement; not quite a laugh, but close enough. The sheer nerve of it had you glaring up, fixing him with the exact scowl you reserved only for him.
Neteyam wasn’t looking at his father anymore. Now he was looking right at you, glaring through the curtain of his fallen braids. His head still hung low, but one side of his mouth twitched upward in that infuriating half-smirk he saved just for you too. Amber tinged eyes glinted with something resembling shocked amusement, almost as if he couldn’t quite believe you were actually remorseful. Like your mortification was the funniest thing he’d seen all day.
You knew you shouldn’t have. You knew this was the worst possible time. But in that moment it was like something inside you finally snapped with finality for the first time ever. Where you usually would have met him with snark, now you were meeting him with red vision, dissolving any last shred of your respect or regard for consequence.
Your ears flicked back, pinned taught to your hair like an animal on its prey only moments away from pouncing. Tail lashing once like a whip.
“What?” you hissed, so low it was almost swallowed by the breeze, meant only for him but almost so quiet that Neteyam nearly missed the fact that you had spoken entirely. “Something funny, Tawtute?”
He caught your words all the same. The perfect son act completely slipping away, traded for a smirk that widened a fraction larger at your face, beyond furious.
“A child, Fang.” He taunted back, smirking so deep because he knew he was hitting right where it hurt most. “You look like a child scolded by her elder. It is quite funny.”
That was it.
You stepped forward, voice rising despite yourself, despite the voice telling you that only awful consequences would come from acting out right now. The bigger part of you could not have cared less that his father wasn’t even through with lecturing the two of you yet. The worst part of you, so enraged and completely encompassed by Neteyam and his stupidity, his audacity, until you just-
Did. Not. Care.
Your figure snapped upright, tall and menacing body twisting to face him fully as your large blearing eyes glossed over. They were unblinking and fear-provockingly wide.
“Open your mouth again, Tawtute, and I swear to Eywa and everything she deems sacred, I will slam you down and make you swallow every sorry sound you choke in front of the whole clan.”
Neteyam’s smirk froze, then vanished almost as quickly as it came. His ears were the ones to flick forward now, sharp at the ends and persistently alert. His golden eyes that had been mocking you a heartbeat ago had darkened into molten amber pits, pupils narrowing to slits. The perfect son was gone entirely.
His tail lashed too, hard enough to slap the air as he twisted his body entirely to tower over yours. It was the first time in all your years of knowing him where he had ever intimidated you, because it was the first time in all the years you’d known him that his size truly registered. Tall, and broad, and built like the future leader he was meant to be.
Your gaze dropped before you could stop it, tracing the sharp lines of his frame all the way down until they stopped to linger on the bold stripes that curved low around his hipbones and disappeared beneath the edge of his loincloth. They had always stood out more than anyone else’s, as darker, thicker, more prominent than the others. The Tawtute genes, you told yourself, that’s why they were like that, no other reason, certainly. A flush crawled up your neck, hot and confusing, and what would have been disguised as pure rage to any onlooker.
It pressed in on you though, close enough that the heat of him brushed your skin. Because, it didn’t feel like pure rage alone. Your mind could try to convince you, but your body would do otherwise, betraying your thoughts with that persistent betraying flicker of your tail.
And Neteyam noticed. Of course he noticed.
“Keep staring like that, Fang,” he said, leaning in until his breath stirred the loose strands of hair at your temple, “and I will give you something to actually choke on.”
The words hit low and vicious, a promise wrapped in threat and before you even processed which arm had lifted first, your hand, with pre-curled fingers was already moving toward his chest to shove him back as hard as you possibly could. A hiss so guttural and sharp tearing from your gaping mouth, decorated by the furiously purple hue that painted your face like a white canvas.
His own shot up just as yours had, catching your wrist mid-air in a grip like the metal on the ships the sky people flew. Not painful, but almost entirely unbreakable.
For one suspended heartbeat you were locked there, with his fingers around your wrist and bodies inches apart, both of you breathing hard, tails thrashing in mirrored fury. The space between you felt suddenly too small, the air too thick.
Then Jake’s voice cracked through it like a whip.
“I said enough!”
He was on you in two strides, one massive hand clamping the back of Neteyam’s neck, the other seizing your upper arm and hauling you both apart with force that made your feet skid on the woven mat.
Jake’s eyes were wild, ears pinned flat, chest heaving.
“You two are done,” he growled, voice shaking with barely-leashed anger. “Done acting like feral animals that can’t control their emotions. Grown adults and I’m still treating you two like I did when you were twelve.”
He exhaled sharply, making the decision at that moment.
"You're going out to the eastern watchpost. Tonight. Just the two of you." He held up a hand when you both opened your mouths to protest. "No arguments, not a goddamn word. It's an hour ride so that's plenty of time to cool off and you'll spend the entire night there.”
Jake was not having it. “I want the supplies inventoried, the platforms repaired, and I want every corner of every ridge scouted for any signs of human activity, and you're going to do every moment of it together. You'll eat together, sleep in the same goddamn hammock if you have to, and you'll come back tomorrow morning acting like the future leaders you're supposed to be."
He released you with a shove toward the rookery.
“Go saddle your Ikran’s.”
When the two of you hesitated, Jake snarled “Now! And if I hear one more word out of either of you before you’re out of my sight, I swear to Eywa I’ll tie you both to the same tree instead.”
Jake's voice sounded so tired and the clearing had gone deathly quiet. Neteyam’s jaw flexed, but he said nothing and he was the first to turn without even so much as a glance in your direction, stalking toward the rookery with rigid shoulders, his braids swaying with each step, and every taut line of him vibrating with a restraint he almost lacked.
You stood frozen for half a breath longer, heart hammering against your ribs, wrist still burning where his grip had been. Then you turned too, spine straight with the kind of discipline that fooled everyone but the Sullys, because Neteyam and Jake could both see the bruise that adorned your ego, they just both knew better than to comment on it this far in.
The young warriors scattered around the training grounds let their conversations die and bows lower as you both strode past. Your ikran sensed the rage rolling off you and answered your call with shrieks and flared wings, and an agitation that mimicked your own. And you mounted without glancing at Neteyam once, attaching your queues to the end of your Ikrans with what was probably a little more force than necessary. He did the same and Jake watched it all with a tired stare as Neteyam banked east first, cutting through the darkness like a blade, before you followed silently behind him without a glance back.
Jake finally let out the breath he’d been holding, dragging a tired hand down his face. The forest answered him with the soft rustle of leaves and distant night calls of your fleeting Ikrans, nature utterly unconcerned with the problem he’d just sent walking into it. He had broken up enough sparring matches to know the difference between anger and whatever that had been.
Eywa help them, he thought. Because I am officially out of patience.
Behind him, the rustle leaves and heavy approaching footsteps had his ears perking up, expecting the presence before the sound of a low chuckle could startle him. The sound of a man who had already arrived at the same conclusion and was simply waiting to see if Jake would catch up.
Jake turned to find your father standing there, arms crossed, tail swaying lazily behind him as his eyes tracked the two figures disappearing into the trees. There was concern there, yes, but there was also something else that Jake had seen displayed on his face every time your families met and you and his son fought. Something almost… entertained.
Your father watched the treeline a moment longer before he spoke, his expression thoughtful rather than amused, though the hint of it lingered all the same.
“You finally snapped.” He said, eyes not glancing at Jake, but to the sway of trees that shielded your retreating forms in the distance. “Only took till the moment they stopped trying to fight clean.”
Jake let out a slow breath and rubbed at the back of his neck, because that had been the exact moment his stomach had dropped, when the spar had stopped looking like training and started looking like something feral. “I told myself it was just their temper getting the best of them,” he admitted. “That they’d settle once one of them landed a solid hit, but I’ve never seen them go at it like that.”
Your father hummed softly in agreement. “Even anger has rules.” He said. “What I just saw forgot them. No form. No distance. Just hands… wherever they could reach.” Your fathers eyes finally glanced over to Jake, a knowing smirk leaving him chuckling at the revelation.
Jake snorted quietly, humour slipping through despite himself and soon they were laughing low in unison. “My son knows better than that.”
“As does my daughter,” He replied, and there it was, that note of worried pride that always crept in when he spoke of her. “Which is how I know they have reached a point where the body starts answering questions the mind refuses to ask.”
“You’re worried.” Jake observed.
“I am a father,” he simply replied, and then after a beat added, “And I have eyes. I know Neteyam is fond of her.”
“He wont–,” Jake moved to start comforting his friend, shifting to place a hand on his shoulder when your father let a short snort leave him.
“I do not worry about Neteyam, I worry about her,” he said, with no effort to soften the curve of his mouth. “Neteyam has always known where the line is even when he pretends not to, and I have watched him choose restraint around her provoking comments time and time again. When it would have been easier not to.” A pause, then quieter, “That matters to me. It is her who has no restraint.” He ended with a chuckle.
Jake’s smirk lingered, but it softened at the edges, tempered by something more careful in tone. “Yeah, well, they have both been very good at lying to themselves.” He let a beat pass before he chuckled. “Well, maybe not your daughter, she can’t lie to save her life.”
“It really is her we should worry about.” Your father laughed. “If I were foolish enough to wager,” he suddenly turned, clapping a hand to Jake’s shoulder, “I would bet they return insisting the night was torture, then flinch every time their queues touch because they finally know what they’re used for.”
This time, the laugh Jake let out was almost too loud for his liking, glancing around in hopes that no one had heard the less than tasteful wording.
“I’m not taking that bet,” he said, then hesitated, the amusement fading just enough to let the doubt through. “I expected you to be angrier with me for sending them off together.”
Your father snorted. “You did the same with Neytiri,” he replied. “And you didn’t exactly handle it with grace.”
Jake grimaced. “That was different.”
“No, It was not,” he said lightly, his gaze flicking back toward the trees, “and Neteyam’s trying too hard not to cross the same line. My daughter has never been good at pretending there isn’t one.”
Jake exhaled through his nose, shaking his head, rubbing yet another exhaustedly stressed hand down his face at the implication of his words. “I’m not gonna sleep tonight.”
“Good,” Your father said quietly. “Someone should keep watch. In case they burn the forest down. Let us just hope we do not share the name Grandfather and time soon either.”
Your feet hit the platform before his did, heavy with a careless thump that transitioned quickly into long strides against the creaking wood, riddled with the intention of getting as far away from Neteyam as possible, who was landing close behind you. There wasn’t anywhere far to run off too, especially in the dark of night on a foreign base you had visited not even twice before, so you settled towards the end of the platform on a pile of large crates that rattled against your weight.
Neteyam dismounted much slower than you had, gently detaching his queue, before petting his Ikran three times, signalling its dismissal to perch elsewhere. It left with a shriek, chasing your own which had scattered the moment you landed.
Moonlight filtered through the canopy above, adorning everything in a bleary silver and deep shadows illuminated by bioluminescent blues. The base was rickety and barely large enough to accommodate a few people with all the supplies stolen and housed from the sky-people around. The wooden branches sagged and the leather tarp frayed, neglected and unkept for what seemed to be decades. But it was going to have to work considering you were banished here for the night.
Neteyam didn’t look at you right away. He took the first few moments to busy himself checking over the boxes, silently counting the stock in the typical Neteyam way that forced him to be a stickler for the rules, to listen to every authoritative voice, to be the most stuck up Na’vi to ever grace Pandora's blue planet.
It took him a second of a forced and uncomfortable silence before he finally broke the tension, his voice low and failing to hide the tinge of irritation behind it despite his attempts to at least try and get something done. “We should start with inventory. Get it over with.”
You didn’t move from your position on the crate farthest south. And you almost laughed at how pathetically authoritative he attempted to sound, because you knew his blood still seared hot with boiling anger at being scolded not even an hour ago. Instead, you tugged at the string of the bow you had picked up from beside you, slowly swaying the one foot you left dangling as you fidgeted with the fraying thread.
“Do it yourself.”
Your voice – so dismissive and blunt in tone – had Neteyam’s pointy ears pinning back and deep amber eyes snapping at you in a quick, sharp warning.
“Do not start.”
You took the first moment since he entered to direct your attention away from the flimsy bow, finally looking up at him with an all too unimpressed glare. “Too late.” You sneered, your typical fang glaring snare on full display. “You started it the second you opened your skxawng mouth back at the training camp. Even children know to be silent when Toruk Makto speaks, yet somehow you can not manage to get that through your thick skull?”
“My thick skull?” Neteyam’s big eyes bore straight through your own, blown wide and non-blinking almost as if trying to read you for an answer he wasn’t going to find. He looked absolutely exasperated and a breathy laugh that held no humor escaped his lips as he shook his head. “Thats rich coming from the one who is sat on a crate of knives, doing absolutely nothing.”
“We are only here because perfect son could not bite his golden tongue long enough to remember his father was still speaking. You listen to him when we're here but not when it counts back home. I thought you were supposed to be the smart and disciplined one.”
“Kind of difficult to concentrate on a lecture when the woman threatening to make me choke is attempting to swing her claws into my chest.”
“I only reacted because you–!”
The words stuttered in your throat, dying in your mouth as heat flooded your face in a violent wave, remembering what led to your outburst in the first place. Remembering the explicit words he let slip from soft yet smug lips like he had any right saying it in the first place.
–Because you speak lewd words that should only be muttered between the most established of mates.
“–Because I what?” Neteyam’s voice was softer now, but the smirk that followed was anything but gentle. It spread slow and lethally arrogant across his face, eyes glinting with a new light that felt almost predatory, as if he’d just found the one loose thread that would unravel you completely.
“Because–” Your face was so flushed, you could hardly bring the words to the surface. “–Because you- you have a vulgar mouth! Y-You speak filth just to provoke me.”
“Vulgar?” Neteyam's eyes glinted with something completely different from the irate exasperation from earlier, it was like his entire demeanor had calmed, replaced completely by that arrogant smirk, like he was the only one able to translate the book the two of you had been trying to read your whole lives. “Me? I think I recall you mentioning something about slamming me down on my back.”
A sharp gasp tore from your throat. The words hit like a physical blow, twisting your earlier threat into something raw and unmistakable. Your face burned hotter, if that was even possible, violet spreading across your cheeks as you instinctively looked him up and down.
“That is not what I speak! Why must you keep bringing up those words?” The words tumbled out too fast and breathless to be convincing, and you almost kicked yourself for the delivery.
“Because you are the one who said them, you just don’t like what they mean.”
He began stepping closer. His strides were so deliberate, as if planned in advance, and unhurried, as if you were not another moment away from clawing out his eyes.
“They meant nothing,” you shot back, chin lifting in defiance. “You twist everything.”
The sound of Neteyam’s footsteps drew your eyes to lock on his figure, tall and looming as he strutted one slow step at a time closer, and you found your eyes doing that traitorous thing they did a lot now, wander. Wander down. And down.
It started with his face, as you watched the sway of his braids while he strode with that infuriating arrogance, brushing the sharp lines of his jaw with a clatter of his beads. Then it was his impossibly round eyes fixed right on you – which they always seemed to be when you were around – unblinking and heated through a downwards gaze. They were eyes that masked what you knew to be such a conceited personality as so deceivingly innocent.
Soon your gaze fell to the wide frame of his shoulders and the firmness of his chest, and it dawned on you that you’d only just noticed how much broader they had become over the years spent together, carved from tireless hours of drawing bowstrings and traversing the harsh landscape of Omatikiya forest, lean with muscle that shifted under blue skin with every stride he took closer.
Your eyes wandered again until they finally fell right to where they seemed to stop at a lot now; his lower body, narrow hips marked by the most vibrant stripe pattern you’d ever seen on any man – on any Na’vi you’d laid eyes on. They were darker and thicker, more pronounced and unlike any others, they trailed off and disappeared so low into his loin cloth it almost felt purposeful in the way they pulled your eyes. Like they were specifically made to draw your eyes and your eyes only, and hold them there by design.
Those lines were unnatural in their perfection and it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that they made your face so hot and your heartbeat feel as if it could move to places it should not be, and it especially wasn’t fair that it wasn’t a you thing, it was a him thing. You only liked it on him.
You told yourself for the hundredth time – that it was the Tawtute genes making everything about him just a little too defined, a little larger. Not that you were staring, of course, just studying. Because he was different and you were always curious, you told yourself. But your tail flicked once, another betrayal that told you that was a lie, and you prayed the shadows hid it..
The shadows did not hide it. And of course he noticed.
Neteyam slowed, stopping just close enough that the space between you felt inconsequential. He wasn’t touching you, at least not yet and somehow it still felt as if he had pressed his entire body against yours. As if you were suffocating beneath him.
His gaze dipped and it wasn’t hurried, but it wasn’t subtle either, following the same path yours had just taken; down the line of his chest, over the sharp cut of his hips, to the stripes adorning his body next to the band of his loincloth before lifting again, eyes glinting with the most unbearably smug sense of amusement you’d imagine possible from a single man at the realisation he had just made.
It was silent for a beat, air heavy with tension before Neteyam spoke.
“You must really like my loincloth.”
Your ears shot straight up and outwards, standing tall and perky as if alerted by a lingering predator, eyes blowing wide as you shot your head up to meet his gaze head on.
“Shut up–!”
“–You know, my mother makes them–”
“ –I don’t care–!”
“ –Shall I ask her to make another? She does adore you–”
“–You do not know anything–!”
“–I know exactly when you lie.”
The words were being sputtered so fast, they crashed into each other in an overlapping, frantic mess. To any onlooker, it would have almost sounded as if you were talking in unison.
Your tone was desperately sharp, doused in mortification and hidden in anger. And his was flooded with pure, unadulterated tease, knowing very well how every word he spoke rolled down your ears and crawled beneath your skin. You blushed so often around him he could almost mistake you as a purple Na’vi now.
The overlap fell apart as abruptly as it had started. You glared at him, chest tight, ears still rigid with embarrassment and fury, daring him to say one more thing. He didn’t…
At least, not right away.
His gaze dipped instead, unashamed and bashfully amused, tracking back down to where yours had been just moments ago. His mouth curved like he’d found something amusing he was excited to explain. But you knew he was only rubbing the fact that he caught you staring in.
“My mother uses five beads on each knot,” he said smugly, and you followed his fingers as they brushed against the small carved beads on the loincloth’s cords. “She says it is the number of balance. Five for the senses and all.”
Then he suddenly looked up at you, those overly round, innocent eyes portraying that innocence all too well. “Seems it is not working, you do not look very balanced right now.”
If you were in half a mind with any common sense, you would have scolded him once again and shoved him as far back as your arms would allow in hopes for a little space and clarity. Unfortunately for you, however, that sense was ripped directly out of your already fumbling grasp the moment your eyes followed his hands to where he gripped that damned loincloth you really couldn’t escape.
They were larger and longer than most others, scarred from weaponry and cliff climbing, and calloused in places where the overuse was notable. His fingers, all five of them, grasped the thread of the cloth, and as his grip tightened, the purple veins littering the surface of his skin protruded along with it.
Watching the way his fingers curled, and the way his veins pulsed, it sent heat crawling up your throat and pooling behind your ears. Every flex of a tendon, every faint flicker of those tiny freckled lights, felt like a private taunt aimed straight at whatever composure you had left.
You swallowed hard, forcing your voice steady even as it came out breathier than you wanted. “Five is a greedy number anyway.” You muttered, eyes still traitorously fixed on the curl of his knuckles.
His gaze followed yours until it landed on the object of your fixation; his calloused, human-like hands that resembled a foreign race more than it did his own. It lingered on the way your eyes lingered there too long, and the way your breath had betrayed you before your mouth ever could. And a slow smile curved across his lips, smug and knowing.
“Greedy?” He spoke the word as if it heeded a riveting discovery and without haste, he lifted said hands; the ones you hadn’t stopped ogling at, toward your sightline. “Is that what you think they are?”
His long fingers extended deliberately to parade all five digits to your wide, helpless eyes, and he began wriggling them in slow, mesmerising pulses as if he, too, were suddenly fascinated by the anatomy you had just mocked.
“Tawtute.” He uttered it in mocking, the way you usually did, except his voice dipped low with smug delight. “That’s what you call me, isn’t it?”
Now, he let his hands hover close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his palms, close enough that if you stuck your tongue out just enough, you’d be able to taste the skin. Close enough, that the fact you had even entertained that thought made you sick to your stomach with dizzying confusion.
“Txampay tawtute.” He purred, eyes half-lidded and glinting as he drank in the flush climbing your neck.
Then, unhurried and impossibly sure of himself, he leaned in. His body now crowding every inch of air yours occupied, chest nearly brushing your own, until he reached past your shoulder and caught your wrist in one smooth motion. The hand that rounded your skin tugged upwards to bring your hand up between you to display the four fingers you always had, and his golden eyes gleamed as if it was the first time he had seen it. Slowly, he lifted his own hand to mirror yours, five fingers spread to contrast the four of your own just across from his, hovering directly opposite it.
“Demon blood.” He muttered, though he wasn’t offended. It was more a statement, or amused even, awaiting a reaction.
You watched, breath caught, as he hesitated for a single heartbeat, watched in your peripheral as his eyes bore into your face, searching for any flicker of protest or resistance. A sign that never came.
And once he realized that, he dipped one long finger down between the gaps of yours. Then another, and another until he slid each one of his fingers between your own, interlocking your hands like he was claiming every unoccupied space he could find.
“Do you call me tawtute so often because you think about how my hands would feel on you?”
Then he guided your joined hands, fully intertwined, up and back, lifting them slowly until your knuckles brushed the rough-woven wall behind you. He pressed them there and the motion brought him so much closer, it was as if he had taken up all the air, because why were you suddenly finding it so much more difficult to draw a breath?
“Neteyam.” The name came out like an unsure whine, nothing like the sharp hiss you’d wielded against him a thousand times before. Because the last place you had ever imagined yourself being was here, pinned beneath the steady weight of his gaze, his body, his five greedy fingers laced so perfectly through your four and it confused you that no fiber of your being was begging to reject it.
You watched with greedy eyes as his face twisted from out of your view, head shifting down towards the crook of your neck and the frantic rate of your breath betrayed every last pretense of calm. His mouth stopped just on the cusp of your left ear, and you felt the warm, velvet skin of his lips brushing the sensitive shell of it, tied with the cherry on top by the soft sway of his braid against your cheek and the smell of him. That intoxicating scent which smelt of eclipse leaves and sweet hearth vines.
They had been your favourite scents for as long as you could remember, and it was only just dawning why that is now.
He took a beat, his breath warm on your skin before he spoke. “I know you hate me.”
You did. You hated him, the Olo'eyktan perfect first born. The boy that followed you like a shadow through the winding roots of Hometree. The child you had been measured against since the first time a blade had been pressed into your palms.
“Neteyam learns quicker,”
“Neteyam already wields a bow,”
“Neteyam never loses his temper.”
You had heard it from your father your entire life and you hated him for being the excellence you couldn’t be. You hated that he wore it so smug. And more than anything, you hated that he actually tried to soften it and make space for you beside him instead of behind. He was so good to you, and you hated that he never got mad when it counted.
And now – now – you couldn’t reconcile that boy with the man standing close enough to steal your breath, hands steady where your resolve should have been. You couldn’t fathom how you were letting him do this. How the same Neteyam you’d spent years resisting, spitting at, and training like Eywa herself had told you to do so in order to best him, had slipped past your defenses without even raising his voice. All it took was him invading your space closer than he ever tried before and your resolve dwindled.
“I know you think you hate me.” He repeated, but this time you could hear the smirk that crept up his irritatingly gorgeous face. “But you never look at me like this when you say it. And this–” his free hand drifted down, fingertips ghosting along the tense line of your hip until they found the base of your tail, “--this is the most still your tail has been all night.”
The gentle, knowing stroke along the sensitive underside made your spine arch involuntarily before you could stop it, so far into him you could feel the press of everything below his loincloth against your lower belly and it made you whine. A guttural, involuntary sound you didn’t mean to make, nor had you realised escaped you until Neteyam’s glowing amber eyes widened alongside his smile.
You struggled to find your voice, with the overwhelming feeling of Neteyam all around you, touching every inch of your skin, all consuming and intoxicating but when you did, it was breathy and weak.
“Do not–” you stuttered, pausing your words to find breath.
Then your voice came again, interrupting his thoughts in a moment where his grip faltered slightly around your fingers and tail. You sounded so primitive and defeated, it was like the entire forest in a ten-mile radius had stilled.
“–stop.”
Neteyam stilled, mind reeling and eyes searching every inch of your face in desperate search of an answer to an unspoken question you sparked within him. Do not? Stop?
Do not stop?
He gawked at you, ogling at every inch of your face in hopes of an answer. Your eyes, droopy and half-shut, turned sideways as if too ashamed to look him in the eyes. Mouth just a touch open, drawing long and heavy breaths, and your beautiful blue skin, flushed that purple colour he was becoming so fond of seeing, gleaming with a layer of warm, sleek sweat.
You looked absolutely ruined. And he absolutely detested the idea that you might have been telling him to stop – truly stop – his advances because now that he had a glimpse of such a sight, he cursed the idea that he may never see it again knowing exactly what you looked like underneath him. So he waited with baited breaths, a wait you did not make him stand long for, and then you delivered.
“Do.. not.. stop.” You spoke between heavy breaths. “Neteyam, please.”
And then he saw it. The way you had been pressing up against his right thigh, locked between both your own thighs and rubbing against your core, just close enough to create friction. The sight and the plea shattered whatever thin thread of control he’d been clinging to as he finally realised what you meant.
A low, guttural sound rumbled from deep in his chest, a half growl, half reverent thanks to Eywa herself, as he surged forward, releasing your tail momentarily, only for the hand to sweep through the air, landing right on the back of your neck as he pulled you towards him with a roughness he rarely displayed.
And that's when it finally happened. His mouth crashed against yours, hungry and possessive, swallowing the next broken gasp that spilled from your lips. His fingers curled into the sensitive skin just below your hairline in a way that made your knees weaken, and had you not still been sitting on this crate, you were sure you would have faltered and folded to the ground.
His tongue pushed at the seam of your lips, coaxing them apart with a devastating hunger, as if he had been waiting far too long to claim this moment, only clarified with the roll his body made to press into your own. The muscles of his abdomen elongated and protruded against the skin, screaming at you to touch them, to feel them, as he pushed your intertwined hands further back into the wall.
That was when his hand around your neck finally began its descent downwards. It started at your shoulders, brushing against your collarbone and lingering just a moment around your breasts. He swirled against the curve underneath the soft fat and the trail left hot tingles in its wake, sending blood rushing to every nerve the pinpoint of his fingertips lined.
It continued on, searing down the arc of your waist, against the curve of your hips and drew a curl to stop just a few paces below your belly button, and yet not even a breath above from the band of your loincloth.
Your breath hitched as those fingers paused there, so achingly close, tracing lazy, maddening patterns just above the thin strip of woven fabric – the only thing left between you and completely surrendering to the man who haunted your every waking moment. Neteyam pulled back from the kiss, only far enough to watch your contorting face, the molten amber of his eyes now nearly non-existent, replaced almost entirely by his pupils, blown wide with lust and a restraint that was seconds from snapping.
He could feel the heat radiating from you, and could tell you were trying to resist whatever thoughts were happening in your head, unsuccessfully so. He could see it in the way your thighs tremored ever so subtly, and in the way your hips shifted restlessly against him, as if seeking friction but hating who the friction you seeked came from. A low, approving, yet humoured growl rumbled in his throat as he pressed his forehead to yours, breath ragged.
“You are always so responsive.” He murmured, voice gravelly, lips brushing yours as he spoke and fingers still working their patterns at the lowest part of your belly. “Every touch… you light up for me.”
“You always think you know what I feel.” The words spat harsh but breathless, trying desperately to deny him the satisfaction of winning.
But Neteyam just laughed, stating flatly. “Your freckles glow, fang.”
And your flush deepened knowing your body was betraying your mind.
“Stop talking. I still despise you.”
Neteyam took the opportunity to lean back, making enough room to have a full view of your body without disconnecting your lower bodies. Finally his hand strayed from your belly, sliding to the left of it before stopping right at the rope that knotted your loincloth into place. He glanced down at it expectantly, then up to meet your eyes, his own glinting with mischief.
“Funny way of showing it.” He commented.
Then his fingers pulled at the string, and all you did was let your head fall back against the wall in response.
The knot gave with a soft tug, the woven cord loosening until the loincloth sagged against your hips, and you felt the cool air kissing at your newly exposed skin. It left your sighing, and Neteyam actually laughed at the sight of you.
His next move was to grab at your right leg, lifting it high until it settled on top of his right shoulder. The motion had you shifting forward slightly, nearly hanging off the edge of the crate now. Once it was placed, he leaned down, meeting the slant of your body against the crate until his face met just above yours.
“No fangs now, huh?” He taunted, voice dripping with smug triumph, his breath hot against your lips as his free hand slid up the thigh draped over him with the most reverently possessive grip.
Your eyes narrowed, a spark of fury cutting through the haze of pleasure. “I’ll silence you.”
Before he could fire back another cocky word, you flexed the leg hooked over his shoulder and shoved hard. Your heel dug into the muscle of his back as you pushed, using every bit of leverage to force him downward and surprise flashed across his face for a split second before he dropped to his knees in front of you, left hand disconnecting from yours and instinctively reaching to grip your hips as a means to steady himself.
There he was – all mighty Neteyam, son of Toruk Makto, future Olo’eyktan – kneeling between your thighs, directly in front of your exposed core, with amber eyes flicking a mix of shock, defeat and drooling hunger.
You let your head rest back against the wall again, eyeing him through the brush of your lower lashes and fingers threading roughly into his braids to hold him exactly where you wanted him.
“I told you I would make you swallow your sorry sounds.” And with a sharp tug forward, the control had been shifted to your hands. “Now swallow.”
The low, involuntary groan that vibrated through his chest and into your core was the only answer he managed before his mouth obeyed. His head moved first then his tongue dragged slow and deliberate, tasting you like he’d been starving for years and refused to rush the meal. But the grip you kept in his braids, tight and unforgiving, told him exactly who set the pace.
Heat slammed through you, ugly and mixed with the pure rage of having him under you. You hated him for making your body clench like this, hated the way your thighs shook because his tongue felt so damn good, but hated it more that you questioned if the reason he felt so good was because he had done this before. Hated that the idea made you jealous.
You were a mix of pleasure and shame – that Neteyam was on his knees, eating you out like he had no choice and that he was disgustingly good at it. And when you rolled your hips forward, demanding more, he gave it without hesitation, lips sealing around you, tongue curling deep and relentless, then it dawned on you that he was worshipping your clit like he was singing a prayer.
Your thighs trembled around his shoulders, the leg still hooked there locked tighter, heel pressing between his shoulder blades to keep him exactly where you wanted him – on his knees, serving the woman who’d sworn to hate him forever. And he did it so well you had been reduced to a moaning, whining and squirming mess beneath his hands that were holding you down.
“Eywa, shit– Y/n– ” The name slipped out raw and whiny, and the vibration of his voice had you absolutely feral, snapping in an instant. But not to your end. No.
Because the only thing you could think about was why he felt so good. Why he was so talented at everything. The idea of him having experience with this, of him doing this to someone else, made something vicious twist in your chest.
So your hand in his hair tugged hard, snapping his head back and away from your core to glance up at you with daze in his eyes and your slick dripping down his chin.
He blinked up at you, lips swollen and shining, breath coming in rough pants. For once, the smugness was gone, replaced by raw, hazy want and a flicker of confusion at the sudden stop.
You stared down at him, chest heaving, jealousy burning hotter than the aftershocks still pulsing between your legs, and the words came sharp, cutting through the air like an arrow.
“Who else?” You spat, voice accusatory and ugly with envy, fingers tightening in his braids in a visceral way you couldn’t help.
“What?” He sounded so breathless, and so confused, eyes still foggy from being buried between your thighs.
“You move like this is not new to you.” You snapped, the words spilling out jagged. “People do not learn that by accident.”
“Fang, what are you–”
Then your mouth spat the words like the answer was so obvious, like you had been just waiting for the name to be mentioned. “ –It is An’aya, isn’t it?”
“An’aya!?” He said it like the name didn’t belong here at all. Because it didn’t. Because twenty seconds ago he was face-deep drowning in what he deemed to be his new favourite flavour, and now he’s thinking of a girl he’s barely spent more than 10 minutes alone with.
“You lie with her too!” The accusation came out sharp enough to feel final, as if it wasn’t something to be debated and you had already made up the answer.
Neteyam stared up at you for a beat, eyes wide, mouth still wet and open like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or groan. Then the laugh won, short and completely disbelieving as the weight of your words settled into him. He searched your eyes, stern and glazed, angry with something he knew you barely understood and it dawned on him. Holy shit.
“You are jealous.” He said it so incredulously, like it was the best revelation he made all week. A rough laugh tore out of him, head tipping back in your grip, the sound raw and disbelieving. And it was like you couldn’t even deny it, all you could do was sneer your usual fang baring scowl and snap your head away with a tsk of your tongue.
“An’aya?” he rasped, grin sharp and crooked, chin still dripping with you. “Eywa fang, you think I have ever touched her? Ever wanted to?”
He shifted forward on his knees, hands sliding up your thighs as he finally raised to his feet off his knees to meet you at eye level. His face was inches from yours, grip firm but not pushing and you watched as that aggravating amusement melted into the softest look you think he had ever sent you. His smugness fell, the cocky edge dulling into something so honest.
“I do not lie with An’aya. Just you, fang.” He spoke so slowly, voice low and steady, and almost gentle despite the filth of the moment. “I only ever think about you.”
The words hit harder than they should have. Heat flooded your face, your chest, mixing between the jealousy and the flattery until you couldn’t tell which burned more. You didn’t know if you believed him – or more so didn’t know if you wanted to believe him. So you picked your arm up to pinch the side of his ear, using it to drag his face impossibly closer. Your gaze flickered between both his eyes, searching for something, an answer to a question you weren’t even sure you knew what.
For a split second, something in your grip faltered. The idea that he might be telling the truth was somehow worse than the lie. So you tightened your fingers on his ear for a beat before yanking his head back with a force meant to hurt.
“Prove it,” you snarled.
Neteyam’s breath hissed through his teeth at the sting, but the look he gave you was pure lust, not a single trace of softness left. In one brutal motion he tucked one hand under your ass, and the other around the curve of your waist, before spinning you around so fast the world tilted for a fraction of a second. Your chest slammed against the crate, palms scraping metal as he kicked your legs wider and pressed his full weight into your back.
You heard him before you felt him, the quick tug and rustle as he worked the knot of his loincloth free behind you. Something involuntary dragged your head back, forcing you to peek over your shoulder. The fabric fell, and it was like every silent inkling you’d ever felt bite at you, every reflexive moment that told you to study his stripes despite never knowing why, finally dawned on you why it had always been so urging.
Those large, vibrant stripes were only a preview into what the loincloth hid. They tapered lower and thicker up the base of his cock, before finally crawling into a thinning stretch that ended just beyond the tip of his head, which was slick with precum and the most angry, swollen shade of red. Red. Like a Tawtute.
And it was in that moment you realised that all those little characteristics that made him slightly different – the broader shoulders, the extra finger, the sheer size of him below the cloth and the way his tip skin flushed pinker than any Na’vi you’d ever seen – weren’t the flaws or accidents you convinced yourself was the reason you fixated on them. They were proof that he had Toruk Makto’s blood running through him, the son of a leader, born to be a leader. And right now that blood had him hard and leaking for you, the girl who’d spent years calling him sky-demon scum.
The realisation twisted hot and ugly in your gut, hate and want braided so tight you couldn’t pull them apart but that was so swiftly disrupted by the feeling of him pushing forward, the tip of his achingly large cock making contact with your swelteringly wet entrance, and it had you absolutely unraveling at the mere contact of it.
You couldn’t help the moan that slipped out of you at both the stretch he gave with just the top of him, barely even a quarter full, and at the sight of him ogling down at the space between you, at the way the tip of his cock looked barely swallowed inside of your warm hole, his fist gripping at the base.
Neteyam caught the sound, eyes snapping up just in time to see you bury your face in your arm and he laughed that irritatingly smug laugh that vibrated through his chest and into your back.
“Already moaning for me, Fang?” He murmured, voice thick with satisfaction and lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke. “You can’t even pretend to hate me anymore.”
“Do not…,” you hissed with a breathy sigh, the words cracking despite your best effort to sound venomous, “…dare assume you know what I feel.”
He hummed, amused, like your denial was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard.
“I do not think I'll have too.”
Goosebumps rose in its wake, your hips stuttering back despite yourself before you could correct it. His hand tightened on your hip, holding you steady, while the other slid up your spine in a slow, deliberate path until his fingers closed gently but firmly around the thick base of your kuru, the long, sacred braid that cascaded down your back.
The feeling of his hand around your kuru had your entire body jolting, a sharp, electrifying shock racing through every nerve in its wake. You spun in his grip with a surprise he’d never seen on you before, eyes blown wide, breath caught, and all that sharp defiance from before suddenly fractured by something he had never seen painted so vulnerably on you.
You looked so unsure, so confused, so conflicted, staring at his hand like it was both a threat and a gateway to something new.
At your face, Neteyam’s expression softened too, the smugness fading completely as he brought the end of your braid up between the two of you, turning it so the the wispy ends of your braid went limp to expose the pink tendrils beneath. They snaked in the air, searching the air as if awaiting what was yet to come.
His own kuru hung over his shoulder, and he used his other hand to grab at it, settling it so close to yours that the tendrils already began reaching for each other, drawn like magnets, but far enough that they did not touch.
“I will not force this, and I will not continue with this if you say no. I honestly don’t think I can.” he said, voice low, rough with restraint but steady. “Tsaheylu with me… or we stop right here. Your choice, Fang. Always your choice.”
The words hung heavy. You hated him for giving you the out. Hated him for making it feel safe to say yes even though you really thought you would have said no. Hated how much you wanted him, and wanted to know what it felt like to be bound to the one person you’d spent your whole life trying to push away.
Your chest rose and fell fast. The tendrils of your kuru twitched, brushing the air toward his and you didn’t speak as you watched them try to connect. Slowly, deliberately, you reached your hand up to wrap around his forearm, watched as the hand that held his kuru faltered at the intrusion and met his eyes as he searched yours for answer.
It didn’t come as a verbal one, but your mind had been made the moment you tugged his arm forward to allow his kuru to connect to yours. And in an instant the tendrils met, wrapping and fusing, snapping the bond into place.
A gasp tore from both of you at once, backs arching, eyes fluttering as raw sensation flooded through. The pleasure was intense and overwhelming, but more than that: every buried feeling, every unspoken want, every flash of anger and longing and need crashed together in a single, shared current that left you both moaning messes.
He groaned your name like it hurt and you whined his so helplessly, fingers digging into his shoulders and the world narrowed to just the two of you.
Neteyam moved first, hands sliding under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he spun you both around and sank to his knees. He laid you gently on the cool floor beneath him, settling between your legs, face-to-face now with his forehead pressed to yours, kuru still joined, the bond pulsing with every heartbeat.
He slid back into you slowly, eyes never leaving yours, letting you feel everything – his awe, his hunger, the years of wanting you he’d hidden behind every smirk and fight. And you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him deeper, and for the first time with there being no crate, no wall, no anger between you, nothing but the bond, neither of you could deny the truth that lingered between you for years anymore.
The bond made it unbearable in the best way because you could feel everything.
You could feel every slow drag of him inside you echoed back through the link. You felt his pleasure at how tight and wet you were, your helpless clench around him, and the ache that flared harder with every inch he gave. You felt the way your body gripped him like it never wanted to let go, and he felt it too, a low, broken groan rumbling from his chest as his hips finally seated flush against yours.
“Fuck–” he breathed, voice ragged, forehead still pressed to yours. His eyes were half-lidded, pupils blown wide, the golden amber almost gone. “You feel… I can feel you everywhere.”
You couldn’t answer with words. The bond carried it for you: the rush of heat, the ache, the impossible fullness of him stretching you open while his emotions poured into you
He started to move, slow at first, deep rolls of his hips that dragged the thick length of him along every sensitive spot inside you. Each thrust sent a wave through the bond, pleasure looping between you until it built on itself, amplifying, stealing your breath. Your nails raked down his back, leaving red lines over his stripes; he hissed and answered by snapping his hips harder, driving a sharp cry from your throat.
Through the link you felt how much he loved that sound, how it made him throb inside you, how close he already was to losing control and you responded by sticking your mouth to his neck, and sucking hard in an attempt to quiet yourself.
“Tell me,” he rasped, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head, keeping your faces close, noses brushing, “tell me you feel it too.”
You did. Eywa, you did. The anger was still there, flickering at the edges, but it only made the pleasure sharper, almost as if the bond was burning it clean and turning years of hate into something so much more overwhelming.
“I feel you,” you finally gasped as your mouth left his neck with a slimy pop, and you noticed the angry purple mark that sat in its wake. Your voice cracked, legs tightening around his waist to pull him impossibly deeper. “All of you. Don’t stop–!”
The next thrust ended with another broken sound from you, a half-moan, half-word that slurred through your tongue almost incomprehensibly.
“Mmm– ’tayem–”
Neteyam’s rhythm faltered for a heartbeat, then picked up again, faster now with a cocky triumph you felt flooding the bond like heat. A low, smug chuckle vibrated against your neck as he nipped the skin, sucking and pinching at it with pride.
“I got you that good, huh?” He murmured, voice rough but dripping with satisfaction, hips rolling deep and deliberate. “Got the stubborn Fang stuttering my name?”
You tried again, desperate, the pleasure coiling so tight you could barely think.
“Ma– tayem–”
He laughed again, breathlessly arrogant and loving every moment of this – loving that you, always so sharp-tongued and composed, always throwing insults at him and trying to embarrass him in front of your families, was reduced to this, such a moaning, whiny mess you couldn’t even get his name correct.
“Ca not even get your words right,” he teased, smirking against your lips, eyes gleaming down at you with such amusement. “If only everyone could see you now.”
“Ma ‘teyam.” You managed it this time, much clearer and insistent of every syllable that trembled out of you on the next thrust. And he froze.
Not completely, his hips still rocked shallow and instinctively, but the rhythm stuttered hard, like someone had yanked his hips backwards and held them still. His eyes widened, searching yours through the haze, the cocky smirk smacked off his face in an instant as the meaning finally slammed into him.
Ma ‘teyam.
Your Neteyam
The bond flared hot with it, your claim, raw and unfiltered, pouring straight into him. A ragged groan tore out of his chest, half between shock and something much, much deeper, like a stirring pot of pleasure and disbelief and possession all tangled together into two bodies merged as one. His forehead dropped to yours again, losing every trace of that smug control because the words were echoing through the link like a vow, and it broke him.
A low, guttural groan ripped from his throat, deep and wrecked and his whole body shuddered as the realization hit him harder than any phrase ever uttered to him. His hips jerked forward once, hard and uncontrolled, completely unlike his usual poise, as he buried himself to the hilt inside you, and that was it. He came with a broken cry of your name, voice cracking on the syllables as he spilled hot and deep, pulse after thick pulse flooding you.
The bond amplified everything and you felt every throb of his release as if it were your own and that made yours follow soon after, the overwhelming rush of his pleasure crashing into yours, the way his heart slammed against his ribs, the dizzying mix of disbelief and euphoria that Neteyam was now claimed by you in the most intimate way possible, solidified by the way your attached kuru still hung besides you, your deep purple marks decorated his neck, and your bodies lay against each other, sleek and fucked out.
His forehead pressed hard to yours, eyes squeezed shut, breath coming in harsh, uneven pants against your lips. His arms trembled as he held himself above you, hips still twitching with aftershocks, grinding slow and shallow as if he couldn’t bear to pull out.
“Fuck… fuck–” he gasped, voice hoarse and trembling, nothing left of the smug warrior who’d been teasing you since you got to this forsaken watchpost. “You… you said…”
“That I despise you?” You murmured, eyes fluttering closed as you breathed him in, beyond exhausted, tail finally curling loose and lazy behind you. “I do.”
A broken laugh tore out of him, warm and disbelieving, his nose brushing yours as his breathing slowly began to steady. “I don’t even need to see your tail to know you lie.”
And as if to prove his point, he brought his hand around to the place where your kurus joined, stroking the exposed, sensitive nerves gently with his thumb. The bond hummed softly at the touch, sending a lazy ripple of warmth through you both and your tail flicked once, then curled deliberately around his thigh, holding him close.
He felt it, of course and a quiet, satisfied hum left his chest.
“See?” He whispered, lips brushing the corner of your mouth. “Even your tail is done fighting me.”
You opened one eye, glaring weakly up at him. “Do not get used to it, skxawng. The second we are back with the clan, I am telling everyone you cried after your father yelled at you.”
Neteyam snorted, shifting his weight so he could prop himself on an elbow and look down at you properly. His braids fell forward, framing his face, and the bond carried the soft glow of affection he was trying, and miserably failing to hide behind his usual smirk.
“Then I will have to tell them how the almighty daughter of our clan head warrior begged for me to–”
You slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes narrowing. “Finish that sentence and I will bite you again.” His eyes crinkled at the corners, laughter muffled against your palm and you narrowed your eyes as you spoke once more. “I could still push you off this ledge. No one would find the body till morning.”
“Maybe so.” He conceded easily. His hand slid up to cup the back of your neck, thumb brushing the base of your kuru in a way that made your spine shiver despite your best effort to stay at least a little defiant. “But then who would keep you company on patrol anymore? You would miss arguing with me.”
You huffed, shoving at his chest. “I would finally earn peace.”
“Peace is boring.” He countered, catching your wrist and pressing a kiss to the inside of it, soft and infuriatingly gentle. “And you would miss my family interrupting us every five minutes, thinking they will catch you slipping in the act. My dad likes messing with us too much to let you go.”
You snorted, but the sound lacked real venom. “Your father likes me because I am not afraid to yell at you when you are being an arrogant teylupil. That is not the same as liking me.”
Neteyam’s grin turned softer, eyes crinkling at the corners. “He likes you because you are strong. And because you force me to be stronger. Even when you are threatening to skin me alive.”
You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt, but your tail betrayed you again, curling tighter around his leg like it had decided it wasn’t letting go anytime soon.
“Flattery will not save you,” you muttered, dropping your head back to his chest so you didn’t have to look at that stupid, fond expression on his face. “When we get back at dawn, we say nothing. We walked the perimeter. Inventoried the stock. End of story.”
Neteyam arched a brow, amusement flickering through the bond as his eyes flickered around at the area even messier then it was before you two had arrived. “You think they will believe that? Nothing has been done here. And you look…” He brushed a thumb over your neck, tracing where his mouth had been earlier. “…thoroughly ruined.”
You swatted his hand away, but there was no real heat in it, not like before. “You look worse, Tawtute. Like you lost a fight with an Ikran.”
He laughed, full and unguarded this time “Then let them think what they want, I already won.” he whispered when you parted.
You rolled your eyes, but your tail tightened around his leg again, betraying you.
“I still despise you,” you muttered into his neck.
Summary: All of your friends were pursuing or have already found their mate, but you on the other hand weren’t focused nor worrying about that and it made it extra hard for the poor guy who was trying so hard to gain your attention.
The day you walked into Neteyams life he was absolutely taken by you. You were introduced to the Sully family by your mother who was one of the finest weavers in your clan, she had weaved them a baby basket for their newborn Tuk’tirey. You followed her path being one of the best in your age group. Anything you touch was gold.
Although you thought your skills were useless up against your dream of becoming a fierce warrior, the eldest Sully thought otherwise. Over the years of knowing you, he would always come to you if his loincloth had been torn in flight, asking for a new armband, a new vest, or asking you to create decorative tapestry art for his family’s home. (They got sick of him filling up the family’s space with stuff he didn’t need.) With each request, he would bring tools and accessories he found while he was hunting. He would always sit and listen to you sing weaving songs along with your fellow weaving circle. Little did you know, the man was infatuated.
“Sa’nok (mother) I’ll be back, I’m going to collect some trinkets from the forest.” Your mother responded with ‘be careful’ with a kind smile.
You secured your satchel over your shoulder and tucked your knife into its sheath. You swung open the flap of your home to be greeted by and well known face.
“Kaltixì (hello)” you greeted with a smile that he returned even brighter.
“You ready?” You nodded following him to his Ikran, he grabbed your hand helping you on.
“Is that a new top?”
Your cheeks warmed at the thought of him noticing “Yes I finished it yesterday.”
“It is beautiful, the colors of the beads suit you well.”
•••
You two landed gracefully outside the forest. He helped you off and walked alongside you. You excitedly got started, finding trinkets to add to your future crafts. Seeds you can sit out to dry, feathers, multicolored pebbles, and picking a few colorful flowers neatly putting them in your pouch, and even with medicinal herbs that could come in handy.
While you look around you felt a sense of longing, you missed the forest more than anything. It saddened you your clan had to move to high ground in order to be safe now the only way you could get here is by being a passenger on someone else’s Ikran.
“I miss this” you blurted out as you ran your fingers along the beautiful glowing plants.
“As do i” he chimed in.
He watched you for a moment longer than needed, eyes following the way the forest light kissed your skin. Working up the courage to present you with something’s he’s been holding onto. Then he reached into the satchel at his side.
“I made something for you,” Neteyam said quietly.
You turned, surprised, as he held out a woven armband tight, clean craftsmanship, threaded with deep blues and warm golds. His colors.
“For me?” you asked, genuinely shocked.
He nodded, suddenly shy. “For protection. And… so you think of me when you wear it.”
Your smile was instant and sincere as you slid it onto your slender arm. “I will treasure it. Irayo (thanks), Neteyam.” You didn’t notice the way his chest lifted, the way his ears flicked back in satisfaction. In his mind, it was done. You were claimed.
Sadly you weren’t aware of any of it.
•••
Back at the Hallelujah Mountains, the weaving circle buzzed with quiet talk and laughter. You sat cross-legged among your friends, hands moving easily as you reinforced tool wraps and braided cord for hunters.
“You’ve been smiling all day,” Na’vani teased, nudging you. “Something I should know?”
Before you could answer, a shadow fell across your work. “Kaltixì,” came a warm voice.
You looked up to see K’u’thal, spear resting at his side. He was well known through out your clan, talented in many ways especially when it came to hunting. Many women pursued him as a potential mate.
His eyes glanced over your work curious rather than bold. “What are you making?”
You happily explained with a smile, holding up your work, and he smiled softly, impressed. Soon the two of you were talking easily, sharing stories that had Na’vani grinning to herself.
Not far away, Neteyam watched.
His jaw tightened.
•••
A few days later the Tlalim Clan arrived, the rainforest came alive with voices and trade. Everyone and their loved ones were back where they belonged, children running around with toys in the shape of animals mimicking sounds, laughter echoing through the forest, and stories being told about clans you have yet to meet. It felt good.
As you walked around with an unwavering smile on your face, Neteyam found you near the stream.
“Finally I have found you” a smile adorned his face as he pressed a small bundle into your hands, hair beads carved from traded bone and shell.
“I saw them and thought of you,” he said.
Your smile widened and hugged him without thinking. “They are beautiful! Irayo (Thank you).”
He watched you basically float away convinced you finally understood his intentions.
•••
Later, at the communal dinner, Na’vani toyed with your armband, eyes dancing in the firelight. “Let me guess… K’u’thal?”
You laughed softly. “No, Neteyam made this.”
Her smile turned knowing just as K’u’thal appeared at your side, setting a small woven charm into your hands. Before you could protest or even thank him he was gone again, swallowed by the crowd.
Na’vani sighed, shaking her head in amusement. “Eywa help you,” she muttered. “You’re leading on two of the finest warriors our age and don’t even know it.”
Shocked by her statement you barely had time to respond before a hand closed around your wrist.
Neteyam.
He didn’t speak as he guided you away from the fire, past the laughter and music, until the noise dulled and it was just the two of you beneath the glow of the mountains. Only then did he turn to you, jaw tight, eyes burning.
“Why are you accepting gifts from him?” he asked, voice low and strained.
You recoiled slightly, confused and hurt. “What do you mean it’s harmless”
“Harmless? This is far from harmless he knows i am pursuing you as a mate yet he continues to fight for your attention.” Your eyes bulge.
“I- what? I thought you were pursuing Veyt’ari. That is word around the village.”
He scoffed softly, stepping closer causing your heart to beat just a little faster. “I do not want Veyt’ari.” He tilts his head and his voice dropped. “I want you.”
The world went quiet as he leaned in. Your ears perk and tail sway in anticipation.
When he kissed you, it was hesitant at first like he was giving you one last chance to pull away. Instead, you kissed him back, breathless, stunned, hands curling into his chest. The kiss deepened, years of unspoken longing finally breaking free.
When you pulled apart, both of you were flushed, foreheads resting together.
“Oh,” you whispered.
Neteyam smiled, satisfied at last.
“Yes, paskalin… oh.” (Sweet Berry)
•••
Extra
Neteyam didn’t realize how obvious he’d been until Lo’ak wouldn’t stop grinning at him across the fire.
“So,” his brother drawled, pulling meat off his skewer, “all it took was…what? Three years? Four?”
Neteyam shot him a warning look. “quiet.”
Kiri tilted her head, eyes glowing with amusement. “You know, most people say they’re courting someone. They don’t just… silently offer crafts and hope Eywa delivers the message.”
“She thought you were being nice?,” Tuk innocently chimed in, swinging her legs. “That’s kind of sad.”
Neteyam groaned, burying his face in his hands. Embarrassed that even his little sister caught on and she hasn’t even had the mating talk.
“I was clear.”
Lo’ak laughed outright. “Bro you literally watched another guy give her gifts and still said nothing , yeah that’s real clear”
Even at a young age, Neteyam had always taken his role a little too seriously, down to deciding you had to be the princess he absolutely must protect. But then the Sullys disappeared into the far seas, and the childhood promises soon felt like a lifetime ago. Years later, he’s back from the reefs, and you're determined to act like he's a stranger.
Basically: childhood friends to strangers to "oh no he’s hot and i fucking hope he remembers me."
content warning. Childhood Friends to Strangers to Lovers™
a/n. obsessed w the idea of neteyam calling us princess, so this was born. honestly this ficlet feels more like a brain dump of the whole idea instead of a complete, full-fledged fic. sfw, slight angst but mostly fluff! <3
Childhood with Neteyam and Lo’ak was a symphony of trees, dirt and laughter. A seemingly endless cycle that included a lot of time playing warriors rather than house. You never really minded the boys’ rougher games, until one day Neteyam declared himself the Olo’eyktan. Lo’ak, excited, shouted with glee that he’ll be a brave warrior like dad, too! But when you tried to pipe up and claim your place as a hunter or a warrior (or whatever popped into your head at the moment) Neteyam shut you down.
"You are the princess!" He corrected you firmly, shaking his head disapprovingly at your protests.
Confused and with a bruised pride, you refused to back down and yield that easily. He never told you what you could and couldn't do before and you couldn’t let him start now. "But we've always been on the same team!" You demanded. "Why do I have to be the princess?"
"Because," he said simply, looking at you like it was the most obvious thing in the world, like you should've known already, "I have to save you. I am the one who must protect you."
The memory blurred at the edges over time as the seasons bled into years, but you never quite forgot the look on his face in that moment. Sometimes it would float into your mind for seemingly no reason, like a ghost that haunted your peaceful hours.
The brave warriors rescuing you from the sky people (Kiri, who rolled her eyes at to having to play the enemy every time), Neteyam accidentally stealing your first kiss (that’s a whole other story to tell, isn’t it?) , Neteyam telling you that you'll mate with him and be his wife.
Silly childhood things. Silly, golden dreams that belong only to children.
You doubt he even remembered and you certainly weren't going to mention it to him, not with the way you started to drift apart you as you got older.
You were no longer his princess. You were only a part of the landscape he was meant to guard.
Then, the world shifted. Jake and Neytiri and all of their kids had to leave High Camp for the clan’s safety, disappearing into the mist to seek residence with the Reef people for the sake of the clan because the Sky People were closing in. Communication was practically non-existent. You stayed behind, blooming into a lethal hunter of the forest, while they became strangers of the sea.
And then a brief, flickering moment.
There had been once, a while back, when Jake, Neytiri, and the others returned, physically injured and exhausted after narrowly surviving a brutal encounter with the Mangkwan raiders. Neteyam had been absent then; he remained at the reef, alive but too heavily injured for the journey, something about a healing bullet wound that was too deep for travel. Kept under his parents' and the Metkayina’s Tsahik’s strict orders to recover. Those days, brighter than your regular days since the Sullys had been gone, were spent listening intently to Lo'ak's and Tuk’s frantic stories of their survival.
Now, four long years have passed since that first departure, and the Sullys have finally returned to stay for good.
The celebration at High Camp is deafening. The forest and the stones shake with the fervor of the Omatikaya welcoming their former Olo’eyktan home. You stand at the edge of the clearing, fingers nervously tracing the intricate beadwork of your songcord.
It seems every single one of the Omatikaya was present at the gathering. This is the biggest gathering since Tarsem’s ceremony as the Olo’eyktan that Jake appointed in his stead.
You're dressed in traditional woven attire, just like you are supposed to. Everyone is in high spirits and you were enjoying yourself quite a bit, catching up with those you'd been missing, eating, drinking, and dancing. Kiri and Tuk find you first, the baby of the family tackling you in a mess of limbs and laughter. Lo’ak follows, taller now, though the same rebellious fire in his eyes and attitude remains.
You only catch glimpses of him a little throughout the night, but he hasn't even said hello, not that you've been expecting him to. Honestly, you are gracefully disappointed, but it’s a quiet ache you have long since learned to live with. You have braced yourself for this treatment from him. Whatever childhood bond you once shared has surely been washed away, dwindled into nothing across the vast oceans.
You don’t think about him anymore these days… for the most part. You have accepted that you would never get close to him again anyway.
As the night winds down and the music slows, you say your goodbyes to the others. Slipping away, you step backwards to leave. You’ve barely made it to the edge of the village, seeking the quiet ferns to process the overwhelming reality of their return, when you feel a large hand circles your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.
The grin on his face is boyish when you turn around to look at him— it’s an expression that is foreign on a painfully familiar face. You try your hardest to only focus on the pressure of his thumb against your flesh rather than how entrancing his eyes are. Or how tall he has grown. Or how much bigger and broader he is now, compared to the image you have been cherishing in your mind: of him, before he left all those years ago.
He is a giant compared to the boy in your memories.
“The party is still loud, yet you are sneaking away.” It is the first time you have heard his voice in four years. The world finally stops.
“Do you have somewhere else to be, princess?"
a/n. if time permits, if life does not get in the way, if i do get around to writing a complete oneshot of this...?? we'll fuck play around and see! i write either pure filth or prose-filled fluff,,,, i cannot for the life of me write in between even though i’d rlly rlly love to write plot-driven pieces c’;
guys i do not have a taglist, never had one to begin with. it’s kinda awkward to tag people without explicit consent from them HAHA. send me something in my askbox if yall actually wna be in one so i can list 🤍
Summary: In which you and Neteyam are courting, but Tuk seems to take up more and more of your attention despite knowing that her brother was soon to be your mate.
a/n: I was inspired by someone on here, but I forgot their tag 😓
You and Neteyam have been stuck to each other for as long as you can remember. From the moment the two of you could crawl to meeting his youngest siblings to completing the Iknimaya together—everyone could see the pathway Eywa set for the both of you. So it was no surprise that Neteyam began to officially court you the second you both became of age.
Ever since then, you were even more inseparable. Well, maybe expect for your duties as tsakarem since it was clear that you would follow after his grandmother and mother. And whenever Tuk showed up, in a way you found rather cute, really.
As much as Neteyam loved you and you loved Neteyam, Tuk was a really close second to being your love. No matter what you were doing, if she could see you, she would immediately drop everything to be by your side and talk your ear off, typically earning a scolding from Neytiri.
To you, it was the most endearing thing ever. You were glad you were getting along with the youngest Sully, never having a little sister yourself. Most times, Tuk would refer to you as her best friend and bragged to everyone she could that she was your favorite—even when you and Neteyam were very clearly together.
Nevertheless, Neteyam—being the most patient Na’vi on Pandora—didn’t mind Tuk’s constant love for you most of the time . He knew how much his little sister admired you and everything you did, and who was he to tell her to back off and find a new friend?
Unfortunately, the other times where his patience wore thin were when his duties to train to be an Olo'eyktan with his father got to his head and all he wanted to do was be in your presence as it often calmed him—not you and his little sister.
It just so happened that today was one of those days.
Neteyam found you wandering the village with a woven basket to your hip, knowing your path was distinct in your head when your ears flickered in a specific pattern. He had just gotten back from a flight with his father and desperately wanted to see you, tail swishing behind him happily when you caught his gaze.
“Where are you off to?” He wrapped an arm around your waist loosely, kissing the side of your head while you grinned up at him with the smile that could melt him anytime.
“Teyam.” You say softly in recognition, letting yourself soften from his simple touch, your own tail swaying in giddiness. “I’m on my way to visit your family since I dropped some herbs off to your grandmother earlier, and I feel like I haven’t seen them in years.”
He scrunched his nose in amusement from your words and tilted his head, taking the basket gently to carry it for you. “You saw them this morning.”
“Same thing.” You wave him off with a flick of your hand and enter his home, smile widening when you see the youngest Sully daughter sitting with her sister that was attempting to teach her how to bead together a top—the older girl sighing when she saw you.
“Tuktuk!” You called out for the young girl, bending and holding your arms open for her to run into.
She called your name out in response, jumping into your arms as you caught her, spinning her around and around until she squealed for you to stop. You kiss her cheek and tuck her hair back, complimenting a new bead in her hair when you heard Neteyam clear his throat beside you—your eyes flickering to him in mild confusion.
“I don’t get that as much enthusiasm when you see me?” Neteyam frowned in a way you assumed was a teasing manner, making you pat his cheek.
“Hush.” You laugh softly before turning back to Tuk, her eyes shining with joy as she gained your attention once more, her tail whipping furiously behind her. “I missed you so so much, sweet girl!”
“I missed you too!” She giggled and looked away for a second, contemplating her next few words while you acknowledged the rest of her siblings.
Lo’ak rolled his at Tuk, giving you a faint smile but immediately began to complain about what his sister was going on and on about the entire day. “She kept whining about when we would see you again. She was all like, “When’s she coming over again?” “Can we visit grandma so we can see her?” and “Tell Neteyam to mate with her faster.””
The last comment made you and Neteyam burn bright purple, the words completely lost on Tuk but oh-so amusing to Kiri and Lo’ak when they heard their youngest sibling repeat the phrase several times. It got so bad that they physically had to cover her mouth when their mother did a quick check on them.
You were about to say something—asking the two of them why they hadn’t asked her to stop repeating the words—when Tuk tugged on your arm, finding the next big thing to bother you about while you were still here.
“Come! I have something to show you!” She dragged you out of the Sully home, away for her sibling’s sights.
Kiri watched in amusement as the flaps to the place flew, a teasing smile on her lips as she dropped her head in Neteyam’s direction. “She’s going to take her from you.”
Neteyam stared at the spot where you stood for a second, shaking his head and smiling weakly toward Kiri. He wasn’t too bothered by Tuk today… right?
“I’m just glad that they’re getting along.” He said almost flatly, causing Kiri to raise a brow at him.
Lo’ak snickered while he dodged a swipe from his brother, earning an eye roll from him as he reminded them of Tuk’s past shenanigans. “Remember there was entire week where Tuk wouldn’t let her go anywhere without her? She’s so protective of her.”
“I wonder why.” Kiri drawled in his direction, yelping when Lo’ak tugged at her tail. She furiously pushed his chest, making Neteyam sigh and pull them apart from each other as Kiri yelled at Lo’ak who was still making faces toward her. “Skxawng!”
Just then, the flap to their home opened, their mother entering with a sharp gaze because of the loud sounds she heard on her way over—the three of them looking at each other knowing they were caught. Well, mainly Lo’ak and Kiri.
“Enough.” Neytiri put a hand up and looked around the place, her ears tucking back when she couldn’t find her youngest daughter. “Where is Tuk?”
None of them spoke for a second, simply watching their mother clean the place up with a grace none of them could master just yet. It’s not like they how to pick up wooden toys and toss them into a basket while still looking like a woodsprite.
Neteyam was the first to speak, tilting his head with a fond look in his eyes as he revealed to her that Tuk was with you, his younger siblings looking at each other at their brother’s lovesick look.
Neytiri hummed, grabbing the basket you brought earlier and picking it up. She took the fine beads that were carefully wrapped on the inside before looking up at her eldest, a soft smile gracing her lips.
“Speaking of your future mate, she has Tsahìk training with your grandmother and I tomorrow morning.” She revealed, cupping his cheek and pinching it. “So no staying out late tonight with her. We need her up bright and early.”
Gagging and laughing could be heard from where Lo’ak and Kiri stood, their noises making their brother’s face flush, warmth flooding his face with embarrassment at his mother’s words. He couldn’t tell if that was what his mother was exactly insinuating, but it certainly what his siblings were.
“Mother.” Neteyam cleared his throat, pushing Neytiri’s hand away from him.
She clicked her tongue in his direction, shaking her head and giving him a look that told him that her and Jake were once like him and you long ago. “Are you not courting her?”
Neteyam feigned annoyance, eyes darting away from her knowing gaze as he spoke only to be cut off by the sibling who loved you just as much as he did.
“I am, but—“
“Mama!” Tuk shouts and jumps out of your arms, running up to her mother and hugging her tightly while you stumble slightly at the sudden movement.
Luckily, Neteyam caught you within seconds, his tail wrapping around your waist in protectiveness. You smiled softly before taking a step closer to him, your hand brushing with his before you laced them together, making him lift your joined hands and kissing your knuckles.
Lo’ak whistles at the action as he walked out of the home, earning an eye roll from Kiri. She simply sat back down on the woven mat and continued to bead together a top, still listening intently to the conversation without fail.
“What did I miss?” You ask with a smile, ears perked up and tail swishing behind you before it instinctively curled around Neteyam’s thigh, causing the boy’s cheeks to flush a darker purple than it already was.
“Nothing worth listening to.” Neteyam murmured against your hair, pressing another kiss to your temple before his voice dropped even lower to the point where only you could hear him. “Are we still going to the river tonight, yawntu?”
This time, your own cheeks flush a deep purple to match his, the end of your tail thumping on his thigh in an exultant manner. “Who would I be if I ever said no?”
“C’mon, let’s go! She’s probably waiting for us already!” Tuk dragged Neteyam by the arm as they walk through Pandora’s vast forest, her small legs doing her best to run while Neteyam did his best to hold onto her tightly, praying to Eywa that she wouldn’t trip or fall.
Lo’ak pulled a face and rolled his eyes at his younger sister, nudging Spider in amusement while Kiri gave him an unimpressed look. “Tuk, slow down. We won’t get there any faster if you twist your ankle and complain about the trip to the river.”
Now, Neteyam had no idea how Tuk found out that he was going to meet up with you at the river that evening. All Neteyam knew was that she threatened to tell their parents if he didn’t let her go with him to see you—but that didn’t include telling his siblings and apparently Spider. So the next thing he knew was that he was taking four others to your spot, each step diminishing his eagerness to see you.
Tuk stuck her tongue out at Lo’ak, only earning one from him as well before she saw you standing at the clearing by the river, her tail swishing energetically behind her in excitement. Tuk called out your name and your ears perked up at the voice in surprise as you thought you were only supposed to see Neteyam.
Turning around, your golden eyes found the Sully family—including Spider—approach where you stood, the youngest climbing over a large log hastily to get to you somewhat faster.
When they got close enough, you opened your arms for a hug that Neteyam thought was his, his own arms raised before you bent over and gathered Tuk in your arms. Neteyam froze with his arms still up, stunned ever so slightly before glaring at the three behind him who were stifling their laughter.
“Tuktuk!” You smothered her face in kisses—the ones Neteyam should’ve received. You admire her softly, knowing you saw her earlier during dinner but nonetheless offered her your compliments. “You look so pretty.”
“Not as pretty as you!” She giggled and held onto your neck tightly as you swayed back and forth, her eyes catching the new beaded top you wore. “You weren’t wearing that earlier.”
Your cheeks warm at her observation, your tail flicking behind you slightly before you shake your head knowing the top was supposed to be for Neteyam but she didn’t need to know that.
“I just wanted to try it on for once. Does it look good, Tuktuk?”
“So good!” She giggled again and began to ask millions of questions about the beads, the river, the different glowing plants—anything she could that would retain your attention for as long as she could have it.
Lo’ak punched his brother’s shoulder, now laughing quite loudly in Neteyam’s opinion. “Bro, you wish that was you.”
And before Neteyam could say something back, Kiri let her heart get the better of her, saving her older brother from getting ruthlessly poked and prodded by her other brother. And, unfortunately, saving Lo’ak from an earful—which she didn’t really care for.
“Tuk, come here. Let’s get you adjusted to the water so you can swim.” Kiri called Tuk over with a small smile in your direction, making the youngest Sully dramatically sigh and reluctantly leave your arms with an exaggerated pout.
You watched her to ensure she was safe in her sister’s arms before turning to Neteyam whose ears were flat with his tail swishing vigorously back and forth. You walked over to him and lead him away from the rest of the group, your eyes scanning his figure.
“What’s wrong, Teyam—?”
“You love Tuk more than me.” Neteyam interrupted, his tail now moving more fiercely as his gaze met yours. His golden eyes flickered with an emotion you thought was impossible for him to ever feel, amusement running through your veins.
“That’s not true.” You laugh with a shake of your head, cupping his cheeks gently as you spoke and thumbing the patterns decorating his face. “I love you and Tuk differently.”
Neteyam softens under your touch but still mutters in complaint about the attention you give his much younger sister, a pout settling on his lips that reminded you of said little sister. “But you just have to greet her first?”
“She’s my little baby!” You scoff with a teasing smile as he finally wraps his arms around your waist, your eyes gleaming with amusement. “You’re jealous, Neteyam. Of your own sister.”
“No.” He meets your eyes carefully before deciding to bury his head in your neck, mumbling against your skin in embarrassment. “No.”
“Mhm.” You grin and rub his back gently, ears perking up when you could hear his siblings shouting at each other before shaking your head, focusing your attention back to the Na’vi you loved with all your heart. “You shouldn’t lie to the person you’re courting, Teyam.”
“I hate you.” He groans and holds you flush against him, your tail wrapping around his leg naturally from the familiar position while his own tail found its home around your waist once more.
“No you don’t.” You laugh again and lightly pull him up from his spot in your neck, your golden eyes catching his—your eyes reflecting his beautiful face. “I see you, Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk’itan. And I know I could never find anyone else like you.”
Neteyam looks between your eyes, his own eyes shimmering before he pressed his forehead against yours, meeting your lips with tenderness. “I see you too, yawntu.” He pressed another kiss to your lips before pulling away, forehead still against yours. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” You murmur, thumbing his bottom lip with a small smile. You peck his lips once more, gaze catching his. “It’s okay.”
“We’re not going to be able to sneak away, are we?” He mumbled as you begin to kiss every inch of his face, his hand finding the curve of your back.
You hum against his lips, pulling back ever so slightly to meet his blown eyes. “Not unless you want to lie.”
𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 instead of heading to the reef clans, jake sully takes his family to search for the herwìslär clan, the snow people. despite her cold demeanor that rivals that of the weather outside, neteyam cannot help himself upon falling for the olo'eyktans daughter. only you seem to not want him, and he cannot understand why.
ᶜʷ cannon divergence, rude(?) reader, yearning, my baby lo’ak being an ass for a minute, sharing a bed(kinda), ‘i dont want ninat’ vibes, reader and neteyam are lowk jake and neytiri 2.0, misunderstandings, tshaeylu, suggestive content, angst?(happy ending), a child
ʷᶜ 12.6k
A fresh hunt meant there was much to do.
Every part of a kill was to be used. It could be detrimental to the people if even a single part was discarded. In the harsh conditions of the frozen taiga you called home, every part of a kill must be used.
You were stood over a square frame, currently tying a fresh pelt onto it. After tightening each side multiple times to ensure that the pelt was pulled to its max, you began shaving away at the various layers of fat.
Proper technique must be used when shaving the fat away. If you angle the knife improperly you may tear through the pelt, rendering it useless. Yet the motions are calming to you, it being something you’ve done for many years.
Various other clan women are also completing the same tasks, idle chatter falling around you. Many are pleased with the result of this hunt, some gloat over the kills their mates or children have made, a few congratulate you on the kills you made today as well.
The corners of your lips tilt upwards, a pleased grin settling on your cheeks. As the Olo’eyktan and Tsahik’s oldest child duty settled heavy on your shoulders. A good hunt today meant that the clan would be happy for at least a week, which meant that your parents would be happy for the week, so you could also be happy for the week.
“I heard you killed the largest her’ang today,” Posma whispered next to you. Your ear flicks, as the words take form in your head.
She was correct to hear that you had killed the biggest her’ang, but you did not say that to anyone. You would never boast about such a thing.
“Who said that?” Your hand pauses in its motion as you turn your head, refusing to slice without eyes on your target.
Posma giggles at you, she is one of your oldest friends, the two of you being together since you could only toddle along the furs. “It does not matter. You should be proud.”
“Being proud is not becoming.”
“It’s not unbecoming!”
You huff, “There is a fine line between being proud and being pompous. Most toe the line, I do not desire to do such a thing.”
You turn your head back towards your work. Shearing the last few pieces of fat from the pelt you sheath your knife. Due to its curved shape you must tie it before you can move onto your next task.
As you’re scooping your curved fingers into a jar filled with salt Posma continues, “You would not. It would not deter anyone if you were to take some satisfaction in your accomplishments.”
“Focus on your duties Posma.” You flick your tail in her direction, trying to shoo her away, “We can participate in such discussions later.”
Your fingers splay the salt in a decently thick coating across the pelt. It must be enough to thoroughly dry the pelt, but it cannot be too much where the pelt cannot breathe. A final glance across the entire pelt leaves you with the conclusion that you can leave it for the night and check upon it again tomorrow.
You turn to leave, wanting to know how the rest of the preparations of the kills are going. But you make sure to call out to Posma one more time before you leave, “You will sit next to me tonight?”
Her cheery reply follows less than a second later, “Always!”
Hometree and most of the clan's establishments resided underground, deeply embedded into the ground. It was much warmer there than temperatures outside, but furs and pelts were still required if you desired to be a comfortable temperature while walking around.
You move towards the outer areas of the village, wanting to see if every kill has been brought in yet. However on your way there a shot of your name makes you still in your path.
It is Huamtey who calls you. One of the clan warriors, one that you were out hunting with just earlier today. “You must come, I cannot find the Olo’eyktan.”
“My father is missing?”
“You misunderstand, I believe he is tied up with other duties and I cannot find him.” Huamtey grimaces a little, nervous of your reaction to his miscommunication, “The sentries said they are hearing foreign wails, I was hoping the Olo’eyktan would lead the search.”
“But I am the next best thing?”
“You are mighty. We would be honored if you guided us.”
A smile graces your lips as you nod. Whatever beast resided outside the village gates, you and this search party would slay it. Whatever it was would not harm your people.
As you emerge from the gates, you raise your hand in greeting to the sentries. Then you lay your eyes upon the group. It is small, only eight of them, but it would do. You had killed big predators with less people.
A deep call resonates in your throat, but your lips stay sealed. You repeat the call a few times, urging your mount to approach. In the distance you can see shifting between the trees, your legs carry you forward to meet it halfway. As you approach your herwanpalu a rough, loud rumbling emerges from deep in his chest.
He is happy to see you so soon. Your hand reaches out to scratch along his forehead eventually falling behind one of his ears. You saddle him, tightening the straps before turning back towards the group. “Let us go, it will be dark soon.”
It is hard to miss the yowls of the unknown creatures. They are sharp, and loud – one might assume that they were calling out, searching for something. But that would be a naive thought, there were only predators and prey in this taiga, and this thing would become prey whether it wanted to or not.
The calls lead the nine of you to the tundra. No trees reside here making it risky hunting grounds. But if the beast wanted to fight here, who were you to deny it?
You first scan the ground, searching for some large disfigured creature to be staring back at you. You find none, instead you see five shadows seemingly circling around. When you look up you see bright and deeply shaded creatures.
Ones that you’ve never seen before. They’re colors you’re familiar with, seeing them in the summer months, but they definitely do not belong here in winter. You start making motions with your hands, dividing and directing the group so you could circle them.
The members are to find a good angle, one that they can get a presumed clean kill shot from. On your mark they will take it, if you’re lucky all five will go down at once. An immaculate feat, one you would shortly be discussing over fresh meat at the cookfire.
The white of the pelts blends nicely with the herwanpalu furs, and their furs blend almost seamlessly with the snow. The flying creatures shouldn’t be able to see any danger until it is too late.
You raise your bow, aiming for the chest cavity of the beast. You can hear a hunting call come from your right, another from your left – it was time to strike. When your arrow sailed, theirs would fly too.
But then you falter. There is something atop the creature. Could it be mangkwan? No. They never ventured to these parts, it being far too cold for their hot nature.
“Hold!” You hiss, just loud enough for the group to hear. “Hold position, do not reveal yourselves. I will make contact.”
You dismount your herwanpalu, slinging your bow back over your shoulder and flipping your hood down. You shout, “If you wish to live, land your beast and surrender!”
The call triggers a response. At first the beasts begin banking tightly left and right, granting their riders better visibility to the land below. And then they descend and land.
You allow them to clamber off of their mounts, to come to stand before you before questioning, “Who are you?”
“We seek uturu.”
“Who are you to seek uturu?”
“I am Jake Sully, my mate Neytiri, and our children. You’re from the Herwìslär clan right?” His hands are upturned trying to seem like he is not a threat. You step to the side, eyeing his family. They looked to be cold, slightly huddled together, their animal hide cloaks doing nothing to shield them from the freezing tundra temperatures.
You’re skeptical. They may be trying to cause chaos, to destroy the clan from the inside out. The doubt flows entirely through your body, your tail lashing, ears pressed tightly to your skull. It triggers Neytiri to speak.
“My husband was Toruk Makto. He brought the clans together against the sky people.”
Toruk Makto? This man was Toruk Makto? That was not a name to be taken lightly, the stories of a great flying beast, the scariest thing in the sky; and the very few Na’vi who were able to tame it were named Toruk Makto.
If these Na’vi were any bit honorable they would not throw the title around. You could indulge them at the very least, bring them in and if they misbehaved take them as prisoners.
“Reveal yourselves!” Your voice booms out across the tundra. Jake Sully and his family flinch, surprised at the sudden burst of energy. Their heads whipping around at the sudden movement of the warriors around you.
Then you point, “You will follow me. And they,” Your hand changes direction towards the warriors, “Will follow you. Come.”
As you direct them back towards the village you can only imagine what your father will think. If he will believe that you made the right choice, or if he will be disappointed that you risked the safety of the clan.
You motion the sentries to open the gate, allowing you entrance to the village. One of the warriors runs ahead to go retrieve your father. You continue to bring the Sullys forwards, deeper into the village.
“Where are we going?”
It is Jake who speaks up. Apparently the only one with a voice in his family. You spare him a glance, seeing the apprehension clear on his face.
“To see the Olo’eyktan. He will decide your fate.”
That seems to settle him. Neytiri begins whispering something, keeping it low enough that even just a few feet away you cannot hear them chatter. It did not matter though, your father approached and their fates would soon be sealed.
Your father stands strong. If his furs did not differentiate him from the rest of the clan, then surely the necklace and beaded covering that rested on top of them would. The deep black tattoos in distinctive lines decorated his face more than others.
But if none of that directed the Sully's to who this was, then his presence must have. It commanded attention more so than others, leaving you nowhere else to look.
You take the last few steps to him as he opens his mouth to speak, “What is this?”
“They seek uturu. Apparently the father is Toruk Makto.” You meet his eyes briefly, before walking past him and turning to stand slightly behind him.
“Toruk Makto seeks uturu with us? The Herwìslär people?”
Jake nods “Yes. We will learn your ways, be helpful, right?” He turns, nodding to his family, encouraging them to agree with his statements.
“It will be tough, difficult to teach who has already been taught.”
“We can learn. We can adapt. We will adapt.”
“Then it is decided.” Your father steps forwards, reaching his arm out in the traditional Na’vi binding contract, “Toruk Makto and his family will receive uturu with us! Teach them our ways, and treat them as our own!”
As Jake wraps his hand around your fathers forearm, your father continues his brief speech, “You may learn with me, your mate with mine. My daughter will teach your children the ways. Nume nìwin.”
As they separate you rush to your fathers side. “Father. They are dark, they will easily attract attention when hunting.”
“Then you will give them extra pelts to cover.” He dismisses you easily, readily moving direct people to either help the Sullys to a kelku, or return to their prior duties.
“But look at their tails! They will freeze off when the winter gets harsher.”
“Pelts, again daughter.”
“And their eyes! The brightness will make it difficult to see when they leave the village!”
“You are to teach them our ways.” He turns, locking you in place with a pointed stare, “Do not make me repeat myself, and do not give more excuses as to how useless they will be without seeing their capabilities.”
You tuck into yourself. Abashed at being reprimanded and dismissed out in public, you turn back to the Sullys, “Come I will bring you to your kelku, so you may drop off your things. Then we will go get pelts so you do not freeze to death.”
Looks like you would not be sitting with Posma at the cookfire.
“Not like that.” You tug Neteyams hands away from the pelt and fur he is stitching together. You begin unstitching the progress he has made.
Neteyam is watching your movements carefully, “What was I doing wrong?”
His voice is curious – a genuineness to it that makes you want to believe that he truly wants to make it better.
“Your stitch would allow air to slip between the pelt and the fur. It would not insulate properly.” You take the needle crafted of bone from his hand and begin to stitch slowly, “When you stitch like this it traps the heat, pushing it back onto your body instead of allowing it to escape.”
You hand the coat back to Neteyam first, then the needle. He nods at you before beginning to stitch the same way you showed him. When you are content with how he is working you spare a glance at the rest of the group.
Posma and Tempat have joined you in your duties. They seem to be working well with the remaining Sully kids. Posma guiding Kiri and Tuk, while Tempat is stuck with Lo'ak.
Fur binding is one of the most essential skills that a Herwìslär member must know. It is something that you learn as a child. As if you were to get lost or stranded and cannot craft a proper coat you will freeze to death.
You wish you were hunting today. Or drying pelts. Even foraging would be more preferable. You truly wish you were doing anything else besides teaching remedial skills to mostly grown Na'vi.
Before your mind can drift Neteyam calls you softly, when you turn your head he hands over the coat again. “Did I do it properly?”
You turn it over in your palms. Visually the stitches seem good, like they will hold. Then you begin tugging roughly around the seams. If the stitching was bad, they would burst from your onslaught.
However, they don’t. You smile a little when you hand Neteyam his coat again, “It will hold. Good work.”
He smiles at that. Proud at being able to adapt like his father said, to make something of his own in a new clan, and maybe just a little bit at your smile. He has not seen you smile often since his family has arrived, and for him to be the cause of your baby blue cheeks raising to make space for the upturn of your lips makes satisfaction settle warm in his chest.
Lo’ak’s whine drags your attention away, “When are we gonna ride a mount?”
“Soon.”
“When is soon? We have been cooped up in here for days now.”
“Lo’ak!” Neteyam smacks the back of his head, “Apologize.”
Before Lo’ak can open his mouth again, you laugh a little. You suppose they must be feeling like caged animals, not seeing the true sky for many nights as the pelts they received on the first night were not well fitted for taiga exploration.
And you were just thinking about wanting to be anywhere but here. Itching to go outside and to have the fresh frozen air sting your lungs.
“Come, we can attempt to ride with your new furs.”
Lo’ak is smiling, but then he realizes you did not promise a ride. “Attempt?”
“Yes. Herwanpalu do not allow just anyone to ride.”
“So they are like ikran, one rider for one mount.”
Posma speaks then, “Not particularly! Some herwanpalu are more friendly, and they allow multiple riders. Others are possessive, even going to great lengths to prevent their riders from mounting another.”
Her light, happy tone helps settle the Sully children a little bit. If she mentioned it, that must mean that there are plenty of herwanpalu willing to allow them to ride.
As your small group emerges out of the gate and into the taiga in front of you, you begin grunting. The sound comes from the back of your throat, with your lips closed. Posma and Tempat follow you, making their own sounds.
“Each herwanpalu comes at a specific call.” You turn to face the Sullys as you explain, “We teach them their calls as cubs, when they are most impressionable. Some will answer when any use their call, others may refuse as Posma said.”
Your mount approaches. He circles you while purring, before turning to sniff at the air where the Sullys stand. Now that he has come, you begin a new call, urging another friendlier mount to come.
“This is Wi’tsin.” You pet his head lovingly as Tuk approaches, “He and I have been together many years. He is one of the more possessive mounts that Posma had mentioned.”
While he may have been possessive, Wi’tsin would not hurt anyone you showed favor to. He allows the Sullys to pet him, to feel the difference of his furs.
Tuk hasn’t taken her hands off him, she seems to be enamoured with the softness of him, “Can I ride him?”
“You may join me if your siblings allow it.”
She whips around facing Neteyam with a dragged out pleaseeee. You can see the fondness in his eyes even though his expression remains contemplative. But then he nods, “I suppose she is more experienced and it would be a better ride.”
He was right, it would be a better ride with you. No tumbling, or fighting for control. She would have a good time. So after you get everyone else settled, get them saddled up and positioned correctly on the mounts you tug Tuk up onto Wi’tsin.
“We will head to the lake, then return.” You motion your mount to move through the bond, “It is a simple ride, the perfect opportunity to learn the mounts.”
While the herwanpalu were not difficult mounts to ride, it was still new to the Sullys. They would need to learn the breathing patterns of the beasts. Need to learn how their paws felt pressing into the snow. How their ears were attuned to even the smallest critters, and their tails swished to allow them quick turns.
The first bit of the trek, you direct them to walk. To zig and zag through the trees, to feel the curve of the herwanpalu’s spine. To understand how swiftly they can move.
It goes about as well as you would assume. Lo’ak falls off on his first turn, telling the herwanpalu to move faster than you had told him to. He was unused to how to move his body in turn with the mounts, so when she dove to avoid a tree he flew off her back.
You show them that the mounts may also be used for climbing, demonstrating with Tuk and yourself upon a tree. It is then that Kiri falls off. On her recount she ‘misjudged how rough her mount would slam onto the tree’ and then the story shortly changed to being shocked at the feeling of the bark underneath the mount's claws course through her fingers.
By the time you make it to the lake the only one to not make a fool of themselves and take a tumble in the fresh snowfall is Neteyam. He took every motion with stride, moved with the mount as if they were one. He curved his spine on the sharp turns, and pressed himself into the furs and saddle while climbing up the trees.
“This is the grand lake. It thaws in the warmer months, allowing for free fishing and swimming.” As you monologue, you begin to walk out towards the center of the lake, “Most of it freezes during the winter, but we carve into the ice to allow for fishing. Would you like to try?”
“We know how to fish, zusawkrr olo’eyk
te.” Lo’ak laughs as if it is childish to assume they don’t know how to fish.
That they don’t know how to carve the ice. That they don’t know they must tie some twine to the end of their arrows. That they don’t know how important it is to angle properly, and strike as soon as they see their target.
So instead of helping them, you decide to let them figure it out themselves. Striding back over to Wi’tsin, you dig into a woven bag attached to his saddle. You place the serrated crystal knife into Lo’ak’s hand and gesture towards the ice at his feet, “Show me.”
It does not go well.
Lo’ak doesn’t carve deep enough the first time, so Tempat takes the knife and shows him how to properly carve into the ice.
You have to admit that he does take a good shot. His arrow is aimed well, sinking directly into his kill. But without any twine, there is no way to drag it back to the surface.
Lo’ak has been teasing you since the Sullys arrived. Trying to poke the right buttons. Attempting to break your composure. You assume comedy is his comfort, so it does not offend you.
But it does little to soften you to the Sullys. Still not believing they could be useful, that they could fully acclimate to your people.
Their ability to ride the herwanpalu does little to change your mind. If they wanted to survive here, they would have to learn this mount at the minimum.
Nonetheless you are pleased with their progress towards becoming competent.
Pleased that you are one step closer to not having to see them unless you desired.
It’s late, the cookfire nearly being diminished to embers.
A few weeks have passed since you taught him and his siblings how to ride their first Herwìslär mount. The rest of their lessons have been going smoothly since.
You had just allowed Neteyam and Lo’ak to join on their first group hunt. Tonight's dinner being partially the fruits of their labor. So when Neteyam approaches you, you decide to grant him a small smile.
He tries to smile back, it looks more like a grimace however, with how his eyebrows are pinched and his eyes are lost in thought. “You know I was a warrior with the Omatikaya.”
You nod, well aware of his past.
“I wish to become a warrior here too.”
It was not an outlandish thing to ask. He wanted responsibility, to prove himself in the clan. But it was risky; the Herwìslär final rite of passage being taming their own flying mount. You assume it also has something to do with how his mother and fathers txawuks have recently matured.
You must tame it while it is a juvenile, making the bond when it is still young. They are ridable from the time of taming, but it still takes a few months for them to reach full size.
It is of utmost importance to avoid the mother. Many Na’vi have passed from the trial; dying from the fall, succumbing to their injuries, or never returning after interacting with the mother.
“You are not ready. The txawuk are not forgiving.”
He shuffles into a seat next to you, “Ikran try to kill us as well. It is how we know we picked the proper mount, as they must also pick us.”
You run your tongue across your bottom teeth. Shaking your head lightly as you weigh your choices, as you debate Neteyam’s odds.
He speaks again when you don’t respond, “I am strong. You have seen me hunt, I am reliable. I can do this.”
“I cannot save you if something goes wrong.” You side eye him, “If you slip, if you are bitten, if you do not seal the bond, I cannot interfere.”
“I will not fail. My fingers will not lose their grip, and my reflexes will not slow.”
You click your tongue in annoyance. Neteyam was not giving this up, you would grant him his request if he completed a final test.
“You will hunt a her’ang tomorrow, without assistance.” You turn to face him, greyed out green eyes staring into his amber ones, “If you complete the test I will grant your request to complete your final rite and be welcomed into the arms of the people as one of us.”
Neteyam smiles then, it’s more boyish than you’ve seen him smile. A warmth blooms in your chest as you admire him, finally beginning to see him as one of the people. To allow yourself to view all possibilities of him.
“I will not fail.” Neteyam reiterates. Overjoyed that he’s so close to getting his wish granted.
You send him off to sleep then, informing him that it would be a long and tiring hunt and he needed his energy. You follow shortly after retiring to your own kelku.
In the morning you inform your father that you will be gone on a hunt. He reminds you that the winds shifted yesterday, that the skies in the distance looked to be gray with snowfall.
But you brush him off. You’ve hunted in storms before, been stuck out in the wilderness in even the harshest of winds and temperatures. And if Neteyam wanted to become a warrior in the eyes of your people, he would have to prove himself in all conditions.
So the two of you head out, dressed in the warmest furs, quivers full where they are attached to your herwanpalu’s, spare paint hanging from your tewng in case yours came off in the snowfall. The snow is light at the start of your hunt, coming down fast but not enough to obscure your vision.
You are only there to observe, to step in if everything goes terribly wrong. Neteyam leads, tracking the her’ang up a mountain. The tracking gets difficult then, old prints getting frosted over in new snowfall.
Maybe you underestimated the snow. It was falling heavier than you thought it would, and Neteyam was too stubborn to make camp earlier in the night when there was still light to aid you.
So you call out to him, hoping it reaches his ears despite the howling winds, “Neteyam!”
He turns to face you, his hood resting heavy over his forehead. He waits for you to reach him, “What is it?”
“We must find shelter.”
“But we are so close!”
Neteyam was always the responsible one of his siblings. Always the one to pull back before things could escalate so it made no sense why he would be so set on staying out in these harsh conditions.
“I know you cannot feel your toes! And that your fingers feel as if they will fall off even when tucked into your furs!” You’re peering at him through snow-crusted lashes, “There is a cave, in that part of the mountainside! I have rested there before, come!”
You don’t allow him to protest, directing Wi’tsin towards the cave. The two of you needed to get out of the snow as soon as possible. Needed to start a fire, and regain circulation in your phalanges before you lost them.
When you get to the deepest part of the cave Neteyam speaks up again. “I am sorry. I shouldn’t have forced us to go deeper.”
“Do not apologize.” You begin sparking stones together to start a fire, “Eagerness is nothing to be ashamed of.”
The two of you do not speak much. Neteyam thinking about how difficult it would be to find the her’ang in the morning, how if it continued moving in the storm he would never see it again. You debating how long it would be before you could return home.
As the night goes on the snow does not relent. It filters into the cave, resting softly in the mouth waiting to dissolve in the morning.
The chill in the air sends shivers up your spine. Even though you have experienced many overnight hunts, on most of them you had properly insulated shelters. If you did not, you at least did not have the snow blowing at you.
The furs and the fire do nothing to quell the nip in the air. Nothing to soothe the ache in your chest from inhaling the frozen air. You shift, unfurling from the ball you curled yourself into before peering at where Wi’tsin is.
Maybe you could curl up with him, allowing his furs to warm you along with your own. But you cannot bring yourself to call to him, he is huddled closely with Neteyam’s herwanpalu. The two of them sharing body heat to fight off the cold.
You suppose it was a good idea. That it could be a useful tool, especially if Eywa's creation was also partaking. So you call softly to Neteyam.
If he was asleep you did not wish to wake him, but you knew his sharp ears would pick up on your voice if he was still awake.
It takes a few moments, but he slowly shifts to face you. “What is it? Are you alright?”
“Are you cold?”
He laughs at the stupidity of your question, the breaths he heave fog up in front of you, “Yes. I am cold.”
“Would you like to…” Oh Eywa this was embarrassing. “Would you like to share body heat?”
“What?” Neteyam's disbelieved tone comes softly across the fire, the crackling nearly covering it completely.
“We can rest on your fur, or mine, and rest the other above us so that we can trap all the heat together.”
He nods, “All right.”
You shuffle over quickly. Ushering him to take off his fur as you toss yours on the stone ground of the cave. As he shrugs it off his shoulders you smooth out your fur and plant yourself on the left side.
As Neteyam settles on the right side he tosses his pelt over you, tugging it over himself until it rests comfortably over both of you.
He notices your distance. It's clear that despite being the one to suggest being close, you're trying to stay away from him.
Believing it to be because of him, he reassures you, “You can come closer. I do not mind.”
“No, it is fine. Just give it a few minutes. The heat will accumulate soon.”
Then your eyes are closing. Dismissing him as the slightest bit of heat settles around you.
It takes Neteyam a bit longer to fall asleep. He's been infatuated since the moment he first saw you after landing his ikran in the snowy plain.
The misty blue tone your skin had, and the slate blue stripes that seemed to wrap around your body in more wispy patterns than he had ever seen on someone from the Omatikaya.
The pattern your bioluminescent freckles made upon your face, some of them even gleaming brightly underneath the black paint you had plastered across your eyes.
The tattoo you had on your chin. One line leading seemingly from your mouth, down the middle of your lip and chin to where it ended somewhere between your jawline and neck. Two dotted lines frame the one solid line, following its path down your chin.
And now he's getting to see it all up close. To stare at you unabashed. So Eywa forgive him if he resists sleep for a while to admire.
Eventually his eyelids drift close from exhaustion. But the chill in the air does not stop just because the two of you are under the same fur.
Unconsciously, the two of you drift closer together; moving towards the warmth the other is emanating. You turn from facing him, your back now pressing into his front.
You wake slowly. Eyes blinking languidly as they try to scrunch to remove the crust that has settled on your inner eyes.
You don't recognize the warmth at your back at first. Assuming it is just from your heat getting trapped between the pelts. Then there's a soft exhale on your cheek.
Your body stills completely, eyes widening in shock, while you try to slow your own breathing so as to not startle whatever beast is looming over you. When you slide your eyes up towards the ceiling of the cave and spot nothing, a confused look graces your features.
Upon turning slightly, you're met with Neteyam's neck. It's then that you realize he has a grip around your waist. That your legs are tangled with his. And that his chest is pressed tightly to your back.
What had happened while you were asleep? How did you end up all the way in his personal space? Or did he inch his way into yours?
You shift to leave. Slowly untangling your legs, then you try to remove his grasp on your waist. In your shifting Neteyam stirs, grip tightening until you clear your throat lightly.
“Oh. I am sorry.” An indigo tint rises to his cheeks in embarrassment.
“It is fine. We must have shifted towards each other's warmth.” You want to sit, want to sling your fur back on and shrink back into yourself. But Neteyam is still lying down, still waking from his rest.
“You did not mind?” A slight upturn graces his lips.
A blush graces your cheeks now, “It was out of necessity.”
“Would you have minded if it had not been out of necessity?”
You huff. Sitting up despite the cold, allowing your skin to prickle at the temperature. “Focus on becoming one of the people, then you may ask me such questions.”
Neteyam moves as you do, quickly donning his fur and moving off of yours so that you may dress as well.
He hunts well that day. Tracks fast. Moving as one with the cold.
The bite in his lungs urging him to move swiftly, but not brashly.
When the two of you come close to the her'ang, you still. Using your mounts to become one with the trees.
Neteyam takes atypical aim, piercing through the beast's skull instead of its heart. But you whoop and yip all the same once the kill is made. Proud that he has accomplished such a task on his own.
Proud that he will soon claim his txawuk.
Proud that he will be one of your people soon.
When you finally return to the village the rest of the clan's people react the same. You usher Neteyam to them as you haul his kill to be skinned and broken down into all its pieces.
Your favorite member of the family is Tuk. Children are the most impressionable, and she takes well to your customs.
She adores your carvings made of bone. Nestles into the furs you’ve gifted her. Asks to go on rides on Wi’tsin whenever you have free time. And if you cannot take her, she runs to one of the many friends she's made in your clan.
But you make a special exception for Neteyam in your heart after waking up with him in the cave. The past months spent with him have a new look to them, a brighter hue as you see all his redeeming qualities.
It was an old tradition to have one of your most honored furs be that of the first her'ang you killed by your lonesome. You had not passed the knowledge to Neteyam, deciding it would make for a good surprise. One last gift before he joined your people as a warrior.
So you personally skin the beast. Tie it to the drying posts. Paste salts upon it. Then you wait.
Four days pass before the furs are ready.
Your patience almost wore thin, almost believing that they would not be ready before he took on his final rite. But thank Eywa, they were ready.
Your stride is soft as you approach the Sully tent, not wanting to wake anyone still sleeping inside. You can hear murmurs whispering from inside, but pay them no mind. Most of the village has not risen yet and it would be rude to speak in loud tones.
A familiar name passes through the conversation though. Your name is sounded out by Lo’ak’s voice – it is then that you decide to listen instead of making your presence known.
“I’m just sayin bro. You’ve got her sweet on you after your hunt.”
Neteyam laughs a bit boyishly, “It is not like that.”
“Yeah but even Tuk couldn’t get her to let up on us. Always nagging about the clan ways, and how we wouldn’t fit.”
Oh Eywa forbid you were skeptical that Na’vi that came from a tropical climate would have a hard time adjusting.
“She likes Tuk. They do many things together.”
“Sure, but she still hounded us. You, me and Kiri had to learn so much. And she didn’t even give us compassion for the simple fact that we were here because of uturu!”
A sigh resonates in the space. You can hear some shuffling before Neteyams voice sounds again.
“She just worries for the future, Lo’ak. A heavy title rests on her shoulders.”
“Yeah but she didn’t have to be such an ass about it.”
You were brash, sure. Drilled your customs into their skulls. Made them practice the same tasks a hundred times.
But they were things you had done thousands of times, things any person their age was well familiar with. And if they wanted to be sure members in your clan, then they needed to be able to complete the tasks without needing assistance.
“Listen, I’m just saying thanks for working her so that we could catch a break, I knew you’d come around.”
Working you? This whole time Neteyam was just feeding into you, trying to receive your affections so his siblings would not have to hear from you?
You supposed you were tough on them. But you did not threaten to skin them, did not shy away from their jokes or their teasing. If they wanted to take things slower, or differentiate the skills they practiced, why not just say something?
Despite yourself, when a sinking feeling invades your chest, you realize that you did come to like them. That you enjoyed their company, and could even see yourself spending time with them after they had been properly integrated into the clan.
Clearly your sentiments were not returned.
Lo’ak and Kiri were far enough in their rites that you did not have to deal with them anymore. Tuk could join the other young children at this point. And Neteyam would be finishing his final rite shortly, freeing you of his presence.
You did not need to make a scene. Did not need to confront them for their hurtful words, you were never meant to hear them anyway.
You were meant to play into the role. Get strung along by Neteyam for Eywa knows how long. And to be cast aside when he chose someone else.
Turning on your heel you head back towards the village center. Tempat and Posma are there, waiting eagerly for Neteyam’s send off.
“I am feeling unwell, perhaps some bad fruit at the cookfire last night.” Hastily, you thrust the furs from Neteyam’s kill into Posma’s arms, “Can one of you guide him today?”
Posma replies, a concerned glint in her eyes at your unusual behavior, “Of course! Go rest, you will not want to miss the celebration later.”
Hours later after Neteyam has left on his journey Posma pokes her head into your kelku. She spots you curled up on your bed of furs and pelts, submerged to the point that she only notices from the uneven lump.
“I had Tempat lead Neteyam.”
You only glance at her from your heap. Eyes blinking slowly as acknowledgement.
She sheds the furs that adorn her shoulders, then lifts the ones that rest on top of you. Climbing in and cradling your head to her chest she speaks again, “What has happened?”
“It does not matter.”
The rumble of laughter in her chest is comforting. If you closed your eyes and focused enough maybe it could lull you back to sleep.
“I think it does.” Her hand begins stroking through your braids, slightly scratching on their way down then smoothing again on the next pass. “You were very proud, very excited, to give Neteyam his furs.”
“He received them did he not?”
“He did. But he does not know the love and attention that was put into them.”
You lift your head, eyes meeting Posmas, “You did not sell me out?”
“Of course not! You are my tsmuke, blood or not, and he is just a boy.”
Your eyes begin to tear at that. If he would treat you so cruelly in private, while being so kind to your face, then he is just a boy. At some point, your few tears turn into sobs. The crashing weight of everything finally collapsing onto you.
Your endless duties meant that you did not have time to form bonds outside of your few friends. That you did not have time to seek a mate, to ask for Eywa’s blessing. And it had seemed as if one was handed to you on a silver platter.
Neteyam was well fit to be Olo’eyktan, he had spent his entire life training for it with the Omatikaya. And you had learned both the Olo’eyktan and Tsahik responsibilities – well prepared to lead on your own, or with someone standing by your side.
He had listened. Had encouraged you to speak about your childhood eagerly, wanting to hear how the lesson for the day tied into Herwìslär culture.
He made it a point to come and find you even after you had dismissed his siblings. You had thought it had been to spend time with you, under the guise of studying.
Thought that his interest in your clans weaving techniques could have possibly meant him looking into your clans courting techniques.
Eywa. You even thought that some part of him deciding to complete the most dangerous rite was so that he could pick a mate in your people. That he could ask your father to court you and eventually take you as his mate.
Now you know that it all was so Lo’ak and Kiri could frolic around the village without you to guide them.
Without you breathing down their necks, trying to ensure that they were completely set before you sent them off on their own.
But as you had thought earlier, the Sully kids did not need you anymore. You’re sure of it when your mother returns home and informs you of Neteyam returning with a txawuk.
Good for him. Great for you. You could finally return to the way your life had been, to only completing your trainings and duties and spending your free time however you pleased.
You do not attend the gathering that night to celebrate Neteyam’s accomplishment. Still feigning illness.
You ignore the disappointment at not celebrating his achievement with him. However, it does not matter, the wound is still fresh.
It remains fresh for weeks. You go from just avoiding Neteyam to no longer speaking to Kiri, even leaving your sessions with your mother when she decides to join. You avoid Lo’ak at all costs, his shouts of zusawkrr olo’eykte! go unanswered. When Tuk asks you to take her out for rides, you instead redirect her towards her siblings, and if they are busy you remind her that Posma or Tempat would take her if she truly desired to go.
Your new pattern is not difficult. In fact, you quite like it. Like the fact that you have time to focus on yourself again. That you can refocus on learning how to best lead your people.
Neteyam had expected you to guide him when he completed his last rite. That even if you said you could not interfere, that you could not catch him when he fell, that you would at least be there with him. Your presence enough to give him some calmness in his death-defying moment.
But you are not there when he arrives. Posma is there, Tempat too. They greet him excitedly, bestowing him a gift in the form of the furs of his first solo her’ang kill.
It's only when Tempat ushers him forward that he questions where you are. Why they were leaving without his kayru.
A sad smile graces their features when they tell him you are sick. That you went home to recover before the celebration that would be held in his honor tonight.
It gave him some peace. Knowing that you weren’t missing the event because you wanted to, but because of an illness. The peace fades as worry ebbs in, what had gotten you sick? It must have been bad if you couldn't at least see him off.
No matter, he could ask you all about it when he returned. Inquire about your illness, then talk your ear off about how the rite went. Afterwards he'd beg you to compare it to yours.
Always eager to learn about you. To learn about your people. To meld to your ways.
He wondered what age you were when you completed the rite. Who went with you? How many younglings were there to choose from? What drew you to the one you picked?
So many questions that he never got answers to. You never showed at the celebration. Lo'ak thought you just must have been missing each other; perfectly coasting around the gathering at exact opposite points. Neteyam knew better though.
He saw Posma come by, share her joy for him, then stop and grab two food wraps before venturing off again. Neteyam would try to deny it, to refuse that she was bringing the second wrap for you, but he knew better.
Had you been consumed with your duties today? That wouldn't make sense, he was one of your duties so you should have been with him. But it would be fine, he would see you tomorrow and all would be well.
But then tomorrow comes and you do not greet the Sully children in the morning. Do not find them at their kelku, do not surprise them from behind as they meander towards the village center. There is nothing that even hints at your presence.
Neteyam’s able to find Tempat. Calling out to him and rushing to his side. “Is she still sick?”
Tempat smiles brightly at him, “Oh, no. You have completed your last rite, and your siblings are far enough that they can join the others their age!”
“So that is it?”
Tempat nods, speaking something about them being able to do whatever they pleased when their duties were completed.
But Neteyam wanted to see you. That was what would please him. Yet he cannot seem to grasp a moment of your time.
It has now been a full moon cycle since Neteyam has spoken to you.
Something gnaws at his chest uncomfortably. He went from spending every moment with you, to now being lucky if he can catch a glimpse of your furs through the crowd.
Every hunt he attends, you miss. Every call of your name is ignored. Every trip Posma and Tempat take him and his siblings on, you do not attend.
He tries to sit near you at the cookfires, engage in your circle of friends. Anytime he gets close you politely excuse yourself, planting yourself firmly between your parents. He considers approaching, it may work in his favor.
Your father had ordered you to speak to him and his siblings before, maybe it would be the same now. But he thinks back on how angry it had made you, how at first you only spent time with them because you were bound by duty to. He wanted you to talk with him because you wanted to; not because you were forced.
So he keeps trying his luck in other forms.
He joins the women as they dry pelts and furs – ignores how when you see him you retreat.
He spends much time carving. Honing in on his ability to carve into bone, to make intricate patterns in it.
He hunts and goes for flights, spending as much time as he's allowed away from the village. Trying to will his tropical skin to fade, for it to become well resistant to the cold of your home.
After two moon cycles of not speaking with you he confronts Posma.
“I just do not understand what happened. Did she really only tolerate our presence?”
Posma purses her lips, “It is not like that.”
“Then what is it like? Please enlighten me.” Neteyam exasperates, he is tired of this.
“She is busy with her duties.”
“Do not patronize me. I see her spend time with the hunters, weavers, and carvers.” Neteyam huffs, biting his lip before continuing, “If we, if I, have done something I would like to apologize.”
“It is not my place to share if there is something to apologize for.” Posma crosses her arms, “Whatever answers you're looking for, I do not have.”
Neteyam nods, gnawing at his lip again. Posma moves to leave, assuming the conversation is over, but then he calls out to her again.
“Can you take us to the Hollow of S? Kiri would like to connect with Eywa.”
“You do not know the way?”
Neteyam allows a sheepish smile to grace his face, “We have only been once, and I do not wish to get lost.”
So Posma nods, tells him to meet her at the gates after their duties are done. Neteyam rushes to where Kiri is weaving, pleading with her to keep up his lie.
She had not asked to visit the Hollow. Had not complained and nagged her brother as he had made it seem, but she would not mind going. Naturally though, as a younger sibling, she needed to press.
“Why do you need to go?”
Netryam rolled his eyes, “It does not matter. Just do not expose me, alright?”
“It is for your little crush, isn't it?” Kiri laughs when Neteyam’s eyes widen a fraction, “What? Did you overhear that she would be there?”
“No. No, I did not. I just…” He huffs, unwilling to share something so deep when he is so unsure. But Kiri was not Lo'ak, she would not rat out his secret, “I just want to see if Eywa wills it.”
At that Kiri stills, a grin overtaking her face. It has been a long time coming that her brother admitted his infatuation, so supposed she could keep up the lie for him.
It was clear along the Sullys that Neteyam had been taken with you since they had arrived. They noticed his staring, seeking you out in gatherings or meetings.
Tried to not tease him as he practiced traditional clan necessities of carving and weaving in his spare time.
His father was pleased. Not only was he adapting, but he was truly making it his home. Finding his home, in a place where they were safe.
His mother did not approve at first. It was not against you, it had absolutely nothing to do with you. She had hoped that they would return to her people, the Omatikaya, when the time was right. If Neteyam settled and built a life here, it would mean that she lost her firstborn.
She eventually came to terms with it. Her son would have to find a mate someday, why not be happy that it is someone so skilled? Someone held in high prestige and who reminded her much of herself when Jake had originally come to her people.
Kiri and Tuk were excited. Another sister was someone else to make adorable chest coverings for, someone else to share secrets with, someone else who could braid your hair in intricate patterns with pretty beads. Even if they ended up being able to go back to the Omatikaya, it only meant they had a secondary home here, with new friends, mounts and lifestyles.
Lo'ak liked you. Despite your temperament towards him and his family, you had been kind. You had stuck up for him when one of the warriors a little older than him called him a ‘half-breed’. A firm slap of your palm against the boys cheek paired with a hiss to ‘not disrespect your Olo'eyktan or Toruk Makto again’.
From then on everyone knew it wasn't to be mentioned that they were related to even the idea of the sky people. It meant a lot to Lo'ak; his five fingers being something that even some Omatikaya people judged him for.
He didn't mind that Neteyam had a thing for you. Hell, if anything he was shocked his brother liked someone so cold and cut off. But he slowly came to realize that his brother saw himself in you. That he found someone he could relate to, someone he could speak to of his pressures and they would know exactly how he felt.
One night after a particularly rough lesson, one that Lo'ak did not do well on, their dad asks you how they are progressing. You tell him that maybe Lo'ak could use a little bit more practice at the skill, maybe put some more focus into it, but other than that everyone did well.
That night Jake had called a family meeting. He laid into Lo'ak, as he frequently does, telling him he needed to do better. To focus more, and to wise up, before he ruined the uturu they had sought.
Lo'ak had stormed off, chest aching at his father's disappointment. But then the feeling turned angry, angry that his father never understood the stress he was under. Angry that no one stood up for him.
Eventually it snowballs into anger at you. If you had never said anything, then this whole night would have never happened. So when Neteyam comes to comfort him Lo'ak asks him to warm you up a bit.
To get you to understand their struggle, specifically his, a bit more. Neteyam says no, that you do understand the struggles, and that it was just a stressful day for everyone.
So Lo'ak pushes a bit more. States that Neteyam is a ‘chicken’ as his dad would say, a coward for Na'vi. That he's refusing to warm you up because he's afraid you won't accept his advances.
Lo'ak doesn't think anything bad could come if it. Neteyam would get what he wanted, the rest of the family would be content with his choice.
Another advantage would be that hopefully some of Neteyam’s worrying would pass onto you, and allow him to get into some actual trouble with this new clan. To allow him to deepen the friendships he's made.
He pushes his older brother's buttons to the point of aggravation. Telling him it's okay big bro, we both know you couldn't get her anyway. And Neteyam's need to prove himself surfaces. He had already been trying to attract your view, what was the harm in helping out his baby bro?
And it had gone well for a while. He was slowly inching his way closer to you; aiding you in your duties after his lessons, sitting with you at the cookfires, helping you haul the kills in, sometimes even just bringing you a steaming beverage as you went over your Tsahik training.
He truly believed that he was carving his way into your heart. Then right before his final rite, you dumped him and his siblings as if they were hot coals. Refusing to look at them, to speak to them, Eywa you barely acknowledged that they existed.
So when Neteyam finally approaches the Hollow of Spirits he makes quickly towards the glowing ice stalactites. They’re cold, slippery to the touch, but from the moment Neteyam puts his fingers on one he can feel Eywa pulsing through them.
His opposite hand flies back, reaching for his kuru. He expects a jolt when he connects, for the iciness to freeze over his blood, but instead all he feels is warmth.
The Great Mother knows what he is here for and she confirms his beliefs. That you are the one for him. That you would come to your mantles well when the time came.
A grin forces its way onto his face, an insurmountable amount of joy overcoming him. It was settled. He would craft the courting gift he had been thinking of for weeks now.
It is one infused with both of your peoples. And when you see it, you will agree to courting him. Eywa has willed it after all.
A few more days pass – Neteyam wanted the gift to be perfect. He briefly worries that him not approaching you may make you drift towards another. But his remembrance of Eywa's plans calms him.
It is a beautiful necklace.
When you wear it, it will sit right between your collarbones. He has used Omatikayan weaving patterns, but weaved Herwìslär beads on both sides. In the center rests a bead that he once wore in his hair, one that he searched hours for, wanting something the same shade as the outer edges of a tsawksyul. Finally, resting just below the bead he has weaved in a carving of bone, one shaped to be a tsawksyul; his favorite flower in the entire forest, one he hoped to show you one day.
He tracks you down, pleased to see you’re sitting with Posma fiddling with your bowstring. He knows that Posma saw something in his demeanor change at the Hollow of Spirits, that she may even aid him in getting you to not be stubborn and to listen to him.
“We must speak.”
You glance up at him, before sliding your eyes to your friend. He must be speaking to her as he hasn’t had the chance to talk to you in weeks. When you stay silent he calls out your name, followed by a soft please.
“Will it be brief? I have much to do.”
Neteyam’s lips purse in a tight smile, “I hope it does not.”
“Then speak, so it may move quickly.”
“I have thought of you for many moons – well, to be honest, since my family has arrived for uturu.” Eywa, Neteyam hopes you look at him at least once while he spills his guts, “You are like no one I have ever met. So similar to myself that I did not know how to handle it at first. I see you.”
You raise your head glancing at him with scrutiny swimming in your eyes. He does not mind the way you look at him, simply joyed at being able to look into your eyes finally, to restudy your features. So he continues, more sure now, “I’ve been taken by you; every thought is consumed by you. Every moment I have spent away from you was spent searching for you.”
Neteyam ruffles through the satchel that rests under his furs, producing an intricately woven necklace, “I wish to court you. To eventually make you ma muntxate.” He presents the gift to you. His hands tremble a bit as he awaits your answer, even if Eywa has willed it he still has nerves.
You huff, turning your face away, leaning back into the bowstring you were previously toying with. “No.”
Neteyam is shocked. He had known you were not on the best of terms, even if he did not know why. But he was sure that the previous moments would be enough for you to at least be willing to try with him.
He can see Posma is shocked too. Though he is not sure if it is from his admission, or yours.
“No?”
“I do not want it. If you wish to find a muntxate, I am sure that Selra is interested.”
“Selra? The singer?”
“Yes.” You nod along, “She tries to be discreet, but anyone can spot the way she looks at you over the cookfire.”
“I do not want Selra. We have not even had a conversation.” Neteyam refuses to bring his hands back, to allow your rejection of his courting, “I only desire you.”
“Ei’wen is also a good choice.”
“I do not want–”
“She is a hunter. Assuming that is one of the similarities you see between yourself and I.”
Posma's eyes have not stopped darting between the two of you. She obviously should not be here for this conversation, all it does is make her curious over what she has missed, at what lead to this point in your relationship.
“I do not want them. I want you.” He once again jostles the jewelry in his palm, “I have come here to ask you, only after consulting with Eywa. The Great Mother has told me we are destined, you must believe me.”
You scoff, “I do not have to believe any words that spill from your tongue. You have spoken lies before to achieve what you want, there is nothing stopping you from doing so again.”
Neteyam has no idea what you are talking about. He has never lied to you before, never done anything deceitful to you. But before he can confess this you are up, snatching your bow from where you had rested it, and beginning to storm away from him.
When he moves to follow, to chase you down and prove his point, Posma presses a hand into his chest, halting his movement. He does not allow this to deter him, instead shouting after you, “Ask Eywa yourself! At the Hollow of Spirits, as I had! She will tell you the same thing she has told me!”
Your pace quickened after the words spilled past his lips. He never gets a response but he knows you heard him. Knows that it will fester and nag at your brain until you go to check yourself, so he turns to Posma.
“May I ask a favor?”
The hand on his chest retracts until just a single finger rests above his heart, “You are on thin ice. You do not get to ask for a favor.”
“I just wish to know if she listens. If she travels to the Hollow.”
Posma does not grant him an answer. She simply pushes into his chest with her finger and heads in the direction you went. Neteyam is uncertain that she will tell him, uncertain that you would even head remotely in the direction of the Hollows anytime soon. But he still had faith that Eywa was correct, that she had not led him astray.
Another week passes languidly. He goes through the motions; hunting, foraging, spending time with his siblings and newfound friends. The only change from the past two months is that you now let your eyes linger on him.
It is not fond, an intense glare that almost leaves him shrinking in on himself. He is not afraid of you; has never been and will never be. So he takes it in stride, smiling when he meets your gaze, allowing his tail to swish a little with curiosity.
He hopes one of these days that instead of staring, you would approach. Even if you do not, he will take any improvement in your acknowledgement of him. Would be pleased if you were to lash out at him, if it meant he got to hear your voice.
A sort of limbo passes over him. He hopes you would not reject him. That you would accept his advances. If you did not it would be okay, he is unsure of how long it would take him to recover from such a loss, but he would figure it out. He just hopes that you drag out the time before telling him, that you allow him to live in the fantasy where you accept for a little while longer.
Neteyam is on his way to take Tuk for a ride on his herwanpalu when Posma stops him. “I did not tell you anything, do you understand?”
Oh.
He nods, yes he understands. He’s been waiting for this moment. Tuk is ordered to find something else to do, to go find her friends or her other older siblings. After she is moving with purpose back towards the village he runs to call his herwanpalu.
He mimics the grunts and calls you taught him. It would be smart to adorn her in a saddle, to have some supplies if something went wrong, but Neteyam is moving to make it as quickly as possible. His fingers grip tight onto the fur in front of him, before commanding his mount to speed in your direction. He did not need to see the realization on your face. Did not need to be there as you disconnected your kuru from the stalactite. He simply needed to arrive before you left.
He walks into the Hollow, breathless as if he had personally ran the entire way here. From the silence he half expects you to be gone. The hopeful half of him assumes that you are still connected, still speaking to Eywa and searching out answers.
So he crawls softly and thoughtfully through the cave, he doesn’t want to startle you out of your conversation if you are not yet done. He does not spot you and his face falls, assuming you left.
He moves to the mouth of the cave, disappointed that he missed what he considered to be the best opportunity to change your mind. Before he can step towards the more surface levels of the hollow a voice calls after him.
“Why did you lie?”
Ah. So you were here.
He whips around, amber eyes scanning his surroundings. They hone in on your figure, lower legs dipping into the freezing water that some stalactites rest above.
“I would never lie to you. Can you be more specific?”
Neteyam is moving closer now, unintentionally blocking you in. You see it as intentional, that he wants to force a conversation that does not need to be had. He sees it as his body refusing to be away from you anymore, especially in such a sacred place.
“I overheard you before your final rite. Lo’ak said that you had been ‘working’ me so that I would take it easier on you and your siblings during your lessons.”
He laughs a breath through his nose, “It was not like that.”
You hiss in return. If he thinks you to be stupid, then you would leave. Before you can stand Neteyam grabs your hand, planting it underneath his against the floor.
“Lo’ak is a skxawng, but he does know how to get under my skin.” His free hand lifts to direct your face towards his, “He said that I could not get you to become infatuated with me as I had with you, said that I was a fnawe’tu.”
Your eyes trace his furs, recognizing it as the same ones you crafted specially for him, “You are not a fnawe’tu.”
“I am not. And Lo’ak knew I would be eager to prove him wrong, he simply wanted to get under my skin one last time before I came into my own in this clan.”
You begin to think it over. Lo’ak had always been teasing, always the one to try and use comedy even in situations they did not belong in. He was not cruel, simply wanting to find his place.
“What were you doing outside our kelku?”
“I came to deliver the furs from your first solo kill, as a final good luck.”
He smiles widely at you, “These are from you?”
You nod in agreement, not able to trust your voice.
The two of you sit in silence for a few minutes after that. Neteyam does not want to overwhelm you, and you have too much going on in your head to formulate a proper thought.
At some point you speak again, softly as to not disturb the peace the two of you have entered. “Do you still have the necklace?”
“Of course.” Neteyam begins digging into his furs, when he procures the necklace you stare at it longingly.
“I lied.” When his brow furrows in confusion you continue. “When I said I did not want it? I had lied, it is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen a Na’vi create.”
“Then may I put it on the most beautiful Na’vi I have ever seen?”
Neteyam moves quickly when you agree. His fingers move deftly as he ties the necklace into place. Then he allows them to ghost down the weave, tracing over the beads before stopping to rest upon the centerpiece.
He nods in approval, eyes meeting yours when he glances up. A new emotion swims in them, one of hunger, of desire; something he has not seen you allow yourself to indulge in before.
Oh Eywa, he had been waiting for this. If you wanted him, he would allow you to devour him whole. Send his spirit back to the ancestors and he would thank you.
Instead he forces himself to hold his composure, allows his fingers to ghost back up your neck. Curves his palm so it rests on the back of your neck, thumb lightly caressing your jaw. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, subconsciously pursing them as you stare at his.
So he takes the lead, lightly pressing his lips to yours. Neteyam soon finds that this is not enough, that after so many months of not being able to have you that it would take him forever to satiate the heat that began to pool in his stomach.
You lick into his mouth and he realizes you must be just as hungry as he is. He does not fight you, allows you to have dominance, to take what you want with no resistance. It’s only when you pull back for breath that he revolts, hands moving to lift you to rest in his lap.
It gives him more places to put his hands, and makes it easier for you to take whatever you want. When you pull away again Neteyam chases, he knows that you’re not pulling away for air and he does not wish to halt.
“This is…” You’re huffing, needing to catch all the breaths that Neteyam stole from you, “We are moving fast.”
“We moved slow for many months.” When your brow creases in protest, he allows his thumbs to rub soothing circles into your waist where they’ve snuck under your fur, “But if you wish, we can continue to take it slow.”
You do not wish to take it slow. But you are still apprehensive with what he said about Lo’ak. If he was lying to you, and he really was playing you in the beginning you aren’t sure if you would be able to recover emotionally.
Sensing your turmoil, Neteyam nuzzles his nose against yours, “What is it yawne?”
“I just worry that you are still playing me. That I am embarrassing myself with my actions.”
He smiles at you lovingly, “I am not. I have never been. But we can go ask Lo’ak if you would like to quell your worries.”
You do not respond, weighing your options. You could ask Lo’ak, could confront him and ask why he did not just speak to you directly. But if it was truly as Neteyam said it would only embarrass you. You’re shocked out of your stupor when pink, glowing tendrils emerge in front of your eyes.
“Or, because we both know you would not trust his words on a situation as serious as this anyway, I can prove it to you now.”
“We cannot take back tsaheylu, Neteyam. Be serious.”
He does not lower his kuru at your words, “I am being serious. What did Eywa show you?”
“That she has willed us to be together. It has been fated since we were children.”
He smiles, Eywa had shown him similar visions. “So why delay if it will happen eventually?”
Neteyam had a point. Your father may skin you, your mother would be disappointed that there were no pre-mating ceremonies completed. But if Eywa willed it to happen, and the two of you were ready, would it really be harmful?
Your hand reaches behind you to grasp your kuru, “You are sure?”
“I have never been more sure.”
So you press your kuru forward, allowing the tendrils to entangle themselves with his.
Your pupils blow wide. The emotions bombard you like something you’ve never felt before, the feeling overwhelming all of your senses.
The love, the nervousness, the way he pined for you for months. The way he admires his parents, and adores his siblings. How he misses the Omatikaya forest, but has made your forest one of his own too.
Feel his desire to take you flying on his ikran, for you to claim your own ikran. To show you his forest, share all his knowledge of it with you. How he wants to feed you the delicacies of his people, to watch you in just simple loincloths instead of heavy furs.
Then the memories flow through you, ones that are not your own. A bright lush forest, roaring rivers, snowless floating mountains. Little hands holding a newborn baby. Hands being directed to aim properly at a fish.
When you finally come back to your senses you’re huffing a bit, body working to compensate for the immense things your brain is being flooded with. When you realize Neteyam has come to himself too, you lurch forward.
It’s messy at first, your teeth clashing with his, fangs accidentally catching his lips. But then you can feel everything from his perspective. The tug of the fang, the way he briefly thinks about how he would not mind you sinking them into him on purpose.
Suddenly you’re overwhelmed all over again. You allow Neteyam to roll you onto your back, allow him to take control. He licks into your mouth again, eager to experience this while connected to you.
You know there will be repercussions when the two of you arrive home. That there will be questions. Important talks between your parents and yourselves. But as Neteyam begins to kiss down the side of your face, to your jaw, and eventually your jugular you cannot find any will to care about the repercussions.
When he lifts the carved bone from where it rests just beneath your collarbones, and presses a kiss to the spot, you believe you could face public humiliation for this and not be upset. It must pass through the bond, as shortly after Neteyam laughs against your ribs.
Whatever conspires from there is just for the two of you to know and everyone else to question.
At least it was.
Almost exactly twelve months after your night in the Hollow you welcome your first child, and everyone is more than aware of what you got up to.
Translations (had to make some of these up by mashing words together from the na’vi dictionary, so not everything is 100% correct): Her’ang - Snow beast Herwanpalu - Snow feline Herwìslär clan - Snow cave clan Uturu - refugee/sanctuary Nume nìwin - Learn quickly Kelku - home Tewng - Loincloth Zusawkrr olo’eykte - Future clan leader Txawuk - Giant flying mount Tsmuke - Sister Kayru - Teacher Ma muntxate - My mate Tsawksyul - Sun lily Skxawng - Moron/Idiot Fnawe’tu - Coward Yawne - Beloved
a/n: i adore this fic so please be nice to it.. i loosely wanted to mirror inuit culuture, so a bunch of inspiration for the way that the na'vi of the clan acted or things that they wore were based off of that. i also adore the snow, and the cold, and everything to do with winter so i naturally had to put two obsessions together. i put pictures that i based the creatures on below.
fun fact: i wrote about 3-4k of the words for this while actively shoveling snow for about 8 hours :p
Dividers by @cafekitsune and @cursed-carmine
Likes/Comments/Reblogs give me butterflies ʚїɞ
Credits to Edoardo Campagnolo and Antonio J. Manzanedo
after jake suggests that neteyam should start to court a mate, he only has one person on his mind. and yet, all you can think of is how this marks the end of your friendship with neteyam.
content + warnings: [wc: 4.8k] friends to lovers, pining, angst, friendship breakup, everyone is of age, post AFAA, miscommunication (no communication at all, really), mild AFAA spoilers (if you squint), everyone lives, eventual smut (but not in this chapter), slowburn (considering the word count), lowercase intentional
chapters: one 𓇼 two 𓇼 three
Translations:
uturu: sanctuary
pa'li: direhorse
iknimaya: rite of passage
syuratan: bioluminescence
ean menari: blue eyes
tsmuke: sister
tsmukesyip: little sister
marui: pods (homes)
tewng: loincloth
tanhi: bioluminescent freckles
yawne: beloved
you had never felt peace like this before. the kind that filled your lungs when you inhaled and settled your mind as you exhaled. it made everything feel effortless. it made you feel serene.
the water was a stunning vision of waves, calmer than most days and refreshing in the recent climate. but it could have been boiling and you wouldn't have flinched. not when you were in his company.
"i loved that river, but i always wanted to see where it led," neteyam's voice was low among the gentle splashes of water as he spoke, "what else existed if i followed it? something better? or was it more of the same."
you shifted on the back of se'lei, the tulkun you called your sister, awaiting his story. your voice wavered with poorly hidden excitement when you replied, "and did you follow it?"
a small smile danced on his lips, an ear twitching, "i did."
when neteyam and his family arrived at your village seven years ago seeking uturu, at first, you only watched them from afar. there was no point in befriending outsiders that would leave as soon as their need for uturu passed. that avoidance only lasted a month because your best friend, tsireya, begged you to help her teach them to assimilate. she also couldn't stop talking about toruk makto's youngest son. it meant that you naturally grew closer with his eldest one.
it wasn't just that you and neteyam were alike in age. you were alike in spirit, too.
he was a warrior in his heart and in yours, you were an adventurer. someone who sought to find a new story wherever you could.
your fingers absently braided a piece of your water soaked hair, trying to will yourself some restraint when he didn't immediately continue his story. over the years, you sensed that he found your impatience entertaining. though you had learned to control your zealousness around him, today wasn't one of those days.
you turned on your side to get a better look at him but he was not looking at you. he was clearly relaxed with his arms folded behind his head, a leg bent and tail leisurely swaying beside him. he watched the sky for the eclipse that would soon take place.
you huffed but still didn't say anything. he was intent on taking his time.
that was fine. soon, he would tell you about where the river led. about which animals he encountered and what clans he met.
when he finally decided to speak, of course.
so you let the minutes pass. one and then another. but when one more passed and he still didn't continue, you rolled on your stomach and let your tail slap his chest. he chuckled but made no effort to move your tail away. instead, he closed his eyes with a lazy smile.
"neteyam!" you cried, "just tell me! what happened?" your voice came out piqued, like a child waiting for the conclusion to the story. but you were no child, you only had the patience of one.
he finally opened his eyes only to find yours rapt on his. a playful gleam reflected in the amber before setting his sights back to the nearing eclipse. "it was a day's journey because i had to go on pa'li — i had not completed iknimaya yet so i had no ikran," his tail swept against his leg, "the river turned into a waterfall, too tall to jump. beyond it, the river continued but i could not."
"so you never found its true end?" you asked, your tone laced with disappointment .
you rolled to your back again. side by side, the two of you watched the eclipse settle and the syuratan illuminate the world around you.
a shiver sparked through your spine when his tail brushed against your thigh. it was delicate but you knew better than to assume it was accidental. instead, you returned your fingers to the small braid you were making rather than acknowledging it.
another thing on a long list of things you refused to acknowledge.
it wasn't like you were oblivious and you certainly weren't naive. it's just that when it came to neteyam, you chose to dismiss the subtle ways his tail touched yours when you walked together or how his eyes always seemed to find yours when you were with your friends. you hoped that maybe if you ignored it, he would get it.
but of course, you were alike in spirit which meant that he had a similar list of things he refused to acknowledge, too.
after all, your behavior didn't change how you always accepted his company when he offered, or how he let you drag him out past the reef to hunt, or how the best stories you had involved him.
maybe it would happen gradually, maybe all at once. either way, you knew what giving in to his affections meant and you couldn't let it happen. you valued your friendship far too much to allow it to change.
neteyam still hadn't answered your question.
it seemed his mission tonight was to annoy you because he only gave you a small shrug before he stood abruptly.
you watched him call out to the surrounding waters for an ilu.
"i shouldn't have waited so long to leave," he admitted, "i forgot that my dad mentioned something about a family meeting."
he climbed down to se'lei's front flipper, extending his hand out to help you.
your hand curled around his even though you didn't need it. another thing you wouldn't acknowledge.
"then why are you still here?" you dropped his hand to wave him off, "go!"
but his skin was as warm as his eyes and the lingering heat in your belly was as hot as fire.
you caught the small shake of his head before he dove into the water. it was difficult not to stare as he mounted the ilu. the muscles in his thighs tensed while he straddled it, his torso flexing when he adjusted on top. his hand stroked the ilu's neck gently as he asked, "can i see you again tomorrow?"
you weren't staring — not really — but when he turned, you quickly averted your eyes anyway.
"why are you asking when you just show up either way?" you scoffed, "in fact," you lowered your body to sit against se'lei, "i should say no since you like to entice me and then leave me unsatisfied."
the beads in his braids clinked as they swayed with the small tilt of his head. his eyes never leaving yours, he smirked, "you do not know what you speak of, ean menari," he dragged his eyes down your face, letting them linger on your mouth, "i would never leave you unsatisfied."
that smirk was the last thing you saw before he disappeared into the water.
the surprised breath you sucked in burned your lungs long after he left. the fluttering in your stomach was relentless. and in the comforting privacy shared between you and your tulkun sister, you dared to smile at the thought of him.
se'lei's vibrations rippled the surrounding waters when you slid your body to lay on her flipper with your legs propping up next to her eyes.
a son like him is keenly aware of his father's orders. he did not forget, she said.
"yes he did, he is stupid like that." you signed to her.
no, tsmuke, you made him stupid.
you scoffed, "i did not make him stupid! he came like that!"
he forgot many curfews when you were younger as well.
"yes, because he is stupid."
but he never forgot about any meetings with you.
"sure he did—"
not once.
you frowned. she was right.
but you weren't able to dwell on it because then she lifted her flipper and bounced your body in the air.
"se'lei!" you yelped. shifting to sit upright, you laughed but it did not abate the wail you wanted to let out.
i was not trying to upset you.
"it isn't you, it is my fault," your signing was almost aggressive in what you were trying to convey, "i know what you're trying to tell me, i just do not want to speak it and make it real."
you stroked the smooth skin above her eye. she blinked with another vibrating rumble and said, it already is real, tsmukesyip, it only needs to be accepted.
blinking listlessly, you brought your legs to your chest. any warmth in the air was gone and all that was left was a chill that was too cold.
when it came to neteyam, you only saw two paths. accepting that there was something there meant submission. the independence you valued in your friendship would end to make room for the consequences of a mate. he would ask for the same sacrifice that lenetu, a boy who courted you before, once asked of you. like your mother, you would be urged to lean into the peace of the village. abandon the adventure.
and although it would allow you to live a life with neteyam, it was hardly a life you would be content in having.
the metkayina women were strong and fought bravely in the battles that the demons brought to sea. and yet, your mother still pleaded with your father to let her follow. you witnessed his vehement refusal and the look he bore when he called you vulnerable — a frail thing to be protected. while it didn't stop you from joining as soon as he was out of sight, it was wildly unfair that he would have the authority to demand that.
if the tsahik could still fight while she was with child, so could your mother. and had you not been there —
what was the point in mating for life if you resented the life that it brought?
denying neteyam's affections meant that nothing would change. you could keep his company and maintain your freedom. it was tragic but it was the path you could settle for. it would have to be enough.
"i'm sorry, se'lei, i don't like to think about it," you signed with a noticeable defeat in your shoulders.
it was exhausting to plan a life alone.
. ｡˚ ° . 𓇼 . ° ˚｡ .
the secluded cave wasn't far from the village. the entrance was partly hidden by lush plants of different colors and a curtain of hanging leaves that swayed every time the breeze touched them. its walls were illuminated with glowing vines and flowers that were embedded into the cracks. the best part was the warm pools of water that lit up with the algae growing in them.
it was a popular spot for the young women and girls of the village to start their mornings with. and, though there weren't any rules prohibiting them from being there, the boys avoided the cave until the girls vacated. especially after a particular incident where rotxo, aonung, and spider tried to go in and were scared off by a series of hisses and threats thrown at them.
most days, you and tsireya were there before the others arrived to make the most of the tranquility. it turned into a routine after so many years — wake up, catch up in the cave pools while waiting for the other girls to come, go through your separate days, and if you didn't see each other again that day, you would see each other in the morning.
today, however, you were late.
you and se'lei swam later than usual in an effort to distract your mind. by the time you came back, you had to sneak into your family's marui to not wake your parents.
by now, half of the village was probably awake and if you still wanted to get to the pools before everyone, you needed to hurry. you barely had time to slip on a clean tewng. tsireya could fix your hair when you saw her.
when you finally slipped past the woven fabric covering the entrance, you didn't even make it five steps when you felt the warmth of a hand on your shoulder.
"on your way to meet tsireya?" his voice spoke behind you.
had he been waiting for you?
without turning around, you slipped out of his grasp to take two more steps, "yes! sorry, i am late," you called out over your shoulder, "i'll see you, neteyam!"
each of your hurried steps were on the edge of a run, but his longer strides caught up to you effortlessly. then his hand was on your shoulder once again, this time spinning you to face him.
"i don't think that is a great idea," the lovely smile on his lips was teasing, like he knew something you didn't.
"why not?" you frowned.
"i caught lo'ak sneaking off early this morning," he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, "he took a flower with him."
he began to turn you in the other direction, to the beach.
"he must be gone by now," you muttered, crossing your arms.
"i don't know," he bent his head close to your ear and quietly asked, "do you really want to go see if you're right?"
you both knew the answer to that question.
if you still wanted to go it would need to be later, when all the girls were there and their conversations were too loud.
it wasn't the first time tsireya used the morning to 'bond' with lo'ak — as she liked to put it — but she always warned you the night before. you could've avoided the rushing, done something to your hair.
your hair! it was no doubt a tangled mess of curls. the small braids that adorned it were already loosening.
with a frustrated sigh, you let neteyam drag you away.
"don't look so disappointed, ean menari. i thought you enjoyed my company," he teased.
"not when it is forced upon me!" you scoffed and gave him a playful shove. it did little to sway him.
"and what about when your company is forced upon me?" he quipped.
"forced!" you spluttered, "you have never uttered a complaint—"
"if complaining is all it takes to get rid of you then maybe i should."
"in fact it is," with narrowed eyes to hide your smile, you began to turn around, "i will see you."
before you could slide out of his grasp, his hand wrapped around your wrist and pulled you closer to him. "no!" he laughed, "don't leave."
it took falling back into a comfortable silence to notice how his body was pressed against yours. he was the warmth that was stripped from the air last night. his arm was steady around your shoulders, gentle and safe. it was really, really difficult not to acknowledge it.
especially with how his fingers traced little patterns on your shoulder. did he even know he was doing it?
the tranquility of the pools had nothing on this — warmth and peace, and it was all in neteyam.
until your chest rumbled with a soft purr.
it was entirely surprising — impressive, even — the speed and rigidity with which you froze.
your breath was caught in your lungs and your eyes were wide in horror.
there was no doubting that neteyam heard it. even if eywa had mercilessly sent a hundred skimwings roaring out of the water at once, his ears were trained to hear the swish of a tail a distance away.
"see," he teased, "i knew you liked my company."
you groaned, slamming your face into your hands.
a quick search through your memories confirmed that you had never felt mortification like this before. it wasn't even a question with how hot your face felt and how tightly coiled your tail was around your leg.
and neteyam… he… was laughing!
he had wrapped both of his arms around your body and almost trembled with each peal of laughter. your face was wedged against his chest with only your hands as a barrier. if you could move them, even a little, your nose would press against his skin.
but if you were caught doing that…
you hadn't even realized he stopped laughing until you felt the gentle grip of his hands around your wrists as he pulled them away from your face.
still, your eyes remained closed, unwilling to face him.
"oh, come on," he was definitely smiling with that lovely smile of his, "there is no need to hide those blue eyes from me."
you huffed indignantly.
"i already knew how fond you were of me."
"i am leaving," you groaned. sure, you sounded petulant but you also didn't make any effort to move.
"why else would you always seek me out for your little trips around the waters," despite the teasing tone, it lacked a certain humor. he sounded sure.
even with your eyes firmly shut, you felt the shift when he took one of your loose braids between his fingers — the piece you were braiding last night.
the shift was subtle. in fact, there was barely a difference. but you felt it in how your ears seemed to ring and how your heart began to race and how your breath hitched in your throat.
"you're the only friend i have who has been beyond the sea," you choked out. it was a surprise there was any strength left in you to speak.
"is that right?" he murmured. "i seem to remember lenetu bragging about his voyage to the floating mountains before."
"yes, but he is not my friend."
you only had so much self-control. the resolve to keep your eyes shut was waning.
the slight tug he gave to your braid was all it took for them to flutter open.
you had braced to be blinded by the sun, but it was only that deep shade of blue that crowded your vision.
you knew that he had stepped into your space, you could feel the heat that only came from proximity. and he was close enough for every inhale to be overwhelmed by his scent — a heady mix of moss and something sweeter that was purely neteyam.
his exhale brushed against the side of your face. it could have been the breeze but that had never felt this intimate.
it was dizzying.
but it still startled you to see just how close he had gotten. close enough to appreciate the woven details of his necklace. beads of various blues accented the darker wood. it was pretty and one of the simpler pieces he liked to wear.
but, if you tilted your head a little higher…
the familiar amber. more than just fire, though they contained plenty of that, they were speckled with splinters of brown. like the wood of his necklace but richer in quality.
all the beauty that eywa provided in nature and the purest form of the color could only be found in his eyes.
and they weren't even looking into yours like they usually were. they were fixated on the side of your neck — at the pattern of stars that adorned it.
"is that what i am?" he whispered, the corner of his mouth tilted in a smirk.
"yes," you hesitated.
it wasn't even a question, was it? if it was, he didn't give you any time to think about it.
all your efforts singled on the finger that had been toying with your braid. it had glided to trace a line of tanhi that trailed down the side of your neck.
it was a small stroke. gentle and soft like the sigh that left your mouth. the briefest contact against your skin and it was gone before you could memorize it.
would he have continued to trace it down your body if he hadn't been obstructed by your own necklace?
neteyam's face had gone blank. devoid of any previous teasing or smirks.
if he heard the purr before, there was a possibility that he could hear your heart hammering against your chest.
"actually, i think you might be my best friend," you cleared your throat and shifted back, desperate to disrupt whatever this was.
he blinked, a slow smile forming.
you looked away to the nearby water that stretched farther than you could see. as if it was more interesting than trying to figure out if the beads in his hair matched the ones on his necklace.
the moment was gone but the expression on his face did nothing to calm the unfettered twists your stomach was going through.
"okay, i can't wait longer. come," he gave you no time to question it. he was already stepping onto the sands of the beach.
you kept a distance as he led you to a corner shaded by tall palms. ever the polite man his father raised him to be, he guided you to sit first before he sat down beside you.
the early morning meant that the sun had not been out long. the sands weren't as hot as they could be. the thrust of waves hitting the shore were calm. neteyam was there.
there should be no reason for the thumping in your chest, the churns of your stomach, the shallow breaths you took, or the squirming of your tail.
you were practically buzzing, but you already made a fool out of yourself with accidental purrs and soft sighs. you could not let yourself do that again. instead, you smiled — forced but friendly.
"so, what is pulling on your patience this morning, neteyam?"
"my patience is never pulled," he scoffed, "that is only you."
your tail whipped to slap his shoulder. "whatever, get on with it," you waved your hand.
"see!" he laughed.
your lips pursed to refrain the jolt of laughter that bubbled in your throat.
as if to make a point, he didn't speak right away. his tail waved around in the air a few times before finally tucking itself under his leg.
three breaths later, "if my family never fled the forest, i would have been the olo'eyktan after my dad," his voice was even and tempered, as if he had rehearsed his words, "even though we have no connections to that mantle here, he still holds those expectations of me."
you knew that. anyone who was around his family knew that. neteyam was competent in everything he did. he was vicious in battles; a skilled warrior in the sea, the land, and the sky. he moved through conflicts with a grace and authority that was simply inherent in him. most of all, he understood duty. you saw it from afar. in the way he cared for his siblings, in the gentle obedience he showed his mother, and how he absorbed the lessons of his father. it never left — the makings of a leader.
"it is okay to admit it," you mused quietly, "you hold them of yourself, too."
he turned to face you with his ears lowered. he only nodded and then continued, "he thinks i should finally start to court a mate."
the words slowly unraveled a thread of cold that spread until it consumed your every limb. even the warmth of his gaze left your body frozen.
although your muscles were rigid, it didn't stop the flinch of your ears as they pressed flat against your head.
unlike before, the shift in the air felt violent despite the same ringing in your ears and racing of your heart and hitch in your breath.
he was going to ask. it was happening.
it was over.
all you could do was smile. delay the inevitable.
when you did, you saw the brief wavering of doubt fade from his face, replaced by something lighter. an expression you were familiar with. "i agree with him, but i need to know what you think."
"i think it is a great time," your words were slow, trying to find them as they formed, "lo'ak and tsireya's mating ceremony is soon, rotxo is courting kiri, aonung is considering someone, too," you smiled, "it makes sense for you to find someone as well."
he nodded, "actually —"
"have you considered nu'ven?" you cut him off, "she is beautiful and she has expressed interest in you before, so has maza," please tell me you get it, neteyam, "they are exceptional women, perfect for you."
he paused and you didn't turn to look at him. your sights were firm on the lapping waters ahead.
"you misunderstand," he sounded amused.
"i do not," you winced.
"you do, i already chose —"
"does she know?" you blurted out.
he chuckled, low and teasing, "clearly not."
you could not let him say the words you knew he would say.
"as your friend, i think you should seek them out soon," you smiled, "i could help in any way you need me to," you tried to sound casual, "i know some of them will ask me for help in getting your attention," you only sounded detached, "you know — because of our friendship."
"i know you are not this dense," he spoke carefully, "i already chose you."
"no," the word tumbled out of you almost too quickly.
he said nothing. with each second that passed, your heart pounded harder. it was beginning to get difficult to breathe until —
"what?"
there was nothing you could do to take it back now.
"unchoose me," you whispered. it was well and truly over.
when you finally glanced over, his eyes were intent on your face. it only made you frown deeper.
he opened his mouth around words he didn't seem to have.
you had none to offer him either.
"i chose you a long time ago," he stressed, "i thought you knew this."
your face crumpled, "i knew."
he moved to kneel beside you, no hesitation in the glide of his movements. "if you knew, then it is only because you felt it, too," he said slowly, "i see you, yawne, more than you think."
your breath stuttered and you couldn't look away. the confidence and fervor in his posture was palpable. he pulled you up to your knees, dragging your body closer to his. you let yourself melt into him, sagging under his gaze, and allowing your skin to touch his.
his hands reached for your face and you let him. you didn't move when his nose brushed your temple, then his cheek to your cheek. when he rested his forehead on yours, you didn't close your eyes.
you let yourself stay in the stolen moment of affection. one that you did not deserve to acknowledge. you were going to break his heart and therefore this was not yours to have.
"it does not matter what i felt, i can't be your mate, neteyam," you urged.
despite yourself, you grazed your own nose against his. later, you would tell yourself it was reflexive, a twitch. the soft sound he made was only a twitch, too.
"yes, you can," he murmured.
"no!" you hissed, harsh despite the tender way you leaned into the touch of his hands, "i beg you to choose someone else."
"i don't want anyone else, i want you."
his tail found your leg. unlike the teasing brushes you were familiar with, it now wrapped itself around your thigh, possessive.
if you angled your head just so, his mouth would hover over yours. you could lean in, taste him. his hand would find your waist, pull you impossibly closer. your hand would find his neck and you might let your fingers tug on the braids it touched. it would be too easy. it was tempting.
it was too much.
you needed to leave.
you didn't even feel like you were in your body. there was a corporeal form moving against your desires. it untangled itself from neteyam's hold and fell backwards. it ignored his hand when it reached out. it scrambled away from him, lost. it stood from the sand and staggered back.
you only realized you had tears spilling down your cheeks when one landed on your collarbone.
"wait—"
"neteyam, i cannot chose you."
even, tempered, rehearsed.
he only shook his head, ears flickered down but his eyes never left yours.
he called out your name and you ignored it. any word he wanted to say would only hurt the two of you more.
it was your fault for thinking that a friendship would last if you ignored the fire. and you weren't going to watch your favorite person burn in it.
one foot after another, you barreled yourself through the village. it was bustling now, with the people starting their mornings. any intent to meet with tsireya was gone. the cave pools would be full with the girls of the village and you had no desire to see their faces.
it made something in the base of your throat knot at the new reality that bled into your mind — neteyam would mate with one of them.
you just begged him to.
hi! you've reached the end of part 1. so far, i have two more parts planned but that may change to 4 (maybe 5) if the story calls for it. thank you for reading and please consider interacting with this post if you'd like to show your support :) part two is up now!
Warnings: NSFW 18+, established relationship, flirting , smut, cheating (technically), mentions of sex tapes/hot pictures/videos, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of child birth, mentions of blood, gunshot wounds, loads of trauma, explicit language and acts, p in v, orals (m&f receiving), our man falls into a coma, memory loss, kissing, touching. (If I forgot anything please lmk)
Word Count: 49.1k
Disclaimer: All my characters are aged-up! If that bothers you, please do not interact with my account or any of my post! Also for the this fic, Kiri is the biological daughter of Jake and Neytiri.
Index: mauri - homes in the Metkayina Clan, yawne - beloved, tìywan - love, kelku - homes in the Omatikaya Clan. (If I forgot anything please lmk)
Main M.List
You met Neteyam when your steps were still wobbly and your words mostly giggles. He was barely steadier than you—his braids just beginning, his steps a little wider—but from the moment he found you crouched near the roots of the Home Tree, you became his shadow. He toddled up with a half-eaten yovo fruit and, without hesitation, tore it in two with clumsy fingers, offering you the larger half. It was sticky and sweet, and you always remembered it as the moment he chose you. And maybe… the moment you chose him too.
From then on, it was rare to see one of you without the other. You learned to walk together, your hands often tangled as you teetered around the village. When you fell, he’d help you up, and when he tripped, you’d sit beside him until he stood again. The other adults would chuckle at the sight—tiny footsteps weaving through the forest, your matching laughter echoing through the trees. You’d nap curled beside him in the Sully’s hammock during long afternoons, Neteyam’s hand always reaching for yours in sleep, even when he’d roll away. Jake would raise a brow and smirk knowingly. Neytiri would only smile, brushing your hair back and calling you syulang, her little flower. They saw it early—what you and Neteyam would someday become—even when you were still too young to understand it yourselves.
You both remembered when Neytiri was pregnant with Kiri—Neteyam was confused at first, always poking at his mother’s growing belly and asking when the baby would “stop hiding.” You didn’t understand it either, but you liked resting your head beside him on Neytiri’s belly, watching it move as little Kiri rolled inside. When she was finally born, Neteyam was speechless, wide-eyed and soft as he held her tiny hand. “She’s mine,” he whispered to you with the quiet pride only a big brother could wear. You just nodded, understanding without needing to speak.
Then came Lo’ak. You were both a bit older—Neteyam nearly six—and you still remember when Neytiri told you he’d be getting a brother. Neteyam practically vibrated with excitement, dragging you around the village talking about all the things he’d teach his brother: how to climb, how to throw a spear, how to chase glow bugs at night. “And I’ll teach him how to protect you,” he added casually, like it was obvious. You just smiled and said, “He’ll have the best big brother.” When Lo’ak was born, Neteyam wasn’t overwhelmed like with Kiri—he was ready this time. “I’m gonna be the best,” he told you, gently adjusting the baby’s blanket like he was holding the future. He even whispered to Lo’ak that he already had a best friend—and that it was you.
Those years were full of joy. Your days were endless stretches of running through the forest, racing along vines, whispering secrets while hidden in the high tree canopies. You shared everything—fruit, beads, bruises, laughter. When Tuk was born and made the family five, you both stood over her, older now, understanding just how sacred it was to grow up surrounded by love. Neteyam pressed a kiss to her forehead, then turned to you. “I hope she finds someone like you,” he whispered, and you pretended not to hear how warm your cheeks became.
Jake often joked that you’d been adopted by the Sullys long before any ceremony could make it true. Neytiri treated you like a daughter, braiding feathers into your hair with loving fingers, scolding you just as gently as she would Neteyam. And sometimes, when she caught the two of you dozing in a sunbeam, limbs tangled and breath in sync, she’d just exchange a look with Jake—a knowing one. The kind that said, it’s always been them.
By the time you were thirteen and Neteyam fourteen, you were no longer just playmates. You were partners in everything: training, learning, dreaming. But even then, the purest part of your bond was the way you looked at each other—like somehow, in all the chaos and beauty of the forest, you had each found home.
When Neteyam turned fourteen, the village buzzed with anticipation. It was also his time—his rite of passage, the long-awaited climb to the floating mountains to claim his ikran. You weren’t allowed to go with him, though Eywa knew you tried to convince the elders otherwise. “I’ll just hide behind the rocks,” you had argued, arms crossed and defiant. But Jake only ruffled your hair, and Neytiri kissed your cheek with a chuckle. “You’ll have your turn, little one. Let him fly.”
You waited at the edge of the village the entire day, pacing, chewing your bottom lip, weaving and unweaving a small bracelet you’d started just to keep your hands busy. Every time you looked up, your eyes searched the skies, your heart jumping at the faintest sound of wings. And then, finally, you saw him.
Neteyam came soaring over the trees with the wind in his braids and the sun blazing behind him, riding the back of a fierce, sharp-beaked blue ikran. His smile was wide, radiant, full of victory. His yips of joy echoed across the forest and lit something wild in your chest. You didn’t wait. You ran—bare feet pounding across the ground, eyes stinging with happy tears—and launched yourself into his arms the moment he landed. He caught you effortlessly, laughing as you wrapped your arms and legs around him like a clingy yip-yip. “I did it,” he whispered into your neck, and you just nodded, tears soaking his shoulder. “I know,” you breathed. “I never doubted you.”
The next night, the village danced in celebration. Neteyam completed his Dream Hunt, bringing back a successful kill and presenting it with reverence. The people welcomed him as one of them—with chants, with firelight, with the steady pounding of drums. You stood beside his family, your heart full of pride. Lo’ak teased you all night, nudging your shoulder and muttering, “You’re gonna cry again, aren’t you?” And you did. But you didn’t care, you were so proud of him.
A year later, when you turned fourteen, it was your turn. And just like you had waited for him, Neteyam waited for you. He rose before the suns and flew to the floating mountains ahead of you, perched among the cliffs like a silent shadow waiting for you to arrive. You knew he was there watching, waiting, smiling. When you approached the ikran rookery, heart pounding, palms sweaty, your eyes fierce with determination, you didn’t know that far above, Neteyam held his breath with pride as he followed you below the waterfall, “you got this. Remember what I taught you.”
You tamed your ikran with grace and fire, your spirit strong and your heart steady. And when you paused. Neteyam ran up to you holding the rope around your ikran’s mouth and guided her to face the edge of the cliff. “First flight seals the bond, think fly.”
“Fly?” And just like that you took off, quickly finding a way to steady yourself in the back of your now winged companion, the grin on your face nearly split you open. He stood there on the cliff, hands cupped around his mouth as he cheered for you. You returned home flying side by side with feathers tangled in your braids and windburn on your cheeks, your soul forever changed. When you landed, Neteyam was the first to greet you. His hands framed your face, his eyes bright. “You were beautiful up there,” he said softly. “Like you were born to fly.”
You became one of the people that night, dancing beside Neteyam around the flames, your foreheads pressed together as the village sang for you. Jake lifted you into a strong embrace, calling you daughter with pride. Neytiri wept and braided a special feather into your hair. Kiri held your hand the whole ceremony. Even Lo’ak, grinning ear to ear, handed you a carved piece of bone shaped like a little ikran.
And Neteyam? He stood behind you the entire night, his hand warm on your waist, his eyes only ever on you. You were no longer just his shadow. You were his equal now, his partner. And it was written in every look he gave you.
The glances you exchanged held a different weight. Now you were fifteen and he was sixteen your bodies had begun to shift, you’d noticed it first in his arms, how they’d grown thicker with muscle from climbing, hunting, training. His chest had broadened, his voice deeper now, richer. You caught yourself watching him from the corner of your eye as he helped build or skin a kill, your stomach flipping each time his back flexed under the stretch of his bowstring. And he noticed you, too. Your hips had begun to curve, your stride more fluid. The paint across your chest during ceremonies now made his mouth go dry. You would catch him staring sometimes, pupils wide, a subtle swallow in his throat as he looked away too late. Neteyam wasn’t good at hiding it, and his siblings were relentless.
Lo’ak smirked every time you came around. “You’re staring again, big bro,” he’d nudge with his elbow, loud enough for you to hear, making your ears burn. Tuk would giggle and whisper, “You’re always looking at her,” and Kiri would grin with that knowing look and mutter, “You’ve got it bad.” Even Jake noticed, pulling Neteyam aside once with a teasing tone and a raised brow. “Keep your eyes in your head, kid. You’re not subtle.”
The heat between you two thickened during sparring practice. He’d pin you, hand against your hip to brace you, and linger a second too long. You’d roll over him to escape, but not before he noticed the way your breath caught. Your touches began to last longer, skin to skin in the most innocent ways that didn’t feel innocent anymore. Then came a moment, that humid afternoon after a hunt, when he walked behind you, offering water. You took it, brushing his fingers, and when you turned, his gaze was already on your mouth. His ears twitched, his throat moved like he wanted to speak. He didn’t. But his eyes said it all.
It started slowly, the shift in how others looked at you both. At first, it was almost laughable, how the same boys who used to pull your braid now stammered when you smiled. Or how the girls, once shy around Neteyam, now found every excuse to ask for help, compliments bubbling on their tongues.
You had grown used to the lingering stares, but what you hadn’t expected was Neteyam’s silence when one of the older hunters, Rokean, offered to walk you back to your kelku after training. You caught the flicker in Neteyam’s jaw, the way he adjusted his stance, too stiff, too still. Later, while cleaning your bowstring by the fire, he dropped down beside you with a grunt.
“Didn’t know you needed someone to walk you home now,” he said casually, picking at a loose thread on his chest strap. You paused. “Didn’t know I needed your permission either.”
His eyes flicked to you, sharp and unreadable. “You didn’t say no.” You scoffed. “I didn’t say yes, either. I was being polite.”
He leaned back, resting on his elbows, exhaling slowly. “He looked like he was ready to offer you his entire kill pile just to get you to smile again.” You turned to face him. “What’s your problem, Neteyam?”
“My problem,” he said, voice low, “is that I’ve seen the way you smile at me — and then I have to watch you give that same smile to someone else like it means nothing.” Your breath caught, heart hammering, but before you could snap back, the loud sound of laughter echoed nearby.
“Ohh nooo,” Lo’ak sing-songed, appearing from behind a cluster of trees, arms slung around Kiri. “They’re arguing again. What’s this time? Another boy tried to breathe near her?”
“Or a girl complimented his braid?” Kiri added dryly. You rolled your eyes and Neteyam looked away, lips twitching. Then came the softest voice.
“You’re not supposed to fight,” Tuk mumbled as she padded up, holding a leaf plate of fruit. “You’re supposed to love each other. Like kisses and hugs and babies.”
Both of your faces snapped toward her in horror. “TUK!” you squeaked. Neteyam choked on nothing. “What?!”
Little Tuk blinked slowly. “That’s what mama said happens when people love each other too much.”
The rest of the Sully family burst out laughing. Even Jake couldn’t hold it in. Neytiri buried her face in her hands, half-mortified, half-delighted. “You’re grounded,” Neteyam muttered, ruffling Tuk’s hair. “No, you are,” she said proudly. “You’re grumpy.”
You were trying not to laugh, your annoyance slipping away with the warmth of everyone around you. Neteyam leaned closer, voice quiet. “Still mad?” You didn’t answer, just nudged his knee with yours. He smiled. “Didn’t think so.” And though you didn’t say a word, the way your hand slipped into his as you walked off together made everyone, including Tuk, smile behind your backs.
But the jealousy went both ways, you just went as leveled headed as Neteyam. One day, you sat on a mossy stone near the gathering circle, fletching your arrows and pretending not to watch the lesson. Neteyam was helping Airi, one of the older girls in the village with her bow grip. She wasn’t exactly subtle, letting her hand brush his, laughing too loud at everything he said.
Your jaw clenched as you scraped the feather too hard, splitting it. Great. Across the circle, Kiri noticed. She nudged Lo’ak. “Uh oh. She’s got that look again.” Lo’ak followed your glare and snorted. “Poor Airi. She’s about to get shredded.” You stood, trying to keep your face neutral, and walked over just as Neteyam leaned in to adjust Airi’s arm. “Hmm,” you said lightly, arms folded. “Didn’t know bow training required that much touching.” Neteyam blinked, surprised, and then grinned. “Just making sure her stance is right.”
Airi smiled too sweetly. “He’s very helpful.”
You gave her a polite but tight smile. “He’s also very taken. Or is that part unclear?”
Airi blinked, caught off guard, her hand still awkwardly on Neteyam’s arm. “Oh—I didn’t mean anything, I didn’t think—”
“I know you didn’t thinkt.” You didn’t raise your voice, but it was firm with the same smile. “Maybe that’s the problem.” A beat of silence passed, thick and awkward. Airi gave a small, forced laugh, murmured something about needing to help her mother, and quickly walked off.
The second she was out of earshot, Neteyam let out a low whistle and crossed his arms, eyeing you with open amusement. “Damn.”
You turned toward him slowly, still tense. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” His grin widened. “Say how hot that was?”
You shot him a look. “You didn’t stop her.”
“I didn’t even see her coming,” he said, laughing. “I was halfway through talking to Lo’ak about hunting patterns. She ambushed me.”
You huffed, still annoyed. Neteyam tilted his head, stepping closer. “You know, it’s funny.”
“What?”
“I don’t have a girlfriend.” Your eyes narrowed and put your hand to rest on your hip very sassily. “Really?”
“Really,” he repeated, voice low and teasing. “No official titles. No agreements. Nothing carved in stone.”
Your chest twisted. You hated when he did this, danced the line between teasing and truth, between almost and not quiet.
Then he leaned closer, eyes locking on yours. “But if I did? You know it’d be you.” You froze, caught completely off guard. Your lips parted, but no sound came out. From behind, a snort of laughter broke the tension, Lo’ak, of course. “You guys are exhausting.”
Kiri added dryly, “One of these days you’re both just going to explode from the tension and take the whole kelku with you.”
“I like her better than the other girl,” Tuk said seriously, tugging on Neteyam’s tail. “She’s prettier. And funnier. And nicer.” You buried your face in your hands.
Neteyam chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Can’t argue with that.” You didn’t pull away. You couldn’t. Not when he was this close, warm and solid and entirely too pleased with himself. And even though you wanted to stay mad… part of you was glowing. Because for all his teasing, you knew he meant it.
A few years passed, just like that. What started as sleepovers and sharing fruit as toddlers had blossomed into something much deeper, something no longer so easy to ignore. By the time you were seventeen and Neteyam had just turned eighteen, the change between you had settled in quietly but unmistakably.
The flirting had evolved from playful to lingering. The touches — brushing hands as you passed, his palm against your back when you ducked beneath the trees — stayed just a little too long. And the jealousy… that hadn’t faded. If anything, it had grown more obvious. You saw it in the way Neteyam went stiff whenever another boy tried to flirt with you during hunts or communal dinners. Just like how your stomach would twist when one of the village girls leaned too close to him, laughing too loud at something he hadn’t even said.
Everyone saw it — the whole family. Kiri gave you side-eyes, Tuk giggled whenever she caught the two of you looking at each other. Even Jake had exchanged a knowing look with Neytiri once when Neteyam instinctively reached for your hand as you crossed a riverbank. Still, nothing had been said. Until the night he finally did.
Neteyam had asked you to meet him just after eclipse, near the glade where you’d learned to climb as kids. You thought maybe it was another stargazing night, like the ones you often shared in silence. But when you arrived, your breath caught.
He had cleared a space in the grass and lined it with soft, glowing petals. A few hung from nearby branches — not too many, just enough to make the air feel alive with light. In the center, he stood waiting, hands behind his back, eyes brighter than you’d ever seen them.
“You remember this place?” he asked softly, watching your face. You nodded. “You dared me to climb that tree,” you smiled, pointing up. “You had to carry me down after I got stuck halfway.” He chuckled, stepping closer. “I’ve carried you through a lot since then.” Your stomach twisted in the best way.
He took your hands in his. “I didn’t know how to say it before. I didn’t want to ruin what we had. But I can’t hold it anymore.”
Your heartbeat like thunder in your chest. “I love you,” he said. Simply. “I have for years. You’re my best friend, my peace, the only thing that feels right no matter what else changes.” You stared up at him, blinking fast, your chest tight.
He smiled, breathless now. “And if I’m lucky… maybe you feel the same.” You didn’t answer with words. You stepped forward and pulled him into a hug so tight it nearly knocked the wind from him.
“I see you,” you whispered against his skin, and he melted.
When you pulled back, your eyes were glassy. “I’ve loved you too. I just didn’t know how to say it either.”
His smile was the softest you’d ever seen. “You didn’t have to. I think I’ve always known.”
And when he kissed you — slow, reverent, trembling just slightly — it felt like the end of a question you’d both been asking for years. Ever since that night under the stars, everything between you and Neteyam had shifted.
There was no more wondering, no more hesitation, no more hiding behind half-glances and lingering touches. Now you could hold his hand openly in the village, sit a little closer during meals, steal little kisses when no one was watching. But the problem was… people were watching.
It started innocently enough. A few days after you’d officially become a couple, Neytiri had walked into the family kelku earlier than expected and found the two of you curled up in Neteyam’s hammock. Fully clothed, mostly, but definitely tangled together, your hands beneath his chest wrap and his lips pressed against your neck like he had no plans to stop.
She didn’t say anything, not at first. Just blinked, paused… and then quietly backed out of the space with a small smirk that left you burying your face in Neteyam’s shoulder while he cursed softly under his breath.
“She’s going to tell everyone, “You groaned. “She probably already has,” he whispered, but he kissed you again anyway. After that, the teasing began.
Lo’ak was the first to weaponize it. He caught you and Neteyam just outside the edge of the forest, your back against a tree and your mate’s hands far too low on your hips for brotherly comfort. Lo’ak didn’t even pause — just whistled as he passed.
“Don’t mind me, just trying to avoid eye contact so I can keep my vision,” he said loudly, laughing all the way back to the village.
Then came Kiri, who found you both late one night when she came to retrieve a healing pouch from the supplies and opened the wrong curtain — only to find Neteyam halfway beneath your wrap and your legs around his waist.
“AHHHH!!” she squeaked, backing out so fast she knocked over a water basin. The two of you froze, staring wide-eyed at the closed flap.
Even Tuk caught you…Twice. Once during a morning swim, when Neteyam pulled you into his lap and whispered something you really shouldn’t have giggled at. Tuk popped out of the water like a fish, wide-eyed and innocent. “Why is your face all red?” she asked you curiously. “Did Neteyam say something naughty?”
“Go swim,” Neteyam said immediately, flustered. “Go!”
The last time you’d been caught, it had taken a full week for Lo’ak to stop whistling teasingly every time you and Neteyam so much as stood near each other. But today, the pull between you was too strong. Just a few stolen minutes behind the large cluster of flowering trees near the family kelku—it wasn’t far, but just out of sight.
Neteyam had you pinned gently to the forest floor, his broad, paint-streaked body curled over yours, propped on his elbows to avoid crushing you. One hand was tangled in your hair, the other… was not where it should’ve been, tugging your tweng slightly aside as his mouth met yours over and over. The air between you was breathless—sweet, gasping kisses exchanged like secrets.
You had your hands on his back, fingers pressing into the muscle at his sides as you whispered, “Neteyam—” Then came a very small gasp.
“Neteyam?” a tiny voice squeaked. Both of you jolted in unison. There, just a few feet away, stood Tuk, eyes huge, hands clutching her toy beads. She looked confused. Then her lower lip quivered.
“Mommy!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “NETEYAM IS HURTING HER!!” Your heart stopped.
“Tuk, no! Wait, I’m not—” You scrambled up, dragging your tweng back into place, face burning.
Neteyam looked like Eywa herself had struck him. “Tuk—it’s not what it looks like!” Too late.
Tuk had already darted off in a blur, hollering, “MOMMY! COME FAST!” Seconds passed in a panicked blur before Neytiri burst into the clearing, bow drawn—followed closely by Jake, Lo’ak, Kiri, and an already-snorting Tuk. The scene they arrived to? You, breathless and flushed, your hair mussed. Neteyam crouched beside you, shirtless as always, hands raised like he was surrendering to the Great Mother herself.
“She—she thought I was—” he started.
“I thought she was hurt!!” Tuk insisted, tears pooling in her wide golden eyes. “She was saying ‘Neteyam—wait—’”
“Oh Eywa,” you groaned, dropping your face into your hands. Jake turned away, trying not to laugh. Lo’ak didn’t bother trying. “Bro. Again?!”
Neytiri sighed deeply and gave her son a long look. “Great mother Neteyam.”
“Oh my Eywa,” Kiri echoed, arms crossed.
Meanwhile, Tuk sniffled into Neytiri’s side, still confused. “But why was her tweng pulled down again?” You shrieked in embarrassment, as Kiri and Lo’ak started and uproar
Neteyam wrapped an arm around your shoulders and leaned in, whispering with a smug smile, “Next time… high in the trees?” You elbowed him. “Next time? There won’t be a next time.”
It had been years in the making, the two of you growing up entangled in a love that had bloomed slowly and deeply, like roots stretching beneath the forest floor. Everyone had seen it coming—long before either of you were ready to admit it. The glances, the lingering touches, the way Neteyam’s eyes always searched for you in a crowd and the way your laughter always came easiest in his presence. But still, nothing prepared you for the day he asked you to be his mate.
You’d been walking together through the forest, side by side as you always had, your fingers brushing now and then as they often did. He was quiet that day, more thoughtful than usual. You didn’t know where he was leading you until you reached that ridge above the canopy—the one with the clearest view of the floating mountains. You’d sat there many times before, watching the banshees in the distance, the sky changing colors like a slow-burning fire. But this time, he turned to you with a look in his eyes you hadn’t seen before—soft, certain, a little nervous.
“I’ve known this since we were children,” he said, his hands gently taking yours. “Even before I knew what it meant… I knew you were mine. I want to make that true in the eyes of Eywa. Will you choose me? Will you mate with me for life?”
Your heart stilled, then surged. You had loved him for as long as you could remember—through the awkward childhood years, the teasing, the jealous stares, the stolen kisses behind trees. It was never a question. “Yes,” you whispered. “Always, Neteyam.”
He exhaled, his forehead resting against yours, both of you whispering, “Oel ngati kameie.” His lips brushed yours then—slow, reverent, full of all the promises he hadn’t yet spoken aloud. There was no pressure, no rush. Just love. You would wait for the ceremony. You would wait for each other.
The engagement celebration arrived just a few days later, and the entire clan seemed to vibrate with joy. Music echoed through the trees, lightstones glowing in woven vines above the gathering space. Neytiri had helped braid your hair that morning, her hands gentle as she whispered about her own mating to Jake, about the sweetness and seriousness of the commitment you were about to take. Jake, on the other hand, gave Neteyam a mock stern look and muttered, “I’m so proud of you boy. You earned a good one. Just try to keep it in your tweng until after the ceremony, yeah?”
Kiri hugged you both, whispering, “Don’t think we haven’t noticed all the disappearing acts and stolen touches. Eywa has eyes, you know.” Even Lo’ak smirked and raised his drink in a toast. “To the two worst liars in the family.” Tuk, sweet and wide-eyed, had thrown flower petals at your feet and loudly declared, “Now you get to kiss forever!”
As tradition dictated, you and Neteyam exchanged woven bands of hand-dyed fibers, made from plants you had both gathered together during a quiet week of preparing. They were simple, but beautiful—your initials carved in tiny beads sewn into the weave. You danced beneath the moonlight, your bodies close, eyes locked, his hand warm on your waist. It felt like flying.
Later, when the songs faded and the laughter quieted, Neteyam took your hand once more and led you to your new shared kelku, tucked beneath the giant roots of a banyan tree not far from his family’s. You’d helped build it together, but tonight was the first time you saw it finished. Lightstones glowed warmly inside. Feathers and woven flowers draped along the doorway, and the bed of moss and pelts was soft and inviting.
“I wanted it perfect,” he murmured, pulling back the curtain of vines to let you step inside first. Your breath caught as you turned, meeting his gaze. “It is.”
Inside, he was gentle—so gentle. Every kiss felt like a prayer, every touch reverent. You had both waited for this night, saved yourselves for it. There was laughter and clumsy shifting, soft sighs and long-held gazes. He murmured your name again and again, like a vow. And when the moment finally came, when you gave yourselves fully to one another, it wasn’t rushed or fiery or awkward. It was sacred. Yours. Together.
He held you through it, whispering encouragement, kissing away your nervousness, moving slow and with care. You clung to him, heart pounding, breath catching in your throat when pleasure overtook pain, and you realized just how deeply he loved you.
After, you lay tangled together, your head on his chest, your hand curled over his heart. The air still held the scent of the flowers he’d hung earlier, and the sounds of the forest hummed softly around you like a lullaby. He kissed your hair and whispered, “You are my forever, yawne.” You smiled against his skin. “And you are mine.”
Outside, the stars blinked gently through the treetops, and the moon cast soft light across your new home. And inside, beneath warm furs and whispered breaths, you slept curled in each other’s arms, truly mated, body and soul.
Not long after you and Neteyam were officially mated, it happened — you became pregnant. The signs came slowly at first. Your body began to change in subtle ways: your energy dipped, your appetite shifted, and there was a soft heaviness blooming low in your belly. Neteyam noticed before anyone else, before even you. He started watching you more carefully, guiding your steps when walking through thick roots, brushing your hair away from your face when you were tired, lingering with his hand over your abdomen when you rested. He didn’t say anything for a few days — just watched, waited, and loved you all the more gently.
When you finally told him, you placed his hand over your growing belly. You didn’t have to say anything; his eyes widened, and his whole expression softened into something almost reverent. “A baby,” he breathed. “Our baby.” And then he kissed you — slow and deep and full of wonder — before pulling you tightly into his arms. “Eywa has truly blessed us,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “I will take care of you both. Always.”
The Sully family’s reaction was just as emotional. Neytiri pressed her forehead to yours and wept, hands cradling your cheeks as she whispered a mother’s blessing over you. Jake grinned and clapped Neteyam on the shoulder, shaking his head in amazement. “That’s my boy,” he said, laughing quietly. “Starting his own clan already.” Kiri was immediately fussing over you — bringing herbs, creating teas to ease discomfort, and weaving protective beads into your hair. Lo’ak smirked and muttered, “Great, now there’s gonna be a mini you running around,” but even he couldn’t hide the pride in his voice. Tuk was simply overjoyed. She wrapped her arms around your stomach and spoke to the baby as if they could already understand her. “I’m going to teach you all my games,” she promised seriously. “And we’ll eat fruit and swim and make trouble.”
As the seasons passed and your belly grew round with new life, you were never alone. The entire Sully family wrapped you in love and care. Clan members stopped by with gifts — soft cloth for the baby wrap, carved toys, fruits and roots rich with nutrients. Neteyam, though, was your constant. He helped you bathe in the cool springs when your back ached, carried you when your legs tired, massaged your feet when you couldn’t sleep. His hands were always gentle, reverent. He spoke to your belly each night, whispering stories, dreams, and promises. “You are already so loved, little one,” he’d say. “Your mother is the strongest soul I know. You’re safe with us.”
Then, one evening, the pain began. It started as a low pressure in your back, then came the waves — tightening, pulsing, until your body was trembling with effort. Neteyam didn’t panic. He scooped you up and brought you to your kelku, calling softly for his mother. Neytiri arrived swiftly, calm and collected. “It is time,” she said, brushing your sweat-dampened hair from your face. “Breathe, ma’ite. I will help you bring this child into the world.”
Neteyam knelt at your side, holding your hand, grounding you with his touch. “You’re doing so well,” he whispered, kissing your temple between contractions. “I’m here. I’m right here.”
Neytiri worked with the grace and strength of a seasoned mother. She guided you through each wave, spoke calmly even when your cries rose with the intensity. You gripped Neteyam’s hand, locked eyes with him, and knew — you could do this. With his love. With his strength. With your own. And then — a cry. Not yours.
Your baby was born under the canopy of night, with Neytiri lifting him gently into the air, his small limbs flailing, his voice strong and full of life. “A son,” she said, her own eyes shining as she handed him to you. “You have a son.”
Tears streamed down your face as you cradled him to your chest. Neteyam leaned close, arms around both of you, trembling with joy. “He’s perfect,” he whispered. “You did it, yawne. You gave us a son.”
The family came soon after, quiet and wide-eyed. “His name is Eylan.” Neteyam told everyone. Neytiri placed a kiss on your forehead. Jake kissed his grandson’s tiny hand. Kiri smiled with misty eyes. Lo’ak and Tuk peeked from behind the doorway until they were invited in, and Tuk gasped, clutching her mouth. “He’s so small,” she whispered. “Can I hold him?”
That night, your kelku glowed with woven lanterns, the scent of sweet herbs, and the sound of lullabies. Neteyam held you close, his son resting on your chest, and whispered, “This is our beginning. And I will love you both for the rest of my life.” Time had a strange way of moving when your days were filled with joy.
Eylan turned one beneath the thick canopy of Home Tree, surrounded by warmth, song, and laughter. His wide amber eyes sparkled with the curiosity of his father, and his tiny feet already tried to run before they could walk properly. He giggled with wild abandon, often tumbling into arms always waiting to catch him — yours, Neteyam’s, or someone from the Sully family, all of whom adored him beyond reason.
Neteyam carved him a tiny wooden ikran, polished smooth with love, and painted it with soft, natural dyes. “So you can fly even before you’re big enough to ride,” he whispered to his son, lifting him high into the air with a grin as Eylan squealed in delight. That moment was one of hundreds. Every day, Neteyam would swing Eylan onto his shoulders and run with him through the trees, climbing, laughing, teaching him the sounds of the forest and the names of the creatures they passed. “This is your home,” he would say gently, tapping Eylan’s chest with two fingers. “Here, and here with us.”
The Sully family was hopelessly smitten with him. Tuk was his favorite playmate, often letting him ride on her back like a direhorse, giggling as she neighed and galloped through the roots of Home Tree. Kiri braided tiny strings of flowers into his baby hair, whispering gentle stories of Eywa, and Lo’ak — despite pretending to be too cool — secretly carved Eylan little animals out of soft wood, sneaking them into his sleeping furs at night.
Even Jake, who was always so focused, would sit down with Eylan and bounce him on his knee, speaking to him in English and Na’vi, smiling despite himself when the baby would babble back nonsense. Neytiri taught you how to soothe him when he cried and helped you prepare his first bow — though it was mostly for show, since Eylan liked to chew on it more than anything.
And between it all — it was you and Neteyam. Your bond grew even deeper, grounded in shared parenthood, laughter, and exhaustion. Late nights swaying with Eylan between your bodies, mornings where you awoke to Neteyam cradling him on his chest, humming softly, eyes half-lidded with peace. He was the most patient, most loving father you could have dreamed of. He told you that he had never known a love like this before — not just for his child, but for you, the mother of his son.
“Eywa has blessed me more than I deserve,” he said once, eyes locked on you both while you nursed Eylan under the flowering branches of a quiet grove. “You’ve made me a father, a mate… a man.” But peace doesn’t last forever.
The Sky People returned like a storm — metal crashing from the skies, fire scorching the land. In that first wave, everyone fought. Even Neteyam, young but fierce, took to the air with his bow and his ikran to defend what mattered most. For a full year, the Sullys waged war at the edges of the forest — watching, protecting, ambushing.
You kept Eylan close, never letting him out of your sight. Neteyam came back to you every night, stained with ash or blood or both, always checking to see his son sleeping safely in your arms before allowing himself to breathe.
There were nights where he didn’t speak — only held you and buried his face in your neck. “I don’t want him to grow up like this,” he murmured once, voice breaking. “He deserves to know trees, not fire.” When Eylan turned two, Jake finally said the words that shattered your heart: We have to go.
Neteyam protested quietly but understood. “To protect Eylan,” he said, holding his son tighter that night, “we must let go of everything we’ve ever known.”
The night before you left, you and Neteyam stood hand in hand, watching your kelku — the home where Eylan took his first steps, where Neteyam carved lullabies into the walls — one last time. You whispered blessings to the trees, and Neteyam lifted your sleeping son to the stars. “Eywa, guide us,” he said. “Guide our family to where he can be free.” And with hearts both heavy and hopeful, you turned toward the sea.
The sea was not the forest — not in the way it whispered, not in the way it held you — but in time, it became a new kind of home.
Arriving at the Metkayina village had been overwhelming. The open skies and endless horizon felt like another world entirely compared to the thick canopy you had once called home. You remembered how Eylan had clung to Neteyam’s shoulders, wide-eyed and quiet, watching the turquoise waves roll beneath the woven walkways.
You had been welcomed with caution. The Metkayina were kind, but wary. Their ways were not yours. Your bodies were different. Your tongues spoke in a slightly different rhythm. But you learned — all of you.
Neytiri, though her heart still longed for the trees, adapted with quiet grace. Jake trained beside Tonowari, his voice always calm but commanding. Kiri thrived — as if she’d been born from the sea itself. Tuk learned fast, her tiny braids always dripping with salt water, and Lo’ak… well, Lo’ak found love.
Tsireya — beautiful, graceful, radiant. Her laughter was a melody that rang through the cove like birdsong, and Lo’ak fell fast and hard. It was the kind of love that snuck up on him, the way it had for you and Neteyam all those years ago. She became a sister to you, her presence a comfort and joy. Her family welcomed you all in time — friendships forged through hardship, trust, and time. Ronal eventually softened, especially when she saw the way you raised your children with the same fire and patience she held for her own.
You remembered when Neteyam first brought you to the deeper reefs. Your fingers laced, the sun cutting gold through the waves as he taught you how to dive with your whole body, how to let the sea carry you. “This is freedom too,” he’d whispered against your skin as you surfaced, breathless and laughing. “Just a different kind.” Four years passed like water slipping through your fingers, quietly, steadily.
Eylan grew into a wild-hearted six-year-old, just like his father. He was fearless in the water, nimble with his ilu, sharp-eyed and fast. He learned to dive before many of the Metkayina children his age, and Tonowari even joked once that “the forest boy must’ve been born in the waves.” Neteyam beamed with pride, always the first to cheer when his son surfaced from a dive or speared his first fish.
Your family expanded, love growing even deeper between you and Neteyam. One starlit night, under a blanket of bioluminescent light dancing across the sea, you told him you were expecting again. He cried softly, cradling your belly with reverence. “Eywa gives me everything I never knew I needed,” he murmured into your neck. “You, our sons… our life.”
From the moment Likan was born, the Sully kelku overflowed with even more laughter, love, and affection than ever before. Neytiri had been the first to hold him after Neteyam, her hands gentle and sure as she cradled her newest grandson, whispering quiet blessings in Na’vi. She marveled at how much he looked like his father—Neteyam’s strong jaw, his deep golden eyes—but with your nose and the soft curl of your lips. She pressed a kiss to Likan’s brow and then turned to you, tears in her eyes. “Ma ‘ite, you and my son… you make such beauty together.”
Jake, too, was wrapped around Likan’s tiny fingers. Even more laid-back as a grandfather than he ever was as a father, he spent mornings showing Likan carved wooden animals he made just for him, while Eylan proudly helped paint them in bright sea-colored hues. “Two boys,” he’d say with a wide grin, tousling Eylan’s hair while Likan cooed in his lap. “You and Neteyam are in for it now.” But the pride was clear in his voice, and so was the joy.
Kiri, as always, was a natural. She carried Likan around on her hip with flowers braided in his hair, telling him long stories of Eywa and forest spirits. Likan loved the sound of her voice and often fell asleep curled against her chest as she whispered the tales of Home Tree. Tuk—who had long since appointed herself big cousin of the year—took her role seriously. She made matching seashell necklaces for both Eylan and Likan, always watching over the youngest with gentle care. The first time Likan said “Tuk” in his tiny voice, she cried and wouldn’t let go of him all afternoon.
Even Lo’ak, ever the wild one, became surprisingly soft when it came to Likan. He would let the baby climb all over him, even yank on his braids, never once complaining. He carried Likan on his shoulders through the shallows, pretending to be a tulkun, while Eylan rode proudly on Neteyam’s back beside them. “You’re just lucky you look like your mama,” Lo’ak teased once, pinching Likan’s cheek. “That’s why I let you drool on me.”
And Neteyam—Eywa, Neteyam. The way he looked at his sons was enough to melt your heart every time. He was a father so deeply in love with his family that every look, every laugh, every moment spent cuddled between the boys and you in the hammock, told its own story of devotion. With Likan sleeping on his chest and Eylan curled at his side.
Now at two years old, Likan was a constant companion to Eylan — always trailing behind him, squealing as he tried to mimic everything his big brother did. Neteyam was utterly taken with them both. He carved toys from driftwood, told them stories under the stars, and swam with Likan cradled on his back while Eylan darted circles around them. You watched often from the shore, your heart full beyond words. And though the forest still called to you sometimes in dreams… the sea answered back with peace. This was your home now. Your family. Your love.
A few months later you were sitting in the sand with Neteyam, just past the tree line where the sea met the forest, your legs stretched in front of you, your back against his warm chest. His arms were wrapped securely around you, one hand gently tracing the growing curve of your belly — not yet obvious to others, but known, deeply felt.
“You’re sure?” he whispered softly into your ear, his breath warm, his voice reverent. You smiled, fingers threading through his. “I’m sure,” you murmured. “I wanted to wait to tell you until I was certain. You’re going to be a father again.”
Neteyam’s breath caught. He froze, just for a second, then exhaled a shaky laugh of disbelief, joy breaking across his features like sunlight. He kissed your cheek, your temple, your jaw, your shoulder — then rested his forehead against yours. “Three,” he whispered. “We’re going to have three.”
You both waited until that evening to tell the family. The Sully kelku was alive with laughter and light. Tuk was trying to balance Likan on her back like a pa’li, and Eylan was using a shell to make “soup” out of seawater and sand. Lo’ak and Kiri arguing about minuscule things making Tsireya laugh. Jake and Neytiri sat by the fire, smiling at the chaos around them. When you took Neteyam’s hand and stood, all eyes turned.
“We have something to share,” Neteyam said, his voice gentle but steady. You couldn’t stop smiling as he placed a proud hand over your belly. “We’re expecting again.”
Gasps echoed. Tuk squealed, running to throw her arms around your waist. Neytiri rose quickly, mist in her eyes as she cupped your cheeks, her joy immediate. “Eywa has blessed us,” she whispered. Jake let out a whoop and clapped Neteyam hard on the back. Lo’ak tackled him in congratulations, and Kiri and Tsireya wrapped you both in a long, warm hug.
Even Ronal and Tonowari sent over gifts the next day — strands of woven pearls for you, a carved bone teether for the baby, a set of tiny sea-colored wraps. The whole village celebrated. For a while, everything was peace and laughter and hope. Until the demon ship came.
It was fast — the sky people returning in brutal force. The hunting party never returned. Roa, Ronal’s spirit sister, was slaughtered along with her calf. The waves turned red. The village turned silent. Jake called for the warriors to move — and Neteyam turned to you, gripping your arms tightly.
“Stay,” he whispered, his voice low but firm. “Stay here. Watch the boys. Don’t leave the kelku, no matter what. I’ll come back. I promise.” Your heart twisted, but you nodded. You kissed him once, then again, pressing your forehead to his. “Come back to me,” you whispered.
Hours later, too many hours in your opinion passed, the sky and see had matching shades of orange when Kiri came stumbling in, “come, come, he is hurt.” She stuttered out and you didn’t need another word picking yourself up and running to the healer's mauri. Kiri close behind with Likan in her hip and Eylan clutching her hand.
The healer’s mauri was already crowded by the time you ran through the reef village. She hadn’t said much after those word—just “Neteyam” and “shot”—and that alone had been enough to steal your breath, to send your thoughts into a panicked spiral. You didn’t even stop to ask if he was alive. You couldn’t. You didn’t want to hear anything but “yes.”
Your chest was tight, your throat aching with the pressure of a scream that hadn’t yet found air. Kiri’s footsteps splashed behind you through shallow tidepools, your two sons in her arms and at her heels. You didn’t dare turn around. You were focused on one thing.
When you reached the healer’s mauri, you pushed aside the flap without hesitation—and froze. He was there. Laid out on a woven mat, bloodied and still. The wail that tore out of you was immediate, raw and unrestrained. “Neteyam!”
Jake was already kneeling beside his son, hands stained red, whispering soft prayers to Eywa. Neytiri sat with her forehead pressed against Neteyam’s hand, tears streaking her face. Lo’ak stood rigid in the corner, jaw clenched so tight it looked like he might crack his own teeth. Tuk, curled in Neytiri’s lap, was wide-eyed and quiet, too young to understand all of it but old enough to feel the fear. When you stumbled in, the room shifted instantly.
You fell to your knees beside Neteyam, grabbing his hand, sobbing so violently it was hard to breathe. “Please—Neteyam, wake up. Wake up! Please!”
Jake reached for your shoulder, trying to steady you, but you pulled away, your entire body curling over Neteyam’s as if your love alone could protect him from whatever force had done this. “Mama?” Eylan’s little voice broke behind you. You turned around sharply, wild-eyed, as Kiri entered, holding Likan on her hip and Eylan’s hand. The boys stopped short at the sight of their father.
“Mama, what’s wrong with sempu?” Eylan asked, clutching Kiri’s leg, voice quivering. “Why is he all red?” Your breath hitched. Likan looked around, confused and teary. “Is Daddy sleeping?” You pressed your hands to your mouth, eyes wide and brimming with tears. You tried to speak, but nothing came out—only broken sobs.
Kiri gently passed Likan to Neytiri, who cradled him and Tuk together, her arms trembling. Jake picked Eylan up and sat down beside you on the mat, placing the boy in your lap and anchoring your shaking hands around him.
“Breathe, sweetheart,” he said, firmly but gently. “I know. I know it’s hard. But he’s alive. He’s fighting. Look at him.”
You barely heard him. Your eyes were locked on Neteyam’s face, unmoving, pale save for the angry red of dried blood. Eylan looked up at you, his tiny hand pressing to your cheek. “Why are you crying?” he asked, sniffling. “Is Daddy gonna go to Eywa?”
“No!” you gasped out, shaking your head too fast. “No, no, baby—he—he’s not—he’s not—” You couldn’t even finish. You broke again, hugging Eylan to your chest, your other hand reaching toward Neteyam even as your entire body shook.
Neytiri passed Likan to Lo’ak, who gently bounced him as he stood, whispering, “It’s okay, little guy, Daddy’s gonna be okay.” But you could see his jaw trembling too, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. Neytiri came to you, kneeling beside you and pulling you into her arms, guiding your head to her shoulder while you sobbed.
“You are not alone,” she whispered, voice thick with emotion. “You don’t carry this alone.” Kiri had tears on her face too, but she wiped them away as she pressed a damp cloth to Neteyam’s brow. “We got to him in time,” she said quietly, mostly for your sake. “Tsireya stopped the bleeding. He just needs rest. Healing.”
Jake was silent for a long moment; his eyes locked on his eldest son. Then he reached over, brushing Eylan’s curls out of his eyes, and said, “Your dad’s the strongest person I know, kiddo. He’ll wake up. You’ll see.”
You just cried harder, holding your boy as if they were the only thing keeping you tethered to the ground. And all the while, Neteyam lay still, his hand warm in yours. A breath of life—but only barely.
You clutched Eylan to your chest, holding him so tightly he whimpered, confused, but not resisting. His round eyes flicked between you and his father’s unmoving body. His little fingers fisted in your hair as your cries began—raw, broken, guttural. You were saying his name over and over, as if it alone could tether his soul back to you. “Neteyam… please… please…”
You barely noticed Lo’ak nearby, now crouched low, arms full of Likan who writhed and whimpered and cried against his uncle’s chest. The toddler was panicking, struggling to reach for you, reaching out with one hand while he clung to Lo’ak with the other. His small voice was cracked from crying, his face wet with tears, overwhelmed by the sight of both his parents falling apart in front of him. You didn’t notice Kiri until she was right beside you. She didn’t speak.
She simply knelt, calm and sure, and slid her arms under Eylan’s small body. He resisted only briefly, but the tears on your face, the shaking of your shoulders, it frightened him. He let go of your neck and went into Kiri’s hold, his lower lip trembling as she stood and turned away, taking him to the edge of the mauri.
Only when his weight left your arms did you suddenly feel how hollow they were. You turned back to Neteyam, grabbing at his hand, kissing it, whispering to him as tears continued to pour from your chin to his bare chest. Your trembling fingers brushed his braids back from his sweat-damp face, desperate for anything, any sign—any flicker.
Likan was screaming now—soft, broken screams of confusion and fear. Neytiri appeared behind Lo’ak, arms open, and Lo’ak handed his little nephew off gently. Likan’s tiny fists pounded at her shoulder, face pressed to her neck as she rocked him, whispering softly, shielding him from the sight of his father.
The mauri entrance stirred Ronal entered first, sharp-eyed and focused, followed closely by Tsireya and two other healers. Their arms were full of salves, herbs, warm cloth. The moment they entered, the air changed urgency replacing fear. “You must move,” Ronal said, not cruelly, but firm.
“No,” you gasped, clutching Neteyam’s arm, burying your face in his shoulder. “No, I can’t—he needs me—I need to stay—”
“He will not survive if we cannot reach him,” she said, already setting her things beside him. Tsireya crossed to the other side and knelt. Her voice was softer, coaxing. “Please. Let us help him. You’ve done all you can.”
You didn’t hear yourself sob. You didn’t feel your body convulsing with every breath. But the arms that pulled you back were familiar—Jake’s. You resisted at first, claws curling into the woven mat. “No—no, please—I can’t—please, no—”
Neytiri approached, still rocking Likan, who was hiccuping against her shoulder, his little voice warbling with the last of his strength. She kissed his head and crouched beside you. “Let them save him, ma’ite. You must let go for now.”
“No, no no no I can’t,” you whispered through choked sobs. Jake pulled you back slowly, and you crumbled into him, your face buried in his chest as your hands reached blindly for your mate.
Kiri was nearby, holding Eylan close, whispering softly. Lo’ak paced beside her, running his fingers through his hair, glancing back constantly at Neteyam. Tuk stood just behind her mother, silent, holding her own tears in a tight, trembling grip. And there, in that mauri, with your heart breaking open and your sons crying for comfort you couldn’t give, you watched as the only person who could soothe your storm lay still unmoving while the healers began their quiet, desperate work. The moment the flap of the healer’s mauri closed behind you; it felt like the world fell silent—then exploded into anguish.
You dropped to the sand as if your legs no longer knew how to hold you. Jake had carried you out, his hands firm but careful, his jaw clenched with grief. He tried to speak, but you had already broken into pieces in his arms, and there were no words that could hold your weight now. Gently, he set you down and immediately turned back for Tuk, who had come stumbling out moments after, her face a pale mask of confusion.
She didn’t speak. Didn’t cry. Her wide eyes just watched her family unravel. Jake bent down, scooped her into his arms, and held her like she was the last solid thing in his life. He kissed her forehead again and again as she clung to him, asking over and over, “Is going to Neteyam okay daddy?” Jake had no answers.
You knelt just beyond the entrance, in the pale sand outside the mauri, your body trembling uncontrollably. The sobs that escaped you were unhinged—raw, cracking your chest open in a way that made Lo’ak look away, jaw tight, his own eyes shining. You gasped like you couldn’t find the air. Like breathing itself betrayed you. You clutched your stomach—your growing belly—and cried out his name.
“Neteyam! Neteyam! Please—please! Wake up! I can’t—he can’t—” The words never finished. Your throat closed around them.
Lo’ak was the one who caught you this time, sliding to his knees and pulling you into him. You fought him at first—your hands pushing against his chest, trembling with the desire to get back inside, to feel Neteyam’s warmth, to stop this nightmare. But Lo’ak held you, arms locked tight around you like a brace, grounding you when the world kept spinning. You crumpled into him, shaking violently, your sobs muffled in his chest. “He’s cold, Lo’ak. He was so cold. He looked—he looked—gone.”
Lo’ak couldn’t speak for a moment. His throat was thick, lips trembling. He closed his eyes, pressing his cheek against the crown of your head. His voice was hoarse when he finally said, “But he’s not. He’s not gone. He’s alive. Tsireya stopped the bleeding. Ronal’s working on him now. He’s gonna pull through. He has to.” Your arms clung to him like a lifeline. “I need him… I need him…”
“I know,” he whispered. “We all do.” Nearby, Kiri sat cross-legged in the sand, Eylan tucked into her lap. The little boy was crying silently now, exhausted, tears streaking his cheeks as he leaned into her chest. She ran her fingers through his hair, whispering soft reassurances even as her own face was stiff with fear. She kept glancing toward the mauri, her heart clearly still with her brother.
Likan was still in Neytiri’s arms, wailing louder now—not because of Neteyam’s absence, but because he could feel the pain in his family, see the desperation in your cries. “Mama! Mamaaaa!” he hiccuped into his grandmother’s neck, reaching his arms toward you, but Neytiri gently rocked him and whispered, “Shh, little one. Let her breathe. She’s just scared. She loves you. She loves your sempu.”
Jake, holding Tuk close, had crouched in the sand a short distance away. His face was stone, but his eyes—red and glossy—betrayed the cracks inside. He held Tuk’s small head against his shoulder as she finally started crying, her confusion becoming real fear. “Why is she screaming?” she asked. “Why can’t we go help?”
“She’s scared,” Jake said softly. “And we’re just waiting now. Giving Neteyam time to be okay.”
Kiri gently leaned her head down, pressing her forehead to Eylan’s. “Your daddy’s strong, ma ‘itan,” she murmured. “He’s going to be okay. But you need to be brave too, alright? Your mama needs you to be brave.”
You didn’t hear any of it. You couldn’t. Everything was a blur. A tunnel of sound—your heart pounding, your sobs relentless, your baby squirming in your belly as if they, too, could feel your terror. Lo’ak held you as your cries lost their sound and became breathless heaves, his own hands trembling as he wiped the tears from your cheeks.
“You can’t fall apart,” he said, but the words weren’t harsh. They were trembling. “Not yet. Not when he’s still fighting in there. You know Neteyam. He’d never leave you. He wouldn’t.”
The world was muffled behind your tears. But your ears caught the soft, broken cries of your sons again, and your heart lurched. Your lungs burned as you forced yourself to look around.
Likan was still in Neytiri’s arms, clinging tightly to her as fat tears rolled down his round cheeks. At two years old, he didn’t understand any of this—just that something was terribly wrong. He let out a pitiful whimper, burying his face in her shoulder, sniffling and murmuring, “Mama… mama, dada… where dada?”
Eylan sat quietly now in Kiri’s lap just a few steps away, tear tracks fresh on his cheeks, his little fingers curled in the fabric of her chest wrap as he looked between you and the mauri hut. His voice was quiet but clear. “Why won’t Daddy wake up?” You broke. Again. But this time it was different. This time you didn’t fall into your grief—you leaned into your sons.
Lo’ak gently released you as you dropped to your knees, arms open for Eylan. Kiri didn’t hesitate; she leaned down and let your boy shuffle into your arms. He clung to you instantly, curling against your chest, his little breaths shaky.
“I’m here,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “I’m right here, my love.”
You felt movement behind you—Neytiri came forward and knelt beside you in the sand. Her arms eased Likan into yours, his soft, warm body curling against your other side. The moment your arms closed around him, he gave a wobbly cry and pushed his face into your neck, still trying to speak through his distress.
“Dada hurt? Dada owie?”
“No, baby,” you murmured, rocking them gently, tears still falling. “He’s going to be okay… He’s just sleeping. Just sleeping…” And then, finally, the world slowed.
The sky darkened above you as the sun dipped lower, the air thick with salt and grief. You sat there, tucked beside the mauri, your sons pressed tightly to your chest, tears still running silently down your face. The rest of the family formed around you.
Jake sat just behind Neytiri, arms wrapped protectively around Tuk, who trembled in his lap but didn’t make a sound. She stared at the entrance of the healer’s mauri like it might swallow her whole. Kiri curled next to you, brushing your hair back, her own eyes rimmed red but her touch soft, calming.
Lo’ak finally lowered himself to the sand beside you and sat in silence, head in his hands, his shoulders rising and falling with shallow breaths. One of his knees bumped against yours—close, supportive. He didn’t say anything more. No one did.
For a long time, the Sully family simply sat in a circle around you. Pressed together. Supporting each other in silence. Each face painted with pain and fear; each heart suspended between hope and horror. But together.
You clutched Eylan and Likan closer, your lips brushing their hair, whispering soft things that didn’t always make sense—just your voice, soothing, constant, loving. And in that quiet, broken moment, you remembered: you were still a family. Still together.
The night had long since fallen, the sky above painted with stars scattered like beads of light across deep ocean blue. The air was cool now, and the soft crash of waves against the reef was the only thing filling the silence outside the healer’s mauri. The Sully family hadn’t moved far — they couldn’t. Not with Neteyam still inside, still unconscious.
You were seated on the sand, legs folded, your arms wrapped tightly around both of your sons. Eylan was curled in your lap, his tiny fingers clutching the fabric of your chest wrap. He’d cried until his voice broke, then fallen asleep against you, lips still quivering in dreams. Likan, your littlest one, had cried himself hoarse in Lo’ak’s arms. When your sobs had calmed just enough to take him back, Lo’ak wordlessly passed him over, holding the back of your hand for a moment as he did, grounding you without needing to speak.
Now, Likan lay tucked across your legs like a baby ilu, one hand curled in your songcord, the other clutching his father’s discarded sash. His cheek was wet, pressed to your belly where his unborn sibling stirred gently in your womb — safe, for now. His small chest rose and fell with heavy, exhausted breaths.
Lo’ak sat directly beside you now. He hadn’t left your side since you’d been dragged from the mauri. His arm brushed yours, his shoulder nearly touching. Though he wasn’t saying much, the tension in his posture spoke volumes — hunched slightly forward, fingers fidgeting over a seashell bracelet, jaw clenched like he was fighting every wave of panic. His eyes, normally so full of mischief and light, were dim. He kept glancing toward the mauri flap like if he blinked, something would change.
Jake sat not far off, his strong arms wrapped around a sleeping Tuk. She was curled tightly in his lap, her small face still damp with tears. Neytiri had one hand on your back, rubbing slowly, her presence like a warm fire in the cold. Kiri was nearby too, legs pulled close to her chest, her gaze occasionally drifting to you and the boys, then back to the healer’s tent.
Tonowari stood quietly at a respectful distance, his wife having disappeared back inside some time ago. Aonung sat cross-legged just behind Lo’ak, giving space, but still clearly there — watching his friend, his second brother, with the protectiveness of someone who’d become family too. No one spoke.
The stillness was heavy, the kind of silence born from fear and hope and bone-deep exhaustion. But Neteyam was alive. You repeated that over and over in your mind like a prayer, like a chant to keep your heart from tearing again. Neteyam is alive. He is breathing.
You tightened your arms around your boys. Lo’ak’s hand reached over in the quiet and touched your shoulder, squeezing gently. You leaned into him for a moment — both of you needing it more than you’d ever say out loud.
The flap of the healer’s mauri finally shifted. Everyone’s head snapped up, every breath caught. You clutched your sons tighter, both still asleep against your chest and belly, and Lo’ak’s hand instinctively moved from your shoulder to your back, steadying you.
Ronal was the first to emerge. Her expression, always unreadable, was softer now — solemn, but without panic. Her hands were streaked with drying blood up to the forearms, her chest rising in quiet, measured breaths. Tsireya followed a heartbeat later, her eyes already shining with unshed tears, but her mouth curled in a small, hopeful smile.
“He lives,” Ronal said gently, looking at the circle of broken hearts around her. Your breath hitched, and Neytiri gasped softly beside you. Jake let out a quiet, choked sound and pressed his lips to Tuk’s hair, hugging her closer in his arms.
Lo’ak slumped forward, burying his face in his hands with a trembling exhale. Your heart stuttered in your chest.
“He is stable,” Tsireya continued, stepping forward, her voice softer, for you. “The wound was deep… but it missed anything vital. We have stitched it well and given him salves for pain. He is sleeping now — deeply. He may not wake for some time… but his spirit is strong.”
You couldn’t stop the tears. Silent, steady drops falling down your cheeks, soaking into Eylan’s curls. “He’ll wake up?” you asked, barely a whisper.
Ronal nodded. “Yes. In time. But he must rest. His body must heal.” Your arms tightened around your children. You nodded through your tears, leaning your head down to kiss both your sons on their brows. Neteyam wasn’t lost. Not this time. Not this battle.
Kiri let out a shuddering breath and leaned into Neytiri’s side. Neytiri took her hand. Jake looked to the sky as if thanking Eywa herself.
Aonung stepped forward and crouched next to Lo’ak, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “Brother will be alright,” he said simply. Lo’ak just nodded, still pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, silent tears slipping through.
Tonowari stepped forward at last, kneeling beside you. “You are welcome to stay here, all of you,” he said gently. “As long as you need. You are not alone.”
You looked up at him through your blurred vision and nodded gratefully. “Thank you… thank you…” Ronal placed a hand gently on your head — a rare, maternal gesture from her. “Soon, you may see him. Not yet. But soon.” You nodded again, your throat too tight for words, and pressed your cheek to Eylan’s little shoulder.
After that night, the one that tore the sky open above you — it was Neytiri who suggested moving Neteyam. She spoke quietly, like she might break if she raised her voice. “He should be home,” she said, eyes red-rimmed. “With you. With his sons. Where he belongs.”
And so, gently, the family helped you move him to your mauri — the small sea-shelled home you and Neteyam built with woven love and endless laughter, now filled with echoing silence. Jake carried his son’s weight like a ghost, Kiri and Lo’ak flanking either side. You stayed close, one hand on Neteyam’s chest, the other wrapped protectively around your swollen belly.
It wasn’t far from the Sully mauri. Close enough that no one ever knocked, and no one ever asked to enter. And so, your home became the heart of the family — the place everyone gathered, watched, waited. Grieved. Nights were the hardest. The soft sounds of the ocean couldn’t mask the ache.
Eylan slept between you and Neteyam, fingers always curled in his father’s braids. He would whisper, childlike and sure, “I think Daddy can still hear me. Right, Mama?” And though your heart would squeeze in pain, you nodded. “Yes, baby. He hears every word.”
Little Likan, barely two, still too young to understand, would crawl across Neteyam’s unmoving chest and giggle like nothing had changed. “Dada sleepin’,” he would murmur, laying his head down. “Shhh, baby sleeping.” Your heart cracked, over and over again.
One quiet afternoon, as you rubbed your aching belly and tried not to cry, Lo’ak sat beside you, legs crossed, elbows on knees. He watched Neteyam in silence for a while before saying, “You know, he always said he’d be the best dad. Like he wanted to prove something.”
You glanced at your sleeping mate. “He didn’t need to prove anything. He already was.”
Lo’ak smiled sadly. “I think… I think he was afraid. Of becoming like Dad. Of being too hard. Too… heavy.”
“He’s not,” you whispered. “He’s light. Always was.”
The Sully family never stayed away. Jake would come by early mornings to sit near Neteyam’s mat, just watching him with a hard jaw and teary eyes. Neytiri often brought steaming bowls of herbal broths and helped brush Likan’s hair from his eyes. Tuk curled against Neteyam’s arm every chance she got, small voice rambling about whatever creature she’d found that day.
“He’s still warm,” she said once, looking up at you with wide, hopeful eyes. “So that means he’s still in there.”
“Yes,” you murmured, brushing her hair back. “He’s still with us.”
Kiri came often too, singing over Neteyam’s still body, lighting healing oils, and wrapping arms around you when your breath caught from the pressure of the growing baby inside you. Tsireya and Ao’nung came by almost every day.
Tsireya would gently take Likan into her arms and hum soft Metkayina lullabies while you rested. “You are being so strong for your boys,” she said once, when your hands trembled too much to feed yourself.
Ao’nung was quieter, surprisingly so. He didn’t speak much, but he would bring fish, or woven toys for the boys, or sit near the edge of the mauri, his gaze flickering to Neteyam’s form with guilt and worry that never quite left his face. Once, you caught him whispering, “Come back, forest boy.”
It was your little family that held the world together. Eylan curled beside Neteyam at night, whispering stories about jellyfish and fish chases with Uncle Lo’ak. “Daddy needs to hear what he missed,” he would say matter-of-factly. Likan would climb onto your lap and ask, “Baby come soon?” then lay his tiny hand on your belly and say, “Tell Dada wake up. We waitin’.”
And you would lean into Neteyam’s chest, brushing your fingers over his jaw, whispering into the hollow of his throat, “You have to come back, ma yawne. They need you. I need you.”
Even though your world had cracked, you weren’t alone in the pieces.
Three moons had passed since the day your world cracked in two. Neteyam lay motionless on the center mat of your shared mauri, surrounded by silence and warmth and the weight of his family’s endless love. His chest still rose. His heart still beat. But his eyes… they never opened.
The boys had adapted, in a way only children could. Eylan had stopped asking when his father would wake. Instead, he stayed close, laying his tiny reed mat beside Neteyam’s every night, whispering stories into his ear about fish he’d seen, shells he’d found, dreams he’d had. “So when he wakes up, he knows everything, Mama,” he’d explain.
Likan didn’t understand. Two years old and all big eyes and chubby fingers, he still climbed onto Neteyam’s chest every morning and curled up, waiting for his father’s arms to wrap around him. Sometimes he laughed, babbling in half-sentences. Sometimes he cried. You never stopped watching.
And your belly — it was so round now. Eight months. You could feel every kick, every shift of the baby inside. Every night, you whispered to your unborn child as you stroked your mate’s still face. “Your sempu is here. He just needs more time.”
Norm and Max had come again that morning, quiet as always. They carried their strange, blinking human tools and moved around Neteyam’s mat with practiced care. They checked the IV that fed his body fluids and nutrients, adjusted the monitor that tracked his vitals. “He’s still holding on,” Norm said gently, not looking you in the eye”
“I don’t need him to hold on,” you muttered. “I need him to wake up.”
Lo’ak stood near the entrance of the mauri, arms folded tight across his chest, jaw clenched. He hadn’t left your side in weeks. He helped with the boys, helped you up when your back ached too much to rise, helped keep you breathing when everything inside you begged to scream.
That night, Eylan climbed into your lap beside Neteyam. “Mama,” he whispered, stroking your arm, “when is sempu gonna talk to me again?” You froze. Your hands tightened on his little back. “I miss daddy,” Eylan continued. “I think Likan does too. He cries sometimes for daddy.” You couldn’t hold it in. You turned your face away and let the sob break through. Eylan reached up, brushing away a tear. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No, baby. Eywa, no.” You kissed his forehead, hugging him tight. “He loves you more than anything. He just… he’s sleeping very strong.”
“Like when the fish go deep for the cold moons?”
“Exactly,” you lied, smiling through the ache. “But he’ll come back.”
Later that night, after the boys had fallen asleep — Likan curled on Neteyam’s chest, Eylan tucked under his arm — you stepped outside. The stars shimmered over the ocean, and the sound of waves broke softly against the reef. You didn’t cry this time. You just breathed.
“I’m scared,” you whispered to the sky. “He’s missing everything. Every kick. Every day the boys grow. He hasn’t even heard this baby’s heartbeat.”
Lo’ak appeared behind you quietly. “I know.” You turned to him, voice trembling. “What if I have this baby alone? What if he never—”
“You won’t,” he said, stepping forward. “We won’t let you be alone. I know I’m not him, but I swear… we’ve got you. I’ve got you.” You sank into him, tears finally returning. “I don’t want anyone else. I just want him.”
“I know,” Lo’ak whispered, pressing your head to his shoulder. “I want him to wake up too.”
Ronal came the next day, her presence as quiet and firm as ever. She set a bowl of warm herbs beside Neteyam’s mat and applied a paste along his temples. You watched as she murmured prayers and touched his chest.
“He is tethered,” she said finally, glancing at you. “You are the cord that keeps him here. Keep speaking to him.” You nodded, though your heart was so tired.
Tsireya came later, bringing new salve for your aching legs and sweet-smelling herbs for the boys. “We haven’t given up,” she said gently. “You shouldn’t either.” Even Ao’nung came by more often now. He didn’t speak much, just brought fresh fish or sat with Lo’ak near the shore when he needed space.
And still, your stomach grew. Every movement of the baby inside you brought both awe and fear. You’d lie next to Neteyam at night, his arm draped lifeless across your middle, and whisper, “They’re almost here, ma tìyawn. Please… please don’t miss this.”
But the days kept passing, and one month later, the pain came like fire—deep, sharp, and wrong. It was still dark outside the mauri when it woke you, seizing your breath and curling your body forward instinctively. You gasped, a broken cry ripping from your throat as you clutched your swollen belly. You knew what it meant. “No—no no no,” you whispered, panic rising fast. “Not now. Please not now.”
Your pain woke the boys, who both began to cry in their half-sleep—frightened, confused by the sound of your agony. “Mama? Mamaaa?”
You couldn’t even answer. You barely registered the door flap flying open, Kiri and Neytiri rushing in. Kiri dropped to your side. “It’s the baby,” she breathed, feeling your stomach. “You’re in labor.”
“I won’t do it,” you gasped, trying to stand—only to collapse into Neytiri’s arms, trembling. “I won’t—I can’t! Not without him!”
“He would want you to be strong,” Neytiri said quickly, but her voice cracked. “You have to be strong—please, for the baby.”
Tsireya and Ronal arrived next, gathering supplies and laying out a woven mat across the floor beside Neteyam’s still form. You shrank away from them, clutching your belly like it might hold the pain back.
“You need to lie down,” Tsireya said softly.
“I said no!” you cried. “I’m not having this baby without him! He was supposed to be here! He was supposed to hold my hand—he promised!” Ronal looked to Kiri, silently asking her to calm you, but before she could move, a voice cut through the panic.
“Y/n I’m surprised at you I really am, this…. this is not how I thought you’d handle this.” Lo’ak stood in the doorway. Pale. Tense. Eyes rimmed red from weeks of holding back every emotion that now pulsed right beneath his skin. Kiri opened her mouth, clearly ready to tell him to leave. “Lo’ak, maybe give her some—”
But he walked straight past her. He knelt down in front of you, gently brushing your damp hair back, speaking quietly so only you could hear. “I know you’re scared. You have every right to be. But you don’t get to quit right now.” You shook your head, voice cracking. “You don’t understand—”
“No, I do,” he said, cutting you off gently. “He was supposed to be here. I know that. And this isn’t fair. None of this is fair. But you’re not alone.” Your eyes welled up again, and you looked away.
Lo’ak leaned closer. “You’re not doing this for just you. You’re doing it for the baby. For Neteyam. For your little boys who still need their mama cause they’re crying cause you're in pain. You don’t get to quit on them. You don’t get to quit on me.” Your lower lip trembled as a contraction surged again, and you folded into it, screaming. “I know there’s a lot of things going on here we can’t control, but this, we can do this.” He caught you as you slumped forward, gently guiding you down onto the mat Tsireya had prepared. The moment you hit the floor, the room shifted.
Kiri immediately began gathering towels and boiling water. Neytiri scooped the boys into her arms, quickly passing them to Jake who waited just outside to rock them even as tears streaked her own cheeks. Ronal positioned herself at your feet, checking how far along you were. Tsireya set her hands at your side, grounding you in soft whispers.
Lo’ak didn’t move from behind you, sitting cross-legged so your back could lean into him, just like Neteyam had done for your first two births. He took your hand in his. “I’ve got you,” he whispered into your ear. “Just breathe. I’m not going anywhere.”
Another contraction came, and you screamed into his shoulder. He didn’t flinch. “I know it hurts,” he said quietly, his voice cracking. “I know everything feels like it’s falling apart, but this baby is yours and his and they’re ready. You just have to help them get here.”
“I don’t want to do it alone,” you sobbed.
“You’re not alone,” he said, pressing your forehead to his. “Look at me.” You opened your eyes—barely.
“I’m here. Kiri’s here. Mom’s here. Tsireya and Ronal are here. You are surrounded by people who love you. We’re not letting go. You can do this.” You let out a shuddering breath, nodding once. “Okay.”
“That’s it,” he whispered. “That’s all I need. When the next one comes—push. I’ve got you. I swear.”
The room shifted again—calm in the storm. Ronal nodded. “The baby is crowning. You must push.” You closed your eyes, tears falling fast, and squeezed Lo’ak’s hand as the next contraction came. You pushed. Screamed. Cried. And Lo’ak held you through every second of it.
Your chest heaved, sweat glistening on your skin as your trembling arms cradled the impossibly small bundle against your chest. She was still crying—tiny and sharp and alive. And Lo’ak… Lo’ak was still behind you, arms braced on either side of you, steadying you like a living pillar. His chest pressed to your back, chin briefly lowering to your shoulder as he whispered, “You did it.”
You couldn’t answer—not yet. Your voice was trapped in your throat, and your heart was thundering too hard, but you nodded weakly, tears falling freely down your cheeks.
Tsireya leaned close, her smile wet with emotion. “She is strong,” she whispered. “Just like her sa’nok.”
Ronal was quiet, checking your daughter’s tiny fingers, murmuring something under her breath maybe a prayer, maybe thanks to Eywa. “I’ll go tell them,” Neytiri said softly, already turning toward the mauri flap. Her hand trailed along your shoulder as she passed. “They are waiting.”
You could feel Lo’ak’s breath on the back of your neck. His voice was hoarse when he said, “She looks like Neteyam.” That broke something in your chest. You nodded, lips trembling. “I know…”
She was beautiful. She was warm and breathing and here. And yet… Neteyam still hadn’t moved. He hadn’t seen her. Not yet. You shifted slightly, and Lo’ak helped you ease backward, supporting you so that you were resting against his chest, your newborn daughter swaddled snugly in your arms. You hadn’t even realized you were still holding his hand until you felt his thumb gently stroke over your knuckles. Then the flap lifted again.
Jake entered first, quiet and slow, with a child in each arm. Tuk still clung to his side, sleepy and blinking, and beside her was your oldest—Eylan, eyes wide with worry, searching.
“Mama…?” he said softly.
Your breath caught. You sat up straighter. “Eylan,” you whispered. He ran forward before Jake could even say anything, reaching out toward you. You held out your free arm, and he climbed up next to you, careful but eager, immediately peeking down at the baby in your arms. “Is that the baby that was in your belly?”
You nodded, voice soft and cracking. “Your sister, yeah.” He gasped quietly. “She’s so small…”
“She’s perfect,” you said.
Lo’ak shifted behind you, his hands never leaving your shoulders, still there like an anchor. Jake stepped closer, kneeling with Likan in his arms. “He woke when he heard her cry,” he said gently. Likan rubbed at his eyes with a little fist, clearly still tired, but the moment he spotted you and his brother, he reached out. “Mama…”
You nodded, arms full, and Lo’ak moved for the first time, gently helping take Likan from Jake and nestling him beside you, right between you and Eylan. Both boys now tucked into your side, wide-eyed and curious. “Look,” you murmured. “Your little sister.” Likan blinked at her. “Mama Baby…” You nodded, kissing his forehead.
The flap to the mauri was still drawn open, and behind Jake came Neytiri and Kiri, the whole family drawn like a tide around you. They didn’t crowd. They didn’t speak loudly. But the space filled with warmth—blinking away the cold ache of the months of silence. Your daughter squirmed a little, letting out a tiny sneeze.
“Oh,” Eylan whispered with a giggle. “She sneezed!”
“She’s a strong girl,” Jake said with pride, voice a little rough as he tucked a few braids behind your ear. “Just like her mama. Just like her brothers.”
You looked to Lo’ak then. He caught your gaze, then leaned close enough to kiss the crown of your head. “You did so good,” he murmured. “Neteyam would be losing his mind right now.” The lump in your throat swelled again.
“I wish he could see her…”
“He will,” Kiri said gently, her voice from just beside the boys. “He’s still here. And when he wakes up, we’ll tell him everything.”
Lo’ak looked at you, his voice a low, sure thing. “We’ll tell him how brave you were. How beautiful she is. How she cried just like Likan and wriggled like Eylan when they were born.”
“And how much we missed him,” you whispered. Lo’ak nodded.
Tuk came forward then, kneeling beside the boys, and smiled at the baby in wonder. “She’s really here…” she whispered. “What’s her name?”
You paused, heart pounding. You hadn’t chosen it yet. Not without him. “I uh— I haven’t chosen one yet, Neteyam normally has finally say but this time we…I don’t know yet.” I tell the family and Lo’ak squeezed my arms softly his fingers running up and down them. “It’s okay, you’ll name her when you’re ready.” He whispered speaking for everyone.
The air in the mauri is thick with warmth, sweat, blood, and silence. Somewhere just outside, Neytiri hums to Likan, rocking him slowly. Kiri is tending to your newborn, her steps soft. Tsireya is quiet, watching the Eylan sleep, giving you space.
It’s just you and Lo’ak now. The curtain drawn. A bowl of warm water beside him, and you, aching and barely awake, lying half-curled under a blanket, eyes glazed with exhaustion. You don’t even flinch when you feel the cloth on your thigh. His touch is gentle, almost too gentle like he’s afraid of you breaking.
“…Lo’ak?” your voice cracks. He doesn’t look at you. “It’s okay. I’ve got it.”
The cloth moves carefully over your skin, down the inside of your thigh where the blood dried hours ago. Normally, this moment is sacred, Neteyam’s hands, not Lo’ak’s. Always Neteyam’s. After every birth, every hard night, every wound. It was Neteyam who bathed you, held you, kissed your shoulders in the firelight. Only him.
This feels too close. Too much. Your voice trembles. “You don’t… have to do this.”
“I know.”
“Is it weird?” You swallow. “You can ask someone else—”
“I know,” he cuts in, gently. Finally, his eyes meet yours. And the look in them — it undoes you. It’s not pity. It’s not lust. It’s something else. Raw, reverent. Careful. Fractured.
“It is weird,” he admits, voice low. “But not because I don’t want to help you.” He dips the cloth again, wrings it slowly. “It’s weird because this isn’t mine. This moment. This part of you. It’s his.” Your breath catches. He lowers his eyes, begins wiping you again — the inside of your knees, the curve of your hip. Nothing improper. But your skin burns under his touch.
“I used to wonder what it felt like,” he murmurs suddenly, “being needed like that. The way you always looked at him after the births. Like he was the only person who knew where you ended and started again.”
You say nothing. You can’t. His next words are barely audible. “Now I know. And I wish I didn’t.” The silence hangs so heavy it could break. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, tears slipping sideways into your hair.
“I’m not,” he says softly. Then after a beat, a shaky breath escapes him, and he tries to smile — the kind that barely holds. “…Though I gotta say,” he adds gently, “I never pictured the first time I’d see you naked would involve this much blood and crying.” You laugh — a strangled, wet sound. “Lo’ak—!”
He grins, but it’s quiet. Tired. Tender. “Hey. I made you laugh. That counts for something.” The cloth slips back into the bowl. He covers you gently, then sits there beside you, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing.
You watch him through half-lidded eyes. It should not feel this way. He should not have seen this much of you. Should not have touched your skin. Should not have looked at you like that. But he did. And you let him. And in the soft dark, with your mate still unconscious and your body raw from birth, you realize… You’re not sure where the line is anymore.
At first, it’s still about the kids. Lo’ak carrying Eylan when the boy is too sleepy to walk, playing with Likan in the dirt while you rest with the baby sleeping on your chest. He never complains. Never acts like it’s too much. But the way he watches you begins to change — it becomes quieter. He’s more careful. Always aware. He doesn’t hover. But he notices everything.
When your arms start to tremble from holding the baby too long, he’s already there before you ask. He doesn’t make a scene — he just crouches beside you and gently takes her from you, cradling her like she’s his own blood, offering that crooked half-smile you’ve seen a thousand times before. Except now it feels different.
When you try to eat, one hand balancing your daughter and the other too sore to lift much of anything, he kneels next to you. No teasing, no fuss. He just takes the food and feeds you with quiet patience, like it’s normal, like you’ve always done this dance. There’s a rhythm forming between you that neither of you meant to create.
“You either eat this,” he says once, “or I eat it and tell everyone you starve me.” You roll your eyes. But you open your mouth. The next time, you lean forward before he even lifts the bite. The first time it goes too far is at the river. You sit on the edge of the rocks, staring at the water, your body aching and raw, and no one else is free. You don’t even say anything. You don’t need to.
“I’ll help,” Lo’ak says, not looking at you. “Just the shallow edge. You don’t have to move much. I’ll look away.” And he does. Always.
But his hands are gentle when they brush your back. His silence is heavy. And when he hands you the cloth and cups the water for you, your hands touch — just for a moment — and your breath catches, and neither of you mention it.
He still returns to Tsireya’s arms every night. He kisses her when she brings herbs to help with your healing. He rests his head on her lap while she hums over his braids. He holds her hand when they walk together, when they sit by the fire, when she laughs too loud and he smiles just watching her. He is still her perfect partner.
But something in him has gone quiet. Especially when it’s just the two of you. He stays a little longer than he should. Touches your shoulder more than is necessary. His eyes linger when they shouldn’t. He steps into Neteyam’s absence like he was born into it, without ever being asked.
And Tsireya notices. Not everything. Not enough to accuse. But enough to pause. One evening, she watches from across the marui as Lo’ak gently lifts the baby from your lap, tucks the blanket higher on your legs, and smooths your hair away from your face. His fingers hesitate there, just for a moment, brushing your skin like it means something. Like it hurts to let go. She doesn’t say anything. Not yet.
You try not to rely on him. You hate how easy it’s become — how when you need something, when you so much as look tired, Lo’ak is already there. You try not to look for him, not to listen for his voice, but you do. And you catch yourself waiting for him, for the sound of his feet in the sand.
You hate the heat in your chest when he speaks your name gently. The soft way he says, “Eat. You need your strength.” You hate that sometimes — just sometimes — you wish it wasn’t just kindness. That it meant something more. Because it’s Lo’ak. Because you love Neteyam. Because you’re still his. Because you shouldn’t feel this.
But you lean your head against his shoulder one quiet afternoon while your boys laugh nearby. And he doesn’t move. He just lets you stay there, still and warm and silent. His fingers brush your wrist — the barest touch — like it anchors him. Or maybe anchors you. Neither of you speak. But something has shifted. Quietly. Unmistakably. And it’s getting harder to ignore.
The baby’s asleep again, her soft, steady breaths rising against Neteyam’s bare chest. You’ve bundled her there every night now — it’s the only place she seems to settle. Her little hand rests right over the bullet scar. Your fingers twitch every time you look at it.
You sit beside them; knees pulled to your chest. The lantern burns low, casting long shadows across the woven floor. The boys are asleep near the doorway, Likan curled against Eylan’s back like a fern folding in the night.
You don’t expect Lo’ak. Not this late. But the flap rustles, soft and careful, and he steps in — quiet, like he doesn’t want to wake anyone. His hair’s damp. He smells like the sea. He sees you and stops. “I thought you’d be asleep.” You give a tired shrug. “Can’t.” His eyes flick toward the baby on Neteyam’s chest. “She’s there again.”
“Every night.” You feel the breath leave your chest, sharp and bitter. Lo’ak crosses the marui, lowers himself to sit beside you. You don’t look at him. “Tsireya okay?” you ask, voice low.
“Yeah. She’s… she’s good.”
“Did she want you to stay?” A pause. “Yeah.”
“Then why are you here?” He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he leans forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the fire.
“I just wanted to check on you.”
“I’m fine.”
“You always say that when you’re not.”
You glance at him. “And what if I’m not?” He meets your eyes, steady and too soft. “Then I stay.”
You don’t say anything. Not for a long moment. The only sounds are the baby’s tiny sighs, the breath of the wind outside, the creak of the marui walls. You shift, hugging your knees tighter.
“I miss him,” you whisper. “Even though he’s right there. I miss him like he’s already—” Lo’ak turns quickly, hand reaching for yours. He grips it tight, grounding you.
“Don’t,” he says. “Don’t say it.” You look down at your joined hands.
“I’m so tired, Lo’ak,” you breathe. “Of being strong. Of pretending I don’t need help.”
“You don’t have to pretend with me.”
You exhale a shaky laugh. “You’re not supposed to be the one holding me together.”
“Maybe I want to.” His voice is lower now. There’s something in it that curls under your skin — a crack you shouldn’t notice, but you do. You turn your head. He’s looking at you. Really looking. The firelight flickers over his face, the high cheekbones, the small scar near his jaw, the dark, aching eyes.
Your voice comes out quiet. “This feels…” He doesn’t let you finish.
“I know.”
He shifts closer, slowly, like he’s not sure if he should. His fingers brush your cheek, just once. You don’t stop him. He leans in, just enough that his forehead grazes yours. Just enough to steal your breath.
“If I kiss you right now,” he murmurs, “will you hate me for it?”
Your heart stops. You don’t answer. And he doesn’t move. You sit like that — too close, too quiet — with your foreheads barely touching, your breaths syncing, your hands still joined.
“I still love him,” you whisper. It’s barely audible.
“I know,” he says again. “I wouldn’t ask you not to.”
Then the baby shifts. A small sound. A flutter of fingers against Neteyam’s chest. You both freeze. And just like that, the moment shatters. You pull back slowly, blinking fast, like coming up for air. Lo’ak leans away, breaking contact, hand sliding from yours. He looks wrecked. Like he’s been caught in something he didn’t mean to start.
“I should go,” he says.
You nod. “Yeah.”
But neither of you moves. Your hands are still touching. Just your fingers. Barely. And the silence between you tightens, not like tension, but like grief. Like hunger. Like everything you’ve tried not to feel has risen to the surface and is begging to be touched.
He looks at you. You look back. He leans in. And this time, you don’t look away. Your breath catches, but your body doesn’t flinch. His hand brushes your cheek again, fingers trailing behind your ear, so soft it almost doesn’t register. Almost.
“Lo’ak,” you whisper. Just his name. Nothing more. But it cracks.
And he breaks. He kisses you. Slow. Gentle. Terrified. He’s not rushing. He’s not devouring. He’s aching. His lips press to yours like he’s asking for permission he already knows he shouldn’t need. Like he knows it’s wrong — but more than that, he knows it’s too late.
And still… you kiss him back. Only for a second. Maybe two. It’s not passionate. Not carnal. It’s not even romantic. It’s just grief. Muted and drowning. A moment where you aren’t the woman holding everything together. You’re not Neteyam’s mate. You’re not a mother. You’re just you.
And Lo’ak is the only one who sees that. When he pulls back, he stays close — forehead against yours, breath ragged. “Shit,” he whispers, eyes shut. “I’m sorry.” You say nothing. Because you’re not. Not yet. Your chest is rising too fast. Your hand is still on his wrist. You can feel his pulse beneath your thumb.
“I didn’t mean—” he starts. “Yes, you did,” you say. Not angry. Not hurt. Just… honest. And it shatters him. He nods. “I know.”
Then a soft sound breaks the air — not from the baby, not from the boys. From Neteyam. A shift. A breath. You both turn. He hasn’t moved. Still and unchanged. But the guilt crashes into you anyway. Heavy. Sharp. You pull back completely, hands to your lap, your chest squeezing like it’s too full to breathe. Lo’ak stands up slowly. “I shouldn’t have—” You cut him off, eyes still on Neteyam. “It’s okay..” you whisper. “But I think you should go.”
He hesitates. Just a second. Then he leaves. And you sit alone in the half-light, your baby sleeping on her father’s chest, your heart pounding from another man’s lips. You don’t cry. You don’t panic. You just stare, swallowing the weight of it — knowing that something has changed. Knowing that if Neteyam wakes up tomorrow, if he looks at you the way he used to, you will never be able to tell him. But you’ll feel it.
The next morning, Neytiri was brushing your baby girl’s tiny curls back from her forehead, humming softly, when you approached. “Can you take them to Ronal for their checkups?” you asked quietly, trying not to wake your daughter. “She wants to see them today.”
Neytiri turned, giving you a look that read deeper than words. “Are you all right?” You hesitated. “I just… need a moment.”
She nodded, collecting the baby in one arm and calling softly to Eylan and Likan. Your boys rushed over, Likan clinging to your leg briefly, then letting go when Neytiri took his hand.
You kissed each of them, your heart squeezing tight as Likan babbled a sleepy, “Mama be back? “Soon,” you promised. “I love you.”
With Neytiri leading them off toward the reef healer’s marui, you turned away. But your heart stayed behind.
Lo’ak was exactly where you expected — perched alone where the reef cliffs met the sea, his feet dangling above the water, arms resting on his knees. The wind pushed through his hair, the waves whispering beneath. You approached quietly and sat beside him, not too close. He glanced sideways. “Didn’t think you’d come.”
“I had to.” He looked back out at the ocean. “I didn’t sleep. Couldn’t.” You nodded. “Me neither.” A pause stretched out. You could feel the weight between you — not heavy with love, not sweet with longing. Just guilt. Raw and too recent.
“What we did…” he said slowly, “I keep trying to explain it to myself. I know it wasn’t about love. Wasn’t even about wanting each other like that.” You watched the horizon. “We were just too tired. Too empty. We found each other in that space.”
“I still hate that it happened.” You swallowed. “Me too.” A moment passed. Then, quietly: “But I don’t hate you for it.” He looked over. “I don’t hate you either.” The wind picked up, salt brushing your skin. “I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen,” you whispered. “But I don’t want it to happen again.” His eyes fell to the ground. “It won’t.”
“Good,” you breathed. “Because I can’t lose him. And I still feel like I’m losing myself.” Lo’ak’s hand reached out, fingers brushing yours gently.
Not holding. Just… acknowledging. “We’ll be okay,” he said. “Eventually.” Just then — a scream carried across the reef. “GET HER—GET HER NOW—HE’S AWAKE—!”
You both bolted upright. Kiri’s voice. Your heart slammed into your ribs. “Neteyam?!” you breathed. And then Lo’ak grabbed your hand without thinking, and the two of you ran. By the time you reached the mauri, the entire reef was there. Ronal. Tsireya. Ao’nung. Neytiri with the baby held protectively in her arms, boys pressed into her sides. Jake knelt by the mat.
Neteyam was sitting up. Blinking. Awake. Lo’ak skidded to a halt beside you, breath ragged. Your legs wouldn’t move — not at first. Kiri turned to you, eyes wild with tears. “He opened his eyes. He said something—he looked around, but—” You pushed through them all, falling to your knees at his side.
Neteyam looked at you, face pale, chest rising with effort. His gaze slid over you, confused but calm. You smiled through the tears. “Hi. Hey. I’m here.”
He blinked again. “Are you… the healer?” The words hit like ice water. Your breath caught. “What?” Jake turned sharply. Neytiri’s lips parted. Neteyam looked around slowly. “I… where am I? What happened?”
You didn’t feel your legs give out, but suddenly you were leaning forward, gripping the edge of the mat. “I’m—” your voice cracked. “I’m your mate. Your wife.”
He stared at you like you were speaking another language. Neytiri stepped forward, voice soft and shaking, “itan… Neteyam… this is your wife. Your children are here. You are safe.”
Neteyam’s brows furrowed. “Wife?” He looked at your baby in her arms. At Eylan and Likan — their golden eyes wide and scared. His eyes were blank. Tsireya stepped back, hand over her mouth. Lo’ak stood frozen beside you, his face twisted in disbelief, grief washing over him in a silent wave.
Neteyam’s gaze landed on him last. “Lo’ak,” he murmured. “I… I know you.” But even that seemed uncertain. Lo’ak stepped closer. “Yeah, bro. It’s me. I’m right here.” Neteyam squinted, nodding slightly. “You look… older.” And then he looked at you again. Eyes searching. Still not recognizing.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I don’t know who you are.” You didn’t break down. Not yet. But your hand slipped from the mat. And Lo’ak was the one who caught it.
The room seemed to hold its breath. Neytiri stepped forward again, her voice low and tender. “Neteyam,” she said gently, kneeling beside you, “this is [Name].” You watched his eyes flick to her, then back to you. The name hung in the air. He blinked slowly, and something passed across his face. Not clarity — but a glimmer.
“[Name],” he repeated, tasting it. “I know that name.” Your heart jumped. You shifted, leaning in, desperate for more. “Yes,” you whispered. “Yes, you do.” He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing as if trying to place a memory behind fogged glass.
“You had long braids even at a five-year-old,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone. “You followed me everywhere. You made me that ugly stone necklace and cried when I said it stank” A soft laugh caught in your throat, half-sob. He looked up again, blinking hard. “That was when we were… kids. That’s all I remember.”
Jake exhaled quietly through his nose. Kiri covered her mouth, face crumpling. You reached for his hand, but he shifted just slightly — not in rejection, but in confusion. He stared at your touch like it was unfamiliar. “I don’t understand,” he said again, voice cracking. “Why is everyone crying? Why do I feel like I’m… missing something? A lot of somethings?” He turned his gaze slowly toward Jake. “How long was I out?”
Jake hesitated. “Months,” Neytiri said softly, before her husband could answer. “You were shot. You almost—” She cut off. Her eyes burned. Neteyam looked down at his chest then, slowly lifting his fingers to touch the healed but angry scarring beneath the cloth. His breathing hitched.
His head snapped back up. “Months?” He looked around wildly now — at the baby, at the boys pressed into Neytiri’s side, at the reef around him he didn’t recognize. His fingers curled tightly into the bedding. “I—I don’t remember this place,” he stammered. “I don’t remember being here. Why are we not in the forest?”
“The…the sky people returned we came here because they were hunting us,” Jake said gently. “We all…live here now. Me, your mom, siblings and your wife and kids. This is our home now.”
“I don’t understand,” he said, more panicked now. “Why does everything feel wrong? Why do I know her name but not her voice? Not—” His voice cracked. “Not those kids?” Eylan whimpered softly. Likan shrunk against Neytiri’s side, clinging to her braid. The baby stirred in Neytiri’s arms and let out a soft, fussy noise — and Neteyam flinched at the sound. His eyes snapped to her. He stared.
“She’s… mine?” he asked. “Ours?” You nodded, your voice almost inaudible. “She was born while you were still… still asleep, just a couple weeks ago.” He dragged a hand down his face. “No. No, this doesn’t make sense.”
“Neteyam—” Kiri started, moving forward. “I don’t know her,” he said louder, looking at the baby. “I don’t know them. How can they be mine?”
Lo’ak tensed beside you. You could feel it in his grip. You turn to your boys who were shying away from their father saying he didn’t know them and your heart ached.
Neteyam’s breaths were picking up, eyes darting. “Why don’t I remember you?” he asked again, his voice climbing toward panic. “If you’re my mate, why don’t I feel it? Why does it feel like I’m seeing my own life from outside?”
You leaned in, your hand still lightly on his, even though he wasn’t returning the touch. “Because something happened,” you said quietly. “And we don’t know why yet. But I’m here. And we’ll figure it out.”
He stared at you for a long time. Then whispered, “I feel like I’m drowning.” You nodded, a tear falling as you brushed your thumb over his knuckles.
“So am I.” Neteyam didn’t pull away this time. He just looked at your hand on his, blinking back tears he didn’t quite understand.
And Lo’ak, still kneeling beside you, kept holding your other hand, jaw tight, not speaking a word. You sat frozen, still holding your breath, your hand gently resting on his.
Neteyam’s gaze was on you — no longer searching, just… overwhelmed. His eyes were wide. Distant. Then, slowly, carefully, he pulled his hand away. It was a soft motion. Not cruel. Not forceful. But deliberate. Your heart cracked again. He pressed his palms flat to the mat, his shoulders hunched slightly as if he were curling in on himself, trying to make sense of a world that was too loud, too big, and far too unfamiliar.
You swallowed hard and pulled your hand back, fingers trembling in your lap. Neytiri’s face shifted, like something inside her folded in half. Lo’ak’s arm brushed yours. Subtle. Silent. “I’m sorry,” Neteyam said again, still staring down. “I’m not trying to hurt anyone. I just—” he shook his head, a quiet panic rising again in his voice. “It doesn’t feel real. None of this feels real.”
Jake stepped forward then, slow and calm, crouching near his son. “Neteyam, you’ve been unconscious for a long time. Your body survived, but something’s wrong with your memory. You don’t remember the reef. You don’t remember what happened. And that’s okay. We’re gonna help you through it.” Neteyam barely nodded. He still wasn’t looking at anyone. Only the floor. A small voice broke the stillness.
“Neteyam?” Everyone turned. Tuk. She had slipped through the gathered crowd, her steps careful and quiet. Her big golden eyes glistened with tears as she crept toward the mat, holding something in her arms — a small shell toy he’d carved years ago.
She knelt near him and offered it up with a little smile. “You made this for me when I was little. Do you remember?” Neteyam looked up and froze. His brows furrowed hard, confusion blooming deep. His eyes roamed over her face, her frame, her tiny shaking hands. “I…” he blinked. “I don’t know you.” The silence snapped sharp. Tuk’s smile faltered. Her lip quivered, and she clutched the shell tighter to her chest.
“I’m Tuk,” she whispered. “I’m your baby sister.” Neteyam’s face had gone pale again. “No, I—no. I have one sister. Kiri. That’s all. You weren’t… there.” You could feel Neytiri’s body tense, just a breath away from crumbling. Tuk’s chin wobbled. “But I was. You used to braid my hair. You used to carry me everywhere when I was small—”
“I don’t remember,” Neteyam said, voice cracking. “I don’t remember you. I’m sorry, I don’t—” Tuk’s face fell, and the shell slipped from her fingers. Kiri was already moving, sweeping her into her arms and pulling her away as silent tears streamed down her cheeks. Tuk buried her face in Kiri’s neck and sobbed. Neteyam shut his eyes tight, pressing his palms to his forehead. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again. “I don’t understand why everything hurts.” Your own tears blurred your vision as you watched him — not just lost but shattered inside his own mind.
Neteyam’s breath hitched again. He stared at the place Tuk had stood, hands still braced on the mat, knuckles pale. He didn’t look at anyone now. He couldn’t. And then, like a dam breaking everything scattered. Jake stood swiftly. “I need to call Norm and Max,” he said to no one and everyone, already stepping toward the sat phone near the far wall. “If this is neurological, they’ll know what to look for.”
Ronal moved forward without a word, her face set in that unreadable Tsahìk calm. She knelt beside Neteyam and placed her hands lightly over his head and chest, lips murmuring prayers too soft to catch. Tsireya and Ao’nung stepped back to give her room, their hands linked tightly. Tsireya looked like she might cry. You didn’t move at first. You were still kneeling right where Neteyam had pulled away. Right where he’d looked at you and not known who you were.
It hit you then, all of it. The months of keeping it together. Of surviving. Of healing. Of pretending you could carry all this weight alone. It caved in without warning. Your breath snagged. Your hands trembled. And then you stood, barely feeling your legs move, and backed away. Slow. Silent. Like if you just got far enough away, maybe it wouldn’t crush you.
You didn’t stop until you reached the far side of the mauri, your back pressing against the woven wall. But your eyes never left him. You kept watching. As if sheer will could force his memories back. “Mama?” The small voice broke you. Eylan was at your side, his little hand wrapping around yours, eyes wide with confusion. Likan toddled behind him, thumb in his mouth, clinging to your leg. You sank down, arms wrapping around both of them. And then Neytiri was there too.
She knelt on the floor beside you without a word and pulled you into her arms like she used to when you were young. When you scraped your knees or cried after fights with Neteyam. She knew her son needed her in this moment, but her daughter needed her more. You clung to her tightly, your face buried in her shoulder, trying not to sob.
“I don’t know what to do,” you choked out, voice splintered. “I don’t know how to help him. I can’t lose him again. I can’t.” She stroked your hair, arms strong around you. “You haven’t lost him, ma’ite. He’s here. His heart still beats. You brought him back.”
“But he doesn’t know me,” you said. “He doesn’t remember… us.” And just behind you, Lo’ak kneeled his hand brushed your shoulder, grounding you. “I’m here too,” he said quietly. “You are not alone.” You nodded, your eyes never leaving the figure across the room. Still staring at your mate. Your love. The father of your children. Still watching the way he looked around the mauri like he was on another planet.
The mat was still where it always was, yours and Neteyam’s. But it hadn’t felt like his since the day he woke up. Now, it was you and the boys. Eylan curled into your chest, Likan wrapped around your leg, the baby in the woven basinet beside you, close enough to touch. Neteyam watched you from across the room, the firelight casting your silhouette in soft gold. You were quiet, always tired, always holding one child while keeping an eye on the others. Always doing something. And he… just watched.
He slept on a new mat, set up on the other side of the mauri. The distance felt necessary. That first night when he’d pulled away from you—when he saw Tuk and didn’t recognize her—it was clear. He wasn’t the same. He remembered his mother’s voice, his father’s hands, Lo’ak’s laugh, Kiri’s connection to the forest. But he didn’t remember you as his wife. He didn’t remember the baby, the boys. And Tuk—she wasn’t even born in his memory either. The look in your eyes when he’d asked who you were, never left him.
Since then, the mauri had been a blur of movement. Jake had sent word to Norm and Max. Ronal checked on him every day. Tsireya and Aonung kept their distance, though Tsireya’s eyes lingered sometimes when she looked at you. Kiri stayed close. Neytiri moved between you and Neteyam like she was split in half. Everyone tried to act like things were normal. They weren’t.
You never asked Neteyam to come back to the mat. You let him choose. You never tried to force the baby into his arms. Never corrected the way he hesitated when Likan reached for him. But he noticed. He noticed everything. He saw how you carried it all—how you shifted the baby with one arm while holding Likan’s hand, how you smoothed Eylan’s hair and soothed him to sleep while the others cried. You never asked for help, but you didn’t need to. Lo’ak was always there.
Lo’ak, who should’ve been carefree. Who should’ve still been the younger brother. But Neteyam saw how he moved around you like he’d done this all before. Helped you wrap the sling for the baby. Tied the back knot without needing to look. Lifted the basket out of your way without being asked. Fed Likan. Braided Eylan’s hair. Caught you when your legs almost gave out. And it wasn’t just helpful—it was natural. Familiar. Too familiar.
One morning, Neteyam watched as Lo’ak pressed a hand to your back while you sat feeding the baby, whispering something that made you exhale a tired laugh. Your head dropped forward, and he gently lifted the hair from your face. The touch was soft. The kind of soft that made Neteyam’s stomach twist.
Later that day, you stumbled again as you were going to a fussy Likan, only for a second and Lo’ak was there, catching you before you hit the ground. His hands went to your waist. You gripped his arms to steady yourself, eyes meeting in silence.
Neteyam stood up. The room shifted, just slightly. Kiri paused. Neytiri looked up. “I’ll do it,” Neteyam said, voice sharp. You turned, confused. Lo’ak blinked.
Neteyam crossed the space and reached for Likan, who had been fussing on the floor. His hands were unsure, but the moment Likan saw him, the toddler’s arms lifted in recognition. Neteyam picked him up. Held him. He didn’t even know if he was doing it right. But Likan laid his head against his chest and didn’t move. It was the first time Neteyam held one of his children since waking up. Something cracked open.
That night, he watched you sleep again. Your body curled around the baby. Eylan sprawled out beside you. Likan using your leg as a pillow. You hadn’t even noticed how your hand remained outstretched, resting on the basinet like you needed the baby within reach. You looked like a home. His home. But it felt like you were a thousand miles away.
Lo’ak came in quietly and crouched beside you. He brushed your hair back. Whispered something. You nodded. Neteyam’s jaw clenched. His fists curled in the blankets.
The next few days, Lo’ak pulled back. Let Neteyam help first. Watched from a distance more often than he acted. He never said anything about it. But Neteyam noticed that, too.
He noticed the quiet glances from Kiri when he didn’t know how to soothe the baby. The way Neytiri held both you and Tuk in the mornings. The way Jake’s eyes lingered on him with a mixture of guilt and sorrow. Everyone knew he was missing something. And they were waiting.
Neteyam was trying. Trying to remember. Trying to learn. But more than anything, he was trying to understand how he could forget you. How you could be his mate, and he couldn’t feel it. How Lo’ak could touch you like that, help you like that, and somehow it didn’t seem wrong to anyone, except him.
And still, the baby slept with her cheek to your chest. Likan wrapped his hand in your braids. Eylan reached for you when he woke crying.
Neteyam sat on the edge of the mat, stiff and quiet, watching his own hands like they weren’t his. Max crouched in front of him, scanning a pad while Norm gently rotated a small light near his temple. Every time Neteyam blinked, it felt like he was waking into a world he didn’t recognize.
You sat nearby, the baby still asleep in the shallow woven basket beside you. Eylan was curled into Lo’ak’s lap again, sucking on his thumb — not out of habit, but anxiety. Likan was sprawled across your thigh, little fingers tangled in the strings of your chest wrap.
“I’m going to ask you a few things, okay?” Norm said gently. “No pressure. Just answer what you can.” Neteyam nodded slowly.,“What’s your name?”
“Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk’itan.” Norm smiled, “that’s good,” encouraged. “And your parents?” Neteyam looked across the room at Jake and Neytiri. “Ma sa’nok. Ma sempu.”
“Do you remember where you grew up?”
“The forest. The Omatikaya clan” He glanced around the reef mauri. “This place is… new.” Max nodded. “You came here during the war after the sky people returned. That’s okay you don’t remember yet. What about your siblings?”
Neteyam hesitated. “Lo’ak… and Kiri. I remember them.” His brow furrowed. “But that little one—” he pointed at Tuk, who stood near Neytiri, peeking out from behind her legs. “I don’t know her.” Tuk shrank back slightly, confused. Neytiri placed a protective hand on her head. “That’s Tuk,” Jake said gently. “Your youngest sister.”
“I never met her,” Neteyam murmured, voice flat. You glanced down, heart sinking. Norm didn’t let the pause linger. “And this woman?” He nodded toward you. “Do you remember her?” Neteyam looked at you for a long time.
“I know her name,” he said quietly. “I remember her from before. When we were little. She always followed me around.” You almost laughed at that, even through the ache. “But after that… nothing,” he whispered.
“Neteyam,” Max spoke up, shifting tone. “You’ve lost all memory past a certain point in your life. It’s not unusual in cases like this — trauma, brain swelling, lack of oxygen, coma…”
“I’ve been asleep for months?” Neteyam cut in, sharp as if to confirm it again. Jake stepped forward. “Yes.”
“And you’re all just… what? Waiting for me to get up?”
“Of course we were,” Neytiri said softly. He rubbed at his chest like it ached. “But I don’t even remember learning how to fight. Or fly. Or the war. I don’t remember being a husband or a father—” He stopped. Looked at the children.
“You’re telling me they’re mine, but I don’t feel it.” Lo’ak’s jaw twitched. Tsireya stepped beside him. “It’s okay to feel lost.”
“Is it?” Neteyam shot back, and his tone was more edge than emotion. Silence crept through the mauri. You didn’t move. You couldn’t. Neteyam turned to his brother, eyes narrowing just slightly. “You’ve been helping. With… them.” His gaze flicked to you. “Why?” Lo’ak blinked. “Because she needed help.”
“You seemed very close,” Neteyam said, voice careful. Lo’ak frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
You stepped in finally, firm but calm. “It means he’s scared. And confused. And this is all too much for everyone involved, especially him.”
Neteyam looked at you, jaw tense. “I just don’t understand how I’m gone for a few months, and suddenly I wake up and my little brother knows more about my life than I do.”
“That’s not what happened Nete—”Lo’ak stood, slowly setting Eylan down beside him cutting you off. “Bro, none of us wanted this. I helped because I had to. Because I love you. You think this was easy for anyone?”
You stood too, placing a hand on Lo’ak’s arm before it escalated. “Stop. Don’t fight. Please.” Jake’s voice was heavy. “We all did what we had to.”
“I’m not even mad about it,” Neteyam muttered, running a hand over his face. “I probably should be but, I just feel like I woke up in someone else’s life. A stranger’s life.” Neytiri moved to kneel at his side. “It’s not someone else’s life, ma’itan. It’s yours. We will walk with you until you find it again.”
Tsireya leaned gently into Lo’ak, whispering something that calmed him. He exhaled hard, jaw clenching, but he nodded.
Max tapped something on his pad. “We’ll give you space. The best thing now might be small pieces. Familiar things. Let him be around his family. Let him feel things before he tries to remember them. Just live, hopefully memories will resurface during daily activities which normally happens in cases like these.”
You looked down at your children. Eylan was clinging to Lo’ak’s hand. Likan was staring at Neteyam like he didn’t understand why his papa didn’t scoop him up. And your daughter, curled in her basket, let out a tiny sigh in her sleep. A sound Neteyam once swore was the best thing he’d ever heard when you had the boys. But he didn’t even flinch this time. And you had no idea how to begin again.
The next few months were both careful and chaotic — a balance of heartbreak and fragile hope, as life moved forward with Neteyam awake but not truly returned. You tried not to mourn what you lost. He was alive. Breathing. Laughing sometimes. But he wasn’t yours, not in the way he used to be.
At first, it was small things. Kiri brought out the old woven toys they used to play with as kids. She laughed when Neteyam remembered the names they gave them — “that’s O’upey, the angry monkey-bird,” he muttered one day, blinking in surprise at the memory. Tuk was still shy, unsure how to be with a brother who didn’t know her. But eventually, she began sneaking beside him during mealtimes, nudging his arm with her shoulder until he smiled down at her and shared his fruit.
Lo’ak kept his distance for a few days after that first confrontation, letting space settle between you all. But he never strayed far from the kids. Eylan still ran to him when he scraped his knee. Likan still tugged on his braid when he was sleepy. Neteyam watched this from the edge of the room, always quiet.
Neteyam had moved into a separate space near the edge of the Sully mauri which was next to the one you both shared in the previous years. He couldn’t sleep beside you, not with the weight of your shared history heavy on a mind that couldn’t recall it. So, the boys stayed with you, and the baby girl in the woven basket slept at your side. Neytiri helped every night, whispering lullabies and staying close when your arms trembled from exhaustion.
Jake took it hardest in the quiet moments. His son was there, walking beside him, training again slowly, and yet the bond between them was stunted. Neteyam asked him once if he’d been a good warrior, and Jake nearly broke, but he told him how proud he was, how much of a good person, son, warrior, husband and father he’d always been.
“He was the best,” he told Max later, voice rough. “He died trying to save us. And now he doesn’t even remember what he was saving.”
You and Neteyam began spending time together carefully. Norm had suggested building new memories to replace the missing ones. So, you started showing him the forest again — not the one you’d grown up in, but the edge of it, where vines crept low and fruit hung from branches. You told him the story of how you first met.
“You were three, just turned three and I was two years old. I was sitting in the village, and you came up to me and sat down and shared your fruit with me.” you said one day, crouched in the sand beside the mangroves. “And you just sat there with me eating the little piece of fruit you kept for yourself and after that we just…stay together.” He smiled, barely. “Sounds sweet.”
“It was,” you whispered, “and so was the fruit, I knew cause as we got older you never ate fruit that wasn’t overly ripe. It was always the sweetest u could find.” Neteyam didn’t argue. But he kept his soft smile until it faded.
Tsireya was gentle with him, like she always had been. She reminded him of reef customs, reintroduced him to Aonung, and brought him on swims through familiar coral paths. There was never judgment in her voice — only patience. You saw her watching him when he wasn’t looking. Once, you caught her eyes drift to you, and in that silence between you, there was no rivalry. Just pain shared in quiet solidarity.
Lo’ak helped where he could, but he never overstepped again. Not in front of Neteyam. Not anymore. But you felt it sometimes — the way Neteyam watched him carry Likan, or braid Eylan’s hair while you nursed the baby. It wasn’t jealousy, not fully. It was a wound. A gap in time that didn’t make sense.
One night, after a long day helping with repairs near the reef line, Neteyam lingered outside your mauri. You were inside, humming softly as you tried to get the baby down. He didn’t enter. But his voice drifted through the curtain: “What’s her name?”
You froze. You stepped toward the flap, lifting it slowly. “We haven’t named her yet,” you said. “Not fully. We were waiting”
He blinked. “Why?” Your voice cracked. “Because I choose too many names because there are a lot of pretty ones, and you are the one that normally has the final say.” He didn’t say anything. But he didn’t leave either.
Kiri was the first one to make him laugh again. She dragged him to the beach with a basket full of sea slugs and made him chase Likan, who had stolen one and was screeching with joy. When Likan fell in the shallows, Neteyam picked him up instinctively — and for one heartbeat, it felt like the past.
But when Likan called him ‘sempu,’ Neteyam stiffened. “He thinks I’m someone I’m not,” he told you later “No,” you said quietly. “He thinks you’re you. His father. And he is not wrong.”
One afternoon, the sun had barely started to dip beneath the waves when Tsireya brought Neteyam down to the shallows again. Lo’ak followed without a word, as if he didn’t want to leave his brother alone, to keep him safe. It had become a quiet ritual, easing Neteyam into the life he’d forgotten. He was polite. Curious. Observant. And completely unaware of the landmines his presence was walking over.
The beach was half-crowded with young hunters cleaning their weapons and tending to their gear. Laughter floated above the gentle surf. “Neteyam?” Soft, like a breeze. He turned, and so did Tsireya and Lo’ak.
Lina stepped out from a cluster of others, a gentle smile pulling at her lips. Her eyes were kind, the curve of her voice never sharp. She was tall and pretty, wet curls cascading down her back, bow slung across her back, fingers stained with oil from cleaning arrowheads. Neteyam tilted his head. “Have we met?”
“Yes,” she said gently, approaching but still giving him space. “We used to train together. Before… everything.” He squinted, curious. “I don’t remember.”
“That’s okay,” she replied, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You used to say you could outswim me. You never could.” He blinked, then laughed — and it was so easy. Like he didn’t have the weight of a family he couldn’t remember pressed into his chest. Like something about her didn’t require effort. “I doubt that,” he said, smiling full now. “You don’t look like you swim very fast.”
She blushed faintly and laughed. “You said I was faster than you once. But you also said I cheated.”
“Maybe I did,” he said, eyes twinkling a bit too long on her face. “Sounds like something I’d say.” Lo’ak’s brows lowered slightly. Tsireya shifted beside him, her hand sliding into his as if instinctually — as if to ground herself. Lina lowered her eyes a moment. “You helped me build my bow. Back when my brother broke mine. You carved a seashell on the handle for me.” Neteyam looked down at the bow on her back, then back at her. “I did that?”
“You said it reminded you of a sunrise.” There was a pause. His smile softened. “I’d like to see that sunrise again.” Lo’ak’s jaw slackened, his brother had always been smooth, but he’d only ever seen Neteyam really show interest in you. Tsireya sucked in a slow breath, eyes flicking toward her mate in quiet concern. They exchanged a look — full of too much they couldn’t say out loud. Not here. Not now.
“You… want to walk the shore?” Lina offered shyly, motioning toward the far end where the cliffs curved. And Neteyam nodded. “I think I do.” The two of them wandered off, feet kicking through the foam. Tsireya turned to Lo’ak. “We need to say something.” His face was carved from stone. “Not yet,” he said, voice quiet. “She’s been through too much already.”
“She’ll notice eventually.” He nodded, jaw tight. “Then we’ll tell her eventually.” But neither of them moved. They just stood there, watching their brother disappear further down the sand — toward someone he never remembered, but now seemed to see more clearly than the people who’d loved him all his life.
It was another sleepless night. It had been a couple of weeks now since Neteyam woke up and he was no where to be found. The baby had been fussing for hours, her soft cries escalating into breathless wails. Likan stirred again, kicking off his woven blanket, eyes puffy with confusion and frustration. Eylan was curled on his side but not asleep, thumb tucked against his lips the way he hadn’t done in years. He didn’t cry anymore, he just stared at the wall and sniffled, quiet in that way that made your heart twist.
You were pacing again. Rocking the baby against your chest, bouncing on tired feet, muttering soothing nonsense into her ear. You hadn’t eaten much. You hadn’t really sat down. You hadn’t even noticed the blood on your lower back where the wrap had pulled too tight across your healing skin. The strain of childbirth, the strain of grief, the loneliness of loving someone who didn’t know you anymore — it had started to show.
And no one had said it aloud, but the mat felt emptier now than when Neteyam had been unconscious. Because now he wasn’t there, and you were alone.
The family tried, they did, Neytiri and Kiri checked in. Jake held Likan when he screamed for his father. Tsireya helped brush Eylan’s hair when he refused to do it himself. But they were pulled thin. And Lo’ak had pulled away.
You had noticed it a few nights ago, when you turned in desperation to ask him for help reaching the water jug, and he pretended not to hear you. When the boys cried for him and he sent Tuk instead. You hadn’t said anything then. Maybe you thought it would pass or that you’d just figure it out.
But tonight, the pressure snapped. The baby wouldn’t settle. You were shaking. Likan started crying. Again. And your hands were trembling so bad the cup of water you tried to pour spilled across the floor. And that’s when Lo’ak walked in.
You didn’t even hear him at first — just saw his shadow, crouched beside Eylan, checking on him. The soft whisper of “Hey, buddy,” as he tucked the boy’s arm back under the blanket. Then he turned and saw you.
You were standing near the mat, the baby clutched to your chest, your whole body strung tight. Likan was crying in the corner, and you didn’t even know what to do anymore — hold him? Put her down? Lie on the ground and cry with them? You blinked at Lo’ak like he wasn’t real. And when he reached to take the baby from your arms, something snapped.
“No.” He paused, arms mid-stretch. “What?”
“You don’t get to come in when it’s convenient for you.” Your voice cracked. “I’ve been here. Alone. You were supposed to help me. You always did.”Lo’ak’s jaw locked. “I thought with Neteyam—”
“Well, Neteyam is gone!” you hissed, too loud, the baby jerking in your grip. You rocked her faster, whispering apologies, tears burning behind your eyes. “He’s not dead but he’s gone, and I am so tired, Lo’ak. I’m tired of holding this family together with spit and prayers.”
“I didn’t know you wanted my help anymore.”
“I didn’t want to need it anymore!” Silence stretched. You were shaking. Lo’ak took a slow step closer. “He’s my brother,” he said, quietly. “And I thought… if I stepped back, maybe it would be easier. For everyone.”
“It’s not.” You looked up at him, eyes glassy and dark. “I didn’t ask for this. And I didn’t expect you to fix it. But you were the one who was there. You were the one who held me when she was born. And I know, I know I’m asking a lot of you, and I know these kids aren’t your responsibility, but I need help sometimes.” Lo’ak flinched.
The baby finally drifted into exhausted sleep. You sank to your knees beside Likan, curling him against your chest as best you could. Lo’ak just stood there, like he didn’t know if he should stay or go. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought Neteyam would come back and remember how to be everything you needed.” You didn’t look at him. Just whispered: “Me too.”
He knelt down beside you then, hands hovering before gently reaching for Likan, taking him from your arms. The toddler’s sobs stilled a little against Lo’ak’s shoulder.
“You should rest,” he murmured. “I’ll stay tonight.” You didn’t thank him. Not with words. But you leaned into him — just slightly — and he stayed there. Holding your child, watching you sleep with the baby curled in one of your arms. The other reaching for Eylan to try easing him to sleep. But no one said the thing hanging in the air between you. That he wasn’t the one who was supposed to be there. That he shouldn’t have had to fill the space his brother left behind.
Neteyam stayed close. His mauri was just a few steps from yours — the one you used to share — and right next to his parents’. Close enough to hear the baby cry at night. Close enough to sometimes catch the scent of your cooking drift over in the mornings. Close enough that the boys could wander to his mat and sit nearby, even if he didn’t fully understand why it made his chest tighten when they did. But he never stepped inside.
Even as the weeks passed and his strength returned, Neteyam never once crossed that threshold. Not even when he watched you from the corner of his eye, swaying the baby back to sleep just outside. Not when Eylan called out “Sa’nok, sa’nok! Look!” while holding up a fish Lo’ak helped him catch. Not even when Likan would wander over, curious and bold, standing at the edge of Neteyam’s sleeping space before being gently redirected by Kiri or Neytiri.
He stayed in the in-between. And Lo’ak, for all his own complicated grief, never once gave up on him. He came by almost every day. Sometimes with food. Sometimes with little tools or handmade knives — “You used to like this,” he’d say casually. Other times, he just sat, throwing pebbles at the sand as Neteyam stared at the sky. “You talk less than you used to,” Lo’ak muttered one day, nudging him. “You used to talk a lot. Mostly telling me I was being dumb.”
Neteyam gave a faint, crooked smile. “That still sounds accurate.” It was moments like that flickers, glimpses, that made Lo’ak hopeful.
But then there was Lina. She’d been there from the beginning, one of the few Metkayina Neteyam didn’t look at with the uncomfortable weight of “I should know you.” Because he didn’t. Not really. Not in memory. So, it was easier.
Easier to walk with her on the shore after a long day. Easier to practice knife-throwing with her and not feel like a failure when he missed. She’d laugh gently, encourage him, sometimes place her hand over his to guide the movement. She smelled like sea salt and wind. Spoke softly. Never stared at his scars. Lo’ak noticed it all.
He didn’t mention it but, he didn’t stop it either. But he started watching more closely. Not out of jealousy — no, not that. It was something closer to protection. For you. For the boys. For a version of his brother that Lo’ak still believed was inside there somewhere. And the strange thing was, Neteyam wasn’t doing anything wrong. He wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t trying to replace anyone. He was just lost. And Lina, with her easy calm and open eyes, was the only place that didn’t make him feel like he was failing someone just by existing.
Meanwhile, the nights for you stretched long and raw. The baby cried more now. Maybe she felt it — her father just a few paces away, but never close. Eylan had grown quieter, his eyes constantly drifting toward his father’s silhouette. Likan had taken to curling into your side and not letting go, even in sleep.
The family helped where they could. Neytiri especially — splitting her time between you and Neteyam, her heart torn in half. But no matter how many hands helped, you were still up at night. Still aching. And Neteyam was still outside, just beyond the flap of the mauri. Awake. Watching the stars. Not knowing why they felt lonelier than before.
One day the boys were laughing as they chased one another along the shore, their feet kicking up puffs of white sand. You watched them with tired eyes from just outside the mauri, the baby restless in your arms.
She was crying again — not a loud, piercing wail, just that miserable, fussy sound that always came in waves when she couldn’t seem to settle. You’d walked her, rocked her, hummed and whispered to her until your throat ached. Nothing helped today. You bounced her gently, pressing a kiss to her damp cheek. “I know, sweet girl. I know.”
Behind you, there was a shift in the air. You turned your head just slightly — and found Neteyam standing there. He wasn’t close. Just at the edge of the clearing, half in shadow, watching with unreadable eyes. He hesitated. “I can take her,” he said finally, voice low and unsure. “If… if you want.”
Your heart gave a soft, startled flutter. You straightened slowly, blinking at him. “You don’t have to,” you murmured. “I know,” he said. “But I want to.” You looked down at the baby in your arms. She was still fussing, fists clenched, brow furrowed like the whole world was wrong. She didn’t know her father had never held her. Didn’t know he’d been sleeping when she was born. Didn’t know he didn’t remember her at all. But somehow… maybe she felt it.
You stood carefully and stepped toward him. Your arms trembled a bit — not from fear, just the weight of the moment. You cradled her close a second longer, then gently passed her over. He took her like she was made of glass. The way his hands moved — cautious, reverent. His whole body stilled as she settled into the crook of his arm. She squirmed at first, then let out a small, sighing cry… And stilled. He looked down at her. Then up at you. “She looks like me,” he said quietly.
You nodded. “She does.” “I never held her before now?” he asked. “No,” you whispered. “You haven’t really.” He looked away, shame flickering across his face. But the baby — your baby — made a soft, curious coo and blinked up at him with slow, sleepy eyes. His mouth parted, stunned. “I don’t remember her,” he said. “But I feel like I should.” You reached out gently, fingers brushing his arm. “You don’t have to force anything. You’re holding her. That’s enough.”
He looked at you — really looked — then back down at her. “What’s her name?” he asked. You exhaled slowly. “She doesn’t have one yet. I… I couldn’t pick. I tried. But I couldn’t.” He looked at you again, a strange mix of emotion tightening his brow. “You said I used to choose.” You nodded. “Always. I would give you too many names. I could never make up my mind, and you’d just… decide. Like you already knew.” His eyes fell back to her, the tiniest crease forming between his brows. “Do you have names now?” he asked. You swallowed. “Three.”
He waited. “Sahri. Eiweya. Kiriya.” He mouthed them silently. Then, softer than breath — “Kiriya.” You blinked. “That one,” he said. “She feels like that.” She shifted in his arms, letting out a tiny sigh before nestling her head beneath his chin. You stared at them, heart thudding, something breaking and stitching together all at once. “Kiriya,” you echoed. “Then that’s her name.” He didn’t say anything else. But he didn’t hand her back either.
The beach wind had quieted, the tide soft at your feet. Kiriya’s cries had faded into soft snuffles as she dozed in Neteyam’s arms. Her tiny hand rested against his chest; her brow furrowed even in sleep — just like his.
You were watching Eylan and Likan build crooked towers of shells in the sand when Neteyam glanced over at you. “I should bring her in,” he said. You turned to him slowly, heart tapping at your ribs. “Will you stay? For dinner?” He didn’t answer right away. His eyes flicked back to the baby. “Do you want me to?” You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Of course,” you said. “The boys would love that.” Neteyam gave a tiny nod, shifting the baby carefully. “Okay.”
At the mauri, the scent of roasted yovo drifted over fresh leaves and warm stones. Neytiri and Jake were already sitting, Tuk bouncing between them with a carved spoon in each hand. Ronal and Tsireya moved around the fire, while Kiri passed plates to everyone. Lo’ak was sitting cross-legged, peeling fruit with his knife and chatting with Ao’nung.
He looked up when he heard your voice first — then saw who was walking beside you. His eyes widened slightly. Neteyam holding the baby. Lo’ak stood up halfway, his fruit forgotten. A grin broke across his face before he could stop it. “Bro.” His voice cracked. Neteyam paused, shifting under the attention. “She was crying,” he said stiffly. “I was just… holding her.” Neytiri was already clearing a space near her side. “Come. Sit.” Lo’ak backed up, still smiling, as you and Neteyam stepped into the circle. You caught the warmth in his eyes — not surprise. Relief. Eylan barreled past you, nearly knocking over a bowl. “She’s still sleeping?”
“Still,” Neteyam said. Likan scrambled onto your lap, thumb in his mouth, then reached toward his baby sister. “Dada hold her,” he whispered, proud. “She sleep wike a bug,” he added, pressing his hand over his cheek to mimic her squish. Neteyam smiled — a real one. Quick and uncertain, but real. Lo’ak sank down beside him, nudging Eylan aside just enough to pass him a plate. “You gonna eat or just be the baby chair tonight?” Neteyam snorted. “Think she’s claimed me.”
“Good,” Lo’ak said. “She deserves it. So do you.” You looked over at him, and he gave you a small wink — not smug, just glad. Like something inside him had finally relaxed. Dinner passed in slow waves — small bites, soft laughter, cautious conversation. Kiri watched you like a mother pent up with hope. Tsireya offered seconds. And when Kiriya stirred, Neteyam didn’t pass her off right away. He held her close, tracing the fine wisps of hair over her temple. You didn’t say anything. But when he looked at you and said softly, “I like the name,” it almost broke you. “Me too.”
Afterward, when the children had eaten their fill and begun nodding off against each other, Lo’ak helped clean up. He passed behind you and murmured low near your ear: “He’s trying. I see it.” You looked back at him. “And I’m glad,” he added with a grin. “You look lighter tonight.” You pressed your fingers to your lips, almost in disbelief. So did he. Because for the first time in many weeks, you all sat under the stars together. And Neteyam stayed.
Over the next several days, Neteyam had been around sometimes, other times disappearing off to somewhere in the reef. You honestly didn’t think much about it, having your hands full with the children kept your mind occupied, and ever since the night he had dinner things have been better between you, or that’s what you thought anyways. You had no idea he was off bonding with another woman.
The first time, they were hunting along the reef ledge. Lina was leading him through narrow tunnels in the coral, glancing over her shoulder to smirk at him every few paces. “You’re too slow,” she calls over the bubbling tide. Neteyam grins, swimming harder to catch up. “I’m letting you win.”
“Oh?” she tilts her head, treading water as he nears. “You always this generous, or just with me?” He chuckles — can’t help it — and bumps her gently with his shoulder. She bumps him back.
The second time, they were drying gear near the rocks. Lina’s hair is loose, still dripping, skin shining with salt and sun. She reaches out to adjust the strap of his sling.
“Still too tight,” she mutters, tugging it just slightly. “You’ll bruise yourself.” His hand brushes hers. “What would I do without you?”
“Starve. Or bleed out,” she says, looking up at him through her lashes. Neteyam bites the inside of his cheek to hide a grin.
The third time, he finds her sitting on a flat stone, braiding thin strips of shell into a necklace. “That for me?” he asks, flopping down beside her, deliberately brushing her leg with his tail. She laughs, doesn’t move away. “You wish.” He leans on one arm. “What if I do?” She goes still — just for a second — then smiles again. “Then maybe I’ll make you one. If you catch a bigger fish than me tomorrow.”
“Easy.”
“You talk too much.”
“You like it.” She says nothing — but she doesn’t argue.
The fourth time, they were in the shallows, dusk falling in golden streaks across the ocean. She splashes him lightly, then darts away with a laugh. He chases, catches her wrist under the water, and spins her in a circle. Their laughter echoes against the reef wall. “You’re impossible,” he says, chest heaving. “You’re slow.”
“I let you go.”
“Liar.” He pulls her close again — just slightly — hand on her arm, holding her steady. She doesn’t pull away. “You gonna let go?” she whispers. He hesitates.
And that’s when they hear it. A sharp inhale. Both of them turn — and Tsireya is standing at the edge of the sandbank, staring. She wasn’t meant to find them here. Not this close. Not this comfortable. Her eyes flick between their bodies — wet, pressed too close, laughter still fading in the air. Lina steps back instantly and Neteyam’s hand drops. Tsireya’s voice is tight. “Lo’ak’s been looking for you.” He doesn’t answer so she turns and walks away.
That evening when the tide had rolled in, moonlight catching on the crests as the reef swayed in rhythm. Most of the village had gone quiet — the firelight around the Sully mauri low and flickering. Tsireya found Lo’ak by the far edge of the reef, feeding dried root to an ilu calf. His hair was damp, eyes tired. She didn’t speak at first. Just stood there, jaw tight.
Lo’ak glanced up. “Hey,” he offered, but her expression stopped him cold “What?”
“I saw them again.” He frowned. “Who?”
“Neteyam. And Lina.” Lo’ak’s shoulders dropped. “Yeah, I figured—”
“No,” she said sharply. “You don’t understand. This isn’t just awkward flirting anymore.”
She stepped closer, voice barely above a whisper. “She touched his chest today and he was touching her arm. Laughed like it was nothing. Then leaned into him like—like she wanted him to notice. And he did.” Lo’ak looked away, jaw clenching.
“She doesn’t care,” Tsireya hissed. “She knows. She knows he’s married. She knows you all told him. She knows he has children. And she still looks at him like that.”
“Neteyam doesn’t remember—”
“That doesn’t excuse her.” Lo’ak shook his head. “I don’t think he sees it the way we do.” Tsireya didn’t back off. “He doesn’t have to know everything to feel what’s right. Something in him should know. That kind of bond doesn’t disappear just because you forgot a name.”
“He’s not the same,” Lo’ak muttered. “Not yet.”
“And she’s taking advantage of that,” Tsireya snapped. Silence hung between them, thick as sea fog. “I didn’t tell her,” She said quietly. “I didn’t say a word. But I swear, Lo’ak… if Lina puts her hands on him again like that, I will.” He exhaled slowly. “Don’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because she’s already breaking,” he said, voice strained. “Every day she’s holding it together for those kids, for the family. You think watching him forget her wasn’t bad enough?” Tsireya’s eyes softened.
“She finally got him to hold the baby,” Lo’ak added. “Named her with him. The day they sat and ate with the family. First time in months. It was right before that.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Then why is he out there with her?”
“I don’t know,” Lo’ak admitted, eyes glistening. “But I can’t be the one to break her.” Tsireya nodded once, quietly. “Then I’ll wait. But not forever.” Lo’ak stared at the stars, wondering how long he could keep pretending nothing was burning.
Neteyam sat on the warm stone, legs stretched, hands braced behind him as the waves lapped close. Lina was beside him, knees drawn up, the curve of her smile impossibly soft in the golden light. “Your shoulders tense again,” she murmured, scooting closer.
He didn’t stop her when her fingers brushed along his shoulder. “I think you like touching me,” he said, not quite teasing, not quite serious. Lina laughed under her breath. “Maybe. You’re not stopping me.” He turned to look at her — really look.
“You’re not like the others,” he said slowly. “Everyone stares at me like I’m supposed to be someone they remember. You just… let me be who I am now.”
“You don’t owe anyone a past you can’t remember,” she whispered.
“You don’t even ask questions.”
“I already know the answers that matter,” she smiled. “I like you.”
He blinked. “You don’t care that I’m—”
“Married?” she finished, almost playfully. “You don’t remember that. It’s not the same.” There was a pause. A long, heavy pause.
“I’m still—” he started, then faltered. “She’s kind. Patient. But it’s like I’m supposed to feel something I don’t.”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” Lina said, brushing her fingers along the side of his jaw. “You just… feel this. Now.” And then she kissed him. Not a short, confused kiss. Not unsure. This was deliberate. Gentle, but real. And Neteyam—he didn’t pull away, not right away. His hands twitched against the rock. When he did break it, it was breathless, conflicted. “Lina—” She smiled. “You can stop me next time. If you want.”
Behind a rock ledge just above them, Neytiri stood frozen. She had come looking. Something in her heart told her something was wrong. And what she heard broke her completely. Every word. “You just feel this. Now.” The kiss. She almost called him out. Almost walked forward and made her presence known. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. Not when her son — her eldest — the one she buried her soul into, kissed another woman while his mate rocked their baby just a few steps away in the village. Neytiri backed away, breath trembling, hand pressed hard against her chest. She didn’t speak. But something inside her, something sacred, began to unravel. Not for herself, but for you.
The night air was still and thick with the hum of distant ocean wind. Only the crackle of low embers broke the silence inside the Sully mauri. Neytiri sat by the hearth, her body unmoving, eyes fixed on the firelight flickering across her knuckles.
Jake entered quietly, wiping his hands with a cloth after helping Kiri settle Eylan and Likan into their sleeping mat while you tended to Kiriya. “You’ve been quiet all night,” he said, crouching beside her. Neytiri didn’t look at him. Her voice, when it came, was soft but cut with steel. “I saw them.” Jake’s brow furrowed. “Who?” Her jaw clenched. “Neteyam. And the girl.” He sat down slowly, feeling the air shift. “What girl?” Neytiri nodded once. “That Lina girl— Two nights ago. I followed him. I wanted to be sure.”
Jake’s voice dropped. “What did you see?” Her eyes lifted to meet his, burning. “They were kissing. Her hand was on his jaw. He did not stop her.”
Jake swore under his breath, rubbing his temples. “Shit.” Behind the thin woven wall, there was a scuffle of movement. Someone breathing too loudly. Too sharply. Neytiri’s ears twitched. A moment passed before Lo’ak stepped into the light, arms at his sides, face drawn in guilt. Tsireya stood behind him, hands knotted in front of her, not meeting anyone’s eyes.
“I know,” Lo’ak said before either parent could ask. “I’ve known.” Neytiri rose slowly to her feet. “How long?” Lo’ak held up a hand. “I’ve known for a while. Since before he even held the baby. I saw them. First just talking, then… more. Since he started to go to the tide pools the hunters hand out by.”
Jake’s eyes narrowed. “And you didn’t think to say anything?”
“I didn’t know how,” Lo’ak admitted. “She’s already barely holding things together. She’s feeding the baby alone. Putting the boys to bed. Waiting on him to come home. And I just—”
“You should have told us,” Neytiri snapped. “I thought he’d come around,” Lo’ak said, voice cracking. “I thought once he saw her — really saw her — saw the kids — it would all fall into place. I thought the memory flashes were working.” Jake’s jaw worked. “But he kept going back to Lina.” Lo’ak nodded. “He kept going back I guess.” Neytiri’s voice was trembling now. “And you let her believe he was trying.”
“I didn’t want to be the one to break her,” Lo’ak whispered. “She still believes in him.” Tsireya finally spoke, quiet but firm. “Lo’ak and I first saw them. I told him we should say something, but he said it wasn’t time.”
Neytiri turned away, her fists clenched. “He kissed another woman. While his mate waits. While she takes care of those babies alone.”
Jake stood slowly, running both hands down his face. “We need to talk to him.” Lo’ak looked up quickly. “Not yet. Please. He’s remembering. Not all of it, but enough that I think he’s confused. Let me talk to him first.”
Neytiri’s eyes narrowed. “And if he touches her again?” Jake answered this time, voice cold and low. “Then it’s no longer confusion. It’s a choice.” The word no one said was still thick in the air. And none of them could bear to imagine the moment you would find out.
The sky was dark, save for a stretch of stars reflected on the surface of the sea. Small waves lapped at the sand as Neteyam stood alone, arms folded, staring out at the horizon. His back was to the village, but he hadn’t gone far — not really. He could still hear the soft calls of nocturnal birds, the echo of distant laughter, the crackling of fires. Lo’ak found him there.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just stepped up beside his brother, letting the silence linger. The two stood shoulder to shoulder, the sea wind tossing their braids gently. Neteyam spoke first, barely above a murmur. “Did they send you?” Lo’ak shook his head. “No. I came on my own.” Neteyam’s jaw tightened. “I already know what this is about.” Lo’ak sighed. “Then that makes it easier.” A long pause. Then, quietly: “I saw you with her, bro.” Neteyam flinched, but didn’t turn. “You’ve been spying on me?”
“No,” Lo’ak said softly. “Just looking out. For her. For the kids.” Neteyam finally looked at him, eyes conflicted, searching. “It’s not like that.”
“You kissed her,” Lo’ak replied, not harshly, just stating fact. “And you’ve been sneaking off for weeks.” Neteyam’s mouth opened, but no words came. Lo’ak shook his head slowly. “I’m not here to yell at you,” he said. “I’m not our dad. I’m your brother.”
He hesitated, then added, “And I’m hers too. Not by blood — but I helped catch your daughter when you were unconscious. I’ve held your sons when they cried for you. I’ve seen the way she looks at you like you hung the stars.” Neteyam’s eyes shimmered with something — regret, maybe, or confusion. “I don’t know what’s happening in your head,” Lo’ak said, voice low. “I know this memory thing is eating you up. I know you’re not the same. But that doesn’t mean you get to break her in silence.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt her,” Neteyam said. “But you are,” Lo’ak whispered. “Every time you don’t come home. Every time she lies to the boys and says you’re busy, or training. Every time she feeds the baby alone. And she won’t ask you to stay, she has no idea. She’ll wait for you to come to her.”
Neteyam turned his face away. “She thinks you’re getting better,” Lo’ak went on. “She thinks you’re coming back to her. And you are, sometimes. That night on the tablet, when you smiled at her. You felt like you. That’s what’s killing her. She hopes.” Lo’ak paused, then said gently, “Is it Lina?” Neteyam didn’t answer. “She’s not your mate,” Lo’ak said, still calm. “She doesn’t know your sons’ lullabies. She didn’t carry your child. She didn’t sit at your side when you were dying.” Neteyam closed his eyes. His voice was a whisper. “I know.”
Lo’ak looked at him with something like grief. “Then why are you still going to her?” The silence hung, heavy and raw. “I don’t know,” Neteyam said. “She’s… easy. I don’t have to feel like I’m failing when I’m with her.” Lo’ak’s eyes darkened. “She doesn’t ask you to remember.”
Neteyam nodded. “She doesn’t look at me like she’s waiting to find the old me.” Lo’ak stepped closer. “She doesn’t know the old you. We do. And she does.” Neteyam looked at him, chest tight. “What if I never remember everything?”
“Then you start from where you are,” Lo’ak said. “But you don’t build something new while she’s still holding the pieces you left behind.” Neteyam turned away again, swallowing hard. Lo’ak let the words sit. He didn’t demand. He didn’t lecture. Just before he walked away, he added one last thing, soft as dusk. “You were always the one I looked up to. The steady one. The protector.” He paused. “If you can’t remember it from your own memory, remember it came from me.” And then he left his brother alone with the stars.
It’s the next morning. You’re up early with the baby, trying to braid Eylan’s hair while Likan chews on a toy. Neteyam returns from the beach. His shoulders are tense. His steps are slow. You smile when you see him. “Hey,” you say softly. “We missed you at breakfast.” He hesitates. Then: “Can we talk?” Your stomach drops. You hand Eylan the comb and step outside with him, the light warm on your skin.
He doesn’t look at you when he speaks. “I… I need some time. To think. To breathe. Things are getting clearer but… it’s a lot. Being here. With you. With the kids. With the pressure to feel everything I’m supposed to feel.” You go quiet. His words twist in your chest. “You don’t feel anything?”
He shakes his head quickly. “No— I do. I think I do. But I don’t know what’s real and what’s me wanting it to be real. Last night felt… good. You felt safe. Familiar. But then I woke up this morning and…” His hands clench. “I was terrified again. Of losing myself to a life I don’t remember.” You swallow hard. “So, you want space.” He nods. You nod too, but your lips tremble. “Okay.”
“It’s not forever,” he says, voice low. “I just need to understand who I am… on my own.” You force a small smile. “Of course. Take the time you need.” But when he leaves, heading toward the far edge of the village — you don’t know he’s going to see Lina.
you’re left standing outside the mauri with the wind in your hair and a silent ache blooming beneath your ribs. And for a long moment… you just stand there. Because what are you supposed to do? Chase after him? Beg him to stay? Demand an explanation he doesn’t even understand himself? No. You go back inside. You wipe your eyes before the kids see.
The sun had barely risen when he walked away. Soft golden light slanted through the mangrove roots, stretching long shadows over the damp earth. The village was still, caught in that in-between hush before the day began — birds just beginning to chirp, ocean breeze barely rustling the fronds above.
Inside, the air was warm and faintly sweet from the firepit’s embers. The kids were already stirring. Kiriya had begun to fuss softly in her basket, tiny fists working against the woven cloth around her. Eylan sat nearby, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm and yawning loudly — a tangle of half-finished braids still jutting out at strange angles. Likan lay sprawled on his belly, drooling into a woven mat and humming something tuneless to himself. You didn’t feel ready. But ready or not — you were their world. And you were not going to let them see you fall. You’ve already let them down too much as it is.
You moved on instinct. You knelt first beside Kiriya, scooping her into your arms with the ease of a mother who’d done this a thousand times, even if it still ached in your chest. She whimpered once before latching against your breast, and the tension in her small body melted almost instantly. You rocked gently, her soft suckling grounding you. “That’s it, my little star,” you whispered, brushing your nose against her temple. “Eat well. You’ve got a big day ahead.”
“Is it done?” Eylan’s voice broke into the silence, scratchy and young. “My braids?” You turned your head to him, gave a soft smile. “Not yet. Come here.” He scooted over eagerly, plopping himself down in front of you with crossed legs. “You stopped braiding it,” he said, not accusing — just observing. “I know,” you murmured. “Mama needed a moment. But I’m here now.”
You finished nursing Kiriya and shifted her gently to your shoulder. With one hand, you resumed braiding Eylan’s hair, fingers nimble even with your youngest curled against you, slowly drifting back to sleep. His hair was thick, like his father’s, and slightly wild — stubborn strands that always slipped from your grip. But you were patient. You always had been. Likan toddled over next, dragging his woven bird toy, his eyes still puffy with sleep. “Hungry,” he mumbled, pressing his face to your knee. You leaned down and kissed the top of his head. “Soon, baby boy. Let Mama finish your brother’s hair.”
“I help?” he asked, pointing at the pile of fruit. You chuckled. “You can hand me the yovo, hmm?” He nodded proudly and waddled off on his mission. By the time you finished Eylan’s last braid and tied it off, Kiriya was burping sleepily against your shoulder and Likan had managed to bring back half a yovo fruit, teeth already sunk into it. You couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled up. “Thank you, sweet boy. Very helpful.” He beamed, mouth full.
You got up slowly, adjusting Kiriya in your sling so she could sleep tucked against your chest. The boys followed as you moved toward the firepit, preparing their breakfast from leftover grilled fish and soft yovo mash. Eylan fetched the dishes, Likan danced in circles, and you worked — stirring, plating, humming softly — while the sun crept higher outside.
There were no grand declarations. No epiphanies. Just movement. Just being present. Just… trying. Because yes, you were his wife. But you were more than that. You were their mother. Their comfort. Their rhythm. Their constant. And no matter who stayed, who left, who forgot — you would always be the one still here.
The stars were beginning to blink awake as the sea breeze curled through the village, quiet and cool. Dinner had come and gone. The children were already tucked away — Eylan and Likan asleep in their nest, Kiriya dozing peacefully in her wrap against your chest. You sat close to the firepit outside Jake and Neytiri’s mauri, cradling her gently, her small weight grounding you more than anything else could.
Kiri was plaiting Tuk’s hair beside you. Lo’ak leaned against a post nearby, Tsireya tucked against his side. Jake and Neytiri sat across the fire, quiet, eyes flickering between the flames and each other. It was Kiri who finally spoke. “Neteyam didn’t come back with you today?” You shifted slightly. “He said he needed some space. Just for a while.” Lo’ak stilled. You didn’t see his jaw tighten, but Kiri did. Jake looked up. “He told you that directly?”
You nodded. “This morning.” There was a beat of silence. You were still trying to gauge the reactions when Neytiri stood slowly, brushing off her hands. “He asked for space,” she repeated, voice carefully neutral. “From what, exactly?” You blinked. “From everything, I guess. The memories. The pressure. Me.” You looked down at Kiriya. “He’s not running. He just… needs air.”
“Air?” Neytiri said sharply. “He has all the air in the world here.” Jake put a calming hand on her leg, gently. “Ma’Tiri.” Lo’ak straightened up suddenly. “It’s not just about the memories.” Everyone looked at him. Kiri’s eyes narrowed. “Lo’ak.” But he ignored her. “He’s confused, yeah. But it’s not just about that.” “Lo’ak…” Neytiri warned under her breath. He backed off instantly. “I just mean—it’s complicated for him. You can’t judge him for needing time.” You watched him, head tilting. “You okay?” He nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Just tired.”
You didn’t press it. The odd quiet that followed said more than any of them did. You felt it but couldn’t place it — the edge in Neytiri’s tone, the way Lo’ak wouldn’t quite look at you, the heaviness in Jake’s silence. Kiri shifted closer to you, her presence warm, protective. “You’re all acting weird,” you murmured, trying to joke. “I’m the one who got asked for space. I should be the one brooding.”
“You’re handling it with grace,” Jake said finally, offering a quiet smile. “We’re proud of you for that.” You met his eyes, then Neytiri’s. Hers were guarded. Too guarded. Something was off. Still, you smile and looked down at your sleeping daughter. “He just needs time. That’s all.” No one argued with you. But no one agreed either. And as the fire crackled quietly, your heart ached with the weight of all the things left unsaid — because you were still standing in the light, and everyone else… already knew something you didn’t.
Three months later, your mornings had changed. No longer did they begin with tear-streaked cheeks or aching silence. They started now with purpose. With Eylan giggling as he tried to braid his own hair, with Likan waddling into your arms, babbling half-formed words, and with Kiriya’s soft, sleepy coos as she nursed while wrapped against your chest. You rose before the sun most days, not out of sorrow, but to reclaim yourself piece by piece.
You had begun to hunt again. The first time you picked up your bow, it felt foreign in your hands, the weight unfamiliar after moons of barely using it. But the moment your feet touched the forest floor—alone, quiet—you remembered. The strength in your arms, the rhythm of your breath, the way the jungle had always spoken to you. You didn’t go far the first time, but it was enough. Enough to remember who you were. Not just his mate. Not just a mother. But a warrior. A woman. A force.
Over time, you started to laugh again. It came slowly at first—soft smiles, half-hearted chuckles. But then, one afternoon, you met up with two old friends from your youth, both mothers now, and one cracked a joke about her toddler eating a bug. You laughed so hard you cried. You realized you missed yourself. And more importantly… you missed joy. Joy you haven’t felt since neteyam had his memories. You helped mend nets, wove baskets, joined other mothers in gathering sea fruits, and swam farther than you had since giving birth to Kiriya. You didn’t do it for Neteyam. You did it for your sons, for your daughter… and for you.
Jake and Neytiri loved you like their own. They helped when they could—watching the kids when you needed to gather, bringing fresh meat after long hunts, or simply sitting with you at night when you couldn’t sleep. They noticed your growing strength, the fire returning to your eyes, and they were proud—even if it broke their hearts that it had to be this way.
They said nothing of Lina. They didn’t have to. The pain in Neytiri’s eyes whenever she looked at her son, the way Jake sighed deeply whenever the topic of space came up—it was all there. They knew. And they hated it. But they also understood that Neteyam was lost in his own way, and anger wouldn’t guide him home. Patience might.
Lo’ak was the one who struggled the most. He couldn’t understand why his brother—who had once looked at you like you were the stars—couldn’t see you now. Lo’ak tried to hold his tongue, but it gnawed at him. Tsireya was the one who calmed him, reminding him that love can’t be forced, and healing isn’t always linear. Even Tuk knew. She had cried one night in your arms, confused and worried, asking if Neteyam would ever come back to being him. You didn’t have an answer.
The children were adjusting, each in their own way. Eylan, ever the oldest, had grown more protective, more aware growing into a man who mimicked his father without even knowing. He watched your face carefully when you thought he wasn’t looking, quietly stepping in to help with Likan or Kiriya when he sensed you needed a moment. Likan, wild-hearted and two, was all tangled curls and endless energy, bouncing between tantrums and giggles as he tried to mimic his big brother’s every move.
And Kiriya, just three months old, was beginning to show more of herself: tiny hands always reaching, eyes wide and curious, gurgling happily whenever you or her brothers came near. She loved being held against your chest, calmed instantly by your heartbeat. Together, the three of them were loud and loving and beautifully chaotic. They didn’t understand everything, but they were still happy. Still whole, because they had you.
Each night, after the children were asleep and the fire was low, you knelt and prayed to Eywa. For strength. For patience. For your mate to find his way back—not just to you, but to himself. You no longer waited by the door, hoping he would come. But you didn’t close it either. You lived. You thrived. You healed. Quietly, painfully, and steadily. And though you didn’t know it… Your light was still reaching him. Even from afar. Even in the arms of another. Something in him still remembered. And Eywa… was still listening.
Meanwhile with Neteyam, he spent his months with Lina, she always waited for him at night. Not coy. Not nervous. Prepared. Her hair was down, lips glossed with fruit oil, and her wrap — if you could call it that — barely covered anything. A soft green length of fabric tied at her hip with a loose knot that looked like a gentle breeze might undo it. Neteyam didn’t miss that. And she knew.
“Long day?” she whispered one night, slipping behind him, arms curling around his waist, mouth pressing to the back of his neck. She was tall, taller than you, where you stood at Neteyam’s chest, she stood just below his jaw. “You can relax now, you’re with me.” Her hands slid across his stomach, dipping low. He exhaled, chest tight. Sometimes, he didn’t stop her.
Her fingers found him hard, aching — always from her touch, her scent, the way she pressed into his back like she belonged there. She’d stroke him slowly, lips dragging along his jaw. Sometimes she’d murmur praise. Other times, she’d drop to her knees, hands sliding up his thighs — but every time her lips brushed against him, the sound of footsteps, a call in the distance, a flicker of light— He’d freeze. “Wait—” he’d say, hands gripping her shoulders. “Not now.” She always looked up, mouth flushed, eyes wide. “You’re always say that.”
“I know,” he breathed. “I know.” But he wouldn’t let her finish, wouldn’t let her cross that line. Even the night she climbed into his lap, completely bare under her shawl — guiding his hands to her breasts, her thighs parted over his hips, rocking gently until he gasped against her mouth — he stopped it. Her fingers had worked his tewng loose. Her tongue was in his mouth, his hands full of her heat and softness, his head spinning— Then a branch snapped outside. A child’s laugh. A shadow. He gripped her hips, breathless. “No. We shouldn’t.” She groaned in frustration, but softened, kissing him again. “You keep saying that.”
“I’m trying to do the right thing.”
“But you want me,” she whispered, grinding down again, making him stutter. “Don’t lie.” He didn’t. He never did. Because yes, he wanted her. She was beautiful. Willing. Soft and warm and slick against him. But every time they got close — too close — something pulled him back. Something inside or outside stopped him. And when he left her mauri, half-dressed and still aching, he’d collapse onto his sleeping mat and try to breathe.
That’s when the dreams began, not nightmares — memories. You. Laughing beneath him in the forest, hair tangled, your moans stifled by his kiss. And just felt it, he loved kissing you in those dreams, loved dipping his head and pressing up on your skin. You on your back, guiding him in with a sigh like you’d done so many times he just couldn’t remember them all yet. You crying with joy, his son in your arms. You pulling his hands to your growing belly. And the way you looked at him like he was your whole world. He started to wake up with a tightness in his chest. Not just lust. But longing. He’d press his palm over his heart like it could stop the ache. The confusion, the guilt. Because Lina felt good. Safe in a way. Familiar now. But when he touched her, it was never like that. The feeling of worship. Of oneness. That only lived in the dreams. And those dreams were growing stronger, more vivid, more real. Which meant, little by little… Lina was losing him.
he didn’t know when exactly the dreams had started exactly. Maybe it was after the night you looked at him with flushed cheeks, when the sunlight kissed your skin and your laughter echoed through that small space between you, when his fingers brushed yours and something deep in him shifted. Or maybe it was earlier—when Likan grabbed his tail one day on the beach toddling between his legs like he was so used to doing it. Maybe after he once again, stopped Lina from getting her desperate fuck. He wasn’t sure.
But now, they came more and more often. Vivid. Unshakable. Sometimes warm and quiet, like drifting through memories too soft to be real. Other times sharp, intense—desire threading through his body until he woke in the dark, chest heaving, skin damp with sweat, painfully aware of the ache low in his belly.
At first, he thought they were just dreams. Imaginings. Wishes. But they kept happening—so detailed, so real, down to the sounds of your voice, the way you smelled, the exact curl of Likan’s fingers around his thumb. Eylan laughing, splashing in the river as you reached for him. You smiling up at Neteyam in the forest, eyes glowing with pride and love. The feeling of carrying you into your new mauri when you first arrived at Awa’atlu, both of you still dripping from the sea. The first night Likan was born, when you placed the baby in his arms and cried into his chest, or when you both introduced Eylan to his new baby brother.
He started writing them down, carving the details into the bark of a sea tree near the cliffs where no one would look. Just in case. He needed to be sure. Needed proof. He wanted to bring them to you someday, look you in the eye and ask, Was this real? Did I carry you across the ocean? Did we love like this, this deeply, this hard?
And then there were the other dreams. The ones he didn’t know what to do with. Your hands on his chest, your mouth on his skin. The soft groan he made when your hips rolled against his. The sound of your laughter tangled in heavy breathing, the press of his hand between your thighs as your voice broke on his name. Your body beneath him, around him. Sometimes playful. Sometimes desperate. Always you.
He would wake up with his heart racing, painfully hard, breath caught in his throat. It was impossible not to imagine what it had felt like in reality—your warmth, the way you moaned when he whispered in your ear, how you gripped him when he pressed deep inside. Sometimes it left him quiet for hours. Other times, he found himself flushed, frustrated, pacing near the water’s edge, unsure if it was guilt or longing.
He never told Lina. How could he? Those dreams never had her in them. Only you. He still didn’t remember everything. He was still confused, overwhelmed, pulled in two directions. But each night when he curled beneath the woven mat in his quiet mauri, Eywa whispered a little more of his past back to him. Gently. Deliberately. Sometimes cruel in its intensity, sometimes kind in its simplicity.
The cove was half-shadowed, kissed in dusk light and the faint shimmer of tide pools. The waves lapped gently, rhythmic, soft like the hush of a whisper. Neteyam sat alone on a rock worn smooth by the sea, one leg bent, the other dangling just above the sand. His jaw was tight. His eyes distant, mind loud Lina found him there again, just as she always did, silent steps through the shallows, stopping just behind him. “You always come here when your head’s too loud,” she said softly, voice just above the waves. “I like that.”
He didn’t turn, but his shoulders didn’t tense. He was used to her now, her voice, her scent, her closeness. “I’ve been dreaming again,” he murmured, fingers drumming against his thigh. She took the invitation. Sat behind him on the rock, then leaned forward, pressing her chest to his back gently, her arms wrapping around his middle without hesitation. Her hands settled flat against his stomach. “About her?” He nodded slowly.
“I see her sometimes. The boys. The baby… Kiriya.” He said the name carefully, like it might shatter in his mouth. “It’s not just flashes anymore. I can feel the emotion of the moment. Like I was really there.” Lina rested her chin against his shoulder, her fingers tracing slow, calming shapes against his stomach. “Dreams can be like that,” she murmured. “Vivid. Powerful. Especially when you’re searching for something — for yourself. Maybe your mind is trying to fill in blanks with what your family told you.” He was quiet.
She turned her head slightly, brushing her lips just behind his ear, soft, innocent. “But here, now… none of it is confusion.” He inhaled — not sharply, but deep — and Lina felt the moment shift. She took it. She moved to sit beside him, hips pressed to his, then slowly reached for his hand and brought it to her thigh, guiding his fingers to rest there. “You weren’t dreaming when you kissed me,” she said, voice velvet smooth. “Or when we touched.” Her hand slid along his wrist, up his arm. “You weren’t someone else. You were you. And you were relaxed. Real. With me.” He looked at her now, eyes shadowed with conflict — torn. Lina’s smile was soft, never smug. She cupped his cheek with one hand, her thumb grazing his jaw.
“She may have been your past, Neteyam,” she whispered. “But I’m your present.” Then she leaned in and kissed him. It wasn’t shy not like the first few times. Her fingers slipped behind his neck, pulling him closer as she moved her body more fully into his lap. His hands hesitated — one landing on her hip, the other still limp at his side — but she coaxed him gently, slowly. Her touch was steady, persistent, like the tide eroding stone. “You don’t have to force yourself to remember someone you don’t feel for anymore,” she murmured against his lips. “What if she’s just part of the story others told you? What if you don’t fit there anymore?” Neteyam looked at her — really looked at her.
“I don’t know what fits,” he admitted, low and raw. “I just… I don’t know.” Lina kissed him again — slower this time, her fingers tangled in his hair. “Then stop trying to remember who you were,” she breathed. “Let yourself be who you are. Now.” And for a while, he let her hold him like that. Let her mouth guide his. Let her arms wrap around his neck and pull him close, as if she could remake him from memory’s ashes into something brand new. And for now — she had him. Right where she wanted him.
Lina’s fingertips danced along the cords of muscle at the back of Neteyam’s neck, so light it almost tickled. She leaned in again — not to kiss him this time, but to let her forehead rest against his. Their breathing synced in the quiet. “You’re always thinking too much,” she murmured, voice barely audible. “Even now.” His hands had stilled at her waist. She could feel the tension buzzing just under his skin. “I see it, you know,” she whispered. “The weight you carry. The questions. The guilt.” She traced down his arm slowly, then took his hand in hers, guiding it back up, placing it over her heart. “But here, with me… you don’t have to answer to anyone. You don’t have to know anything. You can just be.”
His jaw clenched, throat tight. His fingers flexed against her chest, and for a moment she thought he might pull away. But he didn’t. Lina smiled gently and leaned back just enough to look at him fully. “You told me about your dreams,” she said, brushing his hair from his face. “How they feel so real. So full. But those dreams… they’re just pieces. Fragments.” He blinked slowly, watching her lips more than her eyes.
“You said they feel like memories, but maybe they’re not. Maybe they’re just your mind trying to give shape to something you lost.” Her fingers slid up under the leather strap across his shoulder, curling against his collarbone. She leaned in again, this time pressing a kiss to his cheek, then the edge of his jaw. Neteyam exhaled hard through his nose, but his hands came down to her thighs, steadying her in place. Lina’s voice softened, velvet sweet. “But this?” She guided his hands again — down her back, over the curve of her hips — slowly rocking forward so he could feel the press of her body. “This is real. This moment. Me.”
Neteyam groaned under his breath, jaw tightening, eyes fluttering shut for a second before he opened them again. “It’s not that simple,” he said, voice rough. “Why not?” She nuzzled against his neck. “Because I feel like I’m losing my mind.”
“You’re not,” she whispered. “You’re waking up in a life you don’t remember. A mate you don’t recognize. Children who look at you like you’re someone you’re not. That’s not your fault.” She felt him tense under her, so she kissed the side of his neck, slow and soft. “You didn’t choose this, Neteyam.”
“I didn’t choose you either,” he said quietly. That made her pause. Not because it hurt — but because it told her she needed to move more carefully. So she gave a soft laugh — not mocking, but light, breezy. “No,” she agreed. “But sometimes Eywa puts the right person in your path at the right time. Someone who sees you. Who gives you space to breathe.” Her hands cupped his face gently now. “I’m not asking you to choose me. I’m just here. With you. Right now.”
His eyes flicked down — to her mouth, her neck, the way her chest rose and fell close to his. His hands were still on her thighs, but one began to trail upward slowly, as if he were testing what felt familiar. Or maybe… what felt good. Lina closed the distance again, this time kissing him with more intent — a slow burn, coaxing his mouth open with hers, one hand sliding down his chest and resting low on his stomach. She didn’t push further. Not yet. She just let the kiss carry the weight, the confusion, the need. And when he didn’t stop her, when he kissed her back and let his hands roam, when his grip tightened and his mouth opened wider — she knew. He was spiraling. Floating somewhere between desire and doubt. Between what used to be and what he didn’t remember. So she kissed him deeper, then slower. Then softer.
When they broke apart, breathless and flushed, she smiled and leaned her forehead against his again. Her fingers grazed his chest. “You don’t have to feel bad,” she murmured. “You’re allowed to want something that feels good. That feels real.” He didn’t answer. Just stared at the ground over her shoulder, jaw taut, hands still trembling on her body. “You’re not the same man you were before,” Lina whispered. “You don’t have to force yourself to go back to someone you don’t know. Maybe… Eywa gave you a second chance. A clean start.” Neteyam said nothing. But he didn’t pull away either.
And that was enough for her. Because as far as Lina was concerned — she already had her foot in the door. And every time he let her touch him, let her pull him in, let her speak softly into the cracks in his memory — He was already choosing her. Even if he didn’t know it yet.
His lips were still warm against hers. Lina didn’t move at first — didn’t dare. Her fingers lingered on his chest where she’d pulled him to her, heart thudding like a war drum in her ears. She kept her eyes on his mouth; breath caught in her throat like she’d swallowed fire. That kiss was real. That was progress. Slowly, she let out a trembling breath and smiled up at him, soft and sweet, playing the part, she’d carved out so perfectly.
“You always taste like the sea,” she whispered, voice low. “Even after all this time.” Her thumb dragged gently along his jawline, a featherlight touch meant to make him stay. To keep him close. Hers. Neteyam’s eyes flickered—uncertainty warring with something else. Want. Or confusion. Maybe both, she didn’t care which. Because he hadn’t stopped her. That was enough.
She shifted closer, knees pressing against his hips. Her fingers slipped from his jaw to the cords of muscle along his throat, brushing softly, tracing. “You don’t have to say anything,” she murmured. “I know what it feels like to be lost. You don’t owe anyone your peace.” He swallowed but didn’t answer. Just watched her. Watched the way her hands moved. The way her voice soothed. The way she filled the silence. Lina leaned in, nose brushing his. “Let me be that peace,” she whispered.
She had worked too hard for this, too long. From the moment she saw him step out off his ikran, a baby in his arms and war in his shoulders, she knew. She felt it. The weight of who he was — who he used to be. And she envied it. All of it. The love. The family. The way his mate clung to him like gravity. He never noticed her back then. Not really. But she noticed everything. She started helping with hunts she didn’t care about. Took training sessions near the Sullys. She gave him fruit, offered quiet jokes, asked him questions no one else did — just to hear him speak.
But his eyes always found their way back to her. The mate. The mother. So she stepped back. Smiled politely. Waited. Until the sky burned and blood soaked the sand, and suddenly, Eywa delivered him straight to her — broken, blank, and so beautifully lost. She had thanked the Great Mother that night. And every night since. Lina’s hand slid beneath the braid resting on his collarbone, fingertips brushing the skin just under the hollow of his throat. “I don’t ask you to be anything,” she said softly, lips brushing his cheek. “I don’t ask you to remember. I only ask you to feel what’s right in front of you.”
Her hand guided his again, this time to her hip, letting it rest there, just above the bone. His fingers twitched against her skin, but he didn’t pull away. She smiled. “You’re always tense around them,” she murmured. “Like you’re failing some invisible test. But with me… I see you breathe again.” She leaned in, barely touching her lips to his ear. “You feel like you when you’re with me.” And he did. She made sure of that. She never questioned him. Never pushed. She laughed at everything he said. She let him lead even when he didn’t know where he was going. She was patient. Attentive. Always near but never too much. She never even brought up the mate. Or the children. Not unless he did. And even then, only with a quiet smile and understanding eyes. The kind that said it’s okay that you don’t love them. You don’t have to.
Because eventually… He wouldn’t go back. Eventually, he would stop dreaming of a woman he didn’t recognize and realize how easy it was to just let her go. Eventually, he would choose the calm over the storm. And she would be there. Waiting, still smiling, still soft and still his.
Neteyam began spending more time outside during the day, often seated in the sun with Kiri or helping Jake mend a fishing net, eyes following the sway of the sea in silence. He spoke more now — slowly, cautiously — as if testing the weight of his voice in old rhythms. The boys would come up to him sometimes. Eylan offering him small gifts, Likan tugging at his tail to get attention. He didn’t always know how to respond, but he didn’t back away.
That morning, you caught him holding Kiriya again — this time with her tiny fingers wrapped tightly around his braid as she gurgled happily in his arms. He didn’t realize you were watching. But he smiled. The dreams were changing him. He’d begun writing them down — scratching notes into thin leaf parchment when he woke, tracing the edges of memory with almost frantic curiosity. He saw your face in all of them. Your laughter. Your tears. The sound of your voice calling him “tìyawn.”
And lately, he’d been seeing Lo’ak too, laughing with him, hunting beside him, helping deliver Eylan, pulling him from danger. The images weren’t clear, but the feeling was. Love. Loyalty. Trust. He needed to talk to someone. So that night, he found Lo’ak sitting on the rocks near the shore, watching the tide pull against the reef. “You got a minute?” Neteyam asked, voice rough from use. Lo’ak glanced over. “Yeah, Whatsup bro?” They sat together in the moonlight, the ocean lapping at their feet. For a long time, Neteyam said nothing. Then, “I keep dreaming of you.” Lo’ak blinked. “Uh… thanks?”
“No,” Neteyam huffed a laugh. “Not like that, skxawng. I mean… we were close. Weren’t we?” Lo’ak’s smile faded into something soft. “Yeah. You are my brother. My best friend.” There was silence between them again, warm and heavy. Neteyam nodded slowly. “I feel it. Even if I don’t remember it all yet. I feel like I trusted you more than anyone.”
“Besides your wife, you did,” Lo’ak said. “You still can.” Neteyam rubbed a hand over his face. “Everything’s so loud lately. The dreams won’t stop. And every time I look at her—” His voice faltered, but Lo’ak knew who he meant. “It’s like… my body remembers even if my head can’t.” Lo’ak swallowed, choosing his next words carefully. “You don’t have to force anything. But if you feel it… follow that.” Neteyam looked at him, searching. “You think I’m a terrible person?”
“No,” Lo’ak said without hesitation. “I think you’re lost. But you’re finding your way back.” Neteyam exhaled, the corners of his mouth twitching up. “I missed you.” Lo’ak grinned. “I missed you more.”
But further back, hidden in the shadow of the reef wall, Lina stood — her back pressed against the stone, breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t meant to follow him, not at first. But when she saw him walking toward Lo’ak, toward his family, something gnawed inside her. And when she heard what he said — that he dreamed of them, felt something for them, missed them and that gnawing turned to fear. No. No! She had worked too hard to lose him now.
She had touched him, claimed pieces of him, given him herself in every way he would allow — all to be the one he reached for in the darkness. She couldn’t compete with dreams. Not if he started believing they were real. And so, as the brothers laughed quietly under the stars, Lina stepped back into the shadows — her smile gone, her hands curling into fists. If he was starting to remember who he was… Then she had to remind him who he could be. With her.
The lanternlight inside Lina’s mauri flickered low, casting her face in a warm, amber glow. Outside, the reef was quiet, only the occasional lap of water against stone and the breeze threading through the woven walls. Neteyam stood near the entrance, silent for a long while. He shouldn’t have come. He knew that. But her voice had pulled him in again, soft and aching when she’d said, “Can we talk?”
Now he stood in the hush of her space, tense and unsure. She hadn’t touched him yet — not like she usually did. She just sat there, on the mat, her knees drawn to her chest, her head resting lightly against them. “You didn’t come yesterday,” she said quietly. His brow twitched. “I had a lot on my mind.”
“I noticed,” she said, her voice tight. “You’ve been… different.” He didn’t answer. She glanced up at him — eyes glistening. “I keep thinking I did something wrong.” Neteyam exhaled. “You didn’t.”
“Then why don’t you want me anymore?” He flinched. Lina dropped her gaze, fingers curling against her legs. “You come here, but you don’t touch me like before. You don’t even look at me the same way.”
“I never meant to hurt you,” he murmured. “I’m just—” she whispered cutting him off. “I know. Confused” A shaky breath escaped her lips. “But… you kissed me, Neteyam. You held me like I mattered. And I—I thought that meant something.”
“It did,” he said quietly. “Then why do I feel like I’m losing you?” He stepped forward, uneasy. “You’re not.” But she shook her head, blinking fast. “You are slipping away, and I can feel it.” A tear slid down her cheek, and she looked at him with trembling lips. “What did I do wrong? Why can’t I be enough?” Neteyam’s chest ached. He didn’t have an answer. His mind was too full — dreams, flashes of laughter, touches he couldn’t place, names that held weight even without memory. Lina leaned forward slowly, crawling toward him on her knees, eyes wide, wet. “Do you still want me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Or was I just… something to hold while you were lost?”
“Lina—”
“Because I was there,” she said. “I didn’t ask for anything. I didn’t push. I just stayed. I listened. I held you. And now…” She reached for his hand. “You won’t even look at me.”
He looked down at her hand in his — warm, trembling. Her fingers threaded with his, then slowly, she guided his palm up to her shoulder, pressing his hand there like she was pleading with her skin. “Touch me like you did before,” she whispered. “Like I matter to you. Even if it’s just for tonight.” His fingers twitched.
She moved closer, lifting his hand to her collarbone now, guiding his touch as if it were his idea. Her breath hitched when his thumb brushed her neck. “There,” she said. “Do you feel that?” He swallowed. “That’s me,” she murmured. “Still here. Still wanting you.” Her hands slid to his waist, her head tilted, eyes searching his face. “Let me have this. Let me keep something before it all disappears.” His heart pounded. She rose slightly onto her knees, her chest pressed to his, her breath warm on his lips. Her hands curled around his shoulders, pulling him gently, softly, until his forehead was resting against hers.
“I need you,” she whispered. “I need us.” His eyes closed for a moment, the weight of her words curling around him like vines. Guilt. Sadness. Confusion. His body responded — it always did — but his mind was a storm. And then, like always… a noise outside. Children giggling, passing by. A familiar laugh in the distance — his brother’s. Neteyam tensed. He stepped back slowly, his breathing unsteady. Her hands slipped from his skin, her face falling. “Why?” she asked, voice breaking. “Why do you always pull away?”
He didn’t answer. He just looked at her, gaze heavy with something she couldn’t quite decipher — sorrow, maybe. Or guilt. Or both. Then he turned and left. And she stayed there, staring at the doorway like it betrayed her. But in her chest, something twisted. If soft didn’t work… maybe it was time for something harder. Because she was not going to lose him. Not after everything.
The stars blinked above him as Neteyam walked the short distance from Lina’s mauri to the Sully’s. His hands were still warm from her touch, but his heart felt heavier than it had when he walked in. He hadn’t said anything on the way out. He never really did. The flicker of torchlight reached him first — then the sound of laughter, children’s voices, and the smell of grilled fish and roasted sea roots drifting through the humid evening air, home. He stopped at the edge of the mauri, just out of sight, watching.
Jake sat cross-legged with Tuk and Eylan, cutting bits of fish for both of them while they chattered excitedly. Neytiri was nearby, laughing softly at something Lo’ak had said while Kiri fed Likan, who squirmed and babbled with his usual endless energy. You sat to the side with baby Kiriya in your lap, bouncing her gently while you tried to eat with your free hand, the sling now loosened. Her little head bobbed as she cooed and reached for a piece of your braid.
The space was warm and full, lively and familiar. It felt like something he didn’t realize he’d been missing. Then Tuk spotted him. “Neteyam!” she chirped, waving hard with both arms like her life depended on it. Everyone turned. And you—your head snapped up, eyes meeting his with that small, soft smile that hadn’t changed, even through all of it. He stepped in slowly. Lo’ak shifted over without a word, patting the space between him and Eylan. “You’re late,” Jake teased. “I didn’t know I was invited,” Neteyam replied lightly, settling down between his brother and son. “You always are,” Neytiri said, smiling warmly at him.
Eylan wasted no time crawling into his lap, talking a mile a minute about the reef games he played with his friends and how he won twice but only because one of the boys cheated once and tried to pull his tail underwater. Neteyam listened. Really listened. His arm curled around the boy instinctively, his smile more genuine than it had been all day. Kiriya squealed from your lap; eyes locked on her big brother now curled in her father’s arms. Her little hands wiggled excitedly in the air. “She’s been very chatty today,” you said softly, brushing a hand over her head.
“Like you?” he replied before he could think twice. Your eyes flicked to his and your open your mouth in offense playfully, the words surprised even him. “Was that an insult? You saying I talk to much?” You laugh and so did he, a real chuckle. Then Lo’ak leaned in, smirking. “We were just talking about the clan gathering.”
“The big one?” Neteyam asked, eyes going to Jake. Jake nodded. “Few weeks. All the coastal villages are coming in for it. Singing, dancing, food — even a few races and competitions.” You grinned. “Eylan is already planning what he’s going to wear. And I’m thinking we’ll leave Kiriya and Likan with a sitter so we can all actually enjoy it.” Neteyam blinked. “A sitter?” You nodded and told him about a friend of Ronal’s who volunteered to watch them. “She agreed to watch them,” you said. “So the family can go.”
“She’s kind,” Neytiri added, “and Likan already loves her.” Neteyam looked toward Likan, who was now face-first in Kiri’s lap, pretending to be a sea creature while she dramatically scolded him for drooling on her skirt. Everyone laughed. Neteyam looked down at Eylan still cuddled into his chest. The world felt right for a moment. Lighter.
“I remember this,” he murmured softly. “This feeling,” he said more clearly. “This noise. The way everyone talks over each other. It’s warm. I remember that.” Lo’ak smiled at him, wide and proud. “You always said it drove you crazy.”
“But I liked it,” Neteyam replied. Eylan looked up. “You remember us, sempu?” Neteyam hesitated. He didn’t want to lie. “Not fully. But I dream about you. A lot.” Eylan’s eyes lit up. “What do I do in your dreams?”
“You cry a lot,” Neteyam teased, nudging him with a grin. Eylan gasped. “I do not!” Everyone burst out laughing. Likan shouted something unintelligible and flailed in agreement, as if he understood everything and Kiriya squealed again, bouncing in your lap. For the first time in weeks, Neteyam laughed — fully. Loud and real. He leaned into his brother, who bumped shoulders with him. You looked down at your baby, then at your boys, your mate sitting there like he always belonged, and you smiled.
Dinner had ended with the warm hum of laughter still lingering in the air, the scent of smoked fish and sea root still clinging to everyone’s fingers and hair. You’d barely noticed how late it had gotten until Tuk yawned with a dramatic stretch, and Eylan slumped more into Neteyam’s side, rubbing his eyes and murmuring sleepily. Likan was already asleep in Kiri’s lap, his little hand still clutching a half-eaten piece of roasted yovo fruit. Kiriya lay against your chest, blinking slowly from the sling, her fists curling into your wrap like she didn’t want the night to end. You rose slowly, brushing the side of her cheek. “Alright, bedtime,” you murmured. Neteyam was already shifting, carefully gathering Eylan into his arms. The boy sighed, nestling in with a contented little hum.
“I can get Likan,” he said, glancing toward Kiri. She smiled softly and handed over the sleeping toddler. “He’s heavier when he’s asleep. Good luck.” Neteyam gave a little huff under his breath and took him carefully, one arm under Likan’s bottom, the other supporting his back. “When did they get so big?” he muttered. “You’ve been gone a while,” Kiri said gently, then turned to help Neytiri tidy the dinner space.
With the baby against your chest and the boys in his arms, the two of you left the Sully mauri and padded softly across the sand toward your own. The stars blinked above, and the soft crash of waves against the reef formed a lullaby in the dark. Your home was quiet, warm. The fire pit glowed low with embers, just enough light to see by. Neteyam crouched and carefully lowered Likan onto the sleeping mat, then Eylan, who stirred immediately with a dramatic groan.
“I don’t wanna sleep,” Eylan mumbled. “You’re already sleeping, itan,” Neteyam said dryly, nudging him. “Am not,” came the sulky reply. “I’ll settle Kiriya,” you murmured, already tugging at the ties of her sling, her soft breath hot against your skin. “If you settle the boys—?”
“Done,” Neteyam said. It was not done. Eylan rolled onto his side, bumped into Likan, and immediately yelped, “He’s kicking me!” Likan sat up with a startled cry, wide-eyed and completely disoriented. “No kicking! No!” You sighed. “Great. Now they’re both up.” Neteyam rubbed his face. “I jinxed it.”
“Clearly.” The next half hour was a blur of soothing and shifting. Eylan wanted a different pillow — “not that one, the soft one!” and Likan kept scooting off the mat to look for a rock he swore he lost during dinner. You nursed Kiriya while walking gently in a slow loop, whispering soft lullabies, but she squirmed and whimpered, unsettled. “I think she’s overtired,” you murmured. “She gets that from you,” Neteyam called quietly from the mat. You shot him a look and he grinned.
Eventually, Eylan conked out again, curled around one of the large shell-shaped pillows. Likan was sprawled across Neteyam’s chest, one tiny hand curled against his father’s collarbone, breathing slow and deep. And Kiriya… well, she was still fussing. You sat on the edge of the mat, nursing her again, hoping this time it would soothe her to sleep. Neteyam turned his head where he lay on his back, looking at you through half-lidded eyes. “You make that look so easy,” he said softly. You huffed a tired laugh. “I don’t think my back would agree.”
“She looks so much like you when she’s angry,” he whispered. “She looks like you,” you corrected, brushing a finger down her nose. Neteyam’s voice dropped lower, warmer. “You’re really beautiful when you do that, you know.” Your eyes flicked to his. “Feeding her,” he added. “You look strong. Like a mother. Like a wife.” You felt your cheeks flush, heat crawling up your neck. “I’ve been doing it for months.”
“I know.” His gaze lingered on your chest for a moment longer before flicking back up to your eyes. “Still.” You cleared your throat. “You should get up. You’ll fall asleep like that.” He smiled rubbing a hand on Likan’s back “I might.”
“You haven’t slept here in months.” He looked down at the cozy chaos beneath him — soft woven blankets, the seashell pillows, Likan drooling slightly on his chest. “It’s nice,” he said quietly. “You made this warm. Safe.” You smiled, brushing Kiriya’s cheek. “That’s what a home is supposed to be.” He didn’t answer, but he didn’t move either. His hand rested lightly on Likan’s back, rising and falling with the toddler’s breath. “You’re good at this,” you said softly, surprising yourself. “At what?”
“Being a father. Even if you don’t remember how you got here… you belong here.” He turned his face toward you again. “You really think so?” You nod, “I do.” The fire popped gently. You switched Kiriya to the other side, and Neteyam’s eyes flicked toward your chest again before quickly looking away. “You know,” he said after a pause, “some of those pictures we saw… you looked downright dangerous.” You laughed under your breath. “Dangerous? You were looking at pictures again?”
“In a good way. Like… you knew exactly what you were doing.”
“I did,” you teased. “You liked that.”
“I do like that.” You glanced over. “Don’t flirt with me while I’m breastfeeding.”
“Why not?” he said, voice a little lower. “You’re still hot.” You laughed again, quieter this time, trying not to jostle the baby. “I can’t tell if you’re joking.”
“Neither can I.” There was a pause. Then, softer: “But I think I mean it.” And when Kiriya finally drifted off against your chest, her little lips still puckered, Neteyam reached out and adjusted the blanket around your shoulder, fingers brushing the skin just beneath your collarbone. “Thank you for this,” he whispered. You met his eyes, voice almost too soft to hear. “You’re welcome home.” The mauri was quiet, soft with the hush of the ocean beyond its walls and the occasional murmur of sleeping children shifting in their dreams. But Neteyam lay wide awake, still and silent, his arms at his sides, his head turned slightly toward you.
You were close, closer than you had been in months. Eylan lay between you both, curled into his father’s side, one hand resting over Neteyam’s chest. Likan sprawled in his usual starfish pattern across the bottom of the mat, and Kiriya had been swaddled and tucked close to your chest earlier. But now, it was the middle of the night. The stars outside had shifted overhead. And Kiriya stirred, giving a soft, sleepy whimper. You woke immediately — that mother’s instinct still razor sharp. You sat up slowly, rubbing your eyes, careful not to jostle Eylan. Kiriya let out a soft protest again, louder this time, and you pulled her into your arms, guiding her to nurse as naturally as you breathed. Neteyam didn’t move. But he wasn’t asleep. His voice came softly, almost hesitantly, like he was testing the darkness.
“If someone… forgot their whole life,” he said, “and started over… are they still responsible for what they do when they don’t remember who they were?” You blinked at the question, caught off guard. “You’re awake?” Kiriya suckled quietly, your hand stroking her soft downy hair. “That’s a strange thing to ask,” you said gently. “I know.” You could hear the tension in his voice — low and conflicted, almost uncertain. “Why are you asking?”
“It’s just…” he paused. “What if… they did something they wouldn’t have done before? Something that… wasn’t fair to the people who love them?” Your heart tightened. Your fingers stilled where they stroked the baby’s back. The air felt thicker now. In the dark, you couldn’t see him. But you knew. You knew what this was. “Neteyam,” you said quietly, “did you do something?” He didn’t answer right away. You reached out, careful not to wake Eylan, and your fingers brushed across your son’s curls before finding the edge of Neteyam’s arm — warm, steady, trembling slightly. “I didn’t know who I was,” he said finally, barely a whisper. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t… feel. I still felt things. Wanting to be wanted. To feel like I mattered to someone.”
“And now?” He exhaled shakily. “Now I remember more every day. And I feel like I’m… two different people trying to live in one skin. The man who forgot, and the man who’s starting to come back.” Your hand stayed there, on his arm, fingers tightening just slightly. “And both of them are hurting.” He swallowed. You heard it. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” You whisper, “I know.”
“I think I already did,” he whispered. You were silent for a long moment, and Kiriya stirred again in your arms, unlatching briefly before shifting and settling once more. You brushed her cheek and whispered, “She’s hungry again. She does that. Doesn’t like to be alone.”
“I think I understand that.” You looked at where you knew he lay. “I don’t need a perfect version of you, Neteyam. Just the one who tries.” He was quiet, but your fingers still felt his — brushing lightly over your knuckles now, just barely. “I don’t want to be lost anymore,” he said. You nodded. “Then come back. Piece by piece. I’ll wait.” And there was something in his next breath — a sound halfway between a sigh and a sob, so soft it barely made it to you. You didn’t say more.
You stayed there, in the dark, with the baby nestled against you, your fingers resting against the edge of his hand across Eylan’s little head. And somehow, even with all that had happened — the heartbreak, the confusion, the silence — it felt like you were finding your way again. In the dark, but still together.
The rain had slowed outside, just a gentle patter on the leaves now, but inside the mauri, it was still warm with your shared breath and the soft sounds of your sleeping children. Neteyam hadn’t moved since your conversation started. Likan was curled up on his chest, Eylan pressed into his side, and Kiriya was snoozing in your arms. You let a beat pass. Then you whispered, not quite able to let it go, “Is that all you did with her?” He blinked slowly. “…You mean—”
“Yes, Neteyam,” you cut in, voice hushed but clearly not done. “Because I’ve been sitting here, holding our daughter, who literally looks like a smaller, grumpier version of you, and wondering how far another woman got with my mate while I was leaking milk and chasing toddlers.” Neteyam groaned softly, covering his face with his free hand. “You really want to do this now?”
“Yes.” He peeked out between his fingers at you. “…You’re serious?” You narrowed your eyes. “Dead serious.” He sighed, careful not to jostle Likan. “She… tried things.” You raised a brow. “She kissed me. Obviously.”
“Obviously,” you muttered, nose wrinkling. “And, uh… she touched me.” His ears twitched slightly in embarrassment. You waited, blinking slowly. “Touched you how, exactly?” He gave you a long look. You didn’t blink. Neteyam cleared his throat. “With her hand.” You blinked again. “And?” you pressed, biting back a smirk. He gave a half-hearted shrug, lips twitching. “She tried to go down on me. Like… a few times.” You gave him a scandalized look, eyes adjusting to the dark. “She was very—forward,” he muttered quickly. “I never let her. But her hand… got there a couple times.”
You just stared at him and then shook your head. “Couple times, he says. Neteyam, a couple is two.” He looked at the ceiling like it held answers. “It was more than two.” You let out a soft snort. “I should throw this baby blanket at you.” He gave you a sheepish grin. “Please don’t. Likan might wake up. And I’m currently pinned under his drool.” You stared at him, lips twitching despite yourself. Then your voice turned teasing, but it held an edge. “So? Was she good at it?”
He choked. “What?” You tilted your head. “I’m asking. Was she good with her hands?” Neteyam looked like he wanted Eywa to strike him down where he lay. “I—I mean. It was… fine.”
“Fine?” He winced. “Okay, good. Whatever. It felt good. I’m not made of stone.” You leaned closer, voice lower. “Better than me?” He looked horrified. “Why would you ask me that?”
“Because I’m your wife,” you said, barely containing your laughter, “and if another woman had your favorite parts in her hands, I want to know if she did it right.” He groaned again. “It’s like you’re trying to kill me.” You shrugged, totally unfazed. “Was she better?”
“No,” he said without thinking. Then added, “Like—I mean I don’t fully remember everything with you, but I know how it felt with you. That connection. The trust. The way we… moved together. That’s not something you just replace.” You smiled a little, then asked slyly, “Did she smell good?” Neteyam paused. “What is this?”
“Answer the question.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “She smelled like seaweed and flower oil.” You wrinkled your nose. “I knew it. That woman bathes in crushed petals like she’s trying to lure in unsuspecting men.” Neteyam chuckled softly. “You were always so territorial.” You shrugged. “Yes, but I’m more protective. There’s a difference.”
“Uh-huh,” he said, lips twitching. “Was she softer than me?” His eyes slid over to you, finally catching on to the playful, wicked glint in your gaze. “You’re soft and strong. Best of both.”
“Was she prettier?”
“No.”
“Curvier?” Neteyam smiled. “No one fits against me like you do.” You paused, surprised by how much that made your heart skip. Then, in a quiet moment, you asked, “Did you want her?”
He went still. His gaze dropped to your daughter, curled on your chest. To your hand resting on the mat near his. And finally, to your face. “…No,” he said. “I was confused. Lost. And she was there. But I didn’t want her. Not like I want you.” The silence that followed was full of everything unspoken, all the weight of grief, memory, love, and longing. You exhaled. “Okay.”
“Okay?” he echoed softly. You nodded. “We’ll figure it out.” He looked at you a moment longer, then brushed a knuckle across Likan’s back. “You’re incredible, you know that?” You smirked. “Yeah, well. Your memory may be slow, but your taste is still perfect.” Neteyam laughed under his breath, and for the first time in ages, it felt like home.
The mornings felt different now. For the first time in what felt like seasons, Neteyam was back in the mauri where he belonged — where you and the children had waited for him without ever stopping. His things had been moved quietly during the early hours of his return, his arm brushing yours as he helped fold blankets, tuck them into corners, smooth over sleeping mats. The space had always been his, and yet now he treated it like a sacred gift he was trying to earn back every day.
He hadn’t gone to Lina since you told him not to — since he agreed not to. He hadn’t even looked in her direction when he passed the outer reefs. Every time guilt threatened to creep up his spine, he reminded himself that he was here because of you. Because you still loved him, still prayed for him, even when he’d forgotten everything.
He remembered more now — slowly, in pieces. The way you used to curl into his chest at night. The way Eylan would cling to his shoulders when he was younger, pressing his cheek into Neteyam’s neck. How Likan used to demand to ride on his shoulders, yelling “Up! Up!” with a chubby little hand tugging his braids. And how Kiriya’s lips curled the tiniest bit when she nursed, like she was smiling up at you in her own way.
He apologized over and over. Quietly, loudly, sometimes with tears in his eyes, sometimes with flowers braided into your hair when he thought words weren’t enough. He hadn’t slept with Lina — but it didn’t make what happened disappear. And he didn’t expect your forgiveness quickly. He just wanted the chance to prove he was worthy of it. You let him. Slowly. On your terms.
He swept the floors of the mauri. Took over the task of bathing the boys in the lagoon when they were fighting so you didn’t have to. Cooked badly — and burned things often — but he kept trying. Kiri joked once that he was trying to atone through labor, and Neteyam didn’t even deny it.
One afternoon, a few days into his return, Lo’ak came by to help him fix a crooked support beam that held up the side of the roof. The boys were napping after an afternoon of chasing each other in the sun, Kiriya nestled against your chest while you rested in the shade nearby. “Hold this steady,” Neteyam said, gripping the thick vine and pulling it taut while Lo’ak looped it around. Lo’ak grunted. “You got heavier since the war, bro. You’re not fun to lift anymore.”
“You got scrawnier,” Neteyam shot back, smirking. Lo’ak snorted. “You wish.” They worked in easy silence for a bit, sweat collecting at their temples, the weight of the sun warm but not oppressive. Then Neteyam asked casually — too casually — “So… you and my mate. You kissed her?” Lo’ak froze like someone had poured cold water down his spine. “What?” Neteyam didn’t look at him right away. He was focused on tying a knot. “She told me. Said it happened the night before I woke up.”
“You—she—oh my Eywa.” Lo’ak dropped the cord. “Bro, I didn’t mean to—she was crying, I was—Neteyam I wasn’t even trying to—I’m sorry.” Neteyam let the silence stretch. Then: “Was it… passionate?”
“Bro!” You, overhearing from the shade, couldn’t stop the snort that slipped from your nose. Lo’ak looked like he wanted to fling himself off the reef. “I mean I just—” Neteyam’s mouth twitched, trying to keep a straight face. “Should I be worried?”
Lo’ak waved his hands wildly. “There was no tongue, okay?! It was like—a sad, forehead-touchy kind of thing, and then we kissed but like—your wife kisses with emotion, okay?! I wasn’t trying to seduce her—” Neteyam was laughing now. Fully, openly. Lo’ak narrowed his eyes. “You’re the worst.”
“I’m serious,” Neteyam said between laughs. “Was it good?” Lo’ak turned to you. “Are you hearing this madness?” You were howling now, arms crossed as Kiriya snoozed peacefully, unfazed by her family’s antics. “I’m just saying,” Neteyam added, wiping his face, “if my brother kissed my wife, I at least want to know how I rank.” Lo’ak pointed at him. “You ranked. I promise. I almost got punched by guilt mid-kiss. It’s you, bro. It’s always been you.”
Neteyam’s expression softened at that. He nodded once, serious again. “I know. It’s okay. I just… I needed to hear it.” Lo’ak tilted his head. “Are we… cool?” Neteyam clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You raised my kids with her. Helped her when I was gone, kept them safe. I’m not just cool with you—I owe you.”
Lo’ak smiled. “Just don’t make me babysit all three at once again. I still have nightmares.” You grinned, watching the two brothers laugh again. The ache in your chest softened. This was what you’d missed. What had been missing. And slowly, piece by piece, the bonds were stitching back together.
The dreams were getting worse. Or… better, depending on perspective. But for Neteyam, waking up next to you every morning while you slept peacefully—with your curves tucked beneath soft cloth, your breath warm and even, and Kiriya cooing quietly against your chest—was becoming increasingly difficult. Not because he didn’t want to be there. But because he really wanted to be there.
The dreams started off soft, tender… sweet flashes of you and him tangled in the glowing forest under a curtain of bioluminescent vines, your skin glowing, your laugh echoing in his ears as you kissed his cheeks, his mouth, his neck. But then they escalated. Faster than he was prepared for.
Now they were… loud. In every sense. They were full-body, flushed-skin, back-arching, tweng-tangling flashes that left him panting awake in the dark, his hands fisted in the bedding, his chest heaving, and a very obvious situation in his lap that he had to hide quickly before Eylan or Likan stirred beside him. He thought cold water would help. He was wrong.
So, every morning, right as the first rays of dawn touched the edge of the reef, Neteyam would sneak off into the waves, slipping into the water with a hiss through his teeth, determined to let the icy ocean chase the heat from his blood. It never worked. And when he came back in, shivering, teeth chattering slightly, you always gave him the same look. This day was no different. You blinked awake slowly, brushing a hand over Kiriya’s soft little back where she lay snuggled against your chest, her lips still puckered from nursing. Then you caught sight of him, dripping wet, shoulders hunched slightly, arms wrapped around himself as he tried to warm up. You blinked again. Then smirked. “Another swim, mighty warrior?” He cleared his throat, doing his best to look casual. “Just clearing my head.”
“Sure.” You sat up slightly, brushing Kiriya’s curls from her cheek, her sleepy little eyes barely cracking open. “Did the ocean help, or just make your balls disappear?” Neteyam choked, whipping around. “Skxawng!” You were laughing before you could stop yourself, your shoulders shaking, one hand trying to cover your mouth. Neteyam was pink around the tips of his ears as he rubbed his arms. “It’s cold out there.”
“Well maybe,” you said, setting Kiriya gently down beside her brothers, who were still tangled in a sleepy pile, “you should try not torturing yourself.” He huffed. “It’s not like I can control what I dream about.” You gave him a knowing look as you moved to him, placing a thick, woven cloth over his shoulders. He flinched at the warmth, grateful. “But you can control what you do about it,” you teased. He looked at you warily. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” you said, beginning to rub warmth into his arms through the cloth, “I see you, Neteyam. You wake up every morning tense and hard like a stone pillar under that tweng. You’ve been diving into the water like some cursed, guilty little boy. But you’re not little. You’re a grown man. My mate.”
He looked anywhere but your eyes. You lowered your voice. “I know what your dreams are about.” He finally met your gaze, his voice low. “Do you?” You nodded slowly. “You talk in your sleep sometimes.” He groaned, pulling the cloth over his face. “Great.”
“Don’t be embarrassed,” you said, laughing softly. “They’re… kinda flattering.” He peeked at you with a look of dry betrayal. “You’re enjoying this?”
“Just a little.” He scowled, though it lacked heat. “It’s not fair. I remember just enough to want you, but not enough to feel like I deserve to act on it.” Your smile faded into something softer. You moved closer, fingertips brushing his arm. “You’re my husband. The father of my children. You don’t have to earn what’s already yours. You just have to come home to it.”
He looked at you for a long time, jaw tight, eyes searching your face. “I dream of you,” he said. “The way you used to kiss me. Touch me. Your voice—sounds—I didn’t know I remembered… They wake me up shaking.” Your lips parted slightly, your own breath catching. “And then I look at you,” he added, “and I just feel… pulled. Like my body remembers everything my head forgot. Every time I brush against you by accident, it feels like lightning in my chest.” You swallowed thickly, stepping closer. He glanced toward the children. “But I can’t keep waking up like this, hard as a rock, running into the ocean like a fool—freezing my balls off.”
You laughed again, unable to help it. “Do you want help next time, ma Neteyam?” His eyes darkened, lips quirking. “Don’t start, yawne. I’m barely holding on as it is.” You smiled at him with soft eyes, brushing his hair from his face. “Then maybe you should stop fighting so hard. Come back to me. All the way.”
He leaned in, almost without thinking, but then pulled back with a sigh. “I don’t want to mess this up again,” he said. “So I’ll wait until I know for sure I’m ready. You deserve all of me.” You nodded. “And you’ll get there. But maybe next time, skip the icy ocean.” He looked down at his lap, where the evidence of his dreams had finally subsided. “Good. Because my balls still haven’t recovered.” You giggled, smacking his arm. “Go warm up, skxawng. I’ll make tea.”
As you turned, he reached out and caught your wrist gently. “Hey.” You turned back. His gaze was full of everything he couldn’t quite say yet. “I love you,” he said, voice quiet. Your heart skipped. You squeezed his hand. “I know.” I giggle, “I love you more.” And as the morning sun broke through the clouds, there was a quiet promise lingering in the space between your joined hands: He was coming home. Fully. One dream, one breath, one kiss at a time.
The night was still. Quiet but for the gentle whisper of waves against the reef, and the occasional coo or sigh from the children shifting in their sleep. Neteyam sat on the mat, legs crossed, the tablet glowing faintly in his hands. You had already told him—twice—to come to bed. You were curled up at the far end of the mat, Kiriya tucked in your arms, Likan curled against your side, and Eylan’s head resting gently near yours. But still, he stayed up. Still, he scrolled.
He couldn’t stop. The images, the videos… they were you. Him. All the small things that should’ve been ordinary felt sacred now. You walking through the forest, barefoot, laughing. You trying to cut fruit with a curved blade and muttering curses under your breath when it slipped. You with the boys—smeared in mud, singing lullabies, dancing in the kitchen. Every second was a thread. And slowly, they were stitching his life back together.
Then he tapped a file. One he hadn’t seen before, the screen went black for a moment, then it lit up. It was you. Dressed in Omatikayan wedding cloth—deep forest green and rich maroon threads, handmade jewelry wrapped delicately around your wrists and ankles. Beads adorned your hair. Your face was dewy with tears. You stood inside a new home, just barely furnished, still smelling of fresh cut wood and woven palms. You looked straight into the camera and sniffled, smiling so wide it cracked through your tears.
“We’re mated.” You laughed, wiping your eyes. “I can’t believe it. I mean… I can, because of course it’s him. But I’m still—I’m married to Neteyam. The love of my life.” You giggled. “He went back to get the rest of our stuff. He wouldn’t let me help. He said, ‘Just stay here, baby. I’ll bring home our whole world.’” You glanced around, eyes full of emotion. “This is it. Our home. He built this with his own hands for us. And somehow, I get to live here with him.” The camera shook slightly as you leaned in. Your eyes were shining. Honest. “He loves me. He loves me so much. Even when I’m angry. Even when I don’t get things right. Even when I talk too much or sleep with my feet freezing cold. He never complains. He just… pulls me close. He tells me I’m everything he ever wanted.” You breathed out slowly, clutching something—your courting token—in your hand. “I never thought I’d have this. I never thought I’d get to be chosen. But he chose me. And I’ll spend, the rest of my life loving him the way he loves me. The way he made me feel like I deserve and the way I know he deserves.” The video ended quietly. Neteyam’s chest caved inward as he stared at the dark screen, frozen.
And then—It hit him. Everything. Like water crashing through a dam. The forest. The moment you first reached for his hand. The first time you slept curled up together under the stars. Your first kiss, his fingers trembling where they touched your jaw. His face pressed into your neck the night you gave birth to Eylan. You squeezing his hand, eyes locked on him as Likan came into the world. Your laughter. Your cries. The fights. The passion. The love. Every. Single. Second. He gasped—choked on air—and jerked forward as if the wind had been knocked out of him. His hands trembled violently. You stirred. He didn’t even realize how loud he’d whispered your name. “Ma—ma yawne—” You blinked awake slowly, sleep-soft and groggy. “Teyam?”
But his hand was already on your cheek, his breath hitching, eyes wide and wet as he leaned over you. And that was when Kiriya stirred—your movement jostling her. She let out a sharp cry, confused and still tired. Likan, pressed against you, whined and flailed sleepily. Eylan murmured something and turned over. You sat up quickly, trying to hush her, but Neteyam was shaking—smiling—and crying all at once, one hand over his mouth, the tablet slipping from his lap. You turned to him in confusion. “Neteyam—what—?” He was already pulling you close, chest heaving as he clung to you, half-laughing, half-sobbing. “I remember.” His voice broke. “I remember everything.” Your heart stopped. “What—”
“Everything.” He leaned his forehead against yours. “You. Our life. The boys. Kiriya.” His hand hovered over her; chest wracked with emotion. “*You were right. You’ve always been right. I was yours. I’ve always been yours.” The emotion in your chest was a storm. You couldn’t speak. You could barely breathe.
Then you heard feet, running. Kiri burst in, wide-eyed, Neytiri behind her. Jake wasn’t far. Tuk, sleepy and bleary, trailed behind holding her bow. Lo’ak came in next, tense and worried. “What happened?! Is something wrong?” Kiri’s eyes landed on Neteyam’s face—his tear-streaked, smiling face—and yours, where you trembled and wept against him. Neytiri’s breath caught. Jake’s shoulders slumped in relief. You turned to them, cradling Kiriya as Neteyam wrapped an arm around all three of his children, pulling them in.
“He remembers.” The room stilled. Kiri’s hands flew to her mouth. Neytiri was crying in seconds, turning into Jake’s chest. Tuk ran forward, hugging Neteyam’s leg. “You’re back?” He laughed wetly. “I’m back, Tuk.” Lo’ak stared, stunned, then shook his head in disbelief. “You’re such a skxawng,” he muttered, voice cracking. “I’m gonna punch you so hard later.” Neteyam only nodded, tears slipping free as he held you tighter. “Go ahead,” he whispered. “I probably deserve it.” You were sobbing now, holding onto him as he kissed your temple again and again, touching your face, your hands, your belly, like he had to feel every part of you to make sure you were real. He remembered. Everything. And from this moment on, he would never forget again.
Once the noise settled and the tears dried, the Sully family gave their son one last round of bone-crushing hugs, quiet laughter, and forehead kisses before Neytiri gently ushered everyone back to their mauri, smiling through her tears.
“I’ll see you in the morning, ma’itan,” Neytiri whispered as she smoothed his hair like she had when he was a boy. “My son has returned.” Jake gripped his shoulder with pride, his eyes red. “We’ll talk tomorrow. You’ll explain everything… after you sleep.” Kiri gave him a long, tight hug, and even Lo’ak ruffled his hair with a sigh that sounded suspiciously like relief. “You’re lucky I love you, bro,” he muttered. “You’re lucky I remember you,” Neteyam replied with a grin.
After the family trickled out, leaving only the soft glow of a candle and the quiet hum of night, you found yourself staring at the mat, where the three kids had already started dozing again in the aftermath of their interrupted slumber.
Likan had kicked off his blanket and sprawled belly-first across a woven pillow like a tiny lizard. Eylan had found his way to the spot Neteyam sat in earlier and curled up there like it was still warm, his little face slack with sleep. Kiriya, sweet and full after nursing, lay content against your shoulder, her soft breaths ghosting across your collarbone. “Stars,” you whispered, looking at the chaos. “They sleep like drunk adults.”
Neteyam let out a small, husky laugh and dropped into the mat beside you, his shoulders finally relaxed, his posture slouched in a way you hadn’t seen in months—like the weight of confusion had fallen off his chest. “You always said that” he said with a grin, brushing Likan’s stray braid out of his face. “I never understood it until now. He sleeps like he fought a tree.”
“He did fight a tree yesterday,” you said, smirking. “Lost, too.” Neteyam chuckled, glancing at you as you gently laid Kiriya down between the pillows and tucked her beside her brothers. You both stared down at them in silence.
“I missed this,” he said softly. You turned to him, laying on your side, your hand propping your head up. “You didn’t know you were missing it.” He groaned and replied “I know. That’s the part that kills me.” You reached across the mat and touched his wrist. “You came back to us. That’s all that matters.” His eyes softened. “You kept this going. All of it. The home. The kids. Me.”
“I cried. A lot,” you admitted. “And yelled. And didn’t shower nearly enough.” Neteyam grinned. “You smell fine. You always smell like… berries and sunlight and baby.” You giggle softly. “That’s either really sweet or mildly offensive.”
“Depends on the baby,” he joked. Then, after a beat, his smile faded into something gentler. “I remember what you went through. At least, parts of it. When I was shot. When you saw me unconscious. The birth of Kiriya.” You blinked. “You remember that?”
He nodded. “Not the pain. But I remember her crying. And Lo’ak’s voice. And yours.” His gaze dropped to your belly. “You were in so much pain, and I wasn’t there. And then you were holding her and sobbing because I didn’t wake up.” Tears welled in your eyes. “You remember that?” He reached over and cupped your cheek. “I do now. It all came back. I felt like I’d forgotten how to breathe without you. But the second I saw that video of you—our wedding, you talking to the camera—it was like my whole soul snapped into place.” You sniffled, trying not to cry again. “I didn’t know if you’d ever see that.”
“I’m glad I did. You were so beautiful in that video.” His grin returned, sly this time. “I remember how long it took me to take those wraps off.” You flushed. “Don’t start, Neteyam. The kids are—” He leaned closer, teasing. “All asleep. Deep, drooling sleep. We could draw on their faces and they wouldn’t notice.” You swatted his shoulder, laughing into your hand. “You’re horrible.”
“I’m yours,” he whispered, brushing your fingers aside to kiss your knuckles. You stared at him, your heart full to the brim. “You’re sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” He lay down facing you, so close now your foreheads touched. “I remember every scar, every fight, every kiss, every moment I told you I loved you—and everyone I didn’t say it but showed it anyway. I remember you, yawne. All of you.” You swallowed around the lump in your throat, your fingers finding his, tangled loosely between your bodies. “You’re gonna have to prove it, you know.” He smirked. “Oh, I plan to.” Kiriya stirred in her sleep with a little grunt and both of you froze, peeking over her bundled shape. “She’s got your nose,” Neteyam whispered. You smiled. “And your attitude. She screams when her milk isn’t warm enough like I can do anything about it.” He laughed softly “She’s perfect.”
“She’s ours.” Neteyam leaned forward, gently pressing a kiss to your brow, your temple, then your lips. It was soft. Familiar. Like coming home. When you pulled apart, he yawned—finally—and tucked himself closer to you, curling behind Kiriya as you remained on your side facing him. “This side better than mine,” he mumbled. “Because it’s mine,” you teased. “I’m never leaving it again.” And you believed him. As the rain danced on the thatched roof above and your family slept safely around you, you let your eyes drift closed. Neteyam was home.
Lina paced the length of her mauri, the woven floor creaking softly beneath her bare feet. The ocean breeze no longer felt soothing—it was biting. Mocking. Her hands trembled as she set down the shell bowl, she had no intention of eating from. The scent of sea fruit made her stomach turn. Three weeks. That’s how long it had been since she’d last seen Neteyam.
No word. No visit. No trace of the man who once sat beside her every evening, tangled in her nets, tangled in her. Gone, like fog when the sun rises. And worse—worse—he had moved back into the home he once shared with you. That forest-bred thing he couldn’t remember loving. That mate who stood in her way again. She had heard it secondhand. Whispers from the market, low murmurs from children, the ripple of gossip as effortless as breath. “Did you hear? Neteyam moved back in with his family.”
“He carries the little one again, helps the boys bathe by the shore.”
“They say he remembers.”
That last part hit like a blade. He remembered. She’d dropped her basket when she heard, too stunned to care that her gathered sea herbs had spilled across the coral path. Her chest had gone tight, her vision narrowed. She hadn’t cried. No. She didn’t cry. But the burn in her throat was undeniable. He remembered. And he didn’t even say goodbye. He hadn’t needed to. You’d won. Again.
All her work, all her effort—everything she gave him: her attention, her patience, her body, her time—it had been for nothing. For a glimpse. A taste. And then gone. But Lina wasn’t the kind of woman to lose quietly. She sat that night beside her hearth, face lit by dim firelight, fingers curled tightly around a carving knife. She didn’t think about stabbing anything. Not really. Just the weight of it. The way the handle fit in her hand. She needed control. She needed something. Then the plan began to spin in her mind, fine and sharp as woven fishing line. If Neteyam remembered everything—everything—then surely, he also remembered pain. Jealousy. Doubt. The flaws. The insecurities. And maybe… just maybe, if she sowed the right seed, it would take root.
She didn’t know about your moment with Lo’ak—how could she? But that didn’t stop her from making one up. She found the right voice, trembling, sweet, just innocent enough. She whispered it first to a pair of girls near the shore. “They say she was never loyal,” she sighed. “Even when Neteyam was still unconscious. I heard Lo’ak was always around. Maybe too much.” She knew how to pick the right moments. Who to speak near, she wasn’t foolish enough to name names or say it too directly. But whispers had power in a clan this tightly knit. “Did you see how Lo’ak always carries the boys around? It’s like they’re his.”
“I thought she moved on. I heard she and Neteyam weren’t… together when the baby came.”
“She and Lo’ak used to sneak off into the woods before dinner, remember?”
Lies. Crafted with care. Not wild ones, but the kind that sounded like they could be true. And they spread. Lina watched from the rocks, arms crossed, as you passed with Kiriya in your sling and Neteyam at your side, your boys trailing behind him, clinging to their father’s fingers. You were laughing. He was smiling—genuinely smiling. Her stomach twisted. It wasn’t fair.
She had earned him. She’d been there when no one else had. When he didn’t know his name, she had whispered it against his skin. When he forgot who he was, she told him he was hers. But that version of him—blank, open, lost—was slipping further away with each passing day. So, her smile turned thin and patient, her hands laced sweetly in her lap, but her eyes stayed sharp. Scheming. She wasn’t done. Not yet.
It started with whispers — again. You had exactly, one week of peace together. But this time, the whispers were about you. At first, Neteyam tried to ignore them. He wanted to. He wanted to stay focused on the life he was building back — the family dinners, the quiet moments with Kiriya curled into his chest, the way Eylan giggled when he tossed him into the shallows, Likan’s sticky kisses, your soft sleepy smile before dawn. That was his life. But the voices got louder.
“She was with Lo’ak even before the baby came, I heard.”
“I saw them, always together, before Neteyam woke up. Touching.”
“Maybe the little one isn’t even his. Look at her eyes.”
“You think that’s why Lo’ak always helps with the kids? Guilt?”
One thing Neteyam had learned since regaining his memories: gossip in the clan was like a storm on the sea. Small at first, and then suddenly everywhere, churning, devouring, crashing over every surface. And it hurt. It hurt more than anything had in the last few months — because he had forgiven you. You had told him everything. That one kiss. That one moment of weakness. And he knew you regretted it. You had been broken. Alone. You had never stopped loving him. He knew that. But now, it wouldn’t leave his mind, the noise of it. Over and over. What if there was more? What if everyone else knew something he didn’t? He tried to push it down. Until the final blow came. “Lo’ak said something once… he said he loved her. That’s what I heard.” Neteyam lost it.
The entire family was gathered, talking near the cluster of Sully-linked mauri when it exploded. You were inside yours with the kids, nursing Kiriya down for her nap, and Neteyam was supposed to be helping Jake with spear repairs — but his voice rang out loud enough to stop everything. “You swore it was only one kiss!” Neteyam’s voice cracked like thunder, loud and hurt and furious. “One mistake! And now I’m hearing that my daughter might not even be mine?! That you and my wife—” Jake stepped in immediately, pushing a hand against Neteyam’s chest. “Hey! Hey! Watch yourself—” Lo’ak’s face twisted in confusion and disbelief. “Bro—what the fuck are you talking about?”
“You knew she was mine!” Neteyam shouted at him, ignoring everyone else, fury pouring out of every muscle. “You stood by her while I was dying, and now I’m finding out you touched her? Loved her? Are you proud of that?” Lo’ak stumbled back, face blanching. “No. What—Neteyam, I never—! It wasn’t like that! You know that!” Neytiri’s voice sliced through the air. “Enough.” But it was too late. You stepped out of the mauri then — Kiriya in your sling, wide-eyed, blinking against the noise. You looked… shattered. Neteyam saw you. The pain on your face. The hurt. The sheer shock at what he was saying. And still — still — he couldn’t stop himself. “Did you sleep with him?” he asked, low now. “Tell me right now, if you ever—” Your eyes welled up. “How dare you?” Everyone froze. You backed away slowly, turning without another word, disappearing down the sand path.
And then, a day passed. Two. You barely left the mauri, save for fetching food for the kids, helping them bathe and nap. You didn’t want to see anyone. You didn’t want to see him. Which is exactly when she came. Lina, you didn’t realize it was her before, honestly you didn’t even know what she looked like, but then she started talking. Soft-voiced. Sweet-smiled. Innocent eyes. “Oh,” she said gently, “I just… I saw you out, and I wanted to say I’m so sorry for what everyone’s saying.” You didn’t respond. She stepped closer. “It must be hard, all the lies. But if anyone’s lying, it’s not you.” You blinked, confused. She leaned in, whispering. “Neteyam lied to me too. Said he wasn’t with you anymore. I wouldn’t have ever let it happen otherwise. But… he got me pregnant. So… I guess you’re not the only one he’s been lying to.” Silence. Your vision blacked out. You shoved Kiriya’s fruit basket into Lina’s chest and bolted.
The entire family saw it. The storm that broke next. You stormed into the Sully cluster of mauri, hair wild, eyes blazing, your body shaking with rage, and before Neteyam could say a word—your fist collided with his jaw. “Motherfucker.” He stumbled back, hand to his mouth. “Wha—?!”
“You accused me of things I never did! Sleeping with your brother?! And now—NOW I find out you got the girl pregnant?! After everything?!”
“What?! Wait, what the fuck are you talking about?!” You shoved him again, sobbing, your arms flailing, “I loved you. I forgave you! I took you back, I let you in our home! And the whole time—”
“She said I what…?” Neteyam asked again. Lo’ak repeated it, slowly, disbelief still etched into his features. “She told your wife… that you got her pregnant, bro.”
“She—” Neteyam shook his head, blinking fast like he could erase the whole moment. “No. No. I never… Eywa. I never even slept with her.” You scoffed bitterly, a sharp sound that cut deeper than your fist had. “Well, she says you did.”
“I didn’t!” Neteyam barked, stepping forward, eyes pleading. “We… we kissed. She touched me, I told you that. But I never— I never laid with her.” You held up your hand, cutting him off like a blade. “Don’t. I swear to Eywa, don’t come any closer.” He stopped dead in his tracks. Jake stepped forward. “We need to get to the bottom of this. Now.”
That’s when Kiri ran up, breathless. “I heard it,” she gasped. “The other girls were talking. It’s Lina. She started the rumors. She’s the one who said the baby might not be Neteyam’s. She’s been lying this whole time. I knew it. I knew something was off—” The entire family turned quiet. Everything made sense. The rumors. The whispers. The timing. Neytiri’s face went pale with rage. Jake’s jaw was clenched like stone. And you—broken, shaking, furious—you stepped back, whispering only: “I hope she’s worth it.” Neteyam didn’t say a word.
Because for once… he had none. The silence after your final words was thick and suffocating. Your voice still rang in everyone’s ears. Kiri stood stiffly off to the side, face pale and lips pressed tight, trying to catch her breath after rushing from the far reef. Neytiri stood close to her, a trembling hand on Kiri’s shoulder. Lo’ak had his hand on your back, trying to steady you as you held Kiriya close now, her tiny fists gripping your braid, confused by all the shouting. Likan and Eylan stood by Jake’s side, wide-eyed and silent, watching everything with the sense that something very, very big had just happened.
Neteyam’s lip was bleeding. A trickle ran down the side of his mouth, where your fist had landed hard. He didn’t wipe it. He didn’t move at all. Just stood there, heart pounding out of rhythm, staring at you like he couldn’t breathe. Jake crossed his arms, staring hard at Neteyam. “Then you need to find out the truth.”
“What?” Neteyam’s eyes darted from his father to you, shaking his head. “I told you. It’s not true.”
“You think I care what you say right now?” you hissed, voice low and deadly. Kiri took Kiriya from your arms gently, but your hands didn’t fall limp — they curled into fists again. “I stood in front of your family, of my family, and defended you when you asked for space. When you forgot me. When you kissed her. When she touched you. I let it go because I loved you enough to let you find your way back. And now this?” Neteyam opened his mouth, but you didn’t let him speak.
“You accused me of being unfaithful,” you said through your teeth. “Of letting your brother touch me. Of lying about our children. You believed the rumors without asking me first, and now you expect me to stand by and let you see her again? After she says you got her pregnant?”
You took one step closer, the fire from your soul blazing in your eyes. “I don’t care what you find out. I don’t care what she says. I don’t want you anywhere near that woman again. You walk into her mauri, Neteyam, and you stay there. You hear me?” He flinched at your words like they were lashes. Neytiri finally spoke, her voice cold, quiet. “She manipulated you. Lied. Twisted her way into this family’s peace. If you don’t find the truth, she will never stop.”
“And if she’s not pregnant?” Lo’ak asked warily. “If it’s just another lie?” Jake added grimly, “Tonowari and Ronal will deal with it.” Neteyam looked torn apart. His face was pale, expression twisted with a storm of pain. “I never wanted this.”
“But you made choices,” you said softly now, quieter. It was worse than yelling. “And now you live with them.”
“I’m sorry.” You scoffed. “You believed everything she said.”
“I didn’t! Not all of it, not really,” he argued, eyes desperate now. “But I— I wasn’t thinking. I was a mess. And she— she took advantage of that—” Lo’ak cut in, jaw tight. “Yeah, we know. But the damage is done. The clan’s talking like it’s already true.”
“I don’t care what the clan says!” you snarled. “I care about my children hearing lies that their father has another family!” Jake raised his hands, trying to calm the growing storm. “Enough. Both of you. We need to figure this out. Without sending Neteyam back there.”
Neteyam looked over at Jake now, lost. “How do we find out? If she won’t talk to anyone else, and I can’t—won’t—go near her?”
Kiri stepped forward slowly. “I might have a way.” Everyone turned to her. Kiri’s eyes were steady, serious now. “She talks to someone every day. A younger girl named Aluke. She was the first to start repeating the rumors about everything — about the baby not being yours. She might’ve overheard something else. She’s not very good at keeping her mouth shut.” You narrowed your eyes. “You think you can get her to talk?” Kiri tilted her head. “If she’s anything like she was as a child, yes. If not, I’ll figure out another way.” Lo’ak nodded. “If she’s saying too much, she’ll keep talking. Maybe she knows Lina’s real intentions. Maybe she even knows it’s a lie.”
“I’ll go with Kiri,” Neytiri said, jaw clenched. “That girl said she saw the kiss between you two.” Lo’ak grimaced. “That lie ends today, too,” Neytiri hissed. Jake nodded. “Good, go.” You didn’t speak again — just nodded, sharp and stiff, and turned back toward the mauri with your children. Neteyam reached out instinctively — not to stop you, but to be near you. “Ma yawne—” You turned your face just enough to look at him over your shoulder. There was no softness in your eyes. “I meant it,” you said again, low and quiet. “If you go near her, we’re done.” He watched as you disappeared inside with Kiriya on your hip, Likan trailing behind you sleepily, Eylan still gripping your hand tightly.
The night settled in around them like a heavy blanket, no stars visible behind the clouds. And all Neteyam could think, again and again, was: ‘what if it is… and I’ve destroyed everything anyway?’
The rain had started up again just before nightfall — soft and drizzling, tapping against the woven leaves of your mauri like a lullaby meant for someone else. Not for you. Not for the mess your life had become. You sat curled up against the far wall, knees pulled tight to your chest, your arms wrapped around them as Kiriya nursed at your breast, her soft suckling the only real sound in the room. Likan and Eylan were asleep on the furs, their small bodies curled up together near the low-burning fire pit, unaware of the storm — outside or inside.
Your face was damp, and not just from the rain that had kissed your skin earlier. You’d cried so hard your ribs ached. Your stomach burned. Your soul had frayed. You didn’t look up when you heard the flap of the doorway shift. Neteyam stepped in quietly, his shoulders hunched, eyes rimmed red and jaw tight. He was breathing like he’d run here — or maybe like he was trying not to scream. He saw you and stopped mid-step. You didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. “Can I talk to you?” he asked, softly. Like you were something fragile. Like the wrong word would break you for good.
You didn’t answer. Just stared down at Kiriya, who had stopped feeding and now blinked up at you sleepily, pawing at your chest. Neteyam took it as a maybe and came closer, crouching slowly beside you, careful not to disturb the boys. “I know you’re hurting,” he whispered. “And I deserve it. I do. I just— I need you to know something. Really know it.”
You finally looked at him. Your face was blotchy, lips trembling, eyes bloodshot. His heart cracked wide open. “I didn’t sleep with her,” he said, quickly, his voice raw. “No matter what she says, or what anyone says… I swear it on Eywa. On my soul. I didn’t. I never did.” You stared at him for a moment, like you weren’t sure if your heart could risk believing him again.
“She tried,” he said. “A lot. But every time… something pulled me back. It didn’t feel right. It never did. Even when I didn’t remember everything, there was something wrong about it. And I promise, I promise baby I told you everything. Everything that happened.” Your voice cracked when it came. “You touched her.”
“Yes,” he said honestly. “I did. And she touched me. I’m not going to lie to you. But it didn’t go further than that. I never let it. I never wanted to go all the way, even when I was confused. I didn’t let her stay with me. I didn’t let her into our home. I never crossed that line.” You choked. “Then how—how could you still accuse me?”
“I was scared,” he admitted, his voice nearly breaking. “I heard what people were saying and I thought… I thought maybe I deserved it. Maybe it was true and I— I couldn’t breathe. I lashed out. And I know it was wrong. I’m so sorry.” He dropped his head, resting his forehead on your knees. “I was stupid. I let myself get pulled into something I knew deep down wasn’t real. Not like this. Not like us. And now you’re hurting. And I did that. I did that.” You finally spoke again, whisper soft. “She said she’s pregnant.”
“I don’t care,” he said quickly. “If she is, it’s not mine. It can’t be. She’s lying. She has to be. And if she’s not… she was with someone else.” You stared at him, your hand resting on Kiriya’s back. “Why would she say it, then?”
“Because she knew I was slipping away,” he said. “I stopped going. I stopped touching her. I came home. She saw. She knew I remembered. That’s why she did this. To punish me. To keep you from forgiving me.” Your bottom lip quivered. “You don’t deserve forgiveness.”
“I know. But I’ll spend the rest of my life earning it if you’ll let me.” A silence passed. The sound of Kiriya’s breath. The fire crackling. A gust of wind outside. You wiped your cheek with the back of your hand. “I don’t believe she’s carrying your child.” Neteyam’s eyes met yours, startled.
“I don’t believe her,” you repeated. “Because I know you. Even with your memory gone, I knew who you were. You wouldn’t do that. You wouldn’t give her that. You could make mistakes, sure. But that? No.” His throat bobbed. “I swear I didn’t.”
“I believe you.” Tears welled in his eyes, falling freely now. “Thank you.”
“I’m still angry,” you added quickly. “I’m so angry. I’m not ready to just… be okay. But I needed to hear it from you. That it wasn’t true.” He nodded, eyes shining. “I’ll take whatever you can give me.”
“I can’t give much,” you whispered. “I’ll still be here.” You exhaled slowly, eyes falling to the sleeping boys, then to Kiriya now curled against your shoulder. “I need you to be the father they deserve. Not the man that woman wanted you to be.”
“I will be,” he whispered. “I swear, yawne. No more lies. No more her.” Your lip trembled again. “You’re not allowed to leave us again.”
“I won’t.” He reached out, gently covering your hand with his.
The fire had burned low. The boys still slept, warm and safe beneath the woven furs. Kiriya dozed in your arms again, her soft little face pressed against your bare chest, one tiny hand curled at your throat. You rocked her absently, though your eyes stayed locked on the flames.
Neteyam hadn’t moved far. He knelt just beside you still, silent, watching the way you held your daughter. The weight of everything hung between you — grief, pain, betrayal, but also something else. The flicker of something alive. Something trying to bloom back to life in the ash of everything you’d survived.
When Kiriya let out a soft sigh, eyes fluttering fully closed, you shifted and began to lower her gently to the mat, tucking her into the blankets beside her brothers. You stroked her cheek once and then let yourself sit back — your hands trembling from the storm you hadn’t yet shaken loose. Then… Neteyam reached for you. Slow. Gentle.
His hands came to your waist first, then slipped around your back, tugging you into him. You let it happen, though your arms stayed limp at your sides, your face burying into his shoulder automatically as your body began to tremble again. Not loud, not dramatic. Just deep, silent sobs. The kind that come when the worst has already passed, and all that’s left is the exhaustion of surviving it. He rocked you gently. “Ma yawne,” he whispered, over and over. “Oeyä yawne. I’m so sorry. I’m here. I’m here.”
His hands rubbed up and down your spine, anchoring you against him, his breath warm at your temple. You clung to him then, arms looping tightly around his chest, pulling yourself into his warmth as if you could melt into him and never have to leave. “Forgive me,” he whispered, voice trembling. “Please. I’ll say it every day. I’ll say it in my sleep. I’ll never stop saying it. But you have to know — I never stopped loving you. Even when I didn’t know who I was… something in me always knew you.”
You pulled back just enough to look at him. His face was wet with tears, his eyes searching yours like he was still begging to be allowed this moment. And you nodded. “Then show me,” you whispered. “Show me, ma Neteyam.” He blinked. “Are you sure?” You nodded again, slow and full of meaning. “I want to feel you again. All of you.” He inhaled sharply, heart pounding, and then — reverently, slowly — he reached for your kuru. The moment he touched it, your chest fluttered, and your hands instinctively rose to the braid at the base of his skull. Together… you connected. Tsahaylu. And in an instant — the world shifted.
You gasped softly as everything came crashing in. The pain he’d been holding onto. The regret. The confusion. The shame. And then—underneath it, rising like the tide—the love. So much love. You felt it — how he’d carried your voice in his soul even when he didn’t know it was yours. How home had always been the sound of your laugh. How the dreams haunted him because you were in every one of them — your smile, your body, your touch. How much he missed being yours. Being Neteyam — your Neteyam. And you let him feel everything too.
The moment your belly swelled with Kiriya, and you lay awake at night just praying he’d live to see her. The quiet strength you held for your boys every day while breaking inside. The ache of being forgotten. The pain of being blamed. The unbearable longing for his arms, his voice, his eyes full of love. How you still wore his courting token in your hair every day. How even after everything — you still loved him. Still chose him. A choked breath left his throat, and he crushed you into his chest again, one hand cradling your head, the other spreading across your back.
“I can’t believe I forgot I had this,” he whispered hoarsely. “Everything. Every moment. Every promise I made. I meant them all.”
“I know,” you whispered back, your breath catching as more tears fell, softer this time. Cleansing. “I know, ma tìyawn. So did I.” He kissed your hair, your cheek, your temple, tenderly, over and over like he couldn’t stop. His hands shook against your skin. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” he murmured.
“You already have it,” you said quietly. “You always did. You were sick, Neteyam. Lost. But I knew you’d find your way.”
“And you waited,” he whispered. “Even when I was breaking your heart.”
“I prayed for you every night,” you said. “I loved you even when it hurt.” He pulled back and touched your cheek with such reverence it made your eyes sting all over again. “I don’t know how I ever looked at another woman when you were right here.” You let out a broken laugh, and he laughed too, just a little, brushing his nose against yours. “You’re such an idiot,” you whispered, watery and smiling. “Biggest skxawng in the clan,” he agreed softly.
You both stayed there for a long time — connected, bonded, whole — until the fire burned down to embers and the soft rise and fall of your children’s breathing filled the quiet night. For the first time in moons, you weren’t broken anymore. You were together You looked up at him, your fingers still trembling in his. Your tears had dried, but their weight clung to your chest. The soft glow of the lantern in the corner of the mauri cast golden light over Neteyam’s face, over the worry in his brow, the love in his eyes.
You had missed him. Missed the warmth of him. The way his arms felt like protection. The way his presence calmed the storm in your chest like nothing else ever could. His hand rose to brush your cheek, thumb grazing softly over the edge of your jaw. “You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispered, his voice low, reverent, full of ache. Your breath caught. “You don’t have to say that just because you remember now.”
“I’m not,” he murmured. “I’m saying it because I feel it. Because I’ve always felt it.” Then he kissed you. Slowly, gently—like a prayer, like an apology, like a promise. His lips moved with care, like he was relearning the shape of you, the rhythm of your breath. You shifted carefully until you were straddling his lap, your hands slid up his arms, his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him as his fingers trailed down your sides, not rushed or demanding—but familiar.
He paused, eyes locking with yours. “Can I…?” he asked, voice quiet, but full of need. Full of reverence. You nodded, breathless, pulling him closer. He leaned in again, lips brushing your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. “I want to take every doubt out of your body,” he whispered. “Every lie she told, every word I ever said that made you feel less.”
Slowly, tenderly, he slid away the fabric of your chest wrap, revealing skin he hadn’t touched in what felt like years. He kissed every place he uncovered—your collarbone, the hollow of your throat, your shoulder. His hands were careful, steady, full of quiet devotion.
“I missed you,” he said against your skin. “The way you laugh. The way you look when you hold our children. The way your eyes soften when you’re teasing me. I remember all of it now.” You breathed in shakily, fingers in his hair. “Then show me.” And he did. Every kiss was a promise. Every whisper a vow. No rush. No demands. Just the slow, sacred return to something only the two of you had ever shared. To something no one—not even memory loss, not even betrayal—could truly erase. When he finally held you in his arms, skin to skin, soul to soul, the weight you’d been carrying fell away. You weren’t just forgiving each other. You were finding your way back home.
His hands moved with a reverence that made your breath catch, as if every part of you deserved to be memorized all over again. And maybe you did—maybe he did, too. His lips traveled slowly, unhurried, pressing to every dip and curve like he was rediscovering sacred ground. Neteyam was about to lay you down onto the mat but then the Likan shifted, and you both paused looking over at him. Instead, you silently pointed to the fur rug in front of the fireplace, and he lifted you effortlessly, laying you down in front of the warmth.
When he kissed down your body, over your chest, the soft skin of your stomach, and lower, you gasped, a quiet sound that broke somewhere between relief and longing. Your fingers curled against the blankets beneath you, your eyes fluttering shut. It wasn’t just the sensation of his mouth or the trail of heat he left in his wake, it was what it meant. It was him choosing you—not out of duty, not because memory demanded it, but because his heart knew it. Because he remembered. Because he wanted to.
You felt it in the way his lips lingered. In the way his hands steadied your hips like you were something precious. In the way he paused, looking up at you with dark, reverent eyes before continuing, like asking for permission even now. Your heart thudded in your chest, overwhelming and fragile. You whispered his name. Not in desperation—but in awe. He smiled. Softly. Like he knew what this meant. It wasn’t frantic or rushed. It wasn’t about need. It was about presence. You had him again. All of him. The weight of his body, the brush of his breath, the worship in his touch. And for the first time in so long, you weren’t surviving. You were living. You were loved.
Neteyam’s lips brushed your collarbone, slow and warm, and you gasped softly half-laughter, half-need. “You’re laughing?” he murmured against your skin, lips curving into a smile. You giggled breathlessly, your fingers brushing through his braids. “It tickles,” you whispered, voice catching. “You’re not usually this slow.” He chuckled, dragging his lips to your neck. “I’ve been gone a while,” he said lowly, “I think I’m allowed to savor my wife.”
You bit your lip. “You’re lucky I missed you.” He lifted his head just long enough to meet your eyes. “Missed me? Or missed this?” His hand slid along your thigh, deliberate but gentle. You grinned. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”
“I want to hear you say it,” he teased, voice dipping as he nipped at your shoulder. “Fine,” you breathed, a flush blooming over your cheeks. “I missed your mouth… and your hands… and the way you—” You broke off with a gasp as he found a spot that made you squirm. “There?” he said with a smirk, nosing into your neck. You shoved at his chest, laughing. “You’re so smug.”
“Only when I’ve earned it.” You arched slightly, brushing your lips against his ear. “You haven’t yet.” His growl was soft but promising. “Challenge accepted.” You both laughed, your bodies close, breaths mingling. Then he stilled for a moment, his forehead resting against yours. “You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, voice barely a whisper. “I thought I’d never remember what you felt like. But now… I’ll never forget again.” Your eyes stung, heart pounding. “Then don’t ever leave me again, mighty warrior.” He leaned in, brushing your lips with his. “Never,” he promised.
Your breath hitched as his mouth wandered lower, slow and reverent, and your hand found its way to his hair. “You always do this,” you murmured, voice trembling with a smile. “Do what?” His voice was low, warm against your skin. “Take your time… like you’re unwrapping a gift.” He chuckled. “You are a gift. I’ve been starving, yawntu. Let me taste what I nearly lost.” His lips kissed down and around both your breast before kissing your nipple softly, his lips dragged against the harden nub You blushed hard at his words, shivering under his touch. “You’re saying things that make my knees weak,” you whispered.
“Good,” he said, tongue darting out to give you a tantalizing, slow flick. “Because I remember now. I remember exactly how to make you fall apart.” You gasped, laughing lightly, trying to tug him back up to kiss you, but he resisted, trailing his fingers up your sides instead. “No, no,” he teased, grinning against your skin. “You said I hadn’t earned it yet.” You whined. “Neteyam…”
“Say it again.” His tone was softer now, tender. “Say my name like that.” He moved his head down after biting your nipple and tugging softly making a little mess in his mouth. “Neteyam.” Your voice cracked on it, raw and breathless. He kissed down the curve of your ribs, slow and steady. “There it is.” A pause. “You always said it like that. Like it was sacred.”
“It is,” you whispered, cupping his face and drawing him up to you. “You are.” He kissed you then — slow, searching, aching — and as he hovered above you, his forehead pressed to yours, your legs tangled beneath the covers, you felt the shift. “Do you remember this part too?” you asked shyly, teasing. He laughed softly. “I remember everything to know you used to beg.” You let out a scandalized gasp. “I did not.”
“You did,” he said with a smug smile. “Especially when I’d tease these cute nipples with my tongue and my fingers….and when I sucked on your pretty clit and stuck my tongue in this tight little hole.” He leaned down and whispered something in your ear that made you swat at his arm, breathless and flushed. His fingers ran down your body, all the way dow between your bare thighs to rub small light circles on your clit, making you whimper “Fuck…!” you said, burying your face in his neck.
“You love it,” he whispered against your shoulder. “I love you,” you corrected, breath heavy on his neck as you kissed under his ear He froze, just for a moment but didn’t stop his movements. Then his voice broke as he said, “Say it again.” you repeated, one hand over his heart. “I love you…Always.”
“Even now?” You nodded. “Especially now.” He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for months. “Then let me show you how much I love you too,” he whispered. “Yes please…” you whisper as he worked his was down once more, smiling as he already got that little ‘please’ out of you. His head disappeared under the thin blanket, kissing and sucking the skin of your thighs, grazing his fangs and sometimes biting like he really was getting taste out of the act. Your moaned softly into the air having to control your voice now more than ever, not wanting to be interrupted. Neteyam’s hands wrapped around your thighs pulling you closer and tossing your legs over his shoulders, his breath lingered on your core making you clench around nothing before you felt his mouth on you.
His tongue worked magic between your thighs, hit the spots he had hit perfected for years, as if it was the only thing in the world he was supposed to remember. It’s been so long since felt him you didn’t realize you’d want to cum so fast, his tongue flicked up and down, side to side making you arch your back and whimpers escape from your lips. Your hands tangled into his braids tugging him closer as if his face could be anymore buried in you. He sucked on your clit making your eyes go wide and your grip tighten in his hair as you hiss into the air, “oh…oh my Eywa…” you whispered clenching your teeth and squeezing your eyes shut as he fucked his tongue into you, it only took a few sweet thrust before you were cuming on his tongue, your essence messing up his face, your thighs, and leaking down his chin to his neck as he lapped you up sweetly.
His head rose from the blanket as you were trying to catch your breath, he looked very pleased with himself. He wiped his face with the back of his hand before hovering over you again, his fingers trailing down to your core as he kissed you again letting you taste your cum on his tongue, it was sweet, like the flowers he picked for you yesterday. Your thighs twitched as his fingers made may to your hole, but you stopped him, “Ma Teyam…” you mumbled against his lips. He pulled away and looked down at you, “what is it sweetheart?”
You bit your lip at his sweet nickname and took a breath, “don’t…. don’t put your fingers in..” Neteyam tilted his head at your request, it’s been months since the last time you had sex he wasn’t to stretch you out, so it doesn’t hurt as much, and he was about to say so before you spoke again. “Want your cock to stretch me out…wanna feel it” you bit your lip and smile up at him sweetly, as if the most vile words ever didn’t just come out of you. Neteyam let his fingers pause where they were toying between your folds, rubbing against your tight hole and look he gave you was wrecked. “Oh, Great Mother…” His groan punched from his chest like he’d been struck.
You snorted through your nose, half laughing, half breathless. “Shh, the kids are asleep, ma Teyam—” You put a finger to his lips, wide-eyed. “Do not wake them.” He caught your wrist, kissed your fingertip, his voice rough and dark: “Then stop saying things that make me forget we even have children.”
He dipped his head into the crook of your neck, panting hard, his hand that was between your legs now gripped tight on your hips. “You can’t say things like that.” His voice was wrecked, trembling. You tilted your head sweetly. “Why not?” He growled, lifting his head to look at you, eyes ablaze. “Because I’m trying to be gentle, and that…” —he kissed you hard, teeth grazing your lip— “makes me want to ruin you.” You gasped into his mouth, heart pounding. His hands roamed now, slow but more desperate.
“Stars, yawntu,” he muttered, his forehead resting against yours. “You’re going to kill me.” You giggled — quiet and sinful. “You keep saying that.” He groaned again, softer this time, but no less strained. “Don’t do that, don’t laugh like that after you didn’t just say the nastiest thing to me” which made you giggle again. “You want me just like this?” he whispered, voice dipping low, dangerously low. “Want my cock in you just like that?” He asked as if he was confirming that’s what you so desperately wanted. You nodded, lips parted, breathing shallow. And the fire in him roared. “You’re playing a dangerous game.” But even as he said it, he was already gone for you.
His body shifted again, ridding himself of his loincloth now hanging, hard and heavy between his strong thighs over cunt. Before his hand could, you swiped your fingers on your tongue giving them a nice wet lick before grabbing his cock in your hand, your stroked it softly and his body tensed, “oh fuck—great mother” he cursed dropping his head down, so your foreheads touched. “That feel good baby?” You whisper into his mouth as your lips brush, but you didn’t kiss.
“S-so good…” he matched your tone, strained. “My poor husband…so touch starved..” you giggle wickedly but it was still so, so hot to him. “You missed me muntaxtan? Missed the way I touched you? Stroked your cock?” Your words were hot down his throat he couldn’t breathe, so he nodded against you, brushing your skin close, quiet, hot. Like you’d just created a whole world for this moment. “Wanna fuck me muntaxtan?” He nodded again, hand running down your body to grip his out cock over your hand, “yea? Do it…fuck me, put it in muntaxtan…” you edged him as your jaw went slack as he entered you. Slowly, like he was memorizing how ever ridge on his cock, how every bugling vein felt going into your sweet, hot, cunt.
His jaw matched yours swallowing all the moans you let out, with every inch of his thick cock stretching you open. His eyes shut to calm himself, he felt like he could cum on the spot. “Oh…Eywa” you moaned and his eyes darted open, taking in your furrowed brows and heavy panting. His cock was only halfway in at this point, and he stopped, moving back and forth giving you a few shallow thrusts, “calling for God baby? Eywa’s not fucking you, my cock is fucking you…say my name.” His voice was soft but commanding. Your legs wrapped around your waist, one over the other on his back, his tails wrapped around your ankle and yours around his thigh. Neteyam dug his cock deeper in, until he was fulling you completely, cock snug in your cock, “f-fuck…Neteyam.” You whispered into his mouth making him smile, “that’s my good girl…so perfect for me…so good at taking instructions.”
Your eyes rolled you swear you was your brain when he started to move, shallow thrusts at first, balls slapping your skin softly as you took him in. “ah, ah, ah…” you went softly moaning against him. Your hands went up and over his shoulder to his back, digging into the skin as he started to spreed up his thrust. Your moaned start to get louder but he smiled and locked your lips in his kiss, swallowing all your noises, “shh baby…gonna wake the kids and I don’t wanna stop…” his tongue invaded your mouth quickly finding dominance over yours. It was sloppy and wet; you could barely kiss him back feeling him drag his cock against your sweet spot. His thrusts continued to get faster and faster until he was pounding into you, your entire body shook with his movements, but he kept you grounded, complete covered by him.
Your back arched off the soft mat, bringing your chest closer to his. His elbows hit the mat next to you bringing himself impossibly closer. “Oh—oh just like that…please tey—teyam..” you moaned into his mouth, and he let out a grunt. “Just like that?” He repeated moving a little harder and you lost the ability to kiss completely, as you nodded against him. Then suddenly he pulled out completely, you let out a whine in frustration, but it didn’t last long, his hands moved you without a thought, pushing you over onto your side and sliding into the spot behind you, back pressed against his chest facing the fireplace. His hand moved down to grip your right thigh pulling your entire leg up into the air as he effortlessly slides his cock back into your warmth with practiced ease.
Your stomach did flips when he started fucking you again, your hands gripping his arm that ended up under your neck and around the upper half of your body and you bit down on his bicep to keep from getting too loud. Your eyes were teary at this new depth, the way he just fit so perfectly into your cunt like you were made just for him. You sniffled leaning back against him wanting to be as close as possible while made him chuckle, “keep your leg up.” He commanded and took your hand bringing it down to your lower stomach where his cock bugles out and pressing down. You chocked on air feeling his cock move in and out of you, heightened the sensitivity, it was as if he knew (which he did) that spot would over activate your sweet spot. Your eyes widened and your jaw went slack once more; you couldn’t help the moans that escaped you. But he could, he gripped your lower face turning you to kiss him again swallowing up your moans, “feel that baby?” He whispered against your lips, “that’s how good I make you feel, you love it when I pump this cunt full huh?” He asked and you nodded frantically, “yes…yes yes yes feels so good…”
Neteyam smiled into your lips once again, “fuck you’re clenching so hard baby…gonna cum on my cock?” He asked speeding up his thrust once more, he was close too he wanted you to cum with him, and when you confirmed through a heavy moan you were close, he fucked info you faster. His grip tightened and so did yours, his hand that was in your stomach moved—with yours— back around your right thigh intertwining your fingers together as he fucked you. Your release hit you like a rough wave as he emptied himself in you at the same time. Neteyam came so much while his cock was thrusting more and more cum into you, he filled you to the brim, so much so that it leaked out the sides of your cunt even though he was still inside you.
You both came down from your high, cock still snug in you, and his hand rubbed up and down the side of your body, then he stopped and wrapped around you even more holding you there against him, the way it was always meant to be. “That was incredible” you bummed out making him chuckle. “I love you muntaxtan” you whispered to him, eyes closing. “I love you more tìyawn.” He said as he kissed your skin softly.
The fire crackled softly in front of you, casting flickering gold over the quiet curve of your back. The thin woven sheet barely covered the two of you, tangled between legs and limbs as you lay tucked between Neteyam’s arms, your back to his chest. His breath brushed the curve of your neck, slow and even now, but his fingers hadn’t stopped tracing patterns into your skin. Outside, the night sang with insects and the ocean’s lullaby. Inside, it was still. Warm. Full.
Neteyam’s voice broke the silence gently, quiet and husky, his chin resting just above your shoulder. “I used to think home was a place. Forest. Sky. Clan.” You hummed softly, fingers brushing over his as they danced across your stomach. He paused, then pressed a kiss to the back of your shoulder, reverent and slow. “But I know now… home isn’t a place.” He paused. “Home is who you fight for. Who you crawl back to. Who you breathe for.” Another kiss, this one behind your ear. You felt the lump rise in your throat. He whispered it into your skin like it was prayer. “Home is You.”
You turned your face toward him, eyes full and glistening, and he kissed you. A soft, sacred kiss — not rushed, not fiery — just full of love. Of peace. Of truth. In that moment, with your body tucked to his, the fire warming your feet, and the stars peeking through the cracks in the thatched ceiling, everything was exactly as it should be. You smiled against his mouth, your voice a whisper. “And you’re mine.” He pulled you closer. Held you tighter. And there, beneath the soft songs of night and the gentle crackle of fire, the story that once felt like it shattered — finally felt whole again.
💜 Likes comments and reblogs are always appreciated.
💜I hope you all enjoyed reading this, honestly I tried to make it as realistic as possible, relationships are messy, especially when trauma is involved. So please any feedback I’d love to hear, and any ideas are welcome!
i love your writing so much, you plan on writing more neteyam fics??
⟢ pairing. neteyam sully x fem!metkayina!reader ⟢ summary. neteyam started acting unusually weird, distancing himself from you for absolutely no reason. and as it turns out, he decided to follow the love advice from his idiot brother. ⟢ wc. 1,3k ⟢ fluff. friends to lovers. mutual pining. jealous neteyam. ⟢ a/n: got this idea from suprclark ! be sure to check her blog, she has lovely works <3
how neteyam ended up in this dreadful situation, he didn’t know.
one moment, he’d been listening to his brother ramble about how the girls absolutely dig the nonchalant type, how in order to get your heart was to act cool, act like he didn’t care. because apparently, according to lo’ak, girls love it when men played hard to get.
“you gotta make her chase you bro,”
“girls dig the mysterious type, trust me.”
was what lo’ak said, or something like that. that was lo’ak’s brilliant advice - the very advice neteyam decided to follow anyways.
he scoffed at the memory. because now, he was stuck with a gut-wrenching sight. from a distance, up on the beach shorelines, you were laughing, way too hard with none other than ao’nung - the very person he hated most. his nostrils flared as he stood, leaning over a tree with crossed arms.
you were emerged in your conversation with ao’nung, and often times you playfully nudged him out of the ridiculous jokes he made. you and him were getting too touchy. this made neteyam’s skin crawl. he couldn’t take it anymore - and he’s decided that enough is enough. but before he could take a step toward you, someone stopped him midway. who else but his brother, lo’ak?
“nu-uh, bro.”
neteyam gritted his teeth.
“he’s practically flirting with her! look at the way he’s-”
“play. hard. to. get.”
“this is stupid..” he muttered to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. “trust me, this is the way to a lady’s heart.” lo’ak reassured him with that infuriating grin. neteyam’s eyes, however, didn’t leave yours. not for one second.
he held it in his might not to march over and shove - or perhaps, punch that fish-lips. his jaw clenched at the way you casually laughed so carefree at him.
but then, your eyes caught his.
“oh, hi neteyam!” you grinned, waving a hand. neteyam’s knee nearly buckled. in an instant, he fixed his posture, and plastered on what he could think of, was the most casual expression. “y/n.” he nodded in your acknowledgment. he had to bite the inside of cheeks to prevent his lips from twitching into a smile.
you slightly raised a brow. neteyam was acting weird today - well, unusual.
because, for the first time since his arrival, he hadn’t talked to you all day. not even a single ‘hello’. and not even a single glance came from him.
he had been.. distant.
and it wasn’t like him.
you started making your way toward him, water dripping from your hair. with a flick of your wrist, you pushed your damp strands back, letting them fall smoothly over your shoulders.
neteyam gulped.
“you got this bro,” was the last thing lo’ak said to him before he left with that shit-eating grin of his.
“are you alright? you seem a bit off.” you again, raised a brow. he immediately straightened. “what? oh, yes i’m fine.” you blinked, clearly not buying it. “you are sure?” you asked once more, now tilting your head slightly. “yes, why would i not be?” he nearly stammered. you gave him an are-you-serious look. “well, you didn’t wave back just now.”
“oh, yes, right - i uh, thought you were waving at someone else,” he excused. “i’m sorry.” he quickly added. you nodded slowly, still eyeing him suspiciously. “right..”
his eyes roamed for a second, desperately searching for anyone he could use as an excuse for why you were waving at them, not him. “see, i thought you were waving at uh..” he trailed off, eyes still desperately searching for anybody.
“.. roxto - yes, roxto.” he quickly pointed at a confused roxto that stood not far away from where the two of you stood. “roxto, seriously? neteyam, he just arrived.” you chuckled. neteyam was many things, but a liar is not one of them. he absolutely sucked at lying.
neteyam, desperate to change the subject, blurted out the first thing that came to his mind. “so, i see that you and ao’nung have been getting along pretty well.” he said, feigning nonchalance. ah, why did i ask her that? he thought to himself, immediately regretting his choice of words.
“ao’nung?” you were taken aback at the sudden question. “well, yes. he and i go pretty long back. he’s been my friend since i was two, silly.”
and then it hit you.
was he.. jealous?
you paused briefly before continuing.
“.. are you jealous?”
his heart sank, as his ears.
“w-what? jealous? no, no, why would you think that?” he faltered, shaking his head aggressively. the tips of his ears and cheeks reddened despite his best efforts to conceal it.
“hm, i don’t know. maybe, because you keep looking at ao’nung like you might kill him any second.” you joked, lips curving into a half smile, half smirk.
“i have no idea what you’re talking about.” he replied, his voice way higher than intended. realizing this, he cleared his throat. “sorry, i don’t know what you’re talking about.” he corrected himself with a voice much deeper than before.
you pressed your lips together in order not to laugh. regardless, a small smile slipped out anyways.
he was clearly not made for.. whatever you would call this.
he must’ve seen that small smile of yours slip out, because he asked you nervously, “i’m sorry, did i uh, say something?” he was scared that he might’ve said something embarrassing - something wrong, either intentional or unintentional.
unable to hold it much longer, a small laugh escaped your lips. “you really suck at this, you know that?” you said in between laughs. heat crept up to his neck. he had never felt more embarrassed in his entire life. it was clear that, he couldn’t pull off his act anymore longer. and so, he breathed a heavy sigh before he started.
“alright. fine,“ he suddenly said, gaining your full attention. he was too ashamed to meet your eyes. “i was..” he groaned, thinking of how wrecked in the brain he was to to follow an advice coming from that idiot brother of his. “.. you were?” you titled your head, clearly enjoying this too much.
“lo’ak told me that, that uh.. you know, girls ‘dig’ the cool guys. and he basically he told me to.. you know, play hard to get. so, that’s why i’ve been acting distant towards you. it’s stupid, i know, and i’m sorry. really sorry.” he admitted, his words stumbling over themselves as he fidgeted uncomfortably.
“wait, lo’ak told you that?” you arched a brow, a faint teasing smile settled over your lips. “and you actually listened to that idiot?” he rubbed the nape of his neck, his face even more flushed now, clearly regretting his actions. “it’s stupid, i know.” he shook his head, braids swaying slightly.
your expression softened. “well, at least now you know to never, ever take love advice from lo’ak. because clearly, he sucks at it.” neteyam chuckled at that, and you smiled softly. “guess i had to learn it the hard way.” he admitted with a sheepish grin.
slowly, you reached out and took hold of his hand, your fingers gently brushing against his. his heart hammered in his chest at your touch. his eyes flickered down to where your hands had met, up to where your eyes were, then to your lips, and back to your eyes. and as if his body reacted on its own, he leaned in close enough, before abruptly stopping.
“may i?”
the second you nodded, he wasted no time, and before you knew it, yours lips had met - a moment he had waited for, so, so long, had finally happened. you could feel the way he smiled against your lips, and as so did he. your knees threatened to give away.
you both pulled back, slightly out of breath, as your eyes met again. a smile spread across both his, and your face. “for the record,” you said, grinning. “i absolutely hate men who plays hard to get.”
