So, I was thinking about your answer from my question about Tori wondering if Alastor and Lucifer could make a baby like what happened with Al and Vox making her, and I was thinking what would Alastor and Vox's reactions would be if Tori (either seriously, like for scientific porpuse, or just to mess with them) asked them to make a baby sibling for her.
And also, just for funnsies, I was wondering if you ever thought about a Radioapple child, as if, in an alternate universe of an alternate universe, Alastor did end up accidently making a baby with Lucifer (even after having Tori), if you thought what this child would look like? And, if not, what do you think everyone's (Al, Tori, Luci, Charlie, Hotel Gang, and even Vox) reaction would be for this other kid?
Just an idea, I know you said you never considered radioapple before, and that you are neutral about it, but, as a multi-shipper, I like to hear other's interpertations of this topic, especially when you made such an amazing work with radiostatic oc child like Victoire.
The silly answer is that the two would be different shades of flustered and would try to distract their daughter from the question and desperately prevent her from asking it again. The serious answer is that Tori would never suggest to have a baby sibling with either of her parents, not even jokingly. Children aren't toys or experiments or amusing punchlines that exist at the expense of Vox and Alastor. Normal children would not survive Hell or, at least, would come out of their childhood with a boatload of issues because of Alastor and Vox's parenting. Tori is only normal because she came that way. Isekai child privileges. She would never wish her own fate upon a truly innocent soul. She's stressed enough already taking care of herself.
I've never really thought of a Radioapple child before. And, to be honest, it wouldn't be possible. As much as I joked about Alastor throwing his magic about in fights all willy nilly possibly creating another miracle child, it's actually not that simple. Victoire's conception was due to a series of circumstance that's extremely difficult to replicate: two, powerful Overlords had been striking at each other with the same amount of power, frequency, and feeling. This was only achieved because these two are the way they are about each other. (Also because of Tori's unique Isekai situation but shhhh.) Lucifer would never be able to do this since 1) He overpowers Alastor by a lot and 2) He can't harm Sinners, so no strike - magical or physical - would ever be able to connect.
But! If the laws and circumstances were a lot different and Alastor and Lucifer WERE to have their own accidental baby, I'd say that the kid would mostly take after Lucifer. Maybe the kid has Alastor's curls and nose, but the baby will have zero deer features, be blonde, and have those red circle markings on their cheeks. Probably would be a boy, idk.
I suppose the general reaction would be astounded shock. Charlie, after the shock wears off, would be excited to have a sibling. Alastor, on the other hand, would NOT be pleased since he's now anchored to another troublesome person. Tori would have a meltdown. Not only did she have to stress about her new little sibling, but she also has to fear Heaven finding out because there's no way that they'll be chill about Lucifer suddenly making new babies with Sinners.
...Which is why the Radioapple baby will never ever come to be in "Child of Divorce" or in any of its AUs. Too stressful and complicated to even imagine, especially when it's for a ship I don't really feel strongly for.
Hello!!! Just wanted to pop in and say that YOUR WRITING IS INCREDIBLE and your characterizations are terrifyingly accurate...I'm hooked grr arggg nomnomnom eating your writing for educational purposes/silly
If you are open for requests, I absolutely adore the way you write our boy Luci as a bit more dominant. I would platonically kill for a fic where he helps a very innocent, terrified reader through her first time (but then gets a bit more devilish towards the end 😈)...spiced with whatever seasonings you think would fit 😏
Wishing you the best of blessings from the writing gods 💓
. 𓂃 ࣪ ˖ ♡ 𖥻 𝑮𝑳𝑶𝑹𝒀 𝑩𝑶𝑿 : this part of sex always scares you, lucky you lucifer is good to you, maybe a little too much. lucifer x female reader.
( cw ᝰ.ᐟ✧ minors dni :: female bodied reader :: soft dom ! lucifer :: reader is inexperienced & shy-ish :: virginity loss :: cunnilingus :: fingering :: dumbification :: praise :: multiple orgasm :: p in v :: a little bit of spit )
notes : as someone who struggles a lot with getting their personalities right (esp lucifer), this means a lot to me :(( ♡ thank you for the request and your kind words!! hopefully it meets your expectations anon 🌸✨️
there’s something about your expression and how you’ve folded over yourself that makes lucifer want to ruin you completely.
he knows he can. he knows you’d look good like that. he has many useless, unending thoughts such as these until something in him boils over.
lucifer draws his knuckle over the seam of your cunt, and you gasp, thighs closing around his hand. he is quickly to hush your worry, your shyness, and kisses the base of your throat, then your jaw bone.
"i know, honey, i know." he hums, a lacing of sweetness in his voice that you can feel on the sides of your tongue. "i'll take good care of you."
you whole body wracks with a shudder, nodding your head. yes, you know he will, you know— it doesn’t stop your stomach to tie itself in knots when lucifer pulls his lips down further and further.
his fingers are delicate as they push your shirt over your tits, squeezing them with appreciative hands. kissing at your collarbones, your sternum, the dips and underneath side of your breasts as your breathing so heavily they rise and fall in front of him, and lucifer fondles them too for good measure.
"lucifer," you whine, and he laughs.
"shh, leave the thinking to me, 'kai?"
you make a garbled sound that makes lucifer laugh again.
he trails down from base of your chest down the expanse of your tummy. he kisses your navel reverently until lucifer parts your legs with a gentle hand.
lucifer takes a beat to admire you. he uses his thumb to draw you open, spreading your pussy open wide until everything is visible. your clit twtiches from the sudden attention, the admiration. the genuine love in his gaze as he stares down gives you grief like no other.
"a pretty pussy from a pretty girl, hm?"
you crinkle your nose and resist the urge to close your legs. his hands sink into your hips, fingers gripping onto your skin as he sinks his face down between your legs. you tense, half out of your mind already.
"wait, ‘s embarrassing, don’t wanna..." trying to paw it off with whatever braincells you can string together but lucifer breath is hot against your sensitive pussy— and then you feel it: lucifer's split-tongue pressing against your clit.
your whole body breaks down, like one white hot flash of heat, every inch of your skin lights up. you moan so loud it makes your throat hurt from strain, bordering on a scream.
lucifer's mouth feels so fucking hot. his tongue moves through you, eager to taste. before he focuses his attention, he flattens his tongue to taste all of you, pushing it into your hole, over and over until there’s nothing else. the tip of his tongue traces around the outside of your clit, precise and angular as his free hand tries to hold your hips down, but he finds it hard to fight against the way you're bucking up against his mouth so vigorously.
lucifer thinks he could die like this, savoring the stretch. your wet hole learning to accept the warm length of his tongue as it slides into you, soft enough not to send your pelvic floor clenching shut. he sucks on your clit gently, causing your knees to push together, squeezing his head between the fat of your thighs, and he swears his cock is twitching harder than it has all night.
"lu-luci, w-wait, feels funny—!" but he doesn't stop, and you don’t know what it is, but—fuck, you want it so bad you can’t help yourself. you curl your fingers into his hair and push his head into your clit, desperately searching for whatever will fix the feeling.
"it's gonna feel good, i promise," lucifer moans in reply. the sound comes deep from his chest like he’s purring, so pleased with how you lean on him. ask for him to kiss it better. "let go, sweetheart, do it for me."
your whole body jolts when lucifer’s finds the right spot. he laps at your cunt eagerly, fingers pressed into the fat of your hips. lucifer holds you horribly still as he eats you out until you are hardly able to catch your breath as the tight coil in your lower stomach snaps viciously before you can wrap your head around it. your fingers clutch aimlessly at the bedsheets, body going slack as the first weak wave of pleasure falls over you.
when he emerges from your thighs, he looks absolutely demolished. his hair is a mess of golden strands, some sticking up from the way you've pulled and tugged on his hair, and some plastered to his face. lucifer is quick to pull away and rests his forehead against you.
"what a good girl, i knew you could do it for me," his palm cups your face, thumb brushing away some of your tears. he coos at you sympathetically, leans down to kiss all over your face. it relaxes you, a brief respite of tenderness amidst feeling like you’re falling apart completely.
he’s grinning, delighted. you look back at him as your arms go around his neck, urging him to lean in some more.
you can feel him throb against the apex of your thigh, but even then, he doesn’t seem to pay any mind, more focused in pressing his lips to your forehead in a sweet kiss— and then you jolt when you feel his hand over your sensitive and swollen clit.
"so sensitive," he drawls, voice warm with mirth alongside your dulcet cries. "can we do one, dove? just one again?"
"uh-uhu," you don't even know if you're speaking, if your mouth is falling open and language is spilling out or if you're just panting and mewling beneath his touch. "yes, yes, want you—"
( lucifer loves that about you to. loves being wrapped around your finger or tugged by your leash— loves that you demand things of him. he finds it a privilege to give it to you. )
he hums with approval, the thrum of it filling your chest, as he delicately slots his middle finger into you. it's thicker than you expected and stretches you just a little more- but that extra millimeter makes a notable difference in your panic as you feel the muscles in your thighs begin to tense.
"shh, shh, it's okay," he consoles, as if feeling your anxiety. which, considering how you're beginning to clench around his finger, he just might. he kisses your temple and then your cheekbone. "just breathe, sweetheart. like this."
you try and each breath flutters through you, raising your hairs to a point of overstimulation. you clench around him again, but sweetly this time. beckoningly. it's— a lot. all of it is. you like that it is.
he can tell you're ready for more when you start to wiggle your hips. when you spread you legs wider and tilt your pelvis up- presenting yourself to him like an animal in heat, so he starts moving the finger inside you gently, rocking in minute movements until you're soft and keening in his arms.
lucifer circles your clit with this thumb before pressing down on it sharply- meanly. it fills your body with electricity and you squeal as he moans and pants alongside you.
"you're being too good for me," he praises. "how about one more, hm? think you can do that for me?"
you whimper and nod your head. unfortunately, in the moment it takes him to line up his third finger your body seems to have second thoughts. the very tip of his pointer presses into you and the tiniest pinch causes all sensation in you to go cold and sharp.
lucifer notices immediately and changes course. he curls his forefinger and rests it flat on the swollen nub of your clit and presses down. despite your body's attempt to shut down, pleasure zings through you.
"such a skittish thing," he teases, lighthearted in a way that soothes any sense of embarrassment or self consciousness from you. "don't worry, you can take all the time you need."
lucifer smiles, somewhere between sweet, adoring, and incredibly arrogant. he bends down quickly, presses a kiss to your mouth that you chase. coos at you before kissing you once more, twice more for good measure. you’re so high this feels unbelievable.
your back arches as lucifer pushes himself deeper, middle fingers down the knuckle. it feels intrusive, in a good way. he doesn't bother with thrusting and instead gives you time to savor the stretch of him.
fuck—fuck, how much bigger would his cock feel than this? is that why he's taking his time preparing you? you try to picture it; the way he dribbles with precum, always so leaky and spilling as it presses against your hole just begging to slide inside-
"what are you thinking about, honey?" he asks, his tone teasing. he rotates his wrist just so his thumb can press against your clit. pinching it gently and making you mewl. "me? my hands? my mouth?"
he kisses your ear and licks along the curve.
"my cock?"
lucifer lets out a breathless little laugh as you squeeze around him.
"think about it as much as you want," he says and gently, so gently, crooks his fingers inside of you against a place that makes it impossible for you to think straight. "it's all yours, you know that?."
then, at the same time, lucifer tongue lolls out of his mouth just enough that one dollop of drool trickles out over the tip of it—rolls down the length—and falls down onto you until the heat of it engulfs your clit.
you spasm. it happens so quickly, so rapidly. lucifer barely has to move his fingers now. a few strokes of them against your gspot, his tongue sucking softly on your clit - and you’re gone. your vision blurs out as an orgasm wracks through your body all at once, every muscle taut like a bowstring. you cum hard, and intense.
lucifer moves his pace steadily, unhurried, constant. Gives it to you exactly how you need without hurrying you forward. Steady and calm, but relentless. over and over, lucifer continues to fingerfuck you open. mouth and tongue in tandem wringing orgasms from you like it’s easy.
you gasp. "oh, w-wait, wai—, please, please—"
lucifer stops when you can’t find anymore words. you whine at the loss of contact, but in the same breath - you’re relieved, not sure how much more of it you could possibly handle. lucifer moves his face away from your cunt so he can reach your fumbling hand and lace fingers together, squeezing it gently.
"i’ve got you. you’re doing so well. i’m here." he says, a tinge cruel. taking satisfaction in the way you cant your hips back into him and spread your legs wider. "what do you want, sweetheart?"
"you, inside me," you babble, out of your mind. tears spring, already damp from sweat, fat tears form at your lashes before spilling down your cheeks. you need him.
"ooh, greedy girl," he murmurs. he grinds the hard shape of his cock against your thigh. you tremble, lust making your mind go blank. "you want to feel me right here?"
a desperate and whimpering sigh fills the air as lucifer goes to adjust your thigh around his hip. a warm, gooey pressure burns against your entrance, his hips jutting forward to run his cock through the length of your slit – the sensations is overwhelming and you can faintly hear him encouraging you atop it all.
"y-yeah," you whine, looking up at lucifer through tear clumped lashes.
his tip sneakily slide in without fuss during the sharp twang of sensation, gradually filling you inch by inch until you physically feel swole just from the tip. you whine as the realization that he's pressing his girth against your ridges causes a low current of anxiety to peak.
"it doesn't hurt," he croons, and kisses your jawline again "fuck— you didn't even feel it, dove. see? it's nice isn't it— feeling a little more full inside?"
at his words, the tightness in you eases. lucifer's right. you hadn't noticed. and the stretch, it doesn't pinch even if you experience the kind of fullness that is hard to ignore, a sight to behold. you wiggle your hips to adjust to the sensation.
lucifer fucks you half way down his length all whilst caging you in– he doesn’t bottom out yet, only thrusts shallowly, letting the sweltersome head of his cock nudge your ribbed walls. he doesn't bother with thrusting either and instead gives you time to savor the stretch of him.
"you've been so brave for me, let me handle the rest, dove." he kisses your temple and go completely limp against him as you let out a heavy breath.
You woke up to a chipper “Wakey wakey, toots!” and a pounding on the door that was somehow quieter than the one ringing between your ears. You dragged yourself out of the comfort of your bed to open the door, revealing Angel Dust in all of his provocative glory, and questioned him thusly.
“Good afternoon to ya, too.” Angel made himself comfortable in your suite, casually plopping down on the mattress and pulled out his phone to scroll through it.
“…I slept through the morning?”
“Just about. It’s ten minutes to 12. And everyone downstairs was worried about ya because of what happened last night, but I offered to check in on ya before anyone else could. Figured you’d want help to save face and all that.”
Well, that’s not fucking ominous. “I’ll ask again. What happened last night?”
Angel smacked his lips in deep thought, then said, “Before I help ya fill in the blanks, what do YOU remember?”
Not much honestly.
Last night’s get together was in last-minute fashion, a celebration of Lilith returning to the Hellish public. In true Morningstar spirit, both Charlie and Lucifer wanted to throw a random ass party due purely created by their shared excitement. With an excuse to get out of group exercises, everyone at the hotel agreed to the idea and helped with getting the party together, yourself included.
Meeting the Queen was something else.
The portraits in the halls do not do her beauty justice. She was majestic. Magnificent. Marvelous.
And you were too busy lost in your simping thoughts that you didn’t register Lucifer’s introductions before he poked your cheek with a cheeky grin.
“Hi! It’s nice to meet you, Queen Lovely. LILI! I MEAN LILITH! QUEEN Lilith. I-….hi,” you ended in a shy wave. Really smooth, Y/N.
Lilith displayed her shiny teeth in a grin that matched her husband’s. “Eventful to meet you, too, my dear.”
This has to be a special type of Hell. Standing between the fallen angel you’ve both befriended and have been crushing on for some time now and his wife who looks and sounds too good to be real and there is not a damn thing you can do about it. You could see why they both fallen for each other, literally and figuratively.
If only you could be lucky enough to be sandwiched inbetween the two…
With a quick curtsy, you excused yourself to skedaddle towards the bar to wet your whistle, which has rapidly become dry in nervousness.
Had you walked a bit slower, you would’ve caught Lucifer’s words as you were leaving. “Ain’t she a peach? She was just as nervous when she met me for the first time.”
Angel convinced Husk to take the night off from the bartending station to truly enjoy the party amongst the other guests. So a introverted, but diligent newcomer of the hotel took his position for the night.
Hopping onto a barstool, you requested a Virgin Tequila Sunrise to start off the long night. You didn’t want a repeat of what happened at the last karaoke night, when you made a drunken fool of yourself to your object of affection who luckily for you took it in all of good fun. So, you decided to lay off of alcoholic drinks for the time being until you could trust yourself again.
After the first hour of the party and requesting the same drink with the specific words of, “Another one, please,” everything became a blur from those moments on.
You finished retelling your events to Angel, who was respectfully quiet through the whole spiel. He took a few seconds to think, his many eyes glancing back and forth from you and his phone, before saying, “Gonna be honest. I think the bar chick messed up ya drink.”
“…What.”
“What I mean is, I don’t think she heard the word ‘virgin’ when you ordered it. I say this because what happened last night was a piece of history I know damn well you didn’t want repeated.”
…oh. Oh no. Oh no.
It happen again, didn’t it?
He presented his phone to you. No, presented the video that was playing on his phone to you.
Sure enough, your ‘out-of-her-shell’ drunken self was plastered yet again, in all of her songful, chaotic fashion. Only this time, she wasn’t just serenading the King of Hell this time. She was giving equal rapt attention to the Queen of Hell herself.
Microphone in hand and no shame to be seen, Yesterday Y/N was essentially peacocking to the two royals. Hips swaying, top unbuttoned, body dropping low, your free hand either caressing yourself as you dance or fondling the two blushing blondes as you essentially gave them lap dances, all the while singing ‘Fuck’ by Snow Wife.
At the very least, Lucifer and Lilith don’t seem appalled by the performance. The opposite, in fact. And that seems more terrifying to you. They seem impressed, by your audacity, your confidence, or your dancing skills is a mystery. And dare you say, entertained and hypnotized, if their smirks and intense gazes to your form were anything to go by. The king and queen’s faces were painted golden and red respectively, but you were certain they were flushed due to the apple martinis in their hands.
The constant shouting hoots and whistles from the other guests weren’t helping with your current embarrassment. Neither was Angel’s off the camera comment of ‘Get it, Y/N! You’ll be Hell’s Greatest Sugar Baby in no time!”
It took Angel Dust everything in his demonic body to not laugh at your current expression right now. A smart ass remark, on the other hand, is free game. “You should drink more often. You give strippers I know a run for their money.”
You toss the phone back into Angel’s lap, already done with the day you woke up to. You curl into your crumpled blanket, cocooning yourself from head to toe in cotton and despair. “Just kill me now. Just lock me in here and let me rot to my (second) death.”
“No can do, dollface!,” Angel enthusiastically proclaimed, standing up with a pair of his hands on his dainty hips. “From what I’ve seen, you have a very important appointment to get to! Or should I say a date~” He wiggled his eyebrows with that statement.
You popped your head out from the comforter, confused. “What do you mean? With who?”
“With the short king and the first dommy mommy, of course! Out of everyone downstairs, they are the most eager to talk to ya. That was the warning, by the way.”
You had your crush on Lucifer Morningstar kept under wraps for the many months it has cultivated since you started working at the hotel and you planned to keep it hidden for the rest of eternity…
…until you drunk one too many ‘Harder Daddy’s at the Hazbin Hotel’s Karaoke Night which gave you the liquid courage led to serenade the king himself with ‘Halo by Beyoncé.’
The fog hung low over the bayou, thick and silvery in the moonlight. The air smelled of stagnant water, moss, and iron: blood. You had followed Alastor's tracks to a clearing surrounded by twisted cypress trees and roots that jutted out of the water like bony fingers.
You found him kneeling beside a fresh body. His white shirt was speckled with dark red, his suspenders hung loose, and his hands were buried in the damp earth, digging a shallow trench with a rusty shovel. The dead man had a clean cut across his throat and another across his chest. Alastor worked with that unsettling calm, humming a soft jazz tune.
"Alastor," you said sharply, emerging from the trees. "Again."
He looked up, his smile widening, genuine and dangerous.
"My sweet… you came to oversee my night's work. How romantic."
You approached, treading carefully through the mud. Your skirt kept getting caught on the roots, and the sticky heat of the bayou made you sweat.
"Look at you," you growled, pointing at him. "You're a mess. Blood on your face, your neck, even in your hair. And that ditch… it's a disaster! Anyone who walks by here tomorrow is going to trip over the body. Can't you dig deeper? Or at least hide it better among the roots?" Alastor chuckled softly and continued pushing dirt with his shovel.
"You're exaggerating, darling. The bayou eats everything. In two days, there won't be anything left but bones."
"I'm not exaggerating!" you stood in front of him, arms crossed. "Last time, they almost caught you because of a bloody sleeve you left floating. You're careless when you get too excited. You're like a kid playing in the mud… a very dirty, very dangerous kid." He stood up slowly, leaving the shovel stuck in the ground. He wiped his hands on his pants (making the stains worse) and approached you with that feline grace, despite his disheveled appearance.
"My love…" he began in a normal, light voice. "I'm just working."
Then he changed it. It lowered, becoming deep, that husky, velvety tone that gave you goosebumps even in the middle of the bayou.
"…and I love it when you come and scold me with that grumpy little mouth of yours. You look so cute when you frown and tell me how dirty I am." You felt heat rise up your neck. You tried to stay strong.
"Alastor, change your voice. It's not the time."
"Isn't it?" he murmured, moving closer, until his chest almost touched yours. His voice became even lower, like a dark purr. Not even when I tell you I've been thinking all night about bringing you here… about getting you a little dirty too?
You were about to answer when a noise broke the silence: branches snapping in the distance, followed by distant men's voices. Night hunters or fishermen. Probably drawn by the scent or some noise Alastor had made earlier.
"What the hell do you-…" you started aloud, turning toward the sound, irritated and on edge.
Alastor was faster. He grabbed you by the waist with one hand still stained with dirt and blood, pulling you against his chest. With the other, he gently covered your mouth, silencing you.
"Shh…" he whispered against your ear, his voice deep and controlled. "Please excuse my wife," he said louder, in the direction of the voices, though he knew they wouldn't hear him clearly. "We were… busy."
The voices drew a little closer, then receded amid laughter and curses about "damn raccoons." When the danger had passed, Alastor didn't let go of you. He lowered his head and spoke directly into your ear with that deep voice that melted your heart:
"So moody… so ready to fight. It drives me crazy when you get so angry. But now be good, my sweet. Stay quiet for one more minute."
He kissed the back of your neck, leaving a small smear of blood on your skin. Then he turned you around in his arms and looked into your eyes, a wide smile and eyes gleaming with sadistic amusement.
"When they're completely gone… I'm going to make it up to you for the interruption. I'm going to take you up against that cypress tree over there… and I'm going to use this voice until you stop nagging me about being dirty and start begging me to make you dirtier."
You bit your lip, still angry about the careless hunt, still flustered by the interruption, but your body was already betraying you with a shiver.
Alastor chuckled softly, his voice husky, and pulled you closer.
"Good girl. Now help me finish this quickly… so I can give you the attention you deserve." The bayou's mist enveloped them as he returned to his shovel, but this time he dug deeper, heeding your scolding… though the promise in his eyes and that deep voice told you the night was far from over.
Was thinking about the ask awhile back where you said Allie would get the Catalastor plush...it'd be hilarious if the catalastor plush is how Allie is able to recognize Alastor in the first place bc her dad said that it "Really looks like your other father. It's uncanny. *snicker*" (Rosie had it commissioned and gave it to Allie as a gift.)
And Allie sees Alastor in the hotel for the first time, immediately clocks the resemblance, and inwardly goes: oh jeez, dad wasn't exaggerating. Rosie, you're terrible! You must've been really mad that he left suddenly for 7 years and didn't tell you, his friend, who totally didn't have anything to do with said disappearance!
(She brought it with her on her sleepover at the hotel later and Alastor looks at the thing, aghast and with ears pinned down, bc OF COURSE Vox would give their daughter a monstrosity like that. Why does it have a little felt monocle. Little antlers?? Vox, why?)
Not Rosie gifting Allie the Catalastor plush! (Actually, no, this makes sense. Yes, this is canon now.)
As an Isekai baby, Allie already knew what Alastor looked like and what Catalastor was so she was more baffled that Catalastor made an appearance in this world as a plushie. She unironically loves it to bits though. Vox uses it as a reference whenever he talks about Alastor to her. Val and Vel do not like the plushie. They think it's atrocious and claim that they could feel it staring at them. (Vox: it's a stuffed animal, ofc it stares it doesn't blink you idiots).
Alastor is not a fan at first since he knows Rosie's handiwork when he sees it. But the monstrosity grows on him. It's delightfully creepy, unlike the goofy looking Vark.
Could we have some sneak peek into the thoughts of Vel & Val when they wrecked Tori's room & also their thoughts when they saw Tori (& knowing that they screwed up badly)? (And OH MY GOD, out of all they ways that they could've left a first impression on Tori, I was not expecting it to be this traumatic.)
How about thoughts of Zestial, Carmilla, & Rosie on seeing Tori popping out of nowhere & then proceeded to gift an angel's head to Rosie?
Vox's thoughts on Tori's recounting what happen to her & her calling him "dad" + Vel & Val "monsters"?
Oooh, another POV ask! Since I am planning on expanding on Vel and Val's side of the story in future chapters, I'll define a snapshot of their emotional states. Also, I'd like to note that the POVs listed here are not completely chronological. Take that as you will.
Vel and Val during the room wrecking: Fear Fear Fear Fear Fear
Vel and Val when they saw Tori: Confusion, Realization, Guilt, Alarm, Horror, Panic, Panic, PANIC-
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Zestial: Zestial knows when some magiclal mishap is afoot. Tori already vented about her troubles, so he suspected that it was the cause. When she fell with the unknown demon, there were so many bubbles from the splash that no one could see what was happening. He was very concerned for his apprentice's safety, but Vox and his pet shark seemed to have everything handled. When Tori presented the angelic head, it did not escape Zestial that there was a familiar sigil inscribed on the platter itself. And - oh! - she had made a basic sigil into something completely different! On her own! The next they met, he would happily ask her about the process of creating her own spell. What innovation!
Carmilla: When Tori crashed the party looking wet and bloody with a dead demon being snacked on by a giant shark in the background, Carmilla knew that there was going to be trouble. She's concerned for the child, she really was, but she was far more concerned about the bad feeling in her gut. She'd been feeling it all night. When Tori presented the Exorcist's head to the table, her fears were confirmed.
Rosie: Rosie is absolutely thrilled to see her favorite niece! Cannibal Town just wasn't the same without Victoire's spark. Yes, she gets weekly letters (what a sweetheart, keeping tabs on her own father for Rosie) but nothing beats reuniting with your loved ones face-to-face. And after the revelation that Vox is the other father! (Alastor, that rascal, keeping away such juicy drama, tsk tsk). Rosie was a bit disappointed that Tori said no to staying longer but the poor dear looked exhausted and so messy. Rosie knew Tori didn't really eat someone as a "snack" but let the lie slide. She was delighted when she was given an angel's head. Oh, her niece always was a thoughtful one!
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Vox, about being called "Dad": Vox is both overjoyed and heartbroken. He's been waiting for this moment ever since he first laid eyes on her, but the circumstances weren't ideal. Later, when he goes through the security feeds, he's absolutely horrified to hear Tori screaming for him. He hadn't known. And if things didn't go the way it did, he would've never known.
Vox, when hearing about the "monsters": Vox had swallow back his anger. Disappointment was one thing, but what Val and Vel pulled put his Soundbyte in danger. His first instinct is to go to them and chew them out. But Tori was the priority. Instead, he'd give them the silent treatment. He'd lock them out of his suite, keep their interactions short, curt, and professional, and - pettily - he'd blatantly deny that Tori even existed whenever they tried to bring her up. Uno Reverse, bitch. (Vox would completely stop trying to get Tori to meet Val and Vel.)
Summary: Life is just another game, and so is afterlife. The question is, will you able to beat the odds, and your competitor Vox?
Notes: (1) This chapter takes place before events of season 1. (2) I don't have major gaming experience but I've done my research but if there are mistakes pls forgive me lol. (3) Inspired by this ask sent by @drpepperdemon
CW: none (there will be future smut)
Word Count: 4.5K
Also on my Ao3.
Chapter One: Respawned
Not many people got their dream jobs.
Most settled. Some endured. Others spent their lives counting down the hours until they could finally go home.
You considered yourself lucky.
Ever since you were a kid, video games had been your escape. And somehow, against all odds, you turned that love into a career. You worked for a gaming company, helping build worlds people obsessed over for hours at a time.
Better yet, people actually liked what you made.
The company profits skyrocketed whenever your projects launched. Online forums tore apart every teaser frame you designed. Streamers praised the visuals. Fans made theories about details you'd added at three in the morning while half-asleep on energy drinks.
It felt unreal sometimes.
Success was addictive.
At first, you told yourself the late nights were temporary. Just until the next deadline. Just until the next launch. Just until the next patch.
But one successful game turned into another. Then another.
You stopped sleeping properly. Meals became optional. Energy drinks became meals instead.
Your apartment slowly transformed into a second office — sketchbooks piled across the floor, unfinished character concepts glowing on multiple monitors, code and artwork blurring together after forty hours awake.
Yet you couldn't stop. Because what if the next game wasn't perfect? What if people stopped caring? What if someone else made something better?
So you pushed harder. Until your body finally gave out before your mind did.
The last thing you remembered was the glow of your computer screen.
Dying, surprisingly, wasn't the end. It was more like a loading screen.
When you opened your eyes again, the world looked wrong. The sky glowed a violent red.
Hell.
Huh.
Your first coherent thought had been: So religions were onto something after all.
Your second had been: Technically… I respawned.
Honestly? That made the situation significantly easier to process.
The adjustment period had been rough. And somehow, against all odds, you adapted frighteningly fast. Turns out years of online gaming translated surprisingly well into survival.
Learn the map. Learn the enemies. Learn which idiots were all bark and which ones could actually kill you.
Most importantly? Learn your abilities. That part had taken longer.
At first, your powers appeared randomly — strange flashes of abilities surfacing during moments of stress or excitement.
Then you noticed the pattern.
Every power came from a video game character you'd played during your human life. And considering gaming had consumed most of your existence…
You had a lot of options.
One of your personal favorites came from an old survival horror obsession.
Long black claws suddenly extended from your fingertips with a sharp metallic shnk.
You admired them thoughtfully. "Lady Dimitrescu," you mused proudly.
The sinner across from you paled. "What?"
Your claws slid effortlessly through him. "Wrong answer.”
You weren't stupid. Hell rewarded power, yes — but it also rewarded patience.
Plenty of Overlords before you had charged in screaming, only to end up scattered across the pavement two weeks later.
The Overlords still standing? They were clever. Ruthless when necessary. Careful when it mattered. You paid attention to people like that.
More importantly, you had no interest in making pointless enemies.
Enemies were exhausting. They wasted your time.
They forced you to constantly look over your shoulder wondering when they'd strike next. They dragged you into petty wars and stupid politics and endless revenge cycles.
Frankly, it sounded annoying.
You already spent enough of your human life stressed over deadlines. You refused to spend your afterlife stressed over idiots too.
No.
What you wanted were allies.
Connections.
Information.
People who owed you favors.
In your experience, loyalty bought with respect lasted far longer than loyalty bought with fear.
You learned names. Learned territories.
Learned which Overlords valued loyalty, which valued entertainment, and which ones would stab you over a mild inconvenience.
You learned how to make yourself useful.
You offered services before threats. Favors before fear. It worked disturbingly well.
Turns out people were far less likely to try killing you when you solved problems for them.
Of course, that didn't mean you were weak.
The few sinners dumb enough to mistake your friendliness for vulnerability usually learned otherwise very quickly.
Preferably after screaming.
Of course, you learned about the Vees too.
It would've been impossible not to. Their faces were everywhere.
Massive glowing advertisements stretched across Pentagram City buildings. Giant screens played endless commercials. Products, clubs, music, technology — the Vees had their claws buried in nearly every form of entertainment Hell consumed.
They were impossible to ignore.
Especially Vox. The television-headed Overlord practically radiated ambition through every screen in the city.
Loud. Charismatic. Controlling. The type of person who always needed to be the center of attention.
You took one look at his empire and immediately decided: Absolutely fucking not.
An Overlord like that didn't tolerate competition. And considering your abilities revolved around video games — one of the fastest growing forms of entertainment in Hell — conflict between you felt almost inevitable.
So you did the sensible thing.
You stayed far away from the Entertainment District.
While other ambitious sinners flocked toward the Vees hoping for recognition, power, or fame, you deliberately built your territory elsewhere.
Far enough that Vox wouldn't care. Far enough that his attention stayed pointed somewhere else.
You weren't afraid of him.
You just understood something many sinners didn't: Powerful people became dangerous the moment they considered you worth noticing.
And until you were strong enough to survive that attention comfortably…
You preferred staying off his radar.
Ten years passed in Hell far quicker than you ever expected them to, until eventually your name no longer sounded unfamiliar when spoken among Overlords, and sinners had begun associating your territory with cutting-edge gaming technology powerful enough to rival Hell's existing entertainment industry.
You had built your empire carefully during those years, avoiding unnecessary wars while steadily expanding your influence through innovation rather than brute force, because unlike many sinners who arrived in Hell drunk on ego and desperate to prove themselves, you understood that the most dangerous people were often the ones clever enough to let others underestimate them.
Unfortunately, success had a tendency to attract attention no matter how carefully you tried avoiding it.
It started, strangely enough, with an adult VR game.
Valentino first heard about it through his employees, many of whom had become increasingly distracted during work hours while rambling excitedly about some new immersive experience spreading through Hell faster than most recent entertainment trends, and while that normally wouldn't have interested him much — Hell was filled with desperate addicts constantly chasing the next pleasurable distraction — the sheer obsession surrounding this particular game eventually caught even his attention.
According to them, the technology felt almost impossibly realistic, with environments detailed enough to blur the line between simulation and reality, responsive AI advanced enough to adapt naturally to a player's behavior, and sensory feedback so convincing that several sinners reportedly forgot they were inside a game at all.
Naturally, that intrigued Valentino immediately.
So one evening, motivated partly by curiosity and partly by boredom, Valentino decided to test the game himself, lounging lazily across his couch while smoke curled from the end of his cigarette and neon lights reflected across the sleek VR headset resting over his eyes.
And the moment the simulation loaded around him, his amused expression slowly shifted into genuine interest. By the time Valentino removed the headset, his sharp grin had widened considerably.
Any pervert in Pentagram City would've sold their soul for another hour inside that simulation.
Valentino exhaled smoke slowly before tilting his head toward one of his employees lingering nervously nearby.
"Alright, cariño," he drawled smoothly, "who made this little masterpiece?"
The answer arrived quicker than expected.
Valentino laughed softly beneath his breath at that, his gold tooth flashing beneath the dim neon lights as genuine excitement settled into his expression. "Oh," he purred slowly, already fascinated. "I need to meet this hermosa chica."
It had been a good day.
The kind of good day you appreciated more after spending years in Hell, where chaos could erupt without warning and carefully built plans often collapsed beneath somebody else's tantrum, greed, or ego.
Business was thriving, several new VR systems had sold out almost immediately after release, and the newest expansion for one of your more popular games was already receiving overwhelmingly positive feedback from customers throughout Pentagram City, which meant the rest of the week would likely proceed smoothly.
For once, things felt stable.
Your office remained pleasantly quiet aside from the faint hum of holographic monitors floating around the room, each displaying separate reports regarding profits, server stability, manufacturing requests, and upcoming release schedules, while neon light from the city below filtered through the massive windows behind your desk and painted the room in shifting shades of crimson and violet.
Honestly, you had almost started relaxing.
Then the doors slammed open.
Your assistant hurried inside so quickly she nearly stumbled over herself, hair disheveled and expression unusually tense as she clutched a tablet tightly against her chest.
Immediately, you knew something had gone wrong. Salina rarely panicked.
"Boss," she said quickly, slightly breathless from rushing through the building, "we have a visitor."
You barely glanced up from the holographic screen in front of you. "And?"
Her hesitation made your stomach sink before she even spoke again. "...One of the Vees.”
Silence settled heavily throughout the office.
Slowly, you leaned back in your chair. "Which one?"
Salina swallowed. "The Film Overlord. Valentino."
For the first time in several minutes, your thoughts went completely blank.
Ah. So this was happening now.
You had known this day would eventually come ever since your technology started spreading beyond your own territory, because there was simply no realistic way to build an entertainment empire within Hell without eventually drawing the attention of the Vees, especially once your products began rivaling the quality of their own industries.
Still, knowing something would happen eventually did not make the moment itself any less irritating.
Your fingers tapped once against the armrest while you silently considered your options.
Refusing to meet Valentino would be insulting. Meeting him carried its own risks.
And if Valentino was here personally instead of sending an employee or messenger, then that meant this visit mattered enough for him to invest his own time into it, which was never a comforting realization.
Worse?
If Valentino knew about you now, then it was only a matter of time before Vox did too.
That thought alone was enough to make exhaustion settle behind your eyes.
You exhaled slowly before rubbing a hand against your temple. "Well," you muttered dryly, already feeling the beginning of a headache forming, "can't exactly pretend I'm not home."
Salina gave a nervous laugh.
You straightened in your chair again, expression smoothing back into calm professionalism despite the calculations already racing through your head, then waved your hand dismissively toward the door. "Let him in.”
Valentino was exactly what you expected.
Excessive.
The doors to your office opened once more and the Overlord entered with the kind of effortless confidence only possessed by people who had spent decades believing the world belonged to them, his fur coat dragging behind him while expensive perfume and cigarette smoke followed close after.
He walked like he owned the building already.
And yet, despite the arrogance dripping from every movement, you immediately understood why so many sinners willingly gravitated toward him.
Valentino was charming. Dangerous people often were.
His grin was warm enough to appear inviting while somehow still carrying the unmistakable edge of something predatory beneath it, like a beautifully decorated trap waiting patiently for someone foolish enough to step too close.
Naturally, you smiled anyway.
Rising smoothly from your chair, you stepped forward and extended your hand politely across the space between you both. "Welcome to my humble abode.”
Valentino's eyes flickered across you with open interest, visibly lingering for half a second too long before amusement curled across his face, and instead of shaking your hand as expected, he gently took it within his own before lowering his head enough to press a theatrical kiss against your knuckles. "Pleasure is all mine, querida.”
You resisted the urge to sigh.
Because beneath the flirting, you knew better than to mistake beauty for harmlessness in Hell.
Still, if Valentino wanted charm and performance, you were more than capable of playing along.
Your smile remained perfectly composed as you carefully slipped your hand free from his grasp before motioning casually toward the seating area near the center of your office. "Please, make yourself comfortable.”
Valentino settled into the chair like a king accepting tribute rather than a guest entering another Overlord's territory, crossing one leg over the other.
You snapped your fingers once.
Instantly, two glasses materialized onto the low table between you alongside an expensive bottle of liquor pulled directly from your private collection, courtesy of one of the small reality-warping perks your demonic abilities allowed.
Valentino's brows lifted slightly at the display. "Fancy," he purred.
You had every intention of keeping this conversation controlled. Ideally, this meeting would end with Valentino satisfied, mildly entertained, and leaving your territory without deciding you were either a threat or a potential acquisition.
Realistically, you already suspected things would not remain simple for very long.
Still, you leaned back comfortably into your chair, swirling the liquor lazily within your glass before offering him a measured smile. "So, to what do I owe the honor of a Vee visiting my little corner of Hell?"
Across from you, Valentino grinned like a cat presented with cream as he took a slow sip from his drink before answering. "I came across something interesting you made."
Your expression remained politely curious. "Oh?"
Valentino leaned further into his seat, spreading his arms as if discussing fine art rather than whatever insanity was about to leave his mouth. "Cariño, that little VR setup of yours is practically the perfect equipment to jerk off—”
"Your point, Val?" you interrupted immediately, voice dry enough to cut through the room before he could continue elaborating in increasingly graphic detail.
The interruption only seemed to amuse him more.
He laughed softly, cigarette ember glowing brightly as he tilted his head toward you with obvious delight sparkling behind his eyes. "Straight to business, huh? Cute.”
You simply stared at him.
Valentino eventually relented with exaggerated disappointment before continuing more seriously, though the playful edge never fully left his tone.
"My point is that your tech is incredible. Hell's obsessed with it already, and honestly?" He gestured loosely with his drink. "The sluts you've been using inside those games are only half decent.”
Valentino either noticed your expression or simply didn't care, because he continued speaking without hesitation.
"You've got revolutionary technology paired with random nobodies when you could be using stars instead." His grin widened knowingly. "Your games would reach twice the audience overnight if people recognized the talent involved.”
You rested your elbow against the armrest thoughtfully while piecing together where this conversation was heading.
Your eyes narrowed slightly in understanding. "...Angel Dust?"
Valentino practically beamed. "See? I knew you were smart.”
Hell's most famous porn star partnering with your VR technology would create an absurd amount of attention almost instantly, and annoyingly enough, Valentino was probably right about the profits such a collaboration would generate.
This, at least, you could handle.
A business deal was infinitely easier to navigate than emotional power games or unpredictable violence, because unlike most sinners in Hell, contracts and negotiations tended to follow understandable rules, and while Valentino was undoubtedly manipulative, you trusted greed far more than you trusted kindness.
Greed was predictable.
You could work with predictable.
Leaning back slightly into your chair, you allowed a pleasant smile to return to your face as though the proposal had not immediately triggered three separate calculations regarding future profits, potential risks, and how much involvement from the Vees you were willing to tolerate before it became a problem. "A very magnanimous offer, Val.”
Across from you, Valentino nodded with the confidence of someone fully convinced he was, in fact, the most charitable creature in existence, one gloved hand resting dramatically against his chest while he exhaled smoke toward the ceiling.
"I know, querida. I'm practically a saint."
The urge to laugh nearly escaped you.
Instead, you calmly took another sip of your drink while Valentino continued speaking.
"A very simple deal, señora," he purred smoothly. "I provide the talent, you provide the fancy technology, and we split the profits fifty-fifty.”
You kept smiling. Mostly because visibly reacting would've been impolite.
Slowly setting your glass down atop the table between you both, you folded your hands together neatly while tilting your head just enough to soften the rejection into something conversational rather than confrontational.
"Very..." you began carefully, voice smooth as silk, "...generous of you, yes."
"But you see, your actor would only really be necessary for the body scan and voice work. Most of the actual labor, programming, environmental rendering, behavioral adaptation, animation processing, and response systems would still be handled entirely by my employees.”
You watched the exact moment Valentino realized you were negotiating back.
It was subtle. A tiny narrowing of his eyes.
You smiled pleasantly anyway. "So," you continued lightly, "perhaps something closer to sixty-forty would be more reasonable?”
Valentino stared at you for several seconds before suddenly laughing, rich and amused enough that the sound echoed faintly throughout the office.
"Oh, I like you."
You suspected that statement should have felt significantly more threatening than it did.
"Y'know," Valentino drawled smoothly, voice dripping with amusement and something significantly more dangerous beneath it, "I'm sure we could negotiate a little more, hermosa."
You already disliked where this was going. "Could we?”
"Mhm." He leaned further forward, resting his chin lazily against his hand while smoke slipped between his sharp teeth. "Maybe I help ease that pretty little mind of yours, yeah? One good fuck and suddenly fifty-fifty don't sound so bad anymore.”
You resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of your nose.
Because objectively speaking, the offer itself was not the problem. The problem was everything attached to it.
Entangling yourself too deeply with the Vees sounded exhausting on every conceivable level.
Getting personally involved with one of them? That sounded less like a good decision and more like willingly signing yourself up for a migraine that lasted several decades.
Still, flatly rejecting Valentino carried its own risks. So instead of refusing, you carefully chose the safer option.
Ambiguity.
Leaning back into your chair, you allowed a thoughtful smile to curl slowly across your lips while meeting his gaze evenly.
"Perhaps," you said lightly, voice smooth enough to sound teasing without becoming encouraging, "I'll take you up on that offer when needed.”
You decided it was best to secure the agreement before he found another opportunity to derail the discussion entirely.
Setting your drink aside once more, you straightened slightly within your chair before offering him a composed smile.
"So," you said smoothly, "do we have a deal?”
"Mmm." He tilted his head thoughtfully. "Si. I think we do."
Good.
Because while this partnership certainly came with risks, the benefits were difficult to ignore.
You extended your hand across the table toward him once more. This time, Valentino actually took it properly.
His grip was warm and firm, claws brushing lightly against your skin while his thumb dragged slowly across your knuckles in a way that felt entirely deliberate before he finally shook your hand with dramatic satisfaction. "Pleasure doin' business with you."
"Likewise.”
You gently withdrew your hand before moving back toward your desk, holographic screens flickering softly around you once more as professionalism settled naturally back into place.
"I'll have the official documents sent over within the week," you informed him. "My legal team will finalize distribution percentages, licensing permissions, image rights, and usage restrictions before production starts.”
Valentino let out a soft whistle behind you. "Damn, you really are all business."
Three months later…
Vox was having an exceptionally boring day.
The massive monitors lining the walls of his office flickered endlessly with live broadcasts, profit reports, social media trends, surveillance feeds, and viewer statistics flowing faster than most sinners could process, though Vox himself barely paid attention anymore as he lazily spun in his chair with one leg thrown over the armrest, claws tapping impatiently against the polished metal.
His assistant practically stumbled into the room looking seconds away from cardiac arrest, hair disheveled, tie crooked, and face pale enough that Vox briefly wondered whether someone had actually died.
Ethan barely managed to catch his breath before blurting out.
"Sir— sir—!”
Vox didn't even bother turning around fully yet. "What's got your panties in a twist?"
"Sir, our profits dropped—"
Vox let out an exaggerated sigh, finally swiveling his chair toward the trembling assistant. "Oh my God, Ethan, you burst into my office like somebody blew up the tower. What is it this time? Point-one percent? Point-two?”
Market fluctuations happened constantly.
Some weeks viewers preferred violence. Other weeks they preferred pornography, drama, or whatever idiotic trend Hell collectively hyperfixated on for forty-eight hours before moving onto the next shiny distraction.
It was annoying, sure, but hardly worth interrupting his afternoon over.
Ethan, however, looked ready to faint. "N-no, sir..." he stammered weakly.
Vox narrowed his eyes slightly.
Ethan swallowed hard. "...Thirty percent.”
Silence.
Complete, horrible silence.
Then Vox's left eye spiraled violently across his screen. "WHAT?!"
The shout exploded through the office loud enough to make Ethan physically flinch backward while several surrounding monitors glitched simultaneously from the sudden spike of anger radiating off the Overlord.
Vox shot upright from his chair so quickly it crashed backward onto the floor behind him.
"T̷̛̰͍͗̈̉̏H̴̰́I̶̬̜̅̂̾̍R̸̮̟̂̆̎̓͊T̵̟͌̾̓͘̕Ỳ̵͇͔̻̈ ̵̨̡̱͔̠̀̋̀̂Ṕ̸͚̼̘̕Ẽ̷̗͈R̸̖̭͇͈̞͐̓C̶̥̒͑͆̿E̸̐ͅN̶̘̈́̎̓ͅT̸̝̞̪̑̈́̚?̴͔̗̐̓͐͘͠!̷̢͖̘͕͂͛" he screeched, voice distorting into static halfway through the sentence. "HOW THE FUCK DO YOU LOSE THIRTY PERCENT?! WHAT ARE THESE USELESS IDIOTS EVEN DOING DOWN THERE?!”
Ethan looked moments away from tears. "W-we checked the broadcasts, sir! Nothing malfunctioned! No outages, no competitor releases from the other districts, no major scandals—"
"Then where the hell did the audience go?!"
Ethan hesitated. The assistant visibly sweated beneath the weight of that sharp glare. "...Gaming platforms, sir."
Vox froze.
Slowly, very slowly, his screen flickered into an expression of pure disbelief. "...Excuse me?”
Ethan shakily pulled up several holographic reports onto the monitors surrounding them, displaying rapidly increasing sales figures, user engagement spikes, and consumer activity centered around one specific entertainment company that had apparently exploded in popularity over recent months.
Gaming experiences advanced enough to keep sinners occupied for days.
Vox stared at the reports silently while static crackled dangerously around the edges of the room.
Then his smile appeared. Which, unfortunately for everyone present, was significantly more terrifying than yelling. "Who," Vox asked softly, dangerously, "is stealing my fucking audience?”
By the time Vox reached Valentino's studio tower, static was practically sparking off him in visible waves while nearby screens distorted violently as he stormed through the building, employees scattering out of his path immediately after one look at his expression.
Nobody stopped him. Nobody was stupid enough to try.
The doors to Valentino's private chambers slammed open hard enough to rattle the walls. "VALENTINO!"
Inside the room, Valentino barely reacted.
The moth Overlord lounged lazily across an expensive sofa beneath dim pink lighting, one leg draped over the armrest while smoke curled slowly from the cigarette balanced between his fingers, looking entirely too relaxed.
Val glanced toward Vox without the slightest hint of concern. "Damn, papi," he purred lazily, smoke escaping his mouth in a slow stream, "what's got you so angry?”
Vox crossed the room in seconds. One clawed hand shot forward and grabbed Valentino harshly by the front of his coat. "Did you seriously sign a fucking deal with that newbie Overlord?!" Vox snapped, screen flickering furiously. "And with Angel Dust too?!”
Valentino barely blinked. Which somehow made the situation worse.
He simply looked down briefly at the fist crushing his coat before lifting his gaze back toward Vox with bored amusement.
"Well, hello to you too."
"VAL!”
"Relax, cabrón."
"Relax?!" Vox barked incredulously. "Our numbers just dropped thirty fucking percent because sinners are too busy drooling over some gamer freak's tech to watch my networks!"
Valentino raised a brow. "...And?"
Vox stared at him like he had just personally committed treason.
Valentino shrugged, easily taking himself out of Vox's grip. "What does it matter?" he asked casually. "We're still makin' huge profits.”
Vox looked genuinely offended. "You're kidding."
Valentino rolled his eyes before finally shoving Vox's hand away from his coat and straightening the fabric with visible annoyance. "Ay dios mío, you are so fucking dramatic sometimes," he muttered before sinking back onto the couch. "The tech's incredible, the customers are obsessed, and Angel's already doubled merchandise sales just from the announcement alone."
He took another slow drag from his cigarette. "It's good business.”
Vox looked moments away from exploding. "Good business?!" he repeated sharply. "Val, that thing is literally competing with us!"
"Then compete better.”
Valentino didn't even look up while saying it, smoke drifting lazily around him as though he hadn't just stabbed directly into Vox's biggest insecurity.
Because that was the real issue, wasn't it?
Not the money. Not even the profits.
It was the fact that someone had entered Vox's industry and succeeded.
Valentino watched Vox pace furiously around the room for another few moments before finally waving his cigarette dismissively through the air, entirely unimpressed by the television Overlord's ongoing meltdown.
Honestly, Val found the whole thing amusing.
Vox only became this agitated when something genuinely managed to get underneath his skin, and apparently some elusive little gaming Overlord hidden halfway across Pentagram City had accomplished that without even meeting him yet.
"Ay, calm down already," Valentino sighed lazily, smoke curling from between his sharp teeth while he sprawled comfortably deeper into the velvet couch. "I'm sure you'll come to some kinda settlement once you meet."
Vox immediately stopped pacing.
Valentino continued before he could interrupt. "Don't we got that Overlord-Hellborn gala coming up soon?”
Calling it a gala was honestly generous.
Sure, there was expensive alcohol, lavish decorations, live performances, and enough luxury to make lesser sinners drool on sight, but beneath all the glitter and theatrics, the event functioned more like an enormous networking battlefield disguised as a celebration.
The Overlords used the gathering to extend influence beyond Pentagram City and into the other Rings of Hell through partnerships with Hellborn merchants, nobles, corporations, and distributors, since Hellborn demons possessed something sinners did not: the freedom to travel between Rings.
Any Overlord serious about expanding their power attended.
Which meant every major figure in Hell would be present, including you.
Then a grin stretched slowly across Vox's screen.
Valentino immediately recognized that smile.
It was the one Vox wore right before becoming somebody else's problem.
Vox adjusted his coat slowly, grin widening. "Well then," he said smoothly, voice crackling faintly with anticipation now instead of rage, "I guess I'll just have to introduce myself properly.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
notes: yes, Salina here is the same character in Hazbin Guarantee song. the next update will be on 8th june! lemme know if you wanna be tagged!
Summary: On top of dividing your time between Alastor and Vox, you now have your newly awakened magical abilities to deal with: your shadow has been acting all finicky and you've been accidentally shocking everyone around you. Also, the countdown to the next Extermination is still ticking and it's getting harder and harder to dodge meeting the other Vees. You going to have to get a handle of these powers and the plot, and you're going to have to do it soon before it gets out of hand.
notes friends to lovers, slow burn, heavy pining, down horrendous neteyam, inexperienced neteyam and reader, smut (p in v), oral (f&m receiving), dry humping
synopsis for twenty-two generations, your father’s family has guarded a sacred legacy: one woman will choose a life of solitude and remain unmated for life for the service of the great mother and the people. you decided it will be you now... except for one problem. neteyam. the boy who has looked at you with quiet and unwavering devotion since you were children.
word count 19.2k
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
You sat perfectly upright in the healing pavilion, your fingers meticulously sorting herbs as Kiri hummed softly beside you, a little unfocused as she sorted her own set of herbs. She has always been a little too connected to the forest and all its creatures. Once, when you were children, she’s told you about how she can feel Eywa in every plant, and every animal that crawls and walks.
You believed her without thinking twice. You wished you could connect to Eywa the same way she does, because it is your greatest dream to follow the path of your great aunt, Äye. You could see her now in your mind’s eye, her skin mapped with the lines of nearly eighty years of wisdom. She has been serving Eywa and the people since the Tsahik that Mo’at succeeded, so her counsel is sought on all matters of faith and ritual, even by Mo’at.
For the past twenty-two generations, a woman in your father’s family chooses the same path. They are women who belonged to no man, but to the Great Mother and the people. You aspire to be just like all of them. Your great aunt is the blueprint of your soul, so at twelve years old, you had already decided to tuck away your heart, to pay attention to no boy in the clan, preparing your life for one of worship.
“He didn't even look back once,” Yaremu’s voice pulled you away from your thoughts, her chin now rested in her hands as she neglected the poultice she was supposed to be thickening. “Neteyam, I mean. He’s so focused... Remember what the elder hunters said about the sturmbeest hunt? My uncle said it was the cleanest kill he’s seen from a boy of thirteen years. Not a single wasted movement.”
“And those eyes...” Another girl, Tasi, gushed, her tail twitching with excitement. “He’s going to be such a strong Olo’eyktan one day. Imagine being the one who gets to stand beside him.”
You kept your head down, making their chatter a background sound to your more interesting work of grinding your herbs on a mortar.
“Kiri,” Tasi whispered, leaning in closer. “Since you’re the sister. Is he always like that? And what about Lo'ak? Just the other day, he teased me about my braids and I know I ought to hate it, but he’s so cute I forgot to be annoyed!”
Kiri, who was lazily braiding a length of vine, gave a lopsided grin. “Lo’ak is… well, Lo’ak. He’s a total boy. He spends half his time trying to prove he’s a man and the other half being rowdy and disobedient. He doesn't know when to be quiet.“ She rolled her eyes.
You nodded in agreement while the girls giggled.
Yaremu pressed on, “And Neteyam?”
“Neteyam is alright,” Kiri said, shrugging. “He’s the eldest, after all, so he has a lot to do. He takes care of us when Mom and Dad are not around, and since he’s a hunter now, he’s mostly out.”
“He's so handsome,” Yaremu breathed, nudging you. “Don't you think so, too? He’s always in front of you when we study. Surely you’ve noticed how good he looks when the sun hits his shoulders?”
You paused your grinding, your brows already furrowed. You did not notice that at all. You felt the weight of their gaze, three pairs of eyes curiously waiting for what you have to say. “I notice that his grinding technique is sloppy,” you said, your voice flat. “And that he distracts the circle with their nonsense. If he is to be a leader, he should learn that a healing pavilion is a place of silence, not a stage for his friends to sneaker and fool around.”
The girls exchanged looks, suppressing smiles and rolling their eyes playfully. Tasi bumped her shoulder against yours. “You’re always too serious, sister! You can always study really hard and still have eyes in your head. Everyone should appreciate a beautiful hunter.”
A sudden, raucous burst of laughter was heard from outside the pavilion, making Yaremu and Tasi sit up straighter, going back to their works in an instant. It was a sound you knew very well and it always seemed to follow a particular group. Your cheeks burned, feeling like you’d been caught talking about him even though you were just answering questions! You sat properly, your jaw tightening a little as the voices grew louder, nearing the pavilion.
“Neteyam, you almost dropped it!” a voice boomed, followed by a chorus of snorts.
“I did not! It was Lo’ak, he bumped me!” Neteyam’s voice, already deepening, carried a playful defiance.
A small, knowing sigh escaped your lips. These interruptions are now a constant backdrop to your studies, and you hated it. They weren't even supposed to be here, especially Neteyam, who had just successfully passed his iknimaya and gone through his uniltaron, yet here they were, led by him, no less. You can’t even complain because even though they are rowdy, they are not only eager to learn, this is also beneficial to them as future warriors and hunters of the clan.
Neteyam himself proved to be an exceptional student in the art of healing, which you think is simply natural for him for he excels in everything anyway. He has earned so much praise from Mo’at’s assistant healers that they are now discussing a new initiative with the senior warriors: making first-aid training a requirement for every young warrior and hunter.
The bead curtain at the entrance of the pavilion clattered as the boys spilled inside. You saw Neteyam leading the way, his stride possessing a new, grounded grace since he became a full-fledged warrior of the clan following his iknimaya last season. Close behind were Lo’ak, who was busy trying to trip Atan, while Kipey struggled to carry a bundle of practice splints. Suddenly, the pavilion felt small and their boundless energy made you dizzy. The serene atmosphere you and the girls have earlier is now all but a thing of the past.
Healers Sayka and Jahi entered the pavilion not long after, and because you were looking at them, your eyes caught Neteyam’s and saw him already looking at you. You felt the fine hair on your nape standing up, a bizarre feeling that made you smoothly roll your eyes away, greeting the healers the same time they did.
“Find your places, quickly now,” called out Sayka, the senior assistant healer, as she walked down the aisle followed by Jahi. “The Great Mother does not wait for boys to finish their jests.”
The boys scrambled to sit. Naturally, Neteyam chose the spot directly across from you and your eyes met his again which you quickly averted by looking down on your pestle and mortar. He sat straighter and every time you reached for a new herb or adjusted your posture, you could feel his gaze, not heavy or lecherous, but steady nonetheless, as if he's focusing on a single star in the night sky to properly navigate in the air.
“We heard of the incident during the hunt three days ago,” Sayka began, her eyes landing on Neteyam. “One of the hunters took a horn to the thigh. Messy business,” all of you gasped. “Neteyam took care of the first aid. Didn’t you, Neteyam?”
Your eyes drifted to him and you saw him glanced at you before he turned to Sayka to silently nod at her.
“Tell the circle what the wound look like and what you did before the hunter was brought to the Tsahik.”
Neteyam shifted his focus to Sayka, though you felt the ghost of his attention still lingering on you. “It was a jagged gash,” he said, his voice grounded. “The horn had hooked the flesh, so it wasn't a clean line. There was a lot of blood...”
You watched for any fear or anxiety on his face, but there was none, only certainty and confidence that shouldn't belong on the face of a fourteen-year-old.
“And how did you respond?” Sayka pressed.
“I used a cloth tie as a tourniquet above the wound to slow the flow,” Neteyam explained. "Then I used river water to flush out the dirt. I didn't have any paste, so I just held a soft fortune leaf over it with steady pressure until we brought him to Tsahik.”
“Good. Simple and fast,” Sayka nodded and swept around with her gaze. “A jagged wound is not like a clean wound brought by the slice of a knife. If you have observed a clean slice, it most often closes on its own, but a jagged wound is an angry one. It stays open. Neteyam did well to flush it because with a jagged wound, the first thing to do is to clean it. Dirt hides in the flaps of the skin, so you must use cool, flowing water to wash away the debris. If anything is still inside, you leave it for the Tsahik, but if there’s none, you must clean it thoroughly.”
You nodded eagerly. You haven’t dealt with wounds like that before. Mostly, it was just scraped or small cuts. You wondered what a jagged wound actually looked like and debated whether to ask Neteyam for further details after the class is over. You took a thick and waxy dapophet leaf from the bundle Jahi was distributing. As the leaves were distributed, the quiet was immediately punctured by Lo’ak’s muffled snickering. He was leaning over to Kipey, whispering something about how Neteyam sounded like a “grumpy old grandmother” when he talked about bandages.
You felt a familiar spark of irritation, looking up to to fix the boys with a reprimanding glare, but your eyes didn't even make it to Lo’ak. They crashed into Neteyam’s instead and saw him already looking. The dappled sunlight filtered through the woven roof, casting golden patterns on him and for a moment, you understood what Yaremu was talking about. He is handsome, especially when bathed in sunlight.
You felt something in you flutter. Somewhere in your belly and it tickles. You parted your lips to let out an indignant huff, snapping your gaze away to fix it on Jahi when she spoke. The girls have instilled such ridiculous notions in your head and now, this is what happens!
“The leaves in your hands have a tough outer layer, but inside it is filled with fluid. Now, each of your leaves have a jagged cut you must stitch close,” Jahi explained and you smiled excitedly, looking down at your leaf and the stitching materials being distributed. “Remember not to pierce it too deeply or pull the edges too hard, because the juice might run out. This is similar to a wounded person, you wouldn’t want to pierce them too deeply or pull their skin too hard, would you? You must be mindful to the weight of your own hands.”
You concentrated on your work, carefully stitching the leaf back together. The girls are also silent, which is something you love about them, because nothing could take away their concentration from studying, not even the boy they’ve been mooning over minutes earlier. What annoys you, though, is that you are the one distracted. You could feel his constant glances on you and you decided you’re done with it.
You lifted your head to meet his eyes and you found him with his eyes already on you, as if waiting for the contact. It was infuriating. “Is there something wrong with my stitching, Neteyam?” you asked suddenly, your voice cutting through the silence.
The boys froze. Atan and Kipey exchanged wide-eyed looks.
Neteyam blinked, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “No,” he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “You’re perfect. I mean, I mean your technique... It’s perfect. I was just looking to see... If I’m doing it right.”
Lo’ak cleared his throat and pretended to cover his face to cough, but his shoulders were shaking, and his face and neck darkened to purple. He was laughing. What’s so funny? You tilted your head and look at Neteyam’s leaf. He was doing it right. Your own face burned in embarrassment. Perhaps, he was truly just trying to look at yours to see if he’s doing his stitching right!
“I think yours is good. It looks like a clean stitch,” you said, returning to your leaf without waiting for a response.
“Thanks...“ he said, his voice still soft.
You heard the boys snicker and from your peripheral gaze, you can see them tease Neteyam with silent nudges. You looked at them and narrowed your eyes. The healers only left for a few moments and they are so rowdy again!
Neteyam, who had been grinning at something Lo’ak said, felt the weight of your gaze. You saw him turn, his golden eyes meeting yours, and his smile died instantly. The bravado drained out of his shoulders. He sat up straighter, his ears pinning back for a second before he composed himself into a mask of sudden, intense seriousness. Lo’ak started to let out another muffled laugh, but Neteyam’s elbow caught him sharply in the ribs.
“Shut up,” Neteyam whispered at his brother before clearing his throat and looking down at his own leaf with the intensity of a scholar.
The rowdiness of the boys died down into a strained, respectful silence, all because you had looked at Neteyam. Kiri turned to you with a knowing, almost mischievous glint in her golden eyes. You fixed her with a confused look and she shook her head, softly chuckling to herself.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
You stood in a drawn circle at the training ground with your bowstring drawn back against your cheek. Tasi and Yareumu had already abandoned their targets, preferring to sit in the shade and braid flowers into each other's hair, giggling as they watched the young warriors spar in the ring. All four of you decided to train in archery just last season, but the two of them, including Kiri last week, already gave up on their trainings, citing its futility in the path they are choosing.
Two years had passed and the soft roundness of your childhood had now sharpened into lean, graceful lines of a young lady. At fourteen, the weight of the path you’re forging for yourself is no longer just a dream, but more and more like a shape forming true. You wanted to be of full service to the people, not just as a healer, but as a protector as well, even though you will not be Tsahik. So now, you’re planning to tame an ikran just like Kiri had the year before.
“It’s too much work for my arms,” Tasi sighed, waving a dismissive hand at her discarded bow. “Besides, why do I need to be an archer if I am to be a healer?“
“Because a healer must sometimes be the one to keep the patient alive before the wound is attended to,” you replied without looking back, releasing the arrow. It thudded into the center of the mossy target with a satisfying thwack.
“You are always so serious,” Yaremu teased. “Look, even the boys have stopped their sparring to watch you. Jeto looks like he’s forgotten how to breathe.”
You didn't spare them a glance. You think boys are stupid... Some of them have already wasted half an hour watching and hooting at your every move. The same bunch even tried to invent “accidents” in the past moons just so you would look at them. If Neteyam hadn’t scolded them, they would have continued distracting you in your trainings. Fortunately, they’ve stopped now... But the annoyance of their constant attention has not ceased.
Neteyam stood with Kiri far behind you, supposedly discussing your plan to go up the Hallelujah Mountains soon to tame an ikran for yourself, but he couldn’t help but watch you, his ears tuning out everything Kiri was saying.
You seemed so uncaring of the boys’ antics, your chin tilted high, your air always radiating that quiet, indifferent coldness that made you seem miles above the dirt of the training ground.
“She’s such a snob,” he heard one of the boys mutter behind a rack of spears.
“As if it’s your first time. Keep doing nonsense and she’ll keep ignoring you!” Another replied, followed by a chorus of laughter.
Neteyam’s eyes narrowed, a familiar surge of irritation rising in him. Of course. Other boys saw in you what he saw, but he couldn't pretend you were exclusively his to appreciate. Everyone admired you, from their parents to the children, the girls and the boys. And he couldn’t claim to be so different from them...
He had known for a long time exactly what you were to him.
“Neteyam? Are you even listening?” Kiri’s voice poked through his trance. She was leaning against a wooden rack, a knowing smirk playing on her lips as if she knows a secret he doesn’t. “I said the wind currents near the mountains are shifting. If she’s going up in three days, we need to leave earlier."
Neteyam cleared his throat, adjusting the strap of his knife sheath to hide his flustered state. “I heard you. The eastern peaks. I’ll make sure the gear is ready.”
He stepped forward, his shadow touching the edge of your circle. He didn't hover or said anything stupid like the other boys. He’s a boy of sixteen years now, much more matured than the boy he used to be, and somehow, you’ve separated him entirely from the others. You respect Neteyam. He is the future of the clan after all, the next in line to the Omatikaya leadership, and nothing about his presence demanded anything from you.
He waited for you to release your final arrow before he spoke. “Your draw is getting faster,” he noted, his voice an octave lower, and Kiri couldn’t help but snicker at her brother’s attempt to make his voice sound manlier in your ears.
“I have been practicing,” you said, lowering your bow, turning to face him. Your expression was the same mask of cool indifference you wore for everyone, but your eyes lingered on him a fraction longer than they did on the others and sometimes... When it lingered too long, you can feel your belly do the thing. The crazy thing.
He tilted his head and your eyes fluttered, not knowing what to track. Dappled sunlight was on him again and his braids were longer. It annoyed you to think that no boy in the clan is as handsome as him... And perhaps your friends are right. Eywa gave the people a vision to appreciate beauty.
“I can tell,” he said, his voice soft as though he wanted only you to hear what he's saying. “But you’re gripping the bow too tightly. Your hand will cramp and it won’t be good for our climb in two days.”
“I will adjust it,” you said, tearing your gaze off of him.
“You should,” he replied, stepping a bit closer, effectively blocking the view of the snickering boys behind him. “If you’re going to tame an ikran, you can't afford a cramped hand.”
You nodded once, adjusting your hand on the bow. Neteyam watched you adjust your grip, his eyes tracing the line of your knuckles until they softened. He felt a fierce, silent satisfaction in the way his body acted as a shield between you and the persistent stares of the other boys. He knew he shouldn’t feel that way about his possessiveness... The first thing an eldest brother like him ever learned was to share... And yet.
Two days later, you found yourself climbing what seemed like a never-ending vine path upwards. You see nothing below you but mist and hear not but the splash of a distant waterfalls and heavy breathing from the three of you. From his position just behind you on the vine paths, Neteyam found it difficult to focus on the climb.
His eyes were constantly drawn upward to the way you moved. You climbed with a desperate kind of grace, your fingers gripping the ancient roots with a strength that made his chest ache. He saw the sweat beads glistening on your temple and the way your jaw remained set in that stubborn resolve.
Every time you reached a treacherous gap, he felt his own breath hitch. He wanted to reach out, to catch you or guide you, but he knew better. He knew you wouldn’t like being treated more than a casual peer, so he was careful with everything he did, determined not to be shut out like the other boys.
When you all finally reached the summit, he handed you a waterskin and a woven cloth to wipe your sweat with before he even thought of his own thirst and sweat. Though you had your own supplies, you accepted them, only realizing later as you drank the cool water that he’d given you his. He was already focused on watching the ikran, calmly assessing them without bothering to wipe his sweat.
“Hoo! That was one hell of a climb,” Kiri said, drinking from her skin. “You ready?”
You nodded, untying your own waterskin and stepping closer to Neteyam to hand it to him. “You gave me yours,” you said, your eyes sharp and reprimanding, assuming he was too tired to remember you had your own. He accepted it, but you pulled back and opened the lid for him. As your attention shifted to the shrieking, flapping ikran, you missed the way his eyes flared with surprise and intense attraction. Kiri saw it, though, and chuckled to herself. You turned to Neteyam again.
Before he could even get another sip, you huffed, your eyes eyeing the beads of sweat rolling down his temple that was, frankly, getting on your nerves. You grabbed your own woven cloth, your hand wrapping around his forearm. “Hold still,” you muttered, stepping into his personal space.
You didn't dab at him gently. Instead, you used firm strokes, wiping his forehead and the bridge of his nose. Your brow furrowed in a small scowl as you moved to his neck. He was standing perfectly still, his breath hitching as he looked down at you. He didn't care that you were practically buffing his skin raw, because to him, the rough friction felt like a brand. He wasn’t asking for reward, but don’t mind if he greedily enjoys this. He leaned into it a fraction, his chest rising and falling in a heavy rhythm that had nothing to do with the climb you all had just finished.
“There,” you said, finally satisfied. You shoved the cloth into his hand and his fingers touched yours. “Now drink. We don't have all day.”
You turned back to the ikran, missing the dazed, lopsided grin he directed at the back of your head. Kiri, standing a few feet away, just shook her head and gagged quietly. Could there be a worse nightmare for a 15-year-old girl than watching a romance unfold between her older brother and her best friend?
“I’m ready now,” you spoke, doing small jumps on the balls of your feet.
“Good luck,” Neteyam said in a hoarse voice, staying back with Kiri.
His heart hammered against his ribs like an forest ikran trapped in a vine as he watched you step onto the rocky arena, a lone figure among the beasts.
“Choose her,” he whispered under his breath, his fingernails digging into his palms. “See her as I see her.”
He watched a forest-green ikran lunge at you, its beak snapping with lethal intent. Most would have flinched, but you didn't. Neteyam’s breath caught in his throat, he practically stopped breathing as he watched you circle the beast, a blur of blue and shadow, as you dodge each of the beast’s attempt to strike.
When you finally leaped, clambering onto the beast’s neck and wrestling it toward the precipice, Neteyam took an involuntary step forward. His stomach dropping as he watched you both tumble over the edge, a chaotic mess of wings and limbs disappearing into the white abyss of the clouds. Your name tore at his throat, a shout full of fear. He was reminded of the many Omatikaya who died trying the same thing, and for a moment he felt his heart stop beating.
Silence stretched for eternity, both he and Kiri couldn’t talk, and then, a piercing shriek broke through the mist. Neteyam’s heart soared as you flew in the air, banked in a sharp, elegant curve. A lopsided grin broke through his mouth. You are now a rider. The way you sat atop the beast, your braids streaming behind you, and your face etched with a look of pure, wild triumph, was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
He didn't waste a second. He whistled for his own ikran that was flying aimlessly around the mountains. He mounted in one fluid motion and pushed his mount hard, diving into the sky to join you. As he pulled up alongside you, the wind roaring in his ears, he saw you look over.
The cold indifference was gone, burned away by the adrenaline of the bond. You laughed, a sound he had heard so rarely it felt like a gift, and for a second, his golden eyes locked onto yours.
I see you. I see you. I see you.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
You gripped the pestle as you grinded the dried roots on the mortar. This is one those days when your friends are not with you, leaving you alone in the quiet of the Tsahik’s tent. You’re not quite sure which version you enjoy better, and you were just deciding that you actually like the peace and quiet when the flap burst open. Kiri stumbled in, her hair a mess and her expression frantic. In her arms, a very energetic and chunky Tuk was squirming, trying to catch a glowing fly.
“Oh, thank the Great Mother, you’re here,” she gasped, nearly dumping Tuk onto your worktable. “Grandmother just sent word. She wanted me to assist her in sister Tayke’s birth, apparently it’s complicated. Mom and Dad won't be back until eclipse. I have to go.”
You looked up from the tray of dapophet leaves you were sorting, blinking in surprise. "Kiri, I have three tinctures to finish before—”
“Please!” Kiri pleaded. “Neteyam is on patrol, Lo’ak is busy training the young ones, and Tuk is… Well, I can’t bring her with me. You’re the only one I trust not to let her eat a poisonous berry or wander off and fall to her death.”
You looked down at Tuk, who was now pulling at your medicine pouch with a wide, toothy grin. You felt warmth in your chest and your eyes soften, Kiri knew you were sold. “Fine,” you sighed, a small smile tugging at your lips.
“You’re a life-saver! Literally!” Kiri shouted over her shoulder as she vanished back out of the tent.
For the first hour, it was chaos. Tuk treated the healing tent like a playground, toddling around and stacking your mortar bowls into towers and trying to “heal” her woven doll with the rarest medicinal pastes. But as the sun began to dip, her energy flickered out. The excitement turned into a sudden realization that she was tired and her mother wasn't there. Her small lips began to tremble, then came the first sob.
“I want Mama,” she said in a small voice, sending a pang to your chest.
“Oh, Tuk-tuk, no, don't cry,” you murmured, quickly moving to her. You scooped her up, tucking her small, heavy body against your chest.
You began to pace the length of the tent, swaying slowly which you had seen the mothers do a thosuand times. You hummed a low melody that seemed to soothe the child. Slowly, the wails turned into soft hiccups, and then into the deep breathing of sleep. You stayed there, standing in the center of the tent, swaying gently and feeling a strange, quiet peace settle over you.
Until the silence was broken by the soft thuds of footsteps outside. Neteyam moved the flap open, his large frame nearly filling the entrance. He had a large, bundled wrap of fortune leaves, the ones you had mentioned needing a few days ago. He had gone straight from his shift to the high ridges just to find them for you.
He stopped mid-stride, his breath catching in his throat at the sight.
He had expected to find you hunched over your work, with your brow furrowed in concentration. This was the last thing he would have expected seeing. The low glow of the hanging firepot illuminated the side of your face and the soft curve of your arms as you cradled his sister. You looked radiant, your face devoid of the mask of cold indifference you wear like an armor. From his current view, you are something warm, something attainable, something his.
Neteyam felt a surge of heat in his chest that made his pulse thrum in his ears. He noticed, with a sudden and sharp clarity, how the last few years had finished their work on you. The slight softness of the girl he used to trail behind had vanished, replaced by the striking, lithe form of a woman. Your beauty, the confidence in the way you stood, and the depth in your gaze all felt like a challenge to everything he knew about your vows. He knew of your great aunt Äye, he knew the weight your family’s traditions. But seeing you there, swaying his sister to sleep, made his heart ache with a hunger that no amount of prayer could suppress.
You turned your head slowly, your eyes widening as you saw him. “Neteyam,” you breathed, your lips curving into a soft, genuine smile.
It didn't help with the delusions he was currently having.
For you, the sight of him was no less of a shock. You were no longer the twelve-year-old girl who was simply annoyed by a rowdy boy. Now, those “stupid” teenage flutters in your belly had evolved into something more. Looking at him now, you felt a creeping heat settle on your nape and spread down your spine.
He had grown so much. He was so much taller and broader, his skin mapped with faint scars, and his golden eyes carry a depth that made you feel exposed. You hated how handsome he had become and how his presence seemed to command the very air in the tent. You looked at the heavy muscles of his arms, then back to his face, and felt a wave of shame.
These are bad thoughts, you scolded yourself, even as your heart hammered a rhythm of betrayal against your ribs. Your skin was tingling and you were practically fighting not to hug Tuk against you harder in your attempt to quell it. A woman on your path should not hunger for the touch of a man! But as your eyes met his in the dimmed light, the ’path’ you had walked so carefully for years suddenly felt terrifyingly narrow.
“You're back,” you whispered. “Kiri said you were on patrol.”
“I was,” he managed to say. He didn't move to put the leaves down. He didn't want to break the tether of this moment. “I found what you needed. Kiri said you were planning to go and get them yourself. Don’t want you going to the ridges on your own.” His head tilted, a brow rising in challenge.
“I’m perfectly capable of navigating the ridge, you mighty warrior. Thank you very much,” you countered, though the bite in your voice was softened by the warmth in your eyes as you swayed Tuk. “I’ve had my ikran for years now. Or did you forget who beat you in that race to the mountains last moon?”
Neteyam let out a short, huffed laugh, finally moving into the tent. “I didn't forget. I merely allowed the lady a moment of glory. It’s called being a gentleman.”
“It’s called being slow,” you shot back, a genuine smirk breaking through your face.
He reached out then, his large hands moving toward the sleeping toddler in your arms. “Here, give her to me. You looked like you’ve stood here for an hour already, I’m sure your arms are ready to fall off.”
As he leaned in to take her, Tuk stirred. Instead of reaching for her brother, she let out a tiny, sleepy whimper and buried her face deeper into the crook of your neck, her small fingers clutching your necklace.
“Oh,” you both whispered at the same time.
“Aww,” you cooed softly, your heart vibrating in your chest, making you almost shiver.
Neteyam echoed the sound with a look of such raw tenderness crossing his face that you had to look away. He didn't pull back; instead, he leaned down and pressed a lingering, gentle kiss onto Tuk’s forehead. His face was inches from yours, the scent of mint and the heat of his skin registering to your senses. You felt like a puddle of candle wax. Soft, melting, and utterly ruined.
“I guess I’m stuck,” you whispered, your voice slightly breathless.
His eyes lifted to meet yours, flashing a smile that made your belly go crazy. “Then let me be of use,” he said, turning to your workbench. “Since your hands are full, tell me what to do. I’m at your command.” He raised a brow playfully.
You didn't hesitate. You needed your tasks done and if he wanted to stay, you’re done fighting the pull. For tonight. “Fine. Those fortune leaves you brought needed to be stripped and ground. Gently, Neteyam,“ you said in a stern voice.
“Oh, I know gentle,“ he quickly remarked, looking down at his leaves just as quick as if he didn’t want to see how you’ll react.
You felt your face heat up at his remark. It could be innocent, you know, but because your mind has thought of many bad things when it came to him, you can’t react properly anymore! Your eyes narrowed. “Just get to work. Don't use your warrior strength on them, or you’ll bruise it.”
He sat down, hunched over the mortar and pestle. The sight was so domestic and it felt dangerously right. You rubbed the soft skin on Tuk's back when she nestled to you. Neteyam looked up and you raised a brow. “How was the western perimeter?” you asked instead. "Kiri mentioned the trackers saw fresh signs of a palulukan near the falls."
Neteyam’s ears flicked. “They did. A big one, too,” he paused to wipe a stray bit of leaf from his thumb. “Apparently, it crossed their path the other day. They had to stay up in the trees for an hour just to let it pass.”
The conversation drifted into something comfortable and domestic. You asked about the next sturmbeest hunt, and he asked about the last herbs he’s given you that you turned into cooling salves. It was so easy, so natural, that you feel nothing but comfort and warmth.
“Is this enough?” he asked, holding up the mortar. The leaves had been transformed into a perfect, dark-green paste, the scent of crushed mint rising from the bowl.
“It’s perfect,” you said, stepping closer to inspect his work. “You’ve missed your calling, warrior. You’d make a fine assistant to Mo’at.”
“I think I’ll stick to my bow,” he teased, his voice dropping into that lower, private register. “Stirring pots is much more dangerous work. I might get ordered around too much.”
“You say that as if you don't enjoy it," you countered, meeting his eyes.
He wasn’t only enjoying it. He was happy. He was more than happy. Every time he glanced up and saw you cradling Tuk, a small child who share the same features he got from his mother, his mind went to places that felt both beautiful and forbidden. He dared to imagine a life where this wasn't a temporary favor for Kiri, but a permanent reality.
The teasing died away when you heard the horn for the evening meal echoed. You walked together toward the communal clearing, the weight of the sleeping child in your arms and Neteyam’s steady presence at your side giving you a sense of belonging that terrified you.
“Your parents aren’t back yet,” you noticed, glancing at the empty dais.
Tuk stirred in your arms, slowly waking up from her slumber. Her eyes drifted to Neteyam, dazed at first but when it registered that her older brother is in front of her, her eyes widened. “Neteyam!” her tiny voice a shrill.
You chuckled, handing her over when she wriggled in your arms, her own tiny arms reaching for Neteyam who readily accepted her with a huff. “Ow. So heavy,” Neteyam playfully said, blowing a kiss on Tuk’s chubby cheek before looking at you. “You carried this boulder for hours?” His free hand shot down to hold one of your arm, instantly massaging.
You chuckled, pinching Tuk’s cheek. “It's alright,” you said, noticing the inquisitive looks some people are giving the two of you. Your cheeks burned, quickly sitting down. Neteyam immediately followed, settling Tuk on his lap. He sat close, close enough that your thighs where brushing, and as the food was passed around, you naturally began to tear off small pieces of roasted fish to feed Tuk.
Across the fire, Lo’ak was huddled with Atan and Kipey. The three of them were barely eating, their heads bowed together as they whispered and pointed.
“Look at them,” Atan snickered, nudging Lo’ak. “If I didn't know better, I’d say the Tsahik’s seat was already filled.”
“Total parents,” Kipey whispered, grinning. “Neteyam looks like he’s ready for a family at nineteen.”
Lo’ak snorted, watching you reach over to wipe a smudge of juice from a stomping Tuk’s chin while Neteyam watched you with a look of such longing and admiration it was almost embarrassing to witness. “He’s gone,” Lo’ak muttered, shaking his head. “He’s been gone for years. He’s practically just waiting for her to melt up.”
“Nom nom!” Tuk said eagerly while a piece of the meat she was holding fell on your thigh.
Neteyam’s hand shot out to pick it up, quickly popping it into his mouth. You looked at him in disbelief. “That just fell,” you pointed out as you watched him chew.
“Not on the ground, but on your skin. That makes it a blessing,” he countered, his voice hummed with a playful vibration.
A blessing? You rolled your eyes away, focusing your attention on Tuk’s messy face to hide the flush creeping up your face. “You are disgusting,” you muttered, though there was no real heat in it.
“I’m efficient,” he corrected, leaning in closer so his shoulder brushed yours. “And hungry. Patrolling is exhausting work, especially when you’re looking for fortune leaves on the side.”
Tuk giggled, sensing the shift in energy, decided to pat Neteyam’s cheek with a sticky hand. “Neteyam silly!”
“See? Even the little one knows,” you teased, finally regaining your composure. You reached for a damp cloth to clean Tuk’s hand, but Neteyam beat you to it. His large fingers gently wrapped around his sister’s small wrist, wiping her palm with a tenderness that made your chest ache.
As you basked in the laughter of the people surrounding you, the thought of the solitary path you were always so sure of your entire life suddenly feel like a cold, lonely place that you didn’t notice you were already leaning closer to the warmth of Neteyam’s arm against yours. In that moment, it was the only thing that mattered.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
The sounds of voices and of hunters sparring in the training grounds grew louder as you hurried past, your arms filled with fresh bundles of sterilization moss and clean cloths. Mo’at had sent word about the labor of one of the pregnant women in the clan. You were in a hurry, your pace swift yet your spine remained straight, your chin tilted high, as per usual.
A hunter called your name from the weapon racks. “Careful there, the ground is uneven! Do you need strong hunter to clear the path for you?“
“She won't answer you, skxawng,“ another laughed. “Perhaps if you bring her herbs, or better yet, if you were a better warrior than Neteyam!”
“Just ask me to be the next Toruk Makto, why don’t you?” The former remarked sarcastically.
Neteyam watched from the sidelines, a senior warrior was talking to him but his gaze was busy tracking you, watching how you didn't even break your stride or tilt your head. Your chin remained high, your eyes focused on the path ahead. He had known for a long time that to you, the voices of men who call to you were merely just buzzing of summer insects, something too beneath your notice.
“I’ll work on that, brother, then I’ll get back to you,” he told the senior warrior, nodding to him seriously. The latter clapped his shoulder before walking away.
“What a shame,“ he heard one of the hunters mutter. “To have such beauty in the clan, only for it to be locked away for the Great Mother. She takes after Äye. She won't ever look at a man, let alone mate with one.”
“Unattainable,” heard another agree, sighing. “She’s like the High Peak. Beautiful to look at, but no one is meant to live there.“
Their conversation, though, halted instantly the moment Neteyam strode out from the shade. His eyes were dark and unimpressed as he looked at them, that even the hunters a few years older than him couldn’t help but look away.
“Is that what we do now?” Neteyam asked, his voice low but cutting. “Stand around the racks, bothering those on tasks for the Tsahik? Talking about our women with disrespect?”
The first hunter looked away, embarrassed. “It was just a joke, Neteyam.”
“Your mouths keep buzzing like forest insects,” Neteyam snapped, stepping forward so they were forced to look at him. “This constant hooting at her is getting old. Have you not outgrown it? She is doing important work for the clan. If I see the bunch of you doing anything other than training again, I will personally ensure all of you spend the rest of the moon cleaning the waste pits.”
They nodded efficiently, their faces the poster of good behavior, but Neteyam would remember. The next time this happens again, it won’t be just scolding they are getting. He remained standing there though, reflecting on what the hunters have said. None of it had been a lie and he’d felt the bitter, familiar spark of pride and pain flickered in his chest. They are right, he thought, you are unattainable.
He knew better than anyone the depth of your conviction. Over the past years, your quiet friendship had become the foundation of his life, but it was a foundation built on a boundary he could never cross. He had seen you at your most vulnerable and your most powerful, and in his heart, he had long ago committed a quiet kind of blasphemy. He worshiped Eywa the best he could, but you were his deity on land, one whose words he followed without question. One he guards with all of him.
Now, at twenty-one, he had become as reserved as you are, making a silent vow of his own: if you were to be alone, he would be alone with you. He would make a good Olo’eyktan but he didn’t need to be mated to ensure that. The tradition of the leaders being mated was a strong one, but Neteyam knew he could never give himself to another woman when his soul and his heart had long been claimed by a woman who belonged to the Great Mother. If friendship was all the nectar you could offer, he would live his entire life on that single drop.
He turned back to his warriors. He would lead, he would hunt, and he would protect. And in the quiet hours of the night, he would continue to love you from the distance you required, content to be the only man you didn't ignore, even if he could never be the man you held
Hours later, you are alone in the Tsahik’s tent, the adrenaline of the birth you assisted for the first time had yet to leave your system. You were wiping down a set of obsidian scalpels when the tent flap lifted, letting in the cool evening breeze that carried the familiar smell that always seemed to ground you.
Neteyam didn't speak at first, standing just inside the entrance. He had showered away the dust of the training grounds, his skin gleaming in the soft light of the firepot. You lifted your eyes, your lips still curved in a small, satisfied smile. You let your eyes do the thing they always do when he’s in front of you. Feast on. He was the very image of a future leader. Muscled, scarred, and radiating an authority that silenced most men with a single look.
“Hi,” you greeted.
His lips formed a boyish smile. “The village is finally quiet,” he said, his voice dropping into that private, velvet register. “Was the delivery alright? How was it?“
You sighed softly, and for the first time that day, your mark dissolved into a radiant, tired smile. “It was a boy,” you breathed, setting the scalpel down. “Healthy and loud. He didn't stop wailing until Mo’at placed him on his mother’s chest.“
Neteyam moved closer, leaning against a support beam near your herb rack. “And the mother?“
“Strong. She was incredible, Neteyam.” You moved to a bundle of dried leaves, your hands working quickly to sort them, your enthusiasm bubbling over. “But you should have heard Mo’at. While she was cleaning the babe, she looked at him and then looked at me and said, ‘this one is small. Neteyam, now, he was a giant. The biggest baby I have seen in all my cycles’. She said you were so large she nearly wondered if Neytiri had hidden a second child behind you.”
Neteyam’s ears flicked back, a rare flush appeared on his cheeks. He huffed a laugh, looking down at his large, callous hands. “A giant, was I? I suppose I’ve given my mother’s back quite the ache.”
You let out a genuine, silvery chuckle, the sound dancing through the quiet tent. “I truly wish I could have seen you then. You were the very first of your kind, your father’s blood... and that of ours. I’m sure you were beautiful.” you mused, your voice softening as you looked at him. You realized too late how that sounded, and you quickly turned back to your jars. “It is a wonder of Eywa.”
“Is that why you look at me so closely sometimes?“ he teased, stepping into your personal space to reach for a heavy jar on a high shelf you are struggling to reach.
“I do not look at you closely,” you lied, your heart doing that treacherous dance against your ribs as he reached over your head. His arm was a solid wall of muscle beside your ear, and the scent of mint enveloped you.
“You do,” he countered softly, handing you the jar but not pulling his hand away until your fingers were firmly around his. “You track my movements like I am a complex creature you are trying to categorize. It is quite intimidating, being under the gaze of the clan’s most devoted scholar.”
You rolled your eyes, though your hands were trembling. “You are imagining things. Why would I look at you...” Your lips pushed forward, your voice lacking bravado.
Your heart is beating too heavily against your chest and your palms are sweating. He notices. He knows your eyes are often on him. He knows you watch each of his movements, he knows you feel hot every time you see how his shoulder and chest significantly broadened and filled out with muscles, or how the sight of his muscled abdomen flexing makes your breath catch at your throat.
“Research? To see how the 'hybrid' grows?” he says, his voice too innocent.
Your teeth gritted at your attempt to stop a groan from escaping. You are going to hyperventilate! You cleared your throat. “Maybe,“ you managed to say, your voice tight as you gripped the jar he’d just handed you. “It is a healer's duty to be thorough. I simply... pay attention to detail.”
He chuckled while your face felt like it had been plunged into a firepot. Neteyam is too innocent, while your mind is filled with inappropriate thoughts that shouldn’t even be there in the first place. You are a woman firm on the sanctity of your path! For Eywa's sake, gather your wits!
“Well,” he murmured. “If the research is still ongoing, I suppose I am already here. Do you need to... measure anything else? Or is the height of the hybrid sufficient for today's report?”
Your breath caught in your throat. He was obviously teasing, his voice light and playful, but because you're guilty of your shameful thoughts, what is to him simple banter between friends is slow torture to you.
“I need to boil the nettles,” you said, abruptly turning your back you nearly bumped into a tray of obsidian.
Your hands trembled as you reached for a pot of water. Your mind, usually a home of prayer and medicinal formulas, was currently a chaotic mess. You’re both ashamed and shameless, because despite your guilt, you’re still thinking about how soft the chest on his skin looked in the light.
“You're using the cold-press pot for a boil,” Neteyam noted softly.
You felt him behind you, his chest nearly brushing your shoulder blades as he reached around you to get the correct ceramic vessel. For a heartbeat, you were encased in him. You could see the way the veins mapped his hands, hands that were built for a bow and arrow but also held the young with devastating gentleness.
Eywa, strike me down, you thought, squeezing your eyes shut for a fleeting second.
“Right. Of course,” you choked out, grabbing the correct pot from him with an unusual rashness that his surprised eyes flitted up to meet yours.
“You seem distracted,” he said, his voice losing some of its playfulness.
Your brows furrowed, intending to give him a sharp dismissal, but your gaze caught on the way his lower lip was slightly tucked under his teeth, a habit he’d had since he was ten. It was so boyish, so familiar, and yet, on this man’s face, it was lethal.
“No, of course, not... I’m just tired. It’s been a long day,” you said.
He nodded, his hand reaching out to tuck a stray braid behind your ear. “I’ll work on that, you can go and sit down. I’ll clean up, too,” he said, his eyes searching yours with a sincerity that made you want to scream. His hand wrapped around your upper arm to gently nudge you away from the hearth.
“I can do it,” you said, though your feet were already moving.
“You've been on your feet since the first light,” he countered, his voice firm with that quiet authority he had perfected over the years. “Let me do it, alright? I’ve got so much energy to spare. I didn’t have patrol today, so I’m practically a live wire.”
He turned back to the hearth, his movements fluid and confident. You sank onto the woven mat and from this lower vantage point, the view was even more treacherous. You tried to look at the ceiling. You tried to recite the properties of your herbs. You tried to pray. But your eyes kept drifting back to the way the light of the flames danced across the broad expanse of his back, and the way his tail flicked in a slow, content rhythm as he worked.
“There,” Neteyam said after a few minutes, oblivious to the spiritual crisis happening three feet behind him. He set the pot to simmer and began to move around the workbench. “The nettles are on. I’ve organized the herbs, cleaned everything, and put the scalpels back in its place. Is there anything else, or can I walk you back home now so you can get a better rest?”
“I can walk myself,” you said, perhaps a little too quickly. You scrambled to your feet, desperately trying to reassemble the fragments of your dignity. “Thank you, Neteyam. For the... assistance.”
He stood by the tent flap, holding it open for you. He didn’t press, you know he never would. You passed by him and he gave you a small, tired smile. “Sleep well,” he murmured, your name on his lips a soft caress.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
The summer heat had settled over the forest like a heavy, humid blanket, causing most Omatikaya youth to retreat to the river when the sun is at its high. Today alone, half the village had migrated to the banks, the air filled with splashes of water and sounds of laughter.
You sat on a smooth, warm boulder, the rock's heat seeping into your skin. Being bare was as natural as breathing for the people held no shame in the bodies Eywa gave them. Your legs were still submerged in the cold water as you eat the snacks you brought with you. Tasi and Yaremu were wading in the shallows nearby, their voices dropped to conspiratorial whispers that still carried easily over to you.
“He didn't stop there,” Yaremu was saying, her eyes wide and dancing with a secret, frantic energy. She was describing a rendezvous with her boyfriend las night, her hands gesturing toward her lower extremities submerged in the water. “He started at my ankles, and then… well, the way his tongue felt between my legs… I thought I was going to see the Great Mother right then and there.”
Tasi squealed and giggled, leaning in for more. “Was it better than the last time?”
“Oh, it was! It seems to get better and better, you know... We are exploring and learning each other’s bodies,” Yaremu grinned.
Tasi sighed dreamily. “I could say the same. But it’s the way he breathes against my neck that gets me,” Tasi whispered, her fingers tracing the line of her own collarbone. “The heat of it. And when he finally... when he enters, it’s like your whole body forgets how to be separate from his. You are basically a single entity, moving as one—”
Yaremu giggled, splashing a bit of water. “Oh, Great Mother! And the hands! How heavy they feel when they finally stop being polite and start claiming what they want.”
They both giggled, their bodies vibrating with frantic energy. Tasi looked at you and smiled a small one, “Oh, sister! I wish you could have experienced it... But the path reserved for the Great Mother is just as good,” she said.
You made a face of theatrical disgust. “Oh, don’t feel bad for me, sister, I’m not missing out. I can’t even imagine,” you said sassily.
But oh, that’s a big lie. Your mind, usually so disciplined, had been picturing a very specific set of calloused hands, a very specific weight. You saw them on your waist, just as Tasi had described, pulling you flush against the solid warmth of a very familiar body. You imagined the “weight” Yaremu spoke of, imagining how a certain body would weigh. Your mind even completed the picture by providing you with the familiar scent of mint and woodsmoke, you could actually smell it.
It’s like their words were seeds who fell into fertile soil, and now you felt a flush that had nothing to do with the sun.
That was when you saw him.
Neteyam was waist-deep in the deeper water a few paces away, his skin glistening. He was surrounded by a few other hunters, their voices a low drone but their laughter boisterous. He was mid-laugh, but anyone can tell his eyes would wander to you every now and then, because when his gaze drifted back to where you are, his laughter died down a little. His eyes locked onto yours, and the air between you seemed to burn.
There was no boyish embarrassment in the way he stared at you, no hurried glance at the sky. He watched you with a heavy, predatory stillness it made your nape feel like it’s burning as goosebumps pricked your skin. You are not ashamed in your nakedness, the people have always swam in the river like this, and nothing is new with seeing each other naked.
But the gaze of the man across from you had given you a defiant, primitive urge. Instead of hiding, you shifted. You leaned back on your palms, tilting your head to the side to let the sun hit your neck. You arched your spine slowly, a deliberate, feline stretch that pushed your chest forward. Your breasts, firm and perky, on display as the tips pebbled. You felt his eyes track the movement. From this distance, you could see his pupils blow wide, his tail breaking the surface of the water behind him in a sharp, agitated flick. He didn't move, but the tension radiating from him was palpable.
The tension followed you back to the village, and now, even as the sun dipped below the horizon and the communal fire dimmed, the memory of his gaze still made your skin hot. You were walking back to the Tsahik’s tent, intending to collect the herbs you dried and make the poultice you’ve been meaning to make.
The walk was silent, until it was broken by the sound of familiar footsteps behind you. You didn't need to turn around to know it was him. His scent had reached you and the air seemed to tighten, enough to tell you who it is. You plastered on a calm facade before you turned around, seeing him standing in the shadows, his silhouette tall and imposing, his breathing heavy as if he had run to get here.
“I wanted to make sure you were alright,” he said, his voice a low, rough grate. He stepped into the light of the firepot, his expression uncharacteristically strained. “Earlier, at the river... I hope I did not frighten you.”
Your lower lip caught between your teeth. You remembered the way your body had reacted to him, the way you had arched your back, offering yourself to his eyes. The shame you expected to feel was nowhere to be found, replaced instead by a blooming heat, and a frantic beating heart.
“I wasn't frightened,” you said softly, your voice barely a whisper. You took a small, daring step toward him, your heart hammering against your ribs. “I’m... I’m glad you saw me.”
Neteyam’s breath hitched, and then a huff of chuckle escaped his lips. What you said was just the surface, small in the vastness of what he had always held for you. “I have always seen you,” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave.
It seemed so simple, and yet it was all he could say. He wanted to tell you the truth of it, how he had been here since you were children, since the first time you ever looked at him after he had become aware of his feelings. That there was never been anyone else he truly saw. But he would not frighten you. To know that you were not frightened of him after his boldness at the river had been a relief.
You smiled softly, a genuine, aching look that reached your eyes. “I know... I also know that not everyone does...” you said, your hand lifted to press a palm against his muscled chest.
You are perceived differently by everyone in the clan. Just like Äye, you will soon be seen more as a figure of religion or the shadow of the Great Mother. But in your most private daydreams... This man in front of you sees you as a woman... But even if you know that he does, your path does not lead to him. Your palm felt scorched where it touched his chest, feeling the powerful thud of his heart against your fingertips. He was flesh and blood and heat.
He took a half-step closer, forcing you to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact. “They are fools...” he whispered.
You knew you should pull back. You should change the topic and speak of the cooling salves or the morning rituals. But the memory of the river, of the way he had looked at you when you were bare and unashamed, was the only thought taking over your mind.
“Neteyam,” you breathed.
You voice was so soft, so lovely in his ears, that for the first time in his life, he dared to break through the boundaries. He leaned down, his movement slow, giving you every second to turn away. But you stayed. You stayed until his forehead and nose touched yours. You heart was beating too fast it was aching in your chest. You wanted to hold him, to grab him and hold him tight to you.
When his lips finally met yours, it was a collision of years of unspoken feelings and repressed hunger. You let out a soft sound into his mouth as your fingers curled into his chest strap, pulling him closer until there was no air left between you. The kiss was clumsy at first, the frantic meeting of two people who had only ever touched in dreams, but then his hand moved to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your braids to tilt your head just right.
As he deepened the kiss, his other arm wound around your waist, hauling you flush against the unyielding lines of his body. You felt the heat of his skin and the terrifying strength of his hold. For this one moment, the twenty-two generations of solitary women in your family were silenced. The path was gone. There was only the weight of his hands and the feel of his soft lips against yours.
When he pulled back, just an inch, his breathing was ragged, his forehead resting against yours. He kept his arms locked around you, his chest heaving as he stared down at you with a look of pure, terrifying devotion. A huge smile sliced across your lips and he grinned, huffing a shaky laugh. You let a breathless laugh yourself, your fingers tangling in his braids.
“Are you making cooling salves? I can be of use. I make the best of them, you know that,” he said casually.
Your nose wrinkled. “I guess I’ll need the help,” you said, your eyes drifting back to his lips. “And the kisses, too.”
You startled when a thunder of laughter escaped him, pulling you to him for a more thorough hug. “Oh, my middle name has always been generous.”
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
You felt his tail wrap possessively around your leg, a grounding, heavy weight as his mouth moved to the sensitive curve where your neck met your shoulder. Your head fell back, a soft, traitorous moan escaping your lips. “Neteyam...” you muttered breathily. “Don’t leave marks...”
“Hmm?” he hummed with humor, his mouth already sucking some skin into its warmth.
“Tasi pointed out... the marks on my neck the other day,“ you said. “I can’t keep telling her it’s insect bites.”
His body shook as he chuckled, lifting his head to press a kiss on your lips. Then his lips repeated a trail on your jaw, leaving wet kisses and licks, making you smile as you held him tighter. “Why... Can’t help it. You taste so good,” he murmured.
“I’m not a fruit,” you countered.
He hummed, sucking on your skin softly. “So sweet, nonetheless.”
You cupped his face, bringing it up so you could kiss him. You both have improved significantly in the past weeks, having found a different hobby aside from talking, when you two are alone. He helps you in the healing tent, but it’s not always that your companions are not around, like today. Kiri and Mo’at are in the tent, preparing for a severe injury a hunter got from a hunt. You had told Mo’at you will search for night-blooming lilies, but your feet had led you straight to where you knew Neteyam finished his scout rounds.
And now, you’re here, half-lying against a massive tree root, under the comforting weight of a warrior who couldn’t stop kissing you. He deepened the kiss and you felt his hand hover on your waist. One of your hands lowered to hold one of them and his hand immediately move to intertwine his fingers with yours.
You smiled, but that was not your intention. You brought his hand to one of your peaks, moving your top aside so his hand could touch the soft flesh bare. You gained a soft groan from him and he lifted his head to look at you. You rose to chase his lips, pressing his hand on your boob and moaning when he began kneading it.
“Yes...“ you mumbled.
His lips lowered down and you arched your back, waiting for his lips to reach your peaks, and when it did, you fought with your entire body just so you wouldn’t shake and buck. The sensation felt so good, it made you feel even hotter. It made you want to close you thighs, but because his body was between your legs, you could only buck against him.
“Oh...” you moaned, bucking against him again when you felt a hard ridge make contact with your clothed softness. “Neteyam...”
He hummed, his mouth full of your soft flesh, sending delicious vibration across your chest. You felt his hand move down to your hips, holding you in place before his hips came down on you, dragging that hard ridge you felt earlier across your crotch. You shivered, squeezing your eyes tight as you moaned. He repeated it again and again until you felt so ticklish in that spot between your legs, feeling a warm pool of liquid gushing out of you.
“Fuck,“ you heard him say, moving away from you a little to fumble at his loincloth. You felt a warm wetness land on your thigh and he groaned. “Fuck, sorry,“ his deep voice grated and you felt his hand, but you were already lifting your head to see.
You lips parted at the sight of his erected cock on display, a gasp escaping you. It was long and thick, its wide tip a flush of dark indigo, wet with his own release. Most of the glistening essence was on the floor and some were on your thigh. You genuinely didn’t know what to focus on. Your mind wandered to Tasi’s talks and this can’t possibly be the thing that enters a woman.
You curiosity got the better of you though, your hand shot down to grab it but his hand was faster, grabbing your wrist and moving it away. Your nose flared in annoyance and your eyes lifted to glare at him, but he met you with eyes that spoke of challenge.
“That's right. Keep your eyes up here,” he said in that private, lower register, his hand putting that thing back inside his loincloth.
You groaned and pulled your wrist from him. “I just want to touch it,” you whined.
He angled his head to kiss you. “Unless you want to drive me insane, you can’t,” his hand hovered over your thigh to wipe his release off of your skin.
Your hand shot down again, but this time, to dip a finger on his release, popping it to your mouth before he could even react. You were like a kid left unattended with a food that fell on the ground and he's the adult keeping you away from it, because now, he's staring at you both in surprise and wonder. You hummed at its surprisingly good taste and he wasn’t even able to stop you when you dipped a finger the second time around, scooping more essence, and keeping eye contact with him as if daring him to stop you.
You broke eye contact to look at it, intending to scoop down again but his hand already wrapped around your wrist, stopping you. You glared at him, groaning again, but he was already wiping your thigh clean with a piece of cloth. Your lips pushed forward, sad to see the essence gone. “You’re such a kill joy,” you said in a whine, your tail moving under you in an agitated flick.
He huffed a chuckle, his face moving to kiss your pouting lips softly. “Sorry, my love... Maybe next time,” he murmured.
Your hands lifted to hold his face properly so you could kiss him better, smiling against his lips.
A week later, you found yourself standing above the plains, overlooking the valley below as you gripped your basket half-full of cliff-blossoms. Neteyam was leading a pack of young hunters on a sweep of the forest floor. From this distance, he was a vision of controlled power, commanding the space around him without even speaking. You watched him signal a halt with a sharp, fluid movement of his arm. He barked an order, his voice carrying upward, deep and resonant.
He was wearing his full warrior gear, the woven chest straps accentuating the massive breadth of his shoulders and cummerbund hugging his muscled torso. You felt a wave of heat wash over you, settling low in your belly. You were practically vibrating with a hunger that felt both blasphemous and inevitable. You imagined him coming to the Tsahik’s tent later tonight, covered in the dust of the hunt, and the way he would look at you when he finally got you alone.
“A natural leader, isn’t he?”
You jumped, nearly dropping your basket. Kiri was standing a few paces away, her head tilted, watching you with an expression that was far too perceptive for your comfort.
“The clan is in good hands,” you said quickly, forcing your voice into its usual even tone. You turned back to the cliff-side, picking at a blossom with trembling fingers.
She didn't say anything else, but the way she sniffed the air, a subtle twitch of her nose, made your heart stop. For weeks, she had been quiet, but you know how observant Kiri is; she knew the difference between the scent of night-lilies and the scent of her brother who had been spending far too much time tangled in your limbs.
Later that evening, the Tsahik’s tent was filled with the sounds of your friends’ chatters and the air thick with the smell of boiling herbs. Mo’at was away at a naming ceremony, leaving you, Kiri, Tasi, and Yaremu to manage the evening prep.
“He was so frustrated,” Yaremu giggled, crushing a handful of seeds. “I told him we couldn't go all the way, so he just... he took my hand and guided it. I didn't know a man could make those kind of sounds just from a touch of the fingers.”
Tasi leaned in, her eyes wide. “Wait, you just... with your hand? Like you were kneading dough?”
“More like stroking clay, but faster,” Yaremu whispered, her face flushed. “They get so sensitive there. It’s like they lose their minds.”
Kiri let out a boisterous cackle, throwing a piece of bark at Yaremu. “You two are so inappropriate! We are at the Tsahik’s tent!”
You stared into the boiling pot, the memory of Neteyam’s... thing... flashing behind your eyes. You had never seen it again, he made sure of that. But you remembered the way he had stopped you from touching it, the way he had claimed it would "drive him insane."
“Is it... difficult?“ you asked without thinking, your voice cutting through the laughter.
The tent went dead silent. Tasi and Yaremu stared at you as if you had just grown a second head. Even Kiri stopped laughing, her luminous eyes narrowing as she shifted her gaze toward you.
“Difficult?” Tasi repeated, stunned. “Since when do you care about the mechanics of a man’s pleasure?“
“I am a healer,” you said, your chin tilting up, though your pulse was racing. “I am simply curious about the... response. Yaremu mentioned they make sounds. Is it a reflex, or a choice?”
Yaremu grinned slowly. “Oh, it's a reflex, sister. They can't help it. If you move your thumb just right over the tip... they break. Even the strongest of them.”
You swallowed hard, your mind instantly picturing Neteyam breaking under your hand. The thought made the tips of your breasts ache against your top. “I see,” you said, stirring the pot with a bit too much force. “Fascinating. From a research perspective, of course.”
“Of course,” Kiri echoed. She moved closer to you, bumping her shoulder against yours. “Might I ask, sister, if you have been giving Neteyam your favorite lillies... Because he’s been smelling an awful lot like them lately.”
Your lips parted. You haven’t even noticed that! “M-Maybe... Maybe he uses them when he bathes,” you lied.
She pulled away with a smile, nodding as if she understood, while Tasi and Yaremu continued to gossip, blissfully unaware of what’s going on. You didn’t know whether to be worried about Kiri’s reactions or not, still thinking about it even when the evening meal was over. You went back in the Tsahik’s tent, focused on grinding a stubborn root into paste, your pestle acting as a heartbeat for the quiet room.
Your entire body seemed to melt into a puddle, though, when you heard the tent flap rustle. Neteyam stepped inside, looking exhausted but exhilarated. He had shed his heavy scouting gear, leaving only the chest strap. A small smudge of blue paint was smeared across his temple.
“Hey,” he greeted, his voice gravelly from shouting orders all day. He didn't wait for an answer before closing the distance, reaching out to tug playfully on one of your braids.
“How was the hunt?” you asked.
“Successful, except that we saw a palulukan on the way back. The Great Mother was kind, because it didn’t see us. Young Kamu was practically swallowing air by the time it was gone, the boy has forgotten how to breathe.”
You pictured the boy, one of the youth who just passed their iknimaya last season. “Cut him some slack, you mighty warrior. The boy is only fourteen,” you said, chuckling. You reached for a damped cloth to wipe the paint on his temple.
His hand followed yours, grabbing it gently and pressing a kiss on your fingers. “Your hands are shaking, baby. How long have you been at this?” he grabbed the pestle and mortar, his forehead furrowed.
“Since the sun was high. Don’t worry about it,” you said, because your hands weren’t shaking because of what he’s thinking, but yoy were grateful for the reprieve nonetheless. You leaned back against the table, watching him take over the task with effortless ease.
“Don’t worry? Your hands seem so overwork, what with that Tsahik’s tasks and your classes at the pavillion,” he reprimanded softly.
You pushed your lips forward, ignoring him as you took your damp cloth again and began to wipe the dust from his shoulders with a damp cloth, your movements lingering. “Yaremu and Tasi were talking today,“ you started, trying to sound clinical as you moved the cloth over the swell of his chest.
“About...“ he trailed after it took you long to continue, still focused on his paste.
“About how... a man responds to a certain touch. With the hand.”
Neteyam went still, and you saw his eyes zeroing in on something. “What touch?”
“They said it makes even the strongest warriors break. That they lose their minds,” you whispered, leaning in until your breath fanned over his skin. “I find the claim about reflex... questionable. I believe I need to conduct my own study. For research.”
He stared at you before letting out a choked, dark laugh. He reached out, his hand wrapping around the back of your neck, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw with a possessive heat. “Not here,” he whispered.
Your lips broke into a huge grin. “You’ll allow me?”
He moved to kiss the tip of your nose. “I will never say no to you,” he said.
“You did say no... Last week,” you pointed out and a deep laughter rumbled in his chest.
“I did say next time, didn’t I?” he replied, stealing another deep, searing kiss before pulling back with a wink. “I’ll finish here. Go up the higher branch, I’ll meet you in ten minutes.”
You pursed your lips and nodded, almost skipping your way out of the tent. The higher branch of the Hometree was so high in the clouds that the village sounds were reduced to a distant hum. It was a little cold but it was of the good kind, lulling the vibrations of excitement in your body as you looked far beyond the never-ending sight of the rainforest.
When Neteyam arrived, you two didn’t waste time. The moment he was within reach, he pulled you into a kiss that felt like a claim, his hands sliding down to anchor you against him.
“Show me this research, then,” he rasped against your lips.
Your hands were trembling as you reached for his loincloth, but curiosity was a more powerful force than shame. He was also trembling when he was finally bared to you, his cock looking even more formidable in the dimmed light. You caressed the length of it with your fingers first, hearing him take a swift, sharp breath, and when you wrapped your fingers around him, your lips parted at the heat and the velvet-like texture.
You remembered Yaremu’s advice, like stroking clay, but faster, and began to move. Neteyam’s head hit the bark of the tree with a dull thud as you caressed him, pumping your hand up and down high length. A low, gutteral sound tore from his throat, a raw animalistic noise you had never heard from him. His eyes were droopy but not even a palulukan could make him close his eyes right now.
"Oh, baby..." he groaned, his fingers digging into the flesh of you hips.
You watched him with fascinated eyes. He was breaking. This brave and mighty warrior was trembling under your touch, his breath coming in jagged hitches. Emboldened by your power, you moved your thumb over the wide tip, just as Yaremu had described.
Neteyam’s hips bucked uncontrollably, his entire body shuddering. "Fuck—wait, stop—"
But you didn't stop. The curiosity that had been burning in you all day reached a fever pitch. You lowered yourself, your hair spilling over his thighs, and before he could realize your intent, you took him into your mouth.
The sensation was overwhelming. The taste of him, the heat, the sheer size. Neteyam let out a sound that was half-sob, half-growl, his hands flying down to grab your hair. He only let you stay there for a few seconds, his body vibrating so violently you thought he might actually fall from the branch, before he scrambled to lift your head up.
“No,“ he gasped, his face flushed, his eyes wild. He hauled you to straddle him, crushing your lips with a kiss that was almost feral. “Not yet. I can't... if you do that, I'll never let you go back to that tent.“
He held you tight, both your hearts racing and both of you gasping for air in the high, cold wind. You cupped his face, kissing him softly. Nothing mattered, not your path, nor your vow to yourself, it was replaced by the loud, screaming truth of what you were becoming to each other.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
Weeks later, the celebration of the new harvest was in full swing. The communal clearing was filled of the sounds of drums, swirling colors, and the intoxicating scent of fermented berries. The elder warriors were generous with the brew, and for once, you didn't hold back. You leaned back against a carved root, a soft giggle escaping you as you watched a group of younger children unsuccessfully try to mimic a warrior's dance.
Kiri nudged your shoulder. “Careful, sister.”
“Let her have her fun, Kiri,” Neteyam intervened, though he was grinning just as widely. He held up his own bowl, the blue paint on his arm shimmering under the bioluminescent lanterns. “To the best healer-in-training and the worst berry-picker in the clan.”
“What?” you protested. “I am an excellent picker. It’s really just quality over quantity for me.” you said sassily, rolling your eyes.
“Is that what we're calling it now?” Neteyam laughed, the sound deep. He turned to Kiri. “She spent five minutes today analyzing a single fruit while I had already filled two baskets.”
“It's called attention to detail, Neteyam! You wouldn't understand,” you shot back, your eyes dancing. The brew was making everything feel warm and golden.
Kiri watched the exchange, her head tilting in that way that usually meant she was talking to the creatures, but tonight, she just looked at you two and smirked. Neteyam took a long sip of his brew, his eyes locked onto yours over the rim of the bowl, challenge sparking in them.
“I'm going to find Tuk before she tries to eat every pie there is tonight. Try not to get ‘lost’ in the woods, you two...”
She vanished into the crowd with a knowing wink. The moment she was gone, the space between you and Neteyam seemed to evaporate, and in the chaos of the festival, you were the only two people in the world.
“Another bowl?” he whispered, his tail twitching rhythmically behind him.
“I think,” you breathed, looking at his lips, “that I've had enough of the brew. I'm starting to want things they aren't offering.”
Neteyam’s grin turned slow and predatory, his hand sliding down to grip your thigh under the table. He tilted his head toward the dark periphery of the Hometree and raised a brow. You smirked, and bowed down to your food, picking a nut to pop it in your mouth. He stood up to go, and you waited before following him, your heart racing with a fluttering excitement.
By the time you reached the outskirts, the sounds of the party were a distant muffle and the cool night air hit your skin, but it did nothing to douse the heat between you. Neteyam walked closer to you, his pupils blown wide, his movements slightly sluggish and drunken, which only made him look devastatingly handsome.
He cupped your face and kissed you. “I haven't been able to stop thinking about it,“ he murmured against your lips.
“Hm?” you hummed, kissing him softly.
He trailed a hand down your side, his palm hot and heavy, before coming to rest on your thigh. He squeezed gently, his thumb tracing small circles. “I want to return the favor,” he whispered, his breath smelling of sweet berries and forest air.
“How?” you asked, your voice breathy, your body already leaning into his.
He leaned down, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Mouth or fingers?”
A shiver of anticipation raced down your spine. You feel like you know what this was. You looked up at him, a bold, drunken grin spreading across your lips.
“Both?”
Neteyam let out a sharp exhaled breath, a flicker of nervous energy crossing his face despite the haze of the brew. “Okay,” he whispered.
He started with your neck, his mouth hot and insistent, sucking at the sensitive skin until you knew a mark would be left for sure.
You two sat by the large root of a tree, his hands were everywhere, caressing and squeezing, until it untied your loincloth around your tail. When the fabric fell away, he didn't hesitate. He knelt before you, his golden eyes filled with a sudden, sharp clarity.
He pressed a reverent kiss there, and then he parted his lips so he could lick your slit from the base to the top, making you pull your hips away in a jerk. His hands on your hips firmly held you in place, though, keeping yoy from running away from his intense ministrations. You bit your lip but small sounds still escaped you, your thighs wanting to close, and when he added a finger, you had to cover your mouth to muffle your loud moan.
Neteyam let out a low, frustrated groan as his finger worked inside you, you were so tight. His mouth and tongue never left you and you didn’t know what hit you, you just began to tremble in his grip, your fingers tangling in his braids and grabbing hard at a handful.
“The world is spinning...” you chuckled as he kissed his way up to your body, sucking hard on your nipple.
“Yeah?“ his lips came down to kiss you softly, and then he lifted his body up, fitting himself between your parted thighs.
He stared at you, his chest heaving, his jaw set in a line of restraint. You moaned in protest when your felt his thumb rub your clit, but you didn’t pull back because it felt so good. You bit your lip and moved your hips gently against his finger. He looked, looking at your bare pussy, and how he had his hand on it, his thumb rubbing you.
And you liked it. He shivered at the reality of it all, his breath catching in his throat. If a year ago, someone told him he’d be here with you, he wouldn’t have dared to believe it... And right now, if he were only dreaming, the person who’ll wake him up will receive the punch of a lifetime.
You looked at him, watching how his pupil blew so wide it’s practically eating up the gold. You smiled breathlessly, reaching to cup his face, your heart overflowing. “What do you want to do, hm?” you craned your head up a little to kiss him sotfly. “Do it... do what you want.”
He stared at you and you yelped when his fingers pinched your folds. “Are you sure?” he rasped, his voice sounding like it was being dragged over gravel.
You nodded firmly. With an animalistic growl, he shed his own loincloth in one fluid motion, revealing the thick, pulsing length of his arousal. You tried to sit up to see his bare form better, but he pressed you back with a hand on your shoulder, and your body tingled at how dominant he seemed to be when he’s drunk.
He didn't enter you, not truly, but he lined himself up against your folds. He began to work his hips, dragging his ridiculous length against your slit in deep strokes from base to tip.
“Fuck, baby...” he groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he found a rhythm.
The friction was overwhelming. The thickness of him was overstimulating your clit until every nerve ending in your body was screaming. You arched your back, your hips bucking instinctively to meet his. “So good, ‘teyam...” you moaned in jagged breaths.
He groaned, catching your mouth in a feral kiss. “I’m coming... fuck...”
He wanted to hold out so bad, to prolong the moment, but it was so fucking difficult, especially when you keep whispering in his ear. He came in a hot rush on your stomach just as you came your high again. You clung to him, your body quivering in the aftermath. As he collapsed against you, you reached down, scooping a bit of his essence and bringing it to your lips. You moaned in pleasure, while Neteyam let out a soft, tired laugh, kissing your cheek and letting you do as you pleased.
Once you’re both dressed, you chased each other out of the woods but Neteyam’s hand snaked out, his fingers catching the end of your tail as you tried to dart ahead of him. He gave it a light tickle, a sensation that sent a playful jolt right up your spine.
“That’s cheating!” you squealed, spinning around with a wide, lopsided grin. You smacked his muscled abdomen, but it felt like you hit a warm stone wall, stinging your palm.
Neteyam didn't even flinch, he just huffed a breathy laugh. “Did you hurt yourself?“ he asked, catching your hand.
“Humble bragging, aren’t we?” you teased, stepping into his space and poking a finger into the center of his chest. “I think the brew caused your head to grow bigger than it already is.”
He caught your finger, pressing a kiss to the tip of it. “If my head is big, it is only because you occupy every corner of it.” He pulled you closer, his tail winding around yours in a tight, possessive curl. You leaned your head against his shoulder as you giggled, and for a few more steps, the world was nothing but the scent of him and the dizzying joy of the night.
But as you rounded the final thicket leading back to the communal clearing, the laughter died in your throat. At the sight of your father standing just outside the Hometree’s entrance, you moved away from Neteyam faster than lightning could hit the ground. He was deep in conversation with another senior warrior, his arms crossed over his chest. The shift in the air was instantaneous and your joy was replaced with cold anxiety.
Neteyam felt it, too. He immediately untangled his tail from yours and straightened his spine, his posture shifting from the relaxed lover back to the disciplined son of the Olo’eyktan. Your father turned his head. He didn't move, and he didn't stop his conversation, but his gaze locked onto the two of you. You walked faster to get to your father, feeling the guilt rise in you a little. You wondered if there were marks on your neck, or if your hair was in disarray.
Neteyam reached your flock, raising his hand in a formal warrior’s greeting, his voice steady and respectful when he greeted your father. Your father offered a curt nod, his stare never leaving Neteyam’s face for a long heartbeat. It looked like a silent warning, one that acknowledged the rank Neteyam held, but reminded him exactly whose daughter he was walking home.
“Go inside, daughter,” your father said quietly.
You didn’t look at Neteyam, turning on your heels to walk toward the entrance of the Hometree. You felt ashamed of your feebleness, how you folded so easily at the presence of pressure. You knew your father won’t let it go and that reckoning will soon come, so when you heard the tent flap rustle one evening and didn’t smell Neteyam’s familiar scent, you turned and saw that it was your father. You straightened up, greeting him as you would greet a superior.
“You spend much time in the Tsahik’s tent at night, daughter,“ he started, touching one of the hanging braided ceremonial beads. “And you are rarely alone. Kiri is your friend, isn’t she?”
Your throat bobbed as you swallowed, nodding. “Yes, father...”
“And Neteyam?“ he inquired.
You blinked, you knew this was coming, and yet, you weren’t able to prepare a proper excuse. “Neteyam is a good friend, father. We have been friends since we were kids,” you said, your words tumbling over one another.
He nodded. “I know that. Neteyam is a fine warrior, the pride of the Olo’eyktan... But a man of his vitality and youth does not seek out a woman of your path night after night, nor does he come out of the dark woods with the same woman.”
Your fingers tightened at the herbs. “We are friends, father. N-Neteyam helps me—”
“Friendship between a future leader and Eywa’s maiden is good, yes, but this is not it," he warned, stepping closer. He gestured to you, to the way you had begun to arrange your hair with more care, the subtle oils you used to make your skin glow. “You are becoming worldly. You are looking at the ground when you should be looking at the Great Mother. Do not forget the honor of our lineage. Do not forget the path that was chosen for you.”
That warning rang in your ears for days. You had shed tears about it, spending your days weakly. You are frightened. You fear that you do not have enough will to fight against this path that has long blurred for you. The only sight you can see is the path leading to the man you have loved half of you life. The man you will have to turn your back to in favor of your family’s honor. The man you will lose to another. You can’t even stand imagining it. He will mate someone worthy and strong... She will have him and his children, and there will be nothing for you.
Those thoughts weighed you down. It was a tragedy.
It followed you into the woods a week later, where you were meant to be foraging berries for a pie you had promised Kiri. The basket felt heavy, the vibrant reds of the fruit blurring before your eyes. You were standing in a patch of sunlight, but you felt cold, your tears freely flowing, something you couldn’t do when you’re back at the village because Neteyam will surely know.
But as if summoned, the large leaves near you shifted and Neteyam appeared, his smile was bright, his eyes searching for yours, but when he saw the tears on your cheeks, the slump of your shoulders, and the way your hands moved listlessly among the bushes, his expression shifted instantly to one of deep concern.
“Hey,” his voice murmured, coming to stand before you right away. “What is it? Did something happen in the village?”
You tried to give him a small smile. “No, I’m alright,” you said in a soft voice.
Neteyam has never seen you cry before, save for whe you are moved by wonder or by something sad happening to others. You have always been composed and laid-back, sometimes he doesn't even know if you ever get mad at all. Ans right now, you were crying, and it seemed so personal it’s breaking his heart. Gently, his lips pressed against your temple, pulling you close.
“What’s going on?” he asked, his voice so soft it made your heart spasm.
You wanted to say you’re alright again but it shattered before it even reached your lips. The dam you had built with such effort finally broke. A sob escaped you, and then the tears were falling, frantic and unstoppable. Neteyam inhaled a sharp breath, pulling you into his arms, his chest a solid, warm wall against your grief. He didn't ask questions; he simply held you, his hand stroking your hair as you wept into his shoulder, pouring out your fears on how the path now felt like a cage, how your father’s words had cut you, and most of all, the soul-crushing fear that you would be forced to watch him mate with another while you lived a life of cold, sacred solitude.
“I can't do it,” you choked out, clutching the leather of his harness. “I can't watch you take a mate. I cannot watch you belong to someone else. Neteyam, I cannot do it,“ you are crying so hard you could barely understand your own words.
Neteyam pulled back just enough to frame your face with his hands. The fear in your eyes threatened to break him from the inside out. He hadn’t known you had this much fear in you, and although he knew he shouldn’t feel good about it, he still felt it, but it would never be in him to want to prolong your agony. He loves you so much, his heart could burst. He wiped your tears with his thumbs, his gaze so intense it felt like he was looking directly into your spirit.
“I love you so much,” he whispered, his voice thick with a raw, agonizing honesty. “I have always loved you. Ever since we were children learning in the pavillion under the watchful eyes of the healers, you were the only one for me.”
He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, his eyes closing as if in prayer.
“When I was young, I worked until my bones ached because I wanted to be worthy of you. I wanted to be a man who deserved to stand at your side. I wanted to be your mate. I wanted to be the father of your children.” His voice dropped to a reverent, shaky register, smiling at you. "But I also know the path you have chosen. And my love, listen to me, you will never, ever lose me. I have long made my decision. I promised myself I will never mate with another.”
Your breath hitched, your eyes wide with shock. “Neteyam, you are the future Olo’eyktan. You have to—”
“I can be a good leader without a mate,” he countered firmly, his eyes burning with conviction. “I have decided. If the Great Mother requires you to be alone, then I will be alone with you. I will be your shadow. I will guard you and walk your path from a distance, but I will never give myself to another woman. I have long been claimed.”
The image of him, noble, strong, and utterly alone in the dark because of you, shattered your heart into a thousand pieces. You didn't want him to be a shadow. You wanted him to be the man who held your hand in the light. You wanted it so much.
“Do you understand?” he asked, his voice low and steady. "Whatever happens, whatever choice you make, I am here. I will be here. You have me. You will always have me.”
You looked up at him and saw the absolute certainty in his eyes. It frightened you, to say the least, to know that he was willing to let the future of his bloodline wither away just to be the man who stood outside your door.
“You cannot,” you whispered. You cannot possiby be this selfish. You regretted telling him your fears for you know it only solidified his decision. “Neteyam, the clan... they expect a mother for the people. Your father and Neytiri... they want to see you happy. They want to see your children.“
“Then they will be disappointed,“ he said, his jaw tightening with an uncharacteristic stubbornness. His hands moved to cup the back of your head, grounding you. “There is no happiness for me if I am lying next to a woman who is not you. I would be a shell. How could I lead our people with a heart that is half-dead?“
“You wouldn’t be with me anyway...” you rasped, your head bowing.
He looked at you with sad eyes but still, he chuckled and kissed the tip of your nose. “You haven’t been paying attention, my love. I have long known that and I have accepted it,” he said. “I will do anything you ask of me, you know that, but you cannot ask me to be with another. I will not obey you.”
You parted your lips to breathe, gripping his forearms to feel the solid warmth of him. The selflessness of his love shamed you. What good have you done to deserve such devotion? That question lingered with you even after you two parted. You knew the answer: you have done nothing. You have never been willful your whole life.
Following your great aunt’s path, the path that twenty-two generations of women in your father’s family have taken, have never before felt like an order to be obeyed. You wanted it before you truly knew what you wanted, but now, as you looked back... Neteyam has always been there. He has always stirred your heart in the way only he could do. You have always loved him.
And you will never stop.
Driven by a desperation you couldn’t name, you found yourself at the secluded dwelling of your great aunt. The air was thick with incense and you knew this would be one of those few days where she could be disturbed from her prayers, and even now, she was a silhouette of stillness, her back to you as she whispered prayers that had been her only companions for sixty years.
You didn't speak. You simply sat behind her and began to pray, the minutes stretching into hours. You watched the way the smoke curled in the air, wondering if your life would be just like hers: sacred, hollow, and hauntingly quiet. You wanted to feel guilty for thinking it look gray, but it was what you were thinking.
When the last of the incense burned out, Äye turned slowly. Her eyes, fill of wisdom and spirit, settled on your face. She didn't see her successor; she saw the crumbling ruins of a girl in love.
“What is it that brings you to this quiet place with such a loud heart?” she asked, her voice both stern and full of concern.
“The medicinal roots in the southern ridge are coming in early this year," you said casually, your voice a dry rasp. “I’m thinking of beginning the harvest before the syaksyuk get to them."
She tilted her head, her eyes sharp and assessing. “You have been sitting here for five hours, praying to a Mother who has already answered you, yet you refuse to listen. I can see it in your face,” she reached out, tilting your chin up. “What is it? And do not tell me it is the harvest.”
You swallowed hard, the weight in your chest becoming unbearable. “I wanted to ask if... If your heart has ever stirred... For a person, I mean. Not for the Great Mother, nor for the people. For a man.” You paused, your voice trembling. “Have you ever felt... desire?“
You waited for her to look at you as if you’ve grown two heads but she didn’t. The old woman’s eyes softened, a distant. She didn't answer right away, instead, she let her hand fall to your shoulder. “Is that what is clawing at you?”
You looked away, the first tear finally breaking free. “This is my path, Auntie... I have known this my whole life. But... These feelings I have in my heart, I have carried with me long before I knew what it was. I have loved him since we were children. And this man loves me with all he is... I supposed it would be easier if he didn’t love me back. It would be easier to accept the solitary path ahead of me, but now, because he loves me, he will forsake his own duty to the clan just so he could freely love me.” You gripped your knees, your knuckles turned white. “I do not want that for him. I cannot let him be alone and empty, I cannot deny him the love I can give him...“
Äye let out a long, slow breath. “The son of Toruk Makto.”
Your eyes snapped to hers. “How... how did you know?”
A small, knowing smile played on her lips. “I have seen it, and I still see it. You have always had the boy’s eyes, and his heart. You see only now.”
“I am scared,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “I look at the path laid out for me... This life of solitude and it feels like a cage. I want him... I love him. I want to give him myself...” you looked at her. “Is it wrong, Auntie? To want the ground more than the sky? To want a man more than a goddess?”
Äye reached out and cradled your face in her weathered hands.
“Is it truly the path she gave you?” she asked softly. “Eywa does not give paths, child. She simply makes us feel. What you feel here will tell you where you belong.” She smiled, her palm pressing firmly over your heart. “And clearly, your heart has been showing you the path for a very long time.”
You sniffled, leaning into her touch, a flicker of hope sparking in the dark.
“I have easily done my duty because Eywa did not see it fit to put desire in my heart,” Äye confessed, her gaze turning distant and thoughtful. “I walked this path because it was the only one I saw. But, if I had only felt love and desire for another... if I had felt even a fraction of what you described... I would have let it consume me. I would have allowed myself to be loved by someone I loved.” Her expression became fiercer. “It is a gift, child, and you must not deny yourself what Eywa has given you. You must not deny Neteyam the love that you could give him, or the life you two could live. To turn away from such a love is the only true blasphemy.”
“But my father... the clan...” you whispered.
She scoffed. “Do not worry about your father. He is handled,” she said with a small, knowing smirk. “You go to your warrior. Tell him everything you told me.”
The weight that had been crushing your ribs for years had simply evaporated. You hugged her and she patted your back. When you finally stood up, your legs feel so light, as though you were floating. You ran through the village, past the staring eyes of the hunters, straight toward the training grounds where you knew a certain warrior was spending his day.
You didn't care about the path anymore. There has only ever been one for you, and it led straight to him. The sounds of clashing practice staves and rhythmic grunts welcomed you as you reached the training grounds. You stood at the edge of the clearing, thinking about how you have never done this before even though you passed by it every single day. You’ve never even thrown Neteyam a glance when he was over here, so now, you indulged yourself to the sight of his skin glistening with sweat as he moved with lethal grace.
He was giving corrections, his voice commanding and steady, until his gaze swept toward the edge and snagged on you. He stopped mid-sentence and had to do a double look, his golden eyes widening in genuine disbelief. It was always he who sought you out, he who lingered at the edges, waiting for you to pay him attention. And now, to see you standing here, in the open light, was a surprise that seemed to steal the air from his lungs. A slow, radiant smile began to spread across his face, one that he didn't even try to hide.
The other hunters followed his gaze lazily, shocked as Neteyam was to see you standing there, looking only at him. When he signaled for a break, Neteyam practically glided toward you, his focus so intense it felt like he was pulling you toward him by an invisible thread. He opened his mouth to ask what had brought you there, but you didn't give him the chance.
You stepped forward to meet him halfway, reaching up, tagling your fingers in the braids at his nape to pull him down into a soft, lingering kiss.
The silence that fell over the training grounds was almost funny, jaws practically hit the dirt, and Lo’ak who was standing a few yards away dropped his staff, his eyes bulging.
“When will you be done?” you asked casually, your voice clear and steady. Your thumb traced the line of his jaw, grounding him.
Neteyam looked dazed, as if he were caught in a dream and was terrified of waking up. The smile on his face was huge and utterly devoted, it brought ache to your chest. “Now,” he rasped, his voice sounding hypnotized. He didn't even look back at his men. “I’ll finish this early. Right now.”
You let out a melodic chuckle, your palm pressing flat against the heat of his abdomen. “Don’t be silly. I can just wait here,” you said, gesturing toward the wooden benches.
He nodded fervently, his tail twitching with an excitement he couldn't suppress. You couldn't resist, he looked so uncharacteristically flustered and cute that you leaned in for another quick kiss before patting his chest.
“Go,” you whispered, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “I’ll wait.”
Neteyam turned back to his warriors, but the sternness was gone. The men themselves were in a state of total shock, their eyes kept on darting back to where you are. The rest of the training session was a blur and you couldn’t take your eyes on Neteyam, and you’re glad he was the opposite. He was so focused on it, even though he was less strict, the intensity of his approach did not wane.
He dismissed the session right on time, handing his staff to a young hunter and was at your side in a heartbeat, his skin still glistening with sweat. He wiped it off with a soft cloth and you stood up, grabbing the cloth to help him wipe his sweat. “I need you to come with me,” you said, fighting the urge to smirk.
He breathed, catching your hand to graze a thumb on your knuckles. “Where? The forest? The high ridges?”
“Further,” you said, your voice steady despite the flutter in your stomach. You grabbed his hand and his fingers intertwined with yours as naturally as vines coil on a branch.
The walk was surprisingly casual, the air cooling as the forest began its slow transition into the bioluminescent glow of dusk. You stepped over a spike plant and he gripped your hand tighter. “Careful,” he said, hopping over a fallen log and reaching back to steady.
“I am a healer, Neteyam. I know which leaves bite and which ones soothe. If anything, I should be the one worried about you. You almost walked straight into a stickyplant back there because you were too busy looking at me.”
“Can you blame the warrior for admiring the view?” he countered with a cheeky waggle of his brows.
You laughed, nudging his shoulder with yours. “Getting bold, aren’t we? Must be all those pies Tuk didn't eat. I saw her trying to smuggle a third one past Mo’at at dinner last night. She looked like a prolemuris with its cheeks full of fruits.”
“She’s a menace,” he chuckled, his tail flicking with amusement. “The young these days...” he shook his head. “Just last time, I saw a young hunter trying to impress girls by showing off his battle scars. Most of them were from tripping over during drills.”
“Be kind,” you teased. “We were all young and desperate for attention once. Though some of us,” you glanced at him sideways, “didn't have to try quite so hard.”
Neteyam’s smile softened, his fingers tightening around yours. “I don't know about that. I spent half my youth trying to figure out why the smartest girl in the pavilion wouldn't look at me for more than two seconds.”
“I was busy studying!” you protested. “I had to learn the difference between a glow moss and a spice leaf. One heals a burn, the other causes a rash that lasts for three days. Imagine if I'd gotten those mixed up because I was staring at your growing muscles.”
“A tragedy for the clan,“ he joked, pulling you by the waist and pressing a kiss against your neck. “But a win for my ego,” he whispered.
You squealed and pulled away, running away from him. You heard him chuckle, chasing after you until you two reached the purple glow of the ancient sacred tree. You looked at him with a soft smile and he stared at you, his eyes softening into a reverent look as he savored the look of you bathed in purple light
“It is beautiful tonight,” he whispered, reaching out to caressed your jaw.
“It is,” you agreed, tiptoeing to kiss him again, your arms hooking on his nape.
His hands immediately wrapped around your waist, pulling you close to him as he deepened the kiss, his mouth devouring yours. You pulled him down with you onto the soft moss, laying back so he’d follow you. You spread your thighs and he settled his body between them, breaking away from the kiss as if he’d just noticed what position you had pulled him into under the sacred tree.
You smiled, leaning in to press a slow, deep kiss to his lips, “I love you, Neteyam...” you whispered as if it was your secret, kissing him again.
His head lifted, his lips curling into a small, yet triumphant, smile. “I love you more, baby. So much,” he said, his arm wrapping around you to pull you to him. “What’s going on?” he asked.
You smiled and kissed him again, you didn't let him break away, and as your hands moved to his shoulders, the kiss deepened. You could feel the frantic beat of his heart against your chest. You pulled back just an inch, your eyes locked onto his, and then, with a hand that didn't tremble, you reached back and brought your queue forward. Neteyam’s eyes snapped at your kuru, widening a fraction in a surprise so profound he actually moved back an inch.
“My love...” he rasped, his voice breaking. He looked from your kuru to your eyes, his face pale but his eyes dancing with joy.
You kissed him. “I want to be with you. I want to be your mate... I want to have your children...”
His smile widened, though his eyes still needed more answers. “Are you sure? Once this is done... there is no turning back to the path they chose for you. You will be mine. In the eyes of Eywa and the clan, you will be mine for life.”
“I have never been more sure of anything,” you whispered, reaching out to take his hand. “The path I chose isn't the one they gave me. It’s this. It’s you.”
Neteyam’s hand was shaking as he brought his own queue forward. The intensity of the moment was suffocating, a silence so heavy it felt like the ancestors themselves were holding their breath. “I love you so much,” he said, the words a solemn vow. “You have me, until my last breath. You have always had me, baby.”
Slowly, deliberately, the pink tendrils of your queues reached out, entwining and locking together. You gasped, your back arching when a flood of physical sensations surged through you. You felt the raw, unbridled power of Neteyam’s love for you. The years of pining, the quiet agony of watching you from afar, the fierce protectiveness, and the sheer, blinding joy of this moment. And he felt yours. The fear you had felt, the desperate need for his touch, and the struggle you fought that led to this absolute certainty that you belonged by his side.
Neteyam let out a choked sound, pulling you flush against him, his arms wrapping around you with a strength that promised he would never, ever let go. You kissed him until you were both breathless, then his lips trailed down your jaw, making you arch into his touch as a low moan rumbled in your throat. Your hands found purchase in his braids, pulling his head back up, your gaze locking with his.
“Are we doing it?” you asked, your eyes looking up at him in both apprehension and excitement.
He caressed your thigh. “Do you want to? It doesn’t need to be tonight—”
“No, I want to! I want to... Just...” you cleared your throat. “I mean you’re big and... And how did the other girls take this—”
“What?” he whisper-shouted playfully. “There have never been other girls. I’ve never kissed anyone before you...” His eyes looked away from yours to look at your lips.
“What?” you chuckled breathily, the scholar part of you panicking. “No one here knows what to do?”
“No, I do know what to do,” he said, his eyes widening a little. “Trust me.“
You smiled and reached up to kiss him, he met you halfway, his mouth descending, but hungry now, no longer sweet and hesitant. His tongue plunged and you met his fervor, your own tongue dancing with his. His hands moved, tracing the curve of your hips, his thumbs brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, sending a jolt of pleasure through you as you felt the hard ridge of his cock press against your thigh.
Your fingers fumbled with the straps of his loincloth, your fingers caressing the soft skin of his abdomen. He undid your own, hands quick and deft, discarding the simple covering the same time you shed his. His fingers found your slippery folds, caressing it as he kisses your jaw. Your hand shot down to wrap around his cock, caressing the thick and long flesh.
He huffed, his lips pressing against your cheek before he leaned down, his mouth finding your neck, his teeth gently nipping at where you’re most sensitive. You whimpered, your head falling back against the moss. His tongue traced a path down your throat, over your collarbone, until it reached the swell of your breast. He suckled, his mouth hot and wet, drawing your nipple into his mouth.
Your hips arched involuntarily. “Neteyam,” you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.
He moved to your other breast, giving it equal attention before kissing his way down your body until you felt a long swipe of his tongue on the soft skin of your inner thigh. His fingers brushed against your slick pussy, followed by his warm tongue, sending a shockwave of pleasure through your core, his hands slid under your hips to tilt you toward him before his mouth lapped at your wetness like a man starved.
You clutched on a moss, letting yourself moan to your heart’s content until you were a shaking mess with a spinning vision. You can feel his lips and tongue working its way up your body but your mind was zeroing in on the electrifying sensation you’re feeling on your clit, your thighs jolting every time his skin grazes it.
Only when he positioned himself between your legs did you make the effort to lift you head up to look at him, catching him with his eyes darkened with desire as they devoured your nakedness. Your connected kurus pulsed brighter and you felt the jolt of excitement and ecstasy he is probably feeling. You bit your lip, looking at his cock, thick and heavy, pressing against your entrance. You looked up at him, your own eyes burning with desire, and he met your gaze, his lips curved in a small smile and his eyes suddenly became the look of longing and adoration.
“Ready?” he asked, his voice rough with need.
“Yes,” you gasped, pushing your hips up, urging him forward. “Now.”
He chuckled, his hand squeezing your hips before he thrusted, slowly at first, his thick shaft pushing past your eager lips, stretching you, filling you with a sensation so profound it stole your breath. You cried out, a mixture of pain and pleasure, as he pushed deeper, until he was fully buried inside you.
He paused, letting you adjust, his chest heaving, his eyes closed for a moment in pure bliss. “It feels so warm... So tight,” he groaned, his voice thick with emotion.
You hugged him, a little breathless at the feeling of being so full of him and yet, you pulled him deeper still. “You’re so big...” you groaned, clenching around him.
He opened his eyes and you saw a primal look in them as he began to move, slowly at first, a gentle motion that soon picked up pace. He pulled almost all the way out, then plunged back in, his rhythm becoming more urgent, more demanding.
“Ah!” you moaned, your body arching, meeting his thrusts with equal enthusiasm. The sounds of your skin slapping together and the wet sounds of him moving inside you filled the air.
One of his hand found your folds, his thumb parting them to flick at your sensitive nub, making you buck and pull away in overstimulation but he only leaned down, his lips finding yours to devour your cries, his tongue plunging into your mouth as his hips continued its relentless rhythm. His hands gripped your hips to lift and tilt you, finding new angles that gave you so much pleasure. His cock felt enormous inside you, stretching you to your limits, yet it was a delicious fullness, a sense of being completely claimed.
The gentle rocking turned into powerful, rhythmic thrusts, his body slamming into yours with increasing force as you felt a familiar feeling in your lower abdomen, a knot that promised release. You clawed at his back, your nails digging into his firm muscles, leaving faint red marks.
“Harder,” you gasped against his lips, your voice hoarse. “Please, baby...”
He responded instantly, his thrusts becoming even more violent, more primal. He pulled out almost entirely, then slammed back in with a force that made you scream, the air whooshing out of your mouth.
“You like that, baby?” he rasped, his voice raw, his breath hot against your face.
You whimpered, unable to speak, your hips bucking involuntarily to meet his every thrust. You felt your muscles clenched around his shaft, milking him, urging him on. He groaned and thrusted one last, powerful time, burying himself to the hilt, holding you tight as your body convulsed around him. Your climax hit you like a lightning strike, giving you a full body tremor that left you breathless and clutching at him. Your muscles seized, squeezing his cock, making him cry out your name.
His body tensed, then relaxed as he emptied himself deep inside you. You felt the hot gush of his seed filling you as he collapsed onto you, his weight heavy but welcome, his breath ragged against your neck. His heart hammered against your chest, mirroring the frantic beat of your own. You lay tangled together, spent and satisfied, the purple glow of the tree a silent witness to your mating.
“I swear to the Great Mother, if this were a dream I’d beat up the person who will wake me up,” he whispered breathily, kissing you.
You chuckled weakly, hugging him tighter to you and kissing his cheek. “It is real, husband. I am here with you,” you told him.
He melted in your embrace, kissing your forehead, and then your lips. “I love you so much...”
A few hours of sleep punctuated with a series of waking up only to make love later, you lay tangled in Neteyam’s arms under the glowing tendrils, your core still sore from the intensity of your last coupling. His chest was warm under your cheek, and you traced the faint, drying marks your nails had left on his shoulder. Neteyam shifted, his tail winding lazily around your thigh.
“The sun will be up soon,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, his hand tracing the curve of your hip with a new, possessive ease. You let out a soft sigh, tightening your hold on him. Neteyam pulled back slightly to look at you, his golden eyes clear and filled with a fierce, protective light. “I’ll face your father. I’ll tell him it was my doing. The haste, the lack of a formal ceremony. I’ll take the weight of his anger.”
You shook your head, reaching up to cup his face. “No. I made this choice just as much as you did. I won’t let you stand there like a criminal for loving me. I’ll handle him, and Äye said she would help. I’m more worried about Mo’at... I am a healer under her. Surely, she’d expect me to follow the traditions.”
“Then we face them together,” Neteyam said firmly, interlocking his fingers with yours. “As one. We are mated now. I am your husband and you are my wife.”
Those words brought you so much relief and joy, you couldn’t help but smile, especially when his eyes reflected a certain, even smug, light in them. The walk back to the village felt different, but as you approached the central clearing of the Hometree, the sight of the gathering made your heart skip a beat.
Not only were your parents already there, Jake and Neytiri were there, too, standing near the breakfast hearth, and beside them sat Mo'at and Äye. The air was thick with the smell of morning broth and an unspoken tension. Your father stood as you both emerged from the ramp, his eyes immediately dropping to your clasped hands and then to the unmistakable, glowing pride in Neteyam’s posture.
“You did not return last night,” your father said, his voice flat but not yet angry.
Äye, who was calmly sipping from a bowl of tea, let out a dry chuckle. “Oh, let the children breathe, Laykon. Do not overreact. Look at them, they look like they’ve finally found where the air is.”
Neteyam didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, gently releasing your hand only to sink onto both knees before your parents. He bowed his head low, his forehead nearly touching the ground in a gesture of profound respect and apology.
“I ask for your forgiveness,” Neteyam’s voice was calm, carrying the weight of a leader. “I have acted with haste, and I have taken your daughter as my mate without the formal blessing of the clan. But I have loved her before I even I understood what it was. I ask only for your blessing now, for I will spend every day of my life proving I am worthy of her.”
You dropped to your knees beside him, your shoulder touching his. “Father, I love Neteyam, I have always loved him. This wasn't a mistake or a moment of weakness. It was the only truth I’ve ever known. I choose this life. I choose him.”
A long, suffocating silence followed. Jake looked at Neytiri, who had a soft, knowing expression on her face, one that spoke of a woman who had once made a similarly reckless choice for love. Finally, your father let out a long, heavy breath. He stepped forward and placed a hand on Neteyam’s shoulder, urging him to stand.
“I understand that, daughter,” he told you, his voice softening. “And I do not think this kneeling and bowing are necessary anymore. Words would have sufficed. You two are already mated in the eyes of the Great Mother; what is there for me to do? To fight the wind?” He looked at Neteyam, a rare, genuine smile breaking through his stony exterior. “It is my honor to have an honorable man as my son.”
Neytiri stepped forward then, pulling you into a fierce, warm embrace that smelled of woodsmoke and motherhood. “Welcome to the family, daughter,” she whispered.
You looked toward Mo’at, your stomach twisting with nerves. The Tsahik stood slowly, her face unreadable. Jake cleared his throat, glancing at the matriarch. “Mo’at? Perhaps, you can... give them the official blessing?”
Mo’at let out a sharp, huffed breath, reaching into the woven pouch at her side. To everyone’s surprise, she pulled out a bowl of ceremonial oils and a bundle of sage that had clearly been prepared in advance.
“Why do you think I am sitting here with these?” she asked, a rare humot flickering in her eyes as she looked at Äye. “Some people in this family cannot keep a secret. Come here, you two. If you are going to be mated, let us do it properly so the ancestors don’t think I’ve gone lazy.”
As Mo'at began the rhythmic chant of the blessing, marking your forehead and Neteyam’s with the cool, fragrant oil, you looked at your husband. The fear was gone. The gray path etched on sand was blown by the wind, leaving only the path forged by the Great Mother.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
The council meeting had dragged on for hours, with the elders debating trade with so much meticulousness that Neteyam can’t believe it’s starting to annoy him that the second Jake signaled the end, Neteyam couldn’t have exited the council hall faster than anyone. He moved through the village with a restless, joyful energy, his heart pulling him straight to the healer’s tent.
And when he pulled back the flap, the golden afternoon light spilled over you, hunched over a mortar, the same sight that had greeted him for years, but now, strapped to your chest in a soft woven wrap was your months-old son.
“Hello, baby,” Neteyam caressed your arm, leaning down to kiss you. He cupped your jaw and deepened the kiss.
You’d chucke at his eagerness if your son hadn’t let out a soft, melodic cry. It was as if he could sense his father has arrived before Neteyam even greeted him. Neteyam looked down at his son, his large hand caressing the boy’s head.
His face split by a wide, devoted grin. His large hands gently lift the bundle from your chest and you gave him his son, watching him settle the boy into the crook of his arm, his thumb tracing a tiny, rounded cheek. “How was he? Did he give you trouble while I was on patrol?”
You chuckled, wiping your hands on a cloth. “He is just a baby, ma ‘teyam. He slept almost the entire day, only waking to eat and then falling back to sleep.”
Neteyam let out a deep, vibrating chuckle that made the baby’s eyes fly open. “You’re the hungriest boy in this village, do you know that, hm? The biggest baby, too. You’re growing so fast, my son, look at you.”
You leaned against the worktable, watching them with a chest full of warmth. You reached out to tickle your son’s ear, watching his tiny shoulder shrug in reflex. “Remember when Mo’at said you were the biggest baby she’d ever seen?” you laughed. “She said your boy rivals you. Look at his tummy. So full, aren't you, sweet boy?”
The baby suddenly let out a tiny, gurgling chuckle, his first real laugh.
Your eyes snapped to Neteyam’s in shock. You both froze, breath held for seconds, before you both bursted into a quiet laughter. The boy stretched, his chubby limbs sprawled across his father's powerful arm, looking utterly content. As you looked at the small person you had created together, your eyes began to glisten with unshed tears and when you lifted your eyes to meet Neteyam’s his own eyes were pooling with tears.
Neteyam leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. “Have I told you how thankful I am that you chose me?”
You grinned, cupping his face. “You do every day, 'teyam. But I am more thankful to you. I couldn't imagine not living this life... you made me realize what I truly wanted.”
“I love you so much,” he mumbled against your lips.
“I love you more, ‘teyam—”
“That couldn't be possible—”
“Uhhmp!” A sharp, demanding shriek from your son broke the moment. His tiny hand had clamped onto your beaded top, his neck craning with singular focus toward your chest.
You laughed, booping his nose. “Hungry again?“
Your smile was huge as you reached for him. Neteyam gently handed him back, chuckling as you settled the boy and eased your top aside. The baby latched in an instant, a rhythmic, quiet sound filling the tent. Neteyam sat beside you, his gaze fixed on the sight.
He remembered being in this same tent years ago, watching you hold Tuk in your arms and drowning in a forbidden pining. Now, you are his wife, and the child in your arms is one you two created. He was no longer your shadow, he is now the man whose life is inextricably woven with yours. Your cold indifference was long gone, and in its place was a woman full of his love and the promise of his future.
you were proud being the eldest daughter of the sully family, even though it came with its hardships and sacrifices, you knew the love from your family was enough to keep you going. you realized that type of naivety was funny, for sure.
content warning. death
your relationship with your father started off as the sweetest thing, being the first born daughter—jake sully was nervous to be a dad yet delighted, filled with emotion that held serious attachment and devotion. you remember all the times where he held you, stroked your hair whilst telling you stories about his involvement with the omatikayan people. his need to be around you, his desire to show that he was a good dad.
until, it started to change—not a rapid one, it was slow. he realized the life he lived, the danger he was in that could creep up on him at any second. his past with the rda, it was a trauma that he didn’t want breaking his family up.
he stopped cradling you every second of the day, stopped treating you like a fragile delicacy that was apart of him, and more like a tough soldier. one he cared for.
he encouraged more training, forced you to watch as he hunted and shot arrows that delve deep in eywa’s creatures. told you about the dangers that resided in the forest, made sure you knew that you had to protect your siblings as well as yourself. that no weakness was allowed.
it didn’t occur to you the shift of attitude when you observed the way he interacted with kiri and tuk. treating them like his little girls, protecting them from the world, making sure they knew he would be there for them no matter what.
you watched one day as kiri was weaving a top out of vines and thick leaves, your father watching from nearby with a soft smile before eventually getting up to sit by her and pat her softly on the head.
you then watched as he made direct eye contact with you, eyes hardening and motioning to the bow that rested by your side. “go train with your brother, kid.”
you always responded with an “okay.”
there was never any protest on your end. not an eye roll, not even an ounce of hesitation. he was your father after all, you knew to listen to him. there was no point in doing otherwise.
you grew to think of things differently as you grew older, your mind maturing and thoughts being made without the influence of your parents. your own thoughts.
your father grew to be a tough shell, wanting nothing more than to make his oldest children be the protectors of the family. to claim their role as next in line of succession, to be a good example of the clan. yet, it all came with a price.
“you can’t focus on things like that, you have to suck it up. in battle, when things go wrong, you can’t hold anyone back. you have to concur through.” jake told you in an almost scolding tone, watching as mo’at, your grandmother rubbed some healing herbs on your shoulder—where a large gash resided.
“yes, sir.” was your only response.
the very next day, kiri had cut herself whilst tripping over a stump blocked by the heavy greenery of the forest. the same man, instead of scolding her and telling her to suck it up, soothed her and urged her to keep still as he tended to her shallow wounds—despite her repeated protest.
you couldn’t deny the hurt heavy in your heart.
“did you ever notice how different dad is with us?” you asked, looking up from sharpening your bone carved weapon. neteyam hummed, tilting his head slightly.
“what do you mean?”
“y’know, how he’s so soft with kiri and tuk, how he’s so hard on us?“
“i mean sure, but we’re the oldest. it’s expected.”
“i guess.”
that was the end of that conversation, yet it wasn’t the end of you noticing that you were right. he was different, and it grew more noticeable as the years went on.
instead of feeling like a daughter, his child, you felt like just another one of his soldiers. there was no affection in his tone nor his actions, he didn’t look at you with the softness that he did with his other daughters. he looked at you with a hardened expectation, that you be strong, emotionally and physically. that if he coddled you, loved you too easy, there would be a weakness that would hinder you incapable.
“why didn’t you do better at preventing this? you’re supposed to be the responsible one!” you flinched, eyes watering slightly as the rise of tone from jake grew louder. tuk shivering slightly into your mother’s side at the previous turn of events you all got wrapped up into. your head bowed to avoid his eyes, because you knew if you stared into his orbs filled with anger and disappointment—it would become a more emotional moment on your part.
and it didn’t get any better whenever you had to pack up your life and settle down into an entirely different environment. if anything, it got worst.
the stress that absorbed your family was critical, the new ways of life you had no other choice but to adapt too. the endless teasing of skinny limbs and unfit anatomy, it was all too much. even with the threat of the rda, of miles quaritch, there was no sense of protection that your father displayed over you. it was only over his two youngest girls.
some days were better than others though, he would give you a soft smile, a quick glance or nod of acknowledgment. that was enough to solidify that he still loved you deep down, even if his actions showed otherwise.
your days of relaxation came rare, but when they did arrive. you knew not to interact with your father, that he would try and demand something of you and with your utter desire to please him—he would succeed. even though his relationship with you was strained, he was still your dad. your role model, your first platonic love.
as your days with him were silenced, you didn’t realize they were numbered as well.
you grunted as your arm pulled back to release the arrow, it diving deep into the skull of a sky person. their body falling limp, your eyes fell on a ship where you saw your siblings try and fight off the demons that pointed their metal plated weapons. still positioned in the air, your movements sped.
arrow after arrow, hit after hit. you felt a deep sense of success at the goal of protecting your family, making your father proud. as your eyes focused, you saw neteyam, spider and loak attempt to jump off the side of the ship. from the corner, a certain dreamwalker pointed their gun—aiming directly at them. before the chance could arise, your elbow rose and their weapon dropped. the boys escaping safely.
you, not so much.
your hit wasn’t fatal, your presence was known.
your body was hit with the fate of a bullet, and as your conscience fell so did your body.
no one noticed.
but it was over, at least for the time being. no one was fatally injured. at least no one that surrounded in the moment.
“where’s your sister?” jake asked lo’ak, yet the boy only shrugged. cursing under his breath, he sighed heavily—mounting his ikran despite the protest of neytiri before searching the seas from the skies perspective. as his eyes traveled from the destruction, they squinted as they observed a body sprawled on a rock. limbs limp, and a dark liquid highlighting the surface. the size of an ikran sitting nearby, staring.
“no.” jake whispered, his body controlling the ikran as it dived. the lone ikran letting out a distressed call, as it positioned his head over the body. it was all too familiar to the man, the same body he watched grow up. the familiar bow that laid to position itself beside you, your only source of protection.
“baby girl.” his voice trembled, yet there was a sense of denial—hardness still coating his tone. “come on, you gotta wake up for me.”
as he kneeled beside your body, stiff and cold, it was obvious that you laid like this for hours. no one to catch you, no one to witness your final moments.
“wake up, baby girl. you’re strong.” he repeated his affirmation, yet this time it was for a different reason and with less toughness.
eyes dull, still open. blankly looking to the side, a single tear threatening to spill out the corner. face a pale blue, no rise of your chest nor twitch of your finger. it only solidified what jake had feared, his biggest fear.
“please, no. come back to me, please.” his desperation towards you was foreign to the tongue, yet it brought back the memories of when he watched you as a young na’vi. looking up at him with admiration, demanding his attention, leaning into him whenever he cradled you.
moments so similar now, still leaning in. just with more resistance to hold up your dead weight body, jake desperately wringing his fingers in your hair as he rocked back and forth.
Dedicated to the legends on the discord server they know what they did. Sorry if I miss a few of you (I can't remember your tumblr). @crystalsncryptids @rainxxcloud @tomitoni @cantaloupesoda @eimilynx
Though I think a few of you are going to kick me for this being what I dedicate to you (Lily and e)
What if (y/n) dies instead of Neteyam
Alone in the End
Where the hell were her brothers?
The plan had been simple.
She, Si’riya and Payakan would distract them.
Neteyam cuts everyone free.
Easy. Simple. Straightforward.
A plan they had all agreed on… well Neteyam had no choice but to agree,
So why, in Eywa's name, were they never where they were supposed to be?
High above she and Tisoha circled And somewhere inside it were her brothers because she had just watched as Neteyam and Lo’ak run inside.
Her stomach dropped. "Oh, for fuck's sake."
Her pulse hammered.
Every second they stayed inside increased the chance that something would go wrong. Every second increased the chance she would lose one of them and she couldn’t bare the thought of it.
The thought made her chest tighten.
Tisoha screeched sensing her frustration and distress but she could feel the ikran’s fear. Don’t let this be our last flight.
This won’t.
The ikran tilted its wings.
She didn't hesitate.
The world dropped away. Wind roared in her ears. The ship rushed toward her.
Smoke burned her eyes.
At the last second Tisoha pulled up.
(Y/N) released her grip.
She hit the metal roof hard. Pain shot through her shoulder. She rolled across the slick surface before catching herself and springing back to her feet.
Gunfire echoed somewhere below.
Sharp. Rapid. Close
Her heart lurched. That was not random firing.
She broke into a sprint. The deck shook beneath her feet as explosions rattled the vessel. Flames reflected off puddles of seawater. Smoke curled around her as she raced forward.
Another burst of gunfire.
Her brothers.
Fear surged through her. She hated that feeling.
Hated how quickly it could consume her.
Because every time she heard them in danger, she was reminded of how easily she could lose them.
How easily they could be taken away.
She dropped to her stomach near the edge of the roof and peered over.
The sight below made her blood run cold.
Several soldiers had taken positions on the deck firing towards a corridor. Weapons raised. Firing relentlessly toward the far end. Toward where she caught glimpses of blue skin.
Neteyam. Lo'ak. Spider.
Pinned down. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.
Her heart nearly stopped.
Without thinking, she jumped. A furious scream tore from her throat.
Every soldier looked up.
Too late.
She crashed into them like a storm.
One man barely had time to react before she slammed into him. One of Quaritch’s recoms.
The impact sent him sprawling across the deck.
Another swung his rifle toward her. She grabbed the barrel and yanked. Hard.
The weapon tore free from his hands.
She spun. The stock cracked against his jaw.
He dropped instantly.
The rifle in her hands barked. The recoil slammed into her shoulder.
The soldier stumbled backward and collapsed. The remaining men scattered for cover. Gunfire erupted from every direction. Bullets sparked against metal.
"(Y/N)!" Neteyam's voice.
Relief hit her so hard it almost hurt.
Then anger followed immediately after. Because of course they were alive. Of course they had ignored the plan.
Idiots.
Every single one of them.
"Get the fuck out of here!" she screamed.
This time, they listened.
For a moment she almost didn't believe it.
Neteyam immediately started shoving everyone toward the nearest exit disappearing around the corner.
Spider close behind.
Lo'ak hesitated for half a second, clearly wanting to argue.
Then he caught her expression and ran.
The sight stunned her.
For one brief, impossible moment, everything else faded.
They were leaving. They were getting out. Safe. They were safe.
A rush of relief crashed through her so suddenly it nearly stole her breath.
They listened. For once, they listened.
Thank Eywa.
Her brothers were getting out. That was all that mattered.
A soldier rushed her from the side.
She followed with a punch that sent him crashing into the railing.
One of the recoms grabbed her arm.
She twisted free. Pain shot through her wrist.She ignored it.
The man raised a pistol.
Her stomach dropped. She slammed her forearm into his wrist.
The shot went wild. The pistol skidded across the deck. She kicked him backward.
Someone else fired. Bullets screamed past her head.
One clipped the railing inches from her face.
She turned. A figure emerged from cover. Weapon raised. Finger tightening on the trigger.
She lifted the rifle.
The soldier fired first.
Something slammed into her. Hard. Violent.
Her entire body jerked.
The rifle slipped from her fingers.
For a moment she didn't understand what had happened. Everything felt distant. Muted.
Then heat spread through her ribs.
A burning sensation.
Her hand flew to her side. Wet. Warm.
Blood.
Her breath caught.
No.
No.
No, no, no.
The sounds around her became distorted.
For a heartbeat everything seemed impossibly far away as something cold and vicious surged through her veins.
Someone rushed her. She met them head-on. Her fist connected with a jaw. Something cracked. The figure hit the deck.
Another grabbed for her arm and she tore free with enough force to send them stumbling backwards before driving them into the railing.
A weapon appeared in someone's hands. She ripped it away. The stock connected with a skull.
Another body dropped.
She barely registered faces anymore.
Only threats. Only enemies. Someone lunged. She struck first.
Another raised a weapon. She was already moving.
The deck pitched violently beneath her feet but somehow she remained standing.
Blood soaked her side. More than she realised. Far more. Every movement sent fresh agony through her ribs, yet she barely felt it.
Her body was running on borrowed time.
A roar tore from her throat as another attacker rushed her and a second later they were sprawled motionless across the deck beside the others.
Then there was nobody left standing.
Bodies littered the deck around her.
The fight had lasted seconds. Maybe minutes. She honestly couldn't tell.
Her vision swam.
The rush began to fade. Reality came crashing back all at once.
The pain hit first.
A white-hot spear driving through her side and it tore a horrid groan from her throat.
Then the weakness. Then the terrifying amount of blood coating her hand.
Her knees nearly buckled.
A violent cough tore from her chest. Blood splattered across the metal deck.
She stared at it.
Another cough followed. More blood.
The deck suddenly seemed very far away. Very unsteady.
Her legs trembled.
For a moment she thought she was going to collapse right there amongst the wreckage.
She couldn't focus on anything except the growing realization that something was very, very wrong.
One thought pushed through the haze.
Neteyam. Lo'ak. Spider. Were they out? Had they made it?
She tried to look toward the corridor. Tried to see them. Tried to make sure. Her vision blurred. She couldn't tell.
But she remembered them running. Remembered Neteyam leading everyone away. Remembered Lo'ak finally listening.
Safe. They had to be safe.
Please.
Let them be safe.
She staggered backward.
One step. The world tilted. Another.
Her legs felt weak.
The blood wouldn't stop.
The railing struck the backs of her legs.
Her balance vanished.
The sky spun overhead. Smoke drifted across burning clouds.
For one impossible second everything slowed.
She thought of her brothers.
Every argument. Every laugh.
They were out.
They had to be.
Then she was falling.
The ship disappeared above her.
The ocean rushed upward. Dark. Cold. Endless.
She hit the water hard.
Pain exploded through her body. The impact stole what little breath she had left. Then the sea swallowed her whole.
The sounds of battle vanished. The shouting disappeared. The fire disappeared.
Everything disappeared.
And her final coherent thought was a desperate hope that her siblings had made it out alive.
Then even that faded.
And everything went silent.
Eclipse was approaching.
The massive vessel groaned somewhere out in the darkness as it continued its slow descent beneath the waves, flames reflecting across the ocean like dying stars while debris drifted across the surface.
Si'riya barely noticed any of it.
"Tisoha!"
The ikran was behaving strangely.
Again and again the creature dove beneath the water before emerging moments later, circling frantically and pulling at something hidden beneath the surface.
Searching.
Trying to save something.Trying to save someone.
Her heart dropped.
"(Y/N)!"
She urged her own skimwing forward. The distance vanished quickly.
Then she saw it. A body floating amongst the wreckage. Motionless. Limp. Blue skin stained dark by seawater and blood.
"No, no, no, no..."
She threw herself from her mount the moment she reached her, grabbing hold of (Y/N)'s shoulders and hauling her onto the skimwing's back.
For one horrible moment she thought she was already dead.
Then (Y/N) coughed. Blood spilled from her mouth. "Si'riya..." she whispered weakly.
Relief and terror slammed into her at the same time. "By Eywa, demon, what did you do?"
(Y/N)'s lips twitched weakly. "My brothers..."
The words dissolved into a wet, gargling cough. More blood stained her chin.
Tears immediately filled Si'riya's eyes. She looked around wildly. The ship was sinking. Night was falling.
There was nowhere safe.
Only the rocks nearby. It would have to do.
"Hold on."
She didn't know if (Y/N) could hear her. She didn't know if she could even stay conscious.
But Si'riya kept talking anyway. "Hold on."
The skimwing surged through the water.
Moments later she was dragging (Y/N)'s body onto a stretch of rock protruding from the sea.
The girl felt impossibly heavy. Not because of her size. But because she wasn't helping. Because she was dying.
The realization settled into Si'riya's chest like a knife.
No.
No.
No.
Not her.
Please not her best friend.
She pulled (Y/N) into her lap and gripped her hand tightly.
Tisoha landed beside them. The ikran immediately lowered herself beside her rider and let out a low, mournful croon.
(Y/N) released another series of short, breathless coughs.
Tisoha gently nudged and nipped at (y/n)’s kuru. Then lowered her head.
Si'riya understood immediately.
The great ikran wanted to carry some of her rider’s pain in her last moments.
Her hands shook as she connected their kuru.
The effect was immediate. (Y/N) released a trembling breath. For the first time since she'd found her, some of the fear left her face.
"My brothers?" she rasped. The words were barely audible. "My brothers?"
Si'riya's stomach twisted. She hadn't seen them. She didn't know. She couldn't tell her that.
"They're safe," she said immediately."They got out."
(Y/N)'s eyes fluttered."Safe?"
"Safe."
"And my sisters?"
"They're okay too."
Another weak nod. The smallest hint of relief crossed her face.
Then darkness swept over the ocean as Eclipse finally arrived.
The bioluminescent markings across (Y/N)'s skin glowed faintly. Then dimmed. Then dimmed further.
Si'riya stared. Her breath caught. "No..." A sob escaped her.
(Y/N)'s eyes slowly found hers again.
The fear had returned.
"Where's my dad?" she asked quietly.
The question shattered Si'riya. She looked away. She hadn't seen him. She didn't know where he was. "I don't know."
(Y/N) stared at her. The answer seemed to hit harder than the bullet ever had.
Her breathing immediately became faster. Shorter. Desperate.
Panic filled her eyes.
"No..."
"I—"
"Please get my dad." The words cracked. "I want my dad."
Si'riya's heart broke.
She pulled her friends hand against her chest. . "I can't."
"Please." Tears spilled freely down (Y/N)'s cheeks now.
The fierce warrior who had thrown herself into a fight to do whatever she could to save her sibling was gone.
What remained was a frightened girl. "I want my daddy."
Tisoha released another soft sound and carefully rested her head across (Y/N)'s chest as though trying to comfort her the only way she knew how.
Another cough wracked her body. She struggled for air. Her face screwed shut.
For a moment she looked as though she were making peace with something. As though she understood exactly where this was heading.
Then her eyes opened again. The fear remained. "Si'riya."
"I'm here."
"As soon as I go..."
"No."
"You need to leave."
"I'm not leaving you."
"You have to."
Her voice was growing weaker. Every word seemed to cost her. "You've gotta make sure your siblings are okay too."
Another cough. Another struggle for breath.
"I can't..." She swallowed. Tried again. "I can't go if I don't know."
Si'riya lowered her head. Fresh tears slipped down her face. "Yeah." Her voice broke. "I'll make sure they're okay."
(Y/N) nodded faintly. The tension slowly left her shoulders. Not because she was comfortable. Not because she wasn't scared. Because she finally believed someone would look after them.
For a long moment neither of them spoke.
The ocean rolled against the rocks. Tisoha remained pressed against her rider. Eclipse bathed them all in darkness.
(Y/N)'s gaze drifted upward toward the stars. Then back toward the horizon. Still searching. Still hoping. Still wanting her father.
One final tear slipped down her cheek.
Then her body suddenly went very still. Far too still.
Si'riya froze. "(Y/N)?"
No answer.
"(Y/N)?" Her voice cracked. She squeezed her hand tighter. The hand didn't squeeze back.
Her hand was limp. Completely limp. No squeeze. No movement. No response.
Si'riya stared at it as tears streamed down her face, falling freely now, dripping from her chin and splashing onto the face of her friend.
For a long moment she couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.
The ocean crashed against the rocks around them.
Eclipse blanketed the world in darkness.
Still she sat there, clutching (Y/N)'s hand between both of hers as though holding tighter would somehow change reality.
As though if she refused to let go, this wouldn't be happening. A broken sound escaped her throat. Half sob. Half gasp.
"No..." Her voice shattered.
The girl in her lap didn't answer. Would never answer.
The realization struck harder than anything she had ever experienced. (Y/N) was supposed to be impossible. She was supposed to survive everything. Every reckless idea. Every stupid plan. Every fight. Every impossible situation.
She was always the one laughing afterward. Always the one getting back up. Always the one dragging her through hell with her.
Not this time.
This time she hadn't gotten back up.
Tiso'ha released a low, mournful croon and gently nudged her rider's shoulder. There was no response.
The ikran pressed closer. Refusing to leave.
Si'riya swallowed hard. Then swallowed again. Trying desperately to force air back into lungs that suddenly didn't seem to work anymore.
She carefully lowered (Y/N)'s hand onto her chest. The fingers remained still. Cold seawater dripped from her own hair as she shakily climbed to her feet.
Her legs nearly gave out immediately. She caught herself against the rocks.
A sob escaped before she could stop it.
The sound echoed across the water. Raw. Broken. Painful.
She wiped furiously at her face with the back of her wrist, though the tears kept coming anyway.
Tiso'ha remained beside her rider, curled around her protectively, her head resting against (Y/N)'s chest as though refusing to believe she was gone.
Si'riya looked at the ikran.
Then back at her friend.
At her sister. At the girl who had shared secrets and laughter and arguments and dreams.
"Look after her, girl," Si'riya whispered. Her voice trembled. "Tiso'ha... look after her."
The ikran released another soft sound.
Si'riya looked down one last time. The words caught in her throat. "I'll make sure they get out."
A shaky breath. "They'll be okay."
Another. "I'll find your dad too."
Fresh tears blurred her vision. "I promise."
Her voice finally broke. "Just... wait here."
The silence that followed nearly destroyed her. Because there was nobody left to hear the promise. Nobody left to grin and tell her she was being foolish. Nobody left to call her a guppy.
Nobody left at all.
For one terrible moment she nearly stayed. Nearly collapsed beside her. Nearly screamed her grief into the darkness until her throat gave out.
But (Y/N) had given her one last task. Make sure they were safe. Make sure they got out. And she would not fail her.
Not now.
Not when it mattered most.
A strangled sob escaped her as she turned away. Every step felt wrong. Every step felt like abandonment.
Like betrayal. Like leaving a part of herself behind. She was leaving the only friend she had ever known behind
She reached the edge of the rocks. Stopped. Looked back one final time.
Tiso'ha was still there.
Curled around her rider beneath the darkness of Eclipse.
Standing watch. Waiting.
Si'riya pressed a trembling hand against her mouth to stop the cry trying to escape.
Then she dove. The cold ocean swallowed her instantly. A moment later her skimwing surged upward from the darkness beneath her.
She grabbed hold. The creature turned toward the burning wreck. Toward the fighting. Toward the family that still didn't know what had happened.
And together they disappeared into the night.
Eclipse had come.
The sea was dark now, illuminated only by distant fires and the faint glow of bioluminescence scattered across the water.
Neteyam sat hunched slightly, wincing every time he moved while Neytiri kept a protective hand resting on his shoulder, her eyes constantly scanning her children as if afraid one of them might vanish if she looked away.
The bullet had not killed him. But it had come close enough.
Jake was crouched nearby checking over the others one final time.
Lo'ak. Fine.
Spider. Fine.
Kiri. Fine.
Tuk. Shaken. Terrified. But alive.
All alive.
His relief should have been overwhelming.
Instead unease gnawed at him. A feeling he couldn't shake. Because somebody was missing.
"Mom," Neteyam asked quietly. "Where's (Y/N)?"
The question immediately drew everyone's attention.
Neytiri looked around. Then toward the ocean. Then back again. "I do not know."
Jake's stomach tightened. "Lo'ak?"
His son looked up. "The last time we saw her was on the ship."
Jake slowly turned toward the horizon. Toward the burning vessel. Or rather where it had been. Nothing remained now except scattered wreckage floating across the water.
The ship had sunk. Completely.
His blood ran cold.
No.
No.
No, she wasn't still there.
She couldn't be.
His eldest was many things. Reckless. Stubborn. A pain in his ass.
But she wasn't—
His thoughts stopped. Because the truth was he didn't know. He hadn't seen her leave. Nobody had.
"Neytiri."
His voice sounded strange. Tight. Forced. "Look after the kids."
She immediately understood. Her ears flattened. "Jake—"
"I'm gonna double-check."
Because he had to.
Because if she was down there—
A sudden splash interrupted him.Everyone turned.
Si'riya burst from the water. She hit the rocks running.
Straight past Jake. Straight past everyone. Her eyes landed on Tsireya. "Tsireya!"
The relief in her voice was immediate. Overwhelming. She threw her arms around her sister. "I'm so glad you're okay."
Her words came out broken. Breathless. "Thank Eywa you're okay."
Tsireya immediately wrapped her arms around her sister. Confused. Concerned. "Si'riya?"
Only then did Si'riya finally look up. Only then did she seem to remember everyone else standing there.
The Sully family. Waiting. Watching.
Hope flickered briefly across Jake's chest.
Because she had to know something. She had to know where his daughter was. “Have yo seen (y/n)?_
"I know where she is." The words were barely above a whisper.
Jake saw Neytiri rise to her feet instantly.
"Is she okay?"
Si'riya's face crumpled. She shook her head. Just once.
Jake felt something inside him drop. Like a stone. The world seemed to tilt.
No.
No.
Not his little girl. Not his first baby. Not the child who used to climb into his lap and demand stories. Not the girl who somehow managed to cause problems everywhere she went.
His hands found Si'riya's shoulders before he even realized he'd moved.
"Where?"
The word came out hoarse. Desperate. Broken.
Si'riya lifted a trembling hand. "Those rocks."
Jake didn't wait. He was already moving. Already sprinting. Already diving into the water.
The cold ocean swallowed him whole.
He barely felt it. His arms burned as he swam. His lungs screamed. He ignored them.
The rocks grew closer.
Please.
Please.
Please.
He hauled himself onto the stone.
His knees scraped painfully. He didn't care.
Then he saw Tiso'ha. The ikran was curled around something. Protectively. Motionlessly.
Like a guardian refusing to leave her post.
Jake's heart shattered before he even saw her face. "(Y/N)!"
The scream tore itself from his throat.
Tiso'ha immediately lifted her head. The sound she made wasn't a screech. Wasn't a warning. It sounded heartbreakingly close to grief.
Jake stumbled forward. Nearly falling. The rocks tore open his knees as he dropped beside her.
His daughter lay exactly where Si'riya had left her. Still. Silent. Covered in blood.
Tiso'ha slowly moved aside. Reluctantly. As though surrendering her rider.
Jake gathered (Y/N) into his lap. She was cold. Too cold.
No.
No no no no.
His shaking hand brushed wet strands of hair away from her face.
Her eyes stared past him. Unseeing.Empty.
The sight nearly stopped his heart. He looked over her desperately. Searching. Hoping. Praying.
Finding the wounds in her chest. Finding the blood. Finding the terrible stillness.
And just like that everything inside him collapsed. All the strength. All the determination. All the hope.
Gone.
"Oh, pumpkin..." The words came out as a choked sob.
He pulled her closer. Cradling her against his chest exactly the way he had when she was small enough to fit in one arm. As though holding her tightly enough might somehow bring her back.
"Dad's here." His voice broke.
"Dad's got you now." Tears fell freely down his face. "I'm here, pumpkin."
Another sob escaped him. "I'm here."
But for the first time in her life. His daughter couldn't answer.
Jake held her as tightly as he dared. As though if he loosened his grip for even a second she would slip away completely.
The weight of her in his arms was painfully familiar. He had carried her when she was a baby. Carried her on his shoulders when she was too tired to walk. Carried her home after she'd done something stupid and gotten hurt.
And now... Now he was carrying her for the last time.
The realization nearly broke him. His throat tightened painfully. His chest ached. Tears burned behind his eyes.
But he fought them.
Because he was her father.
Because fathers were supposed to be strong. Because if he let himself fall apart now, he wasn't sure he would ever stop.
His hand trembled as he brushed another strand of hair from her face.
She looked so young. Far too young. Not the fierce warrior everyone saw. Not the troublemaker. Not the stubborn young adult who constantly challenged every order he gave and made every day a headache
Just his little girl. His first baby. The child who had made him a father.
"Oh, pumpkin..." The words barely left his mouth. A tear escaped despite his efforts. Then another.
He squeezed his eyes shut. Tried to stop them.
Failed.
The sound of scrambling footsteps reached him.
Then another.
Then several more.
Jake looked up.
Neytiri was the first to arrive.
One look at her daughter's body and something inside her shattered. A terrible sound tore from her throat.
A sound so full of pain and grief that it barely sounded from this world. "N-no..."
She stumbled forward. Then dropped to her knees beside them.
Her hands immediately found her daughter's face. Cradling her cheek.Touching her hair.
As though trying desperately to convince herself this was not real. "No."
Her voice cracked. "No!"
Jake had heard Neytiri cry before. He had heard her mourn. He had heard her rage. But nothing compared to this.
This was the sound of a mother losing her child.
Their children arrived moments later.
Neteyam froze. The colour drained from his face.
Lo'ak simply stared. As though his mind refused to process what he was seeing.
Kiri covered her mouth.
Tuk immediately burst into tears.
Spider looked away. Unable to bear the sight.
Behind them, Si'riya stood silently.
Her head hung low. Unable to look at any of them. Unable to stop blaming herself.
Tsireya stood beside her, gripping her sister tightly as tears slid silently down her face.
Nobody spoke. Nobody knew how.
Neytiri's hands shook violently as she cupped her daughter's face between them. "Great Mother..." Her voice broke. "Why?"
A sob escaped her. "Why my daughter?"
Her forehead pressed against (Y/N)'s. "Why my child?"
Jake couldn't answer. Nobody could.
There was no answer.
No reason.
No explanation that would ever make this hurt less.
Slowly, carefully, Jake helped transfer their daughter into Neytiri's arms.
The moment Neytiri held her, whatever control she had left vanished completely.She pulled her firstborn tightly against her chest.
Protective. Like she could still shield her from the world. Like she could still keep her safe.
A mother's instincts refusing to accept reality.
The wail that left her then echoed across the ocean. Raw. Broken. A pain so deep no one would be able to understand it.
The sound of a mother's heart breaking.
Jake immediately moved beside her. Wrapping both arms around Neytiri as she collapsed against him.
His own tears flowed freely now. He no longer cared about stopping them.
One hand remained on his daughter's shoulder.
The other held his mate together as she shook with grief.
And beneath the darkness of Eclipse, surrounded by their children, Jake and Neytiri mourned the daughter they had loved from her very first breath. The daughter who had always run headfirst into danger. The daughter who had loved fiercely and fought fiercely and lived fiercely.
Their firstborn.
Their little girl.
Gone.
The world had narrowed to the sound of Neytiri's grief. It tore across the shoreline again, raw and broken, the sound of a mother desperately trying to hold onto something that was already slipping through her fingers.
She clutched (Y/n) tighter against her chest. As if holding her harder would somehow keep her here. As if refusing to let go would force Eywa herself to return what had been taken.
Jake wasn't much better. His hands trembled. His breathing came in uneven pulls.
He kept reaching for his daughter only to stop halfway, like some part of him couldn't accept what his eyes were seeing.
His eldest. His little girl. Still. Too still.
Neteyam stood frozen.
Every instinct screamed at him to do something. Fix it. Help. Say something. Anything.
But there was nothing.
Nothing.
"Why isn't she getting up?" Tuk's small voice shattered what little composure remained. "Neteyam?"
His little sister looked up at him with wide frightened eyes.Waiting for an answer. Waiting for her big brother to explain why their sister wasn't moving. Why their mother was crying.Why their father looked like he was falling apart.
Neteyam opened his mouth.Nothing came out. Because he didn't know.Because he couldn't explain something he refused to believe himself.
Instead he simply pulled Tuk into his arms. Held her tightly against his chest.The little girl buried her face against him.
And for the first time in a very long time Neteyam felt utterly helpless.
Beside him Lo'ak looked worse. Like someone had ripped the foundations out from underneath him. His face had gone pale. His breathing shallow. His eyes fixed entirely on his sister.
Waiting. Still waiting. For her to laugh. To sit up. To call him an idiot.
Anything.
His knees nearly gave out beneath him.
The world swayed.
A hand caught his arm before he could stumble. Tsireya. Her grip tightened. Steadying him. Grounding him.
Lo'ak barely seemed to notice.
His gaze never left (Y/n). Never left the sister who had always stood between him and danger.Who had always come when he needed her.Who had always gotten back up.
Until now.
Kiri sat silently. Silent tears slid down her face. She didn't wipe them away.
Didn't seem to notice them at all.
Her eyes remained fixed on her sister.
On the body lying in their mother's arms.
Si'riya moved closer. Slowly. Carefully.
Her hand settled gently upon Kiri's shoulder.
Nothing was said. There were no words for this. No comfort that could possibly make it better.
But Kiri's hand found Si'riya's.
Holding onto something. Anything.
The silence stretched. Broken only by Neytiri's grief. By Jake's ragged breathing. By the waves washing softly against the shore as if the world hadn't just ended.
And that was perhaps the cruelest part.
As eclipse ended the sun still shone. The ocean still moved. The wind still blew.
Everything continued.
While the Sully family felt as though their hearts had stopped beating altogether.
The village had gone quiet. Not truly quiet. There were still waves. Still wind. Still life moving somewhere beyond the family's grief.
But around Jake and Neytiri there was only silence.
A terrible silence. The kind that settled after something precious had been broken beyond repair.
Their daughter lay before them.
Clean now. The blood washed away. The wounds tended to as best they could.
Her braids had been straightened. Her hands folded.
She looked peaceful.Too peaceful.
Jake hated it.Because peace wasn't supposed to look like this. Peace was supposed to be (Y/n) laughing.
Arguing with him. Getting herself into trouble. Sneaking out before dawn.
Making his life difficult.
Not this.Never this.
His shaking hand came up and gently cupped her face.The familiar scar beneath his thumb. The one he'd traced a hundred times before. The one he'd secretly hated because it reminded him of every time he'd failed to protect her.
His vision blurred. Because all he could see wasn't the young woman lying before him.
It was a baby.
A tiny baby. Opening her eyes.
Looking up at him for the very first time. That enormous smile.
That smile that had always come so easily when she saw him.
The first time she'd spoken.
The first time she'd walked.
The first time she'd fallen asleep on his chest.
Every memory hit him at once.
Every single one.
And suddenly the dam broke.
Jake folded forward.
A sound escaped him. Broken. Raw.
A father whose heart had been torn from his chest. A father who had lost his little girl.
Neytiri heard it.
Saw him breaking. And immediately moved. She crossed the space between them almost desperately and threw her arms around him.
Holding him. Clinging to him. As though she too might shatter if she let go.
Jake buried his face against her shoulder. And cried.
The guilt was suffocating. Relentless. Cruel.
Where was he?
The question kept coming back.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Where was he?
Where was he when she needed him?
Where was he when she was bleeding?
When she was scared?
When she was dying?
He had spent her entire life promising he would protect her. Promising he would keep her safe.
And when it mattered most—he wasn't there.
His daughter had died alone.The thought hollowed him out.
She should have had her family.She should have had him.
Instead she had pain. Fear. And darkness.
Jake squeezed his eyes shut. Unable to escape the image. Unable to stop imagining her calling for him. Looking for him. Waiting for him.
And him not being there.
Neytiri wasn't faring any better. Her face was buried against his neck. Tears soaking into his skin.
Her fingers clenched desperately into his shoulders. As though she could hold herself together through him. Through the only other person who understood this pain.
Their daughter. Their first child. The baby they'd raised together.
Gone.
And neither of them knew how to survive that.
For a long time they simply held each other. Neither speaking. Neither capable of speaking.
Just crying. Together.
The way they always had. The way they always would.
Because there were no words left.
Only the unbearable absence of the daughter they both would have gladly given their own lives to save.
The hardest thing Jake Sully had ever done was place his daughter in that sled.
Harder than war. Harder than leaving Earth. Harder than every battle, every impossible choice, every sacrifice he had ever made.
Nothing came close to this.
The funeral sled drifted quietly across the dark water, pulled by a ilu whose movements were slow and gentle, as though even they understood the weight of what they carried.
His daughter. His firstborn. His pumpkin. His best friend.
The ocean stretched endlessly around them beneath the starlight while far below, the reef glowed gold, vast rivers of living light winding through the darkness like veins beneath Pandora's skin.
Jake sat rigid upon his ilu. Strong. Because he had to be. Because Neytiri needed him. Because his children needed him. Because if he broke now, he feared there would be no putting himself back together again.
So he swallowed every sob. Every scream. Every desperate plea for Eywa to give her back.And he led his family out across the ocean.
The journey felt endless.And far too short.
Because every stroke of the ilu's fins brought them closer to goodbye.
Eventually the glowing reef beneath them became brighter than the stars above.The golden tendrils swayed beneath the surface, reaching upward like countless welcoming hands.
The place of the Metkayina dead.The place where his daughter would rest.
Jake slipped from his ilu without a word.
The water closed around him. Cool.Silent. He swam toward the sled.Toward her.
His family gathered around it.
No one spoke.
No one could.
Neytiri was beside their daughter as Neteyam and Lo’ak helped slide her out, their mother with one trembling hand cupping her cheek.
She had been doing it all evening. As though memorising her face.As though terrified that if she looked away she might forget some tiny detail.
Her fingers brushed across her daughter's brow.
Across the scars she had once hated because they reminded her of every pain her child had endured.
Now she would have given anything to see those scars heal one more time.
Neytiri's jaw trembled.She bit down hard enough to hurt.Refusing to break.Refusing to steal this moment from her daughter.
Her child deserved a proper farewell.
Not a mother's collapse.
(Y/n) rested peacefully within the sled. Curled into the fetal position.
The same position Neytiri had once held her in after nightmares.The same position she'd slept in as a small child.
For one terrible moment Neytiri could almost pretend she was simply asleep.That any second those eyes would open. That she would complain about being carried around.That she would laugh.That she would smile.
Instead there was only silence.
Neteyam gripped his sister's arm tightly.Far too tightly.
As though he could somehow hold her here through sheer force of will.
His throat burned.
His eyes never left her face.
Please.
Please wake up.
If you are going to wake up...
It has to be now.
Please.
Please.
The prayer repeated endlessly in his mind. A desperate bargain with a universe that did not seem interested in listening.
Beside him, Lo'ak brushed trembling fingers across his sister's hand. Over her knuckles. Over the familiar calluses she'd earned from years of training.
Years of protecting them. His chest hurt. Everything hurt.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
(Y/n) always got back up. Always. No matter how badly she was hurt. No matter how impossible things looked.
She got back up. She laughed. She insulted him. She told him to stop being an idiot.
That was how things worked.
That was how they were supposed to work.
Not this. Never this.
Jake floated opposite Neytiri. His daughter between them.
His vision blurred again. He couldn't stop it. Could barely breathe around the lump lodged in his throat.
Goodbye, pumpkin.
The thought nearly destroyed him.
Goodbye.
He took a deep breath. Then another. Trying desperately to steady himself. Trying not to break before he could finish this final act as her father.
Neytiri met his gaze. The pain there mirrored his own. Neither spoke.
Words had long since failed them.
Together they reached for their daughter.
One final time. One last touch. One last act of love.
Then they dove.
The water rushed around them as they guided her downward toward the glowing reef below.
Toward the waiting tendrils of gold.
Toward where the earth would hold her body, her spirit going to Eywa.
Toward goodbye.
Jake kept one hand upon her for as long as possible.
Neytiri did the same.
Neither willing to let go.
Neither ready.
Neither ever would be.
But eventually there came a moment when they had no choice.
Their hands slipped away.
And she continued downward without them.
(Y/n) drifted deeper into the golden light. The glowing tendrils reached upward.
Welcoming. Gentle. Almost embracing.
As though Pandora was welcoming one of its daughters home.
Jake and Neytiri watched helplessly. Watched their daughter sink further away.
Further. And further.
Until she became a silhouette surrounded by gold.
Then a shadow.
Then only light.
And finally—
nothing.
Only the reef remained.
Glowing softly beneath the dark water.
While above it, a father and mother hung suspended in the ocean, their hands reaching toward the place where their daughter had disappeared.
Unable to follow.
Unable to let go.
Unable to imagine a world that would continue turning without her in it.
There was one final part of the ceremony. One final place they had to go.
The Cove of the Ancestors.
The place where the dead lived within Eywa, within memories.
Where those who had passed could still be found if only for a little while.
Perhaps he would see her. Perhaps he would not. Perhaps this was the only way left to find his daughter.
Jake wasn't sure he was ready. But he knew he couldn't leave without trying.
Neytiri's hand found his. Their fingers intertwined.
Holding each other together.
Holding each other up.
Together they were before Ranteng Utralti.
Together they connected their kuru.
The world disappeared.
And when Jake opened his eyes again— He was home. The forests of the Omatikaya stretched endlessly around him.
Sunlight filtered through the leaves. Animals called in the distance.
The air was warm. Alive.
For a moment he simply stood there.
"Dad!"
His heart stopped. She came sprinting through the trees. Small. Happy. No scars. No burdens.No war.
Only a little girl of nine years old throwing herself toward him at full speed.
Jake dropped to one knee.
Caught her as she crashed into him.Her little arms wrapped around his neck.And for one horrible second he almost broke. Because this was how he remembered her. Before the battles.Before the blood. Before the nightmares. Before he had turned her into a soldier.
His arms locked around her.Holding her so tightly it almost hurt. "Dad?" she laughed.
He buried his face in her hair. Breathing her in. Trying to memorize every second. Every feeling. Every little detail.
Then she pulled back.
And suddenly she wasn't nine anymore. The child faded. The young woman remained.
Eighteen.
Whole. Unscarred. The way she might have been if life had been kinder.
She knelt in front of him smiling. Happy. Unburdened. Free.
"What's got you all down, old man?" she asked. Her grin widened. "You look like you've aged fifty years."
A sound escaped Jake. Part laughPart sob. He reached forward immediately and pulled her into his arms again. Hard. Desperate.
Like if he let go she might disappear. "I just missed you, pumpkin."
(Y/n) let out a muffled noise. "Dad."
Jake held her tighter.
"Dad."
His shoulders shook.
"Dad, I can't breathe."
He laughed. A broken laugh. The kind that hurt.
"You're so fat you're crushing me."
Jake barked out another laugh despite himself. A tear escaped. Then another.
But he didn't let go. Not yet. Not when he finally had her again. Not when she'd been gone.
Not when he'd just buried her.
Eventually she wriggled enough that he loosened his grip.
She sat back. Still smiling. Still completely unaware. Completely innocent.
Jake swallowed. Hard. "Why'd you do it, pumpkin?" The question escaped before he could stop it.
(Y/n) blinked. "Do what, dad?"
His chest tightened.
Of course she wouldn't know. She didn't remember. Didn't know she'd died. Didn't know she'd left them behind. Didn't know what had happened on that ship.
"Why don't you ever run?" he asked quietly. "Why don't you ever wait for me to come get you?"
The confusion on her face was immediate.Genuine.
Heartbreakingly genuine.
"But I do wait for you."
Jake froze.
(Y/n) tilted her head. "I always wait for you."
The simplicity of the answer shattered him.
Because to her—He always came to get her.
No matter what.No matter how long it took.
Her father always came and got her.
Neytiri watched from a short distance away.
A small smile touched her face.
For a moment she forgot. Forgot the funeral. Forgot the grief. Forgot the impossible weight sitting inside her chest.
Because here was her daughter. Laughing. Teasing her father.
Alive.
Then she felt a hand settle upon her shoulder.Another on the opposite side.
Neytiri turned.
And her smile faltered.
Sylwanin stood beside her. Her sister. Gone so many years now.
Yet here.
On her other side stood Eytukan. Her father. Strong as she remembered. Proud. Steady.
And suddenly Neytiri remembered where she was.
Remembered why she had come.
The grief rushed back. Her eyes filled immediately.
Sylwanin squeezed her shoulder gently. "We will watch over her."
Neytiri's breath hitched.
Eytukan's hand tightened upon her shoulder. A father comforting his child. "She will not be alone."
Neytiri's composure finally cracked. A quiet sob escaped her.
Because that had been her greatest fear. That her daughter had gone into the darkness alone. That she was frightened. Lost. Hurting.
But now—That fear eased. Just a little.
Sylwanin smiled. "We have her."
Eytukan nodded. "And until it is your time, we will care for her."
Neytiri closed her eyes. Leaning into their touch.
While across the clearing Jake sat beside his daughter beneath the trees. Listening to her laugh. Listening to her tease him.
Trying desperately to hold onto every second.
Because he knew this moment would not last.
And because letting go of her a second time might somehow hurt even more than the first.
Varang daughter messing around with Jake Sully outside of the cage, jumping scaring him and asking how his blood taste like, just being her normal little monster self 😅
First fic back from hiatus!! Hope you enjoy 🪐
Jake had been sitting there for hours. The crowds had died down, leaving only a few soldiers standing around the glass cage. The occasional person came around, taking a photo or cursing him out before leaving.
Jake had his head lowered, his eyes fixated on the ground of his 'cage' when he heard a bang on the glass. The man didn't look up. It was probably someone ready to curse him out. That was until - "Look at (Name), Skxawng! Do not ignore!" Jake's head snapped up at the Na'vi word, his eyes immediately finding a small, mangkwan child.
Jake mumbled a "What the hell" under his breath, turning his body to face.. (Name)..? Is that what she had said.. why the hell was she speaking in the third person. The navi child couldn't be older than five or six years old.
(Name) had her face pressed against the glass, staring intensity at the locked up blue man. "Ew. You ugly." (Name) said, a word she often called Lyle too, she had heard her mother call sky demon's that.
Jake's eyes widened, just who the hell was this child. "Excuse me..?" He said in disbelief. (Name) scowled. "You heard (Name)!" The child banged on the glass again.
A yip came from somewhere behind the child, making her turn around. (Name) turned back to Jake, sticking her tongue out at him, something Lyle had taught her before running off. Jake scoffed under his breath, turning his body back.
A few hours had gone by, and Jake had let his guard down as he tried to fall asleep in his sitting up position. Just then- BANG! Jake jumped, swerving around to find the na'vi child from before. (Name).
(Name) let out a loud cackle, her hands pressed up against the glass. "Haha, take that, Skxawng." Jake's eyes narrowed, (Name) seemed to say things with an accent. Not the type Neytiri had when she spoke English. Quaritch's accent. It was almost as if Quaritch had been teaching this child English, but that was impossible. Why the hell would he teach some random mangkwan kid English? Unless...
"Hey, kid. Who are your parents?" Jake asked, looking (Name) up and down. Much to Jake's dismay, (Name) only stared at him in confusion. Jake groaned. "Who is your Sa'nok?" (Name) lit up. "Tsahìk! Sa'nok!" Which meant that Varang was (Name)'s mother. "What about your Sempul?" Jake asked.
"Sa'nok ate him." The child said with a grin, twirling one of her braids. Jake sucked in a breath, feeling slightly blessed for the wife he had. BANG! (Name) just the glass one last bang one before running off.
A few hours after that, Neytiri rescued Jake. "Baby. Thank you for not eating me." Neytiri had looked at Jake like he a lost his damn mind.
