After meeting you in secret near the reef—alone, injured, and carrying the name you were born under—Neteyam keeps coming back until “just checking” turns into real love. When he finally brings you to his family, the Sullys don’t trust you because you’re Varang’s daughter, no matter how hard you try to prove you’re on their side. Neteyam x Fem!Reader
Chapter Contains: ◆ high tension ✧ light fluff and ❖ intimate moments previous chapter: read. next chapter: read
The first thing you learned about healing in the reef was that the ocean had opinions.
It didn’t let you forget your body. It didn’t let you disappear into sleep the way the ashlands did, where exhaustion could swallow you whole and spit you out when it felt like it.
Here, even resting felt alive.
You woke to soft noises: the distant hush of waves folding over themselves, woven mats shifting, the quiet clack of beads when someone moved. Your side throbbed with a steady, dull ache—less like fire now, more like a bruise that kept remembering it was a wound.
For a moment, you didn’t move. You just breathed and counted.
The air smelled like salt and wood and something clean you weren’t used to.
Varang’s hand in your braid.
Her voice in your ear—my daughter.
Neteyam’s hiss cutting through everything like a promise.
Your fingers twitched against the mat, and your breath caught.
At the entrance, a shadow shifted.
He’d changed positions at some point—one knee bent, back against the post, bow laid across his lap like a part of him. His head was tipped slightly forward, eyes half-lidded the way hunters looked when they were pretending to rest but weren’t.
You stared at him for a long second, the weight of it pressing behind your ribs.
The realization was warm and terrifying all at once, like holding something precious while you still expected it to be taken from you.
Neteyam’s eyes opened fully, locking onto yours immediately, like he’d felt your gaze.
“You’re awake,” he said quietly.
Your throat felt dry. “Yeah.”
He stood with careful, controlled movement, crossing to you in two steps. His hand hovered over your bandage like he was afraid of touching wrong.
You let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh. “A little.”
Neteyam’s jaw tightened like he didn’t like the word little because it still meant yes. He looked down at your side, then back up to your face.
“You should not have run out,” he said, voice low.
But he didn’t sound angry.
He sounded… shaken. Like the memory of seeing you on the sand was still sitting under his skin.
Neteyam’s eyes flicked over your face like he was checking if you were real. “Why did you?”
Your fingers curled against the mat. The honest answer tasted like ash.
“Because if she wanted something,” you whispered, “it was me.”
Neteyam’s nostrils flared. “And you think offering yourself would stop her?”
You looked away. “I think… if she didn’t get me, she would take someone else just to punish me.”
You expected him to argue.
Instead, Neteyam sat beside you, slower than usual, like he was trying to keep his movements gentle on purpose.
“You don’t get to carry all of that alone,” he said.
Your throat tightened. “I’ve been carrying it alone my whole life.”
Neteyam’s gaze didn’t waver. “Not anymore.”
Something in you wanted to believe him so badly it almost hurt.
You forced a small, careful breath. “You say that like you can decide it.”
Neteyam’s mouth twitched, but his eyes stayed serious. “I can decide what I do.”
Then, quieter: “And I decide to stay.”
He said it like it wasn’t romantic.
Your chest squeezed. “You already did.”
Neteyam’s eyes dropped to your bandage again, and his hand finally moved—two fingers brushing the edge of the woven cloth with a touch so careful it made your stomach twist.
His voice came rougher. “When she cut you… I—”
Like the sentence wasn’t safe to finish.
You watched his jaw work, watched him swallow the emotion down the way warriors did.
You reached out before you could overthink it and touched his wrist.
The contact was simple. Barely anything.
But you felt him react like you’d wrapped your whole body around him.
“It’s not your fault,” you whispered.
His eyes were dark and bright at the same time.
“I know it’s hers,” he said tightly. “But she did it because she wanted to show me something.”
Your fingers tightened. “She wanted to break you.”
Neteyam’s breath left him slow. “She won’t.”
You held his gaze. “She’ll try again.”
He just leaned closer until his forehead touched yours, steady and quiet.
“Then she meets me again,” he murmured. “Every time.”
Not because you weren’t close.
Because crying felt like giving her something.
Instead, you pressed your forehead back to his and let yourself be held there—small, still, alive.
Outside, the village moved like it was trying not to look at you.
Even after the attack, even after the blood, the distrust didn’t vanish like smoke.
Some of it sharpened—fear that you were a beacon, a crack in their defenses.
Some of it softened—uneasy respect, the kind people gave when someone bled and didn’t run.
You felt it every time you stepped out into the light.
Eyes that lingered too long.
Whispers that stopped when you turned your head.
Hands that hovered near weapons out of habit.
That didn’t make it easier.
On the second day after you woke, Ronal came to see you.
You heard her before you saw her—her voice carrying outside the hut, sharp and clear like she was used to being obeyed.
Neteyam straightened instantly.
You tried to sit up and immediately hissed when your side protested.
Neteyam’s hand landed on your shoulder. “Don’t.”
“I can’t look weak,” you muttered.
Neteyam’s eyes flashed. “You are injured. That is not weakness.”
Ronal stepped inside like the hut belonged to her, her presence filling the space the way storms filled the horizon. Tonowari followed behind her, calmer but no less powerful, and Tsireya trailed them with wide eyes that kept darting to you like she wasn’t sure what she was allowed to feel.
Ronal’s gaze landed on your bandage first.
Then Neteyam sitting too close.
“So,” Ronal said, voice clipped. “This is the ash-blood girl.”
Your stomach dropped at the words, even though you’d heard worse.
You forced your chin up. “My name is (Y/N).”
Ronal’s eyes narrowed. “I did not ask your name. I asked what you are.”
Neteyam’s body went rigid beside you.
Tonowari lifted a hand slightly—not a command, but a reminder. “Ronal.”
She didn’t look at him. “Our children were attacked,” she snapped, eyes still on you. “Our home was tested. And now we have Varang’s blood sleeping under our roof.”
You swallowed. “I didn’t bring her here.”
Ronal’s lip curled. “And yet she came.”
Tsireya’s eyes flicked to Neteyam, then back to you. Something soft moved across her face—pity, maybe. Or recognition.
Tonowari stepped forward, voice steady. “We know you warned them.”
You nodded once. “Because I knew the smell.”
Ronal’s gaze sharpened. “You know her patterns.”
“And you know what she wants.”
Your throat tightened. “She wants me.”
Ronal’s smile was humorless. “Then you are a danger.”
Neteyam shifted like he wanted to stand between you and her, but Tonowari’s voice cut in gently.
“Or,” Tonowari said, “she is a key.”
Ronal snapped her eyes to him. “Tonowari—”
He didn’t waver. “Varang does not come for nothing. If she is willing to reveal herself at our waters, it means she believes she can take something.”
Ronal’s jaw clenched. “And you think we should keep the bait?”
Neteyam’s voice came out low and dangerous. “She is not bait.”
Ronal’s eyes flicked to him. “You speak as if you own her safety.”
Neteyam’s jaw tightened. “I speak as if she is a person.”
Tsireya’s gaze widened slightly.
Tonowari’s expression shifted—something like approval flickering beneath his calm.
Ronal’s eyes were bright with anger. “Person or not, she is a risk.”
You forced the words out before your fear could stop you. “Then let me prove I’m worth it.”
You swallowed through the ache in your side. “Let me work. Let me learn. Let me… earn whatever you call this.”
You gestured weakly at the hut, at the village beyond.
“Protection,” Tonowari said quietly.
Your throat tightened. “Then let me earn that.”
Ronal’s gaze held yours for a long, cutting moment.
Then she said, “If you betray us, the sea will not hide you.”
“I know,” you whispered. “It never did.”
Ronal studied you like she was trying to find Varang in your face and failing.
Finally, she turned slightly toward Neteyam.
“And you,” she said, voice sharp. “If your heart blinds you, it will drown you.”
Neteyam’s eyes didn’t move. “It won’t.”
Ronal scoffed like she didn’t believe him.
Tonowari paused at the entrance, glancing back. “Heal,” he said to you, and it wasn’t kindness exactly—but it wasn’t cruelty either.
Tsireya lingered for half a breath longer than her parents.
Her gaze met yours, and she said softly, “If you need… help learning, I can.”
You blinked, caught off guard.
Before you could answer, she ducked out after them.
When the hut was quiet again, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.
Neteyam was still staring at the entrance, jaw tight.
“You didn’t have to argue with her,” you whispered.
Neteyam turned, eyes sharp. “Yes, I did.”
You swallowed. “You’re going to make them hate me more.”
Neteyam’s voice dropped, fierce in a quiet way. “Let them hate me too.”
Your chest squeezed. “Neteyam—”
He leaned closer, foreheads almost touching again, and his voice softened just enough to hurt.
“I am not letting them turn you into a thing,” he murmured. “Not in this home.”
Something in you cracked anyway.
They didn’t let you train with weapons yet.
Jake’s rules held, even after the attack.
But Jake did let you work.
He gave you tasks that were simple on the surface—help mend nets, carry woven baskets, learn the reef routes. But you recognized the truth under it: Show us what you do when no one is watching.
You woke early even when your side ached.
You helped the older Metkayina women twist fibers and weave. Your fingers were clumsy at first, but you didn’t complain when they corrected you, and you didn’t snap when they muttered under their breath about ash-blood hands touching sea-thread.
You carried water until your arms shook.
You didn’t brag about what you knew.
You offered it when it mattered.
And slowly—so slowly you almost didn’t notice—the village stopped pulling away as fast.
One child didn’t flinch when you passed.
One elder didn’t spit in the sand when your shadow crossed hers.
One woman handed you a strip of dried fish without meeting your eyes, like she didn’t want to admit she was feeding you.
Neteyam watched it like it was oxygen.
He didn’t hover as much after the first few days. Not because he stopped caring—if anything, you felt him everywhere in the way his gaze tracked you from a distance, the way he appeared the second someone’s voice got too sharp.
He let you prove yourself.
And when the ache in your side eased enough that you could swim again without seeing stars, he took you out beyond the shallows.
Not far. Not where the open ocean turned dark and deep.
Just far enough that you weren’t under the village eyes.
The water held you differently than the ashlands ever had.
It didn’t care who your mother was.
It only cared that you breathed.
Neteyam swam beside you like he’d been born in the reef, movements smooth and sure. Every so often he glanced over, checking you, not with doubt—just with care.
When you surfaced near a mangrove patch, panting slightly, Neteyam reached out and steadied you by the forearm.
“You’re getting stronger,” he said.
You let out a breathy laugh. “I’m getting less injured.”
Neteyam’s mouth twitched. “That too.”
You floated there, salt water clinging to your skin, sunlight breaking into shards across the surface.
For a moment, it felt almost normal.
Almost like you weren’t carrying a war in your blood.
You looked at Neteyam. “Do you ever regret it?”
His brow furrowed. “Regret what?”
“Bringing me here,” you said softly. “Choosing this.”
Neteyam stared like the question didn’t make sense.
Then his gaze sharpened, like he realized you were serious.
He moved closer until your tails brushed under the water, a quiet, intimate contact that made your pulse jump.
“No,” he said immediately. No hesitation. No pause to think of consequences.
Your throat tightened. “You don’t even—”
“I do,” he cut in, voice low. “I know what it means.”
You swallowed. “What if Varang comes again and they blame you for it?”
Neteyam’s jaw clenched. “They can blame me.”
You shook your head. “That’s not a plan.”
Neteyam’s eyes held yours, steady and stubborn. “It is if it keeps you alive.”
Your chest ached. “I don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”
Neteyam’s voice softened. “You’re not a curse.”
You flinched like the word had teeth.
His eyes darkened, and his hand slid from your forearm to your wrist, thumb pressing against your pulse like he needed proof you were here.
“You hear me?” he said quietly.
You nodded, even though part of you didn’t believe it.
Neteyam’s gaze dropped to your mouth, flicked away again like it still embarrassed him that he wanted you.
He guided you deeper into the mangrove shade, where the water was cooler and the world felt quieter.
There, he pulled you close—careful of your side, one arm bracing you by the back while the other held your hand between you.
It wasn’t like the first kiss that had been frustration and fire.
He pressed his forehead to yours, nose brushing your cheek, breath warm even in the water.
“You’re here,” he murmured. “And that matters more than where you came from.”
Your throat tightened. “Neteyam…”
A soft kiss. Salt and warmth and restraint—like he was holding himself back because he was scared of hurting you, not because he didn’t want more.
Your hand tightened around his.
For a few seconds, the world was just water and breath and the steady promise of his body close to yours.
Then he pulled back, just enough to look at you.
His eyes were open and honest.
“I’m going to teach you something,” he said.
You blinked. “Metkayina hand signs again?”
Neteyam’s mouth twitched. “That too.”
He brushed his thumb over your knuckles. “But first… you need to learn how to be seen here without flinching.”
Your stomach twisted. “That’s not something you can teach.”
Neteyam’s gaze didn’t waver. “Watch me.”
You weren’t prepared for how quickly Varang’s shadow could reach without her body.
It happened three nights later.
The village was quieter than usual—watch shifts doubled, torches kept burning at the edges like stubborn little suns. You were helping fold woven line near one of the huts when a Metkayina scout came in fast, wet hair plastered to his face, eyes wide.
He went straight to Jake and Tonowari.
Voices rose—sharp, urgent.
You didn’t catch the words, but you caught the feeling.
Neteyam appeared beside you like he’d been pulled by a string.
“What is it?” you asked, already knowing the answer lived somewhere in your chest.
Neteyam’s jaw clenched. “They found a marker.”
Your stomach dropped. “Where?”
Neteyam didn’t answer right away. His eyes searched your face like he was bracing himself.
“On the outer reef,” he said finally. “Tied high.”
Because you knew that sign.
It meant: I can reach you from above. I can watch without being seen.
You swallowed. “She’s telling me she’s still here.”
Neteyam’s voice went low. “She’s telling you she can touch our borders whenever she wants.”
Your fingers shook as you tried to keep folding the line like your hands weren’t betraying you.
A laugh bubbled in your throat—thin and ugly.
“She’s bored,” you whispered. “This is her version of knocking.”
Neteyam’s gaze sharpened. “And what comes after knocking?”
You didn’t want to say it.
“Entering,” you whispered.
Jake’s voice carried over—hard, controlled. “Everyone stays close. No one swims alone. No one goes beyond the third marker.”
Tonowari’s voice followed, calmer but equally firm. “We do not chase shadows into deep water.”
Ronal’s voice cut in sharp. “We should send her back.”
You turned your head fast.
Ronal was staring at you across the open space like she wanted you to hear her.
“She is the reason Varang comes,” Ronal snapped. “Every day she stays, we paint a target on our children.”
Neteyam stepped forward instantly, but Jake lifted a hand.
“Not now,” Jake warned, eyes cutting.
Neteyam froze, breathing hard.
You forced your voice out even though it shook. “You think I don’t know that?”
You swallowed. “I know what she does. I know what she takes. If you send me back, she doesn’t stop coming. She comes anyway—because she’ll know she can make you throw people away.”
Ronal’s lip curled. “You speak like her.”
The words landed like a slap.
Your voice went quiet. “And you speak like someone who’s never been owned.”
Ronal’s eyes flashed like she might strike.
Neteyam’s body tensed, stepping between without thinking—
But Tonowari spoke first, voice like a tide pulling the moment back.
“Enough,” he said sharply.
Jake’s gaze flicked to you, then to Neteyam. He looked tired. Like this war had too many fronts.
“You’re staying,” Jake said finally, voice firm. “Not because it’s easy. Because we don’t sacrifice people to fear.”
Ronal looked like she wanted to argue.
“Prepare the village,” he ordered. “And double the watch.”
As they moved away, Tsireya appeared near the edge of the gathering, slipping close to you like she’d decided something.
She lowered her voice. “You were right before,” she said softly.
You blinked. “About what?”
“About earning it,” she said. “Ronal will not say it… but she saw you bleed and stay.”
Tsireya hesitated, then added, “If Varang wants to make you choose… don’t do it alone.”
You stared at her, surprised by the softness.
Then you nodded once. “Okay.”
She glanced at Neteyam, then back at you, almost shy. “Come. I will show you where we keep the extra medicines.”
Neteyam’s eyes narrowed slightly—not jealous, not really. Just protective, always.
Tsireya saw it and actually smiled a little.
“Relax, Neteyam Sully,” she teased quietly. “I will not steal your ash-blood girl.”
Your face heated instantly.
Neteyam’s ears twitched, and his jaw tightened like he didn’t know whether to be annoyed or embarrassed.
Tsireya laughed and tugged you gently by the wrist, careful of your healing side.
As you walked with her, you felt eyes on you again.
But something had shifted.
But a new truth settling into the bones of the village:
Varang had come, and you had stayed.
Which meant you weren’t a rumor anymore.
And real things were harder to throw away.
That night, you couldn’t sleep.
The torches outside painted moving shadows on the woven walls. The ocean sounded louder than usual, like it was trying to warn you.
Neteyam sat at the entrance again.
Always like he didn’t believe the dark would behave if he stopped watching it.
You finally whispered, “If she comes again… she’s going to do something worse.”
Neteyam didn’t look away from the night. “I know.”
You swallowed. “She’s not done proving her point.”
Neteyam’s voice dropped. “She thinks you belong to her.”
Your throat tightened. “She thinks I’m a story she wrote.”
Neteyam finally turned his head, eyes fixing on you like an anchor. “Then we write a different one.”
Because you’d spent your whole life surviving her story.
You didn’t know how to write anything.
You sat up slowly, wincing, and Neteyam moved instantly—hand bracing you, steadying you like your body mattered.
You looked at him in the dim light. “What if she offers them a deal?”
Neteyam’s jaw clenched. “What deal?”
You forced it out. “Me… for peace. Or me… for someone she took.”
Neteyam’s eyes went sharp, dangerous. “She won’t get that choice.”
You whispered, “She might.”
Neteyam stood then, crossing to you in two steps, crouching like he needed to be closer to make you believe him.
He cupped your face with both hands—warm palms, gentle thumbs—like he was holding something sacred.
“Listen to me,” he said, voice low and intense. “You do not trade yourself to her.”
Your breath shook. “Neteyam—”
“No,” he cut in, softer but fiercer. “You do not go back. Not for peace. Not for guilt. Not for anything.”
Your eyes burned. “And if they try to send me?”
Neteyam’s gaze didn’t waver.
“Then they send me too,” he said.
Your throat tightened. “That’s insane.”
Neteyam’s mouth twitched once, humorless. “Yeah.”
Then, quieter: “But it’s true.”
You stared at him, the sheer stubbornness of his love pressing into you like gravity.
Neteyam’s breath hitched slightly like the question hurt.
“Because when you walked into our village,” he said slowly, “you were shaking. You were bleeding. And you still held your chin up like you refused to disappear.”
His thumbs brushed your cheekbones, careful.
“You looked like someone who has never been protected,” he murmured.
Neteyam’s eyes softened, just barely. “And I couldn’t—” He swallowed. “I couldn’t leave you like that.”
You stared at him, heart hammering.
And for the first time, you didn’t see him as a shield.
A boy who carried duty like it was carved into his bones.
A warrior who still chose gentleness with you, even when the world told him you were danger.
You leaned forward and kissed him first this time.
A kiss that felt like choosing him back.
Neteyam made a quiet sound in his throat—soft, relieved—and kissed you like he’d been holding his breath for days.
When you pulled back, your forehead stayed against his.
Outside, the torches hissed.
And somewhere out beyond the reef, Varang’s shadow waited.
You whispered, “She’s going to come for me again.”
Neteyam’s answer was immediate, steady, absolute.
You swallowed. “That’s not—”
Neteyam’s mouth brushed your cheek, then your temple—an almost-kiss, grounding you.
“It is,” he murmured. “Because this time…”
He pulled back just enough to look you in the eye.
“This time she doesn’t meet you alone.”
In the early hours before dawn, when the village was quiet enough that even fear seemed to sleep, a single shell horn sounded from the outer watch.
Neteyam was on his feet instantly.
So were you, despite your side protesting.
Neteyam turned, eyes flashing. “Stay.”
You shook your head, voice tight. “If it’s her—”
Neteyam’s jaw clenched. “If it’s her, you stay.”
You stared at him. “Neteyam, she’s not here for nets and fish.”
His eyes darkened. “That’s why you stay.”
Outside, voices murmured—guards calling out, feet moving fast.
Neteyam grabbed his bow and moved, but he hesitated at the entrance, eyes flicking back to you like he didn’t want to leave you even for a heartbeat.
He stepped close, pressed his forehead to yours for the briefest second—like a promise he didn’t need words for.
You sat there, heart hammering, listening to the village gather like a living thing waking up.
Minutes stretched like hours.
When Neteyam finally returned, his face was hard.
The kind of hard people wore when they were trying not to break.
He stepped inside, and you saw it in his hand.
A strip of dark fiber, scorched at the end.
Tied into it was a small object—something that didn’t belong to the reef at all.
A bead you recognized from your own hair once—before you cut it short to avoid giving Varang something to grab.
Your stomach dropped so hard you felt nauseous.
Neteyam’s voice came out low.
“She knows where you sleep.”
Your throat tightened to nothing.
Then Neteyam lifted his eyes to yours.
“And,” he added, the word dragging like it hurt, “she wants you to come.”
You swallowed, forcing air into your lungs. “What did she say?”
Neteyam’s fingers tightened around the scorched fiber.
He didn’t answer right away.
Like he didn’t want to speak it into existence.
Finally, he said, voice rough, “She says if you don’t go… she’ll burn the sea.”
Your blood went ice-cold.
Because you knew Varang didn’t mean it like a metaphor.
She meant the breeding grounds. The kelp beds. The nets. The homes.
You stared at Neteyam, chest shaking.
“She’s making it my fault,” you whispered.
Neteyam crossed the hut in two steps and grabbed your hands, holding them tight like he could keep you from unraveling.
“No,” he said fiercely. “She is making it hers.”
Your voice cracked. “Neteyam—if she does that—”
“She won’t,” he snapped, then softened instantly like he heard the fear in you. “She won’t. Not without a fight.”
You swallowed hard. “And what if they decide I’m the safer loss?”
Neteyam’s gaze went flint-hard.
“Then they’re wrong,” he said.
Outside, you could hear the village shifting, the beginning of another meeting, another circle of suspicion and strategy.
Neteyam looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered.
And you realized with a sick twist of dread—
Varang hadn’t just sent a threat.
Because she’d seen what love did to Neteyam.
And now she was going to pull it.
Neteyam pressed your hands to his chest, right over his heartbeat.
“I told you,” he whispered. “You’re not facing her alone.”
Your breath shook. “How do we stop her?”
Neteyam’s eyes narrowed, fierce and focused.
“We don’t run,” he said. “We don’t trade you.”
Then, quieter—like a vow:
“We trap the fire before it touches the sea.”
And when you stepped out of the hut beside him, the village already gathering, you felt every eye turn.
Like the reef itself was holding its breath.
And somewhere beyond the outer waterline—
You could almost swear you smelled ash on the wind again.
