pairings aged-up neteyam x tayrangi!female warrior
notes reader is ikeyni’s daughter, mean neteyam (dw he will grovel for this <3) crybaby neteyam, angst, she fell first and he fell harder, smut (p in v), oral (f&m receiving)
synopsis neteyam has always been the only boy who stirred your heart. as a man, he is everything you’ve ever wanted... and now that circumstances have finally drawn you closer, it feels like the perfect chance to make him see you. but with the looming war, the firstborn son of toruk makto has no room for distractions, and he won’t hesitate to push aside anyone who threatens his focus.
word count 17.7k
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You leaned against one of the massive pillars of the war pavilion, idly braiding a strand of fiber for your new knife sheath. Usually, your senses would be filled with the smell of salt and moss that clung to the cliffs of your home in the Eastern Sea, but here, in the rainforest, it was mostly choked out by the heavy stench of fuel and burning forest, and around you, the war council was deep in debate.
Your mother stood tall with the other chieftains, gesturing sharply at a large map laid on a long table. Beside her stood your brother, the future Olo’eyktan of your clan, listening intently.
And then, there was the real view.
Neteyam stood just behind his father, Jake Sully. He was taller than most of the men in your clan, broad-shouldered, and muscled, taking after his father, even though he had the fierce beauty of his mother. He was listening to the strategy with that maddeningly intense, perfectly disciplined look he always wore. Always the dutiful son, the perfect soldier.
You bit your lip, a slow smirk spreading across your face. He was so incredibly handsome it was ridiculous, especially when he looks like he carried the weight of the entire world on his shoulders. You’ve always wondered what it would feel like to be on the receiving end of that intensity... To be the subject of his focus and determination.
You shivered at the thought of it, and your brother caught your eyes across the table. He noticed where you were staring, rolled his eyes, and mouthed, “Stop it.”
“Their supply lines are vulnerable here, along the gorge,” Jake Sully was saying, moving a stone on the ridge on the map. “But they’ve got turrets scanning the skies. If we fly in blind, we’re target practice.”
“We need a distraction,” Neteyam muttered, his brow furrowed as he stared at the map. “Someone fast enough to draw the attention away from the ground strike team, but agile enough to avoid getting hit. But it’s high risk.”
“My people are born on the wind,” Ikeyni spoke up. She placed a hand flat on the table, her sharp eyes shifting from Jake to his eldest son. “If you need someone who can deliver what you need, you take my daughter.”
Neteyam’s head snapped up. His golden eyes immediately finding yours from where you leaned against the pillar, as if he knew where exactly you had been standing. A frown instantly marred his handsome face and he turned back to your mother, his posture stiffening.
“Olo’eykte, with respect, the RDA has upgraded those tracking systems,” Neteyam argued, his voice tight with that dutiful edge you loved to mess with. “They aren’t just shooting blindly anymore. It is high risk. A single mistake, and the ikran and its rider are—”
“Are you saying I can’t handle it?”
You purred the words as you finally pushed off the pillar, sauntering closer to the table, tossing your half-braided sheath fiber aside. Every eye in the room tracked your movement, but yours were locked on the Omatikaya’s golden boy. You stopped right beside him, close enough that you felt the heat radiating from him. You tilted your head up, letting a slow smirk pull at your lips as you looked at his clenched jaw.
“If I didn’t know any better,” you murmured, leaning in just a fraction closer, “I’d think you were trying to keep me out of the sky to keep me safe. I didn’t realize you care that much?”
A sudden bark of laughter broke out from an elder across the table and the others followed suit. Meanwhile, your brother shook his head at your sheer audacity. Jake Sully’s lips twitched upward, a faint, amused glint in his eyes as he looked between you two, clearly remembering what it was like to be young and stubborn. Even the older, stern warriors around the table began to chuckle, the suffocating tension of the war efforts breaking open to let a little light in. It was a comforting reminder to the elders that despite the demons coming back, the youth were still acting their age.
Neteyam, however, did not laugh.
He let out a long, slow breath through his nose, his shoulders dropping a fraction as he looked down at you. His ears twitched back in mild annoyance, but he didn't step away from you. He was tolerant, as he always was, enduring your teasing with the patience of a tree weathering a storm. He had always known that you are a lethal asset to the people’s war efforts... But unfortunately, you are also a source of a massive, distracting headache.
“I care about the success of the mission,” Neteyam said, his voice dropping into a low register meant only for you. His gaze was incredibly intense up close, close to the kind of focus that had made you shiver imagining just moments ago. “We are planning a raid that could cost lives. This isn’t the time for games.”
Partly slighted at his doubt, you frowned. “I am completely serious,” you said, dropping the just enough to show the deadly huntress beneath. You motioned at the map right where the turrets were marked. “These are coastal winds. I’ve navigated treacherous cliff gaps like it’s a playground snce I was a child. My ikran and I will rise to the challenge, you’ll see.”
“Alright, alright, break it up,” Jake intervened, though the grin was obvious in his voice as he tapped the map. “If Ikeyni says she’s the one for the job, then she’s the one. Neteyam, you’ll be leading the ground insertion. That means your timing with the distraction has to be perfect.”
Neteyam tore his eyes away from you, nodding sharply to his father. “Yes, sir.”
But as the council began to break into smaller groups to discuss once more among themselves, Neteyam didn't immediately walk away. He stayed right where he was, his towering frame casting a shadow over you. He looked down at you, the exasperation fading into something quieter, something serious and heavy.
“It really is dangerous out there,” he said softly, his golden eyes searching yours. “The winds in the gorge are unpredictable.”
You matched his seriousness for a rare, passing second, to let him see that you are capable underneath all the flirting. “I know, Neteyam. But I’m faster than them. Trust me.”
He nodded, his jaw hardening. “I do trust you. Just... don't make me regret it.”
With a final, lingering look that left your heart hammering against your ribs, he turned to follow his father. You watched him go, your smirk slowly returning as you realized that for at least a few minutes, you had been the absolute center of his universe.
The next day, you were up before the first light, immediately going to where your ikran was roosting, smiling when you saw her already prepared, like always. “Ready, girl?“ you murmured, stroking her sleek, brightly patterned neck.
She screeched in response, a sharp, eager sound and you chuckled, mounting her back and connecting your kuru to hers, the familiar, rushing warmth of the tsaheylu flooding your senses. Your head swiveled to the side when you sensed a presence, seeing Neteyam stopping several paces away, already geared with his warrior cummerbund, longbow, amd chest knife sheath.
Your head tilted, admiring how handsome he looked as you smiled brightly. “Hi! Good morning,” you grinned. “Came to send me with a good luck kiss?”
He remained serious though, his eyes scanning your form on your ikran. “Be careful out there.” he said in a clipped tone, not waiting for a response before he turned away.
You chuckled, shaking your head. So serious, you thought, smirking. So handsome, too, anyway, the other part of your mind retorted and you rolled your eyes. You clicked your tongue and pulled at your ikran’s reins, making her surge up into the sky. You flew higher than usual, hiding in the thick clouds to scan high above the gorge. The sky was still a deep, bruised purple when the signal came through the comms secured to your ear.
“Pathfinder,” Jake Sully’s voice crackled, steady and calm. “Ground teams, position. You are clear to engage. Eye in the sky, you're up.”
A heartbeat later, a lower, tighter voice filtered through. “Be careful up there. Hit your marks.”
Neteyam.
Your smirk returned, invisible to him but it laced your voice enough for him to imagine it. “I heard that twice already, Neteyam. Are you so worried?” your honeyed teasing voice dripping through the comms.
You heard his groan and it was followed by a chuckle that sounded so much like Jake’s but it was cut short. “Just focus on the mission,” Neteyam’s voice snapped back through the earpiece.
You chuckled. “Watch the skies, Sully. Try not to blink, or you’ll miss me.”
Without waiting for a response, you clicked your tongue. Your ikran folded her wings and dove straight off the cliffside into the gaping maw of the gorge. The wind shrieked past your ears, whipping your braids wildly. Below, the metallic structures of the RDA outpost clung to the valley floor like a parasite. Within seconds, the base's automated defense grid woke up. Loud whirs echoed through the canyon as three massive turrets pivoted, their motion-tracking lasers sweeping the dark sky until they locked onto you.
“Now!” you hissed, leaning flat against your ikran's back.
You maneuvered your ikran in the sky as heavy explosive rounds tore through the air. The blasts should have scared you, but it surprised even you that it didn’t. You pulled sharply on the reins, banking hard to the left. A volley of bullet shattered the rocky cliffside right where you had been a millisecond before, reducing it to a powdery debris. You laughed out loud, pushing your mount into a tight, dizzying barrel roll, diving directly between the narrow gaps of the cliffs.
The tracking systems couldn't keep up. The automated turrets jerked violently, scrambling to overcorrect their aim as you flew through the blind spots, From your view high above, you watched Neteyam and his ground strike team. While the turrets were completely distracted by your earlier display, they swarmed out of the dense forest like shadows. Leading the charge, Neteyam moved with terrifying precision, breaching the perimeter fencing, dropping two RDA guards before they could even raise their weapons. Behind him, Lo'ak and the other warriors systematically planted charges on the supply crates and fuel lines.
Even from up above, your eyes found him effortlessly, admiring his swift and unyielding movements, completely commanding. He was a force of nature.
“Charges are live! Pull back, pull back!” You heard Neteyam’s voice bark through the comms. He looked up into the sky, his golden eyes scanning the smoke until he caught the bright, unmistakable red of your ikran’s wings looping through the clouds. “Y/N, disengage! Get out of there!”
Swooping low one last time, you let out a victorious battle cry as a massive explosion ripped through the base behind you. You looked and saw an image of a huge ball of fire consuming the turrets and the supply lines. The explosion gave your ikran the motivation to increase her speed, launching you up and out of the fiery gotge into the safety of the skies. The raid was a flawless success.
By the time you got back to Hometree, the adrenaline was still humming under your skin. You hopped down from your ikran, patting her flank affectionately as the other warriors cheered and celebrated the clean victory. No casualties for the party and a massive blow to the sky people. A smudge of black engine soot marred your cheek, your eyes searching the crowd.
Neteyam was standing near his father, catching his breath, his skin glistening with sweat and ash. He looked exhausted, but the heavy tension that usually held his shoulders tight had momentarily melted away. As if sensing your gaze, his head turned. His golden eyes locked onto yours across the clearing. You stared at him, raising your brow and tilting your chind up with a proud, triumphant grin that said, I told you so.
Neteyam watched you for a long moment. Then, slowly, a genuine, breathless smile broke across his handsome face. It was a rare, stunning sight that made your heart do a violent flip against your ribs. He broke away from his father and walked straight toward you, stopping just a foot away.
“You showboated,” he murmured, his voice low but devoid of the seriousness that usually laced it.
“I just gave them a show,” you corrected smoothly, crossing your arms. “There is a difference. And I did it.”
“You did,” Neteyam conceded, his eyes dropping to the soot on your cheek before rising to meet your gaze with an intensity that made you almost forget how to breathe. “It was an incredible show. You were incredible up there.”
Your breath hitched. For all your constant flirting and loud teasing, having his quiet praise directed entirely at you caught you completely off guard that the witty comeback died on your tongue, your cheeks warming under his stare.
Neteyam noticed your sudden silence, and a small, amused smirk, one that looked a lot like your own, as if he had just copied it, pulled at the corner of his lips.
“What's wrong?” he asked softly, stepping just a fraction closer. “Quiet now? I didn't realize it was that easy to shut you up.”
You stared up at him, your mouth slightly open. The proximity was intoxicating, and for someone who usually spent his time dodging your advances, he was occupying a lot of your personal space now.
Your eyes flicked down to his smirk, then back up to his eyes. “I’m just savoring the moment. You’re more handsome up close,“ you smirked, regaining your composure a little. You leaned in, forcing him to maintain that dizzying eye contact. “And it’s not every day the great Neteyam admits I'm incredible. I might just let it get in my head.”
Neteyam’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second. Coughing softly, he cleared his throat as he took a strategic step backward, breaking the contact but keeping his eyes locked onto yours. “Don't get used to it,” he muttered, though his tone was lacking any real bite. “Go get cleaned up. My father wants a full debrief within the hour.”
He turned on his heel and walked back toward Jake, though you didn't miss the way his tail swished behind him. You let out a quiet, triumphant laugh, wiping the soot from your cheek with the back of your hand. There was still an armor, but you had managed to crack it... That’s a small victory!
In the following days, the high of the victory had settled into the familiar routine of war. The leaders gathered once again in the pavilion. This time, however, the mood was lighter. The success of the gorge raid had given the rebellion more time to breathe. Your mother pointed at the eastern coast on the map, discussing the movement of RDA sea vessels who was last seen going farther east.
“They are retreating toward the deep water,” your brother noted, crossing his arms. “The destruction of the supply lines has damaged their operations in the coastal outposts.”
“We need to take control of the momentum,” Jake said, leaning over the table. “Neteyam, what’s the status of our perimeter watches?”
Neteyam stepped forward, completely back into his professional, disciplined element. “The forest guards are doubling their patrols. But we need to ensure our aerial scouts are maintaining a strict radius. We can't afford to get complacent just because we succeed in one mission.”
You smiled, resting your chin in your palm as you leaned over the map table, deliberately putting yourself right in his line of sight. “Oh, don't worry, Commander. Our scouts are alwasys in the air. We don't get tired easily.” You paused, letting your eyes slowly track down his body before bringing your gaze back to his face. “Though, if you're so worried about our stamina, you're welcome to come up with me next time. I can show you how we stay energized.”
A collective ripple of amused snickers passed through the council. Your brother hid his face in his hands, muttering something about losing his mind, while your mother let out a small, huffing chuckle. “Daughter...” she said pointedly.
Neytiri smiled, shaking her head at Ikeyni. You watched Neteyam close his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He let out a long sigh, his shoulders dropping. He was so incredibly tolerant of you, enduring the teasing with the quiet patience of a palulukan letting a cub bat at its tail.
“Y/N,” Neteyam said slowly, opening his eyes to look at you with deadpan exasperation. “I have to train the youth at the archery grounds after this. I do not have time to be a part of your games.”
“A shame,” you purred, flashing him a brilliant, unbothered grin. “You don't know what you're missing.”
Hours later, you found yourself wandering down toward the village training grounds, hearing the familiar sound of snapping bowstrings and the light thud of arrows hitting bark targets. You stood there, crossing your arms as you watched the scene. Neteyam was in his element. He was surrounded by a dozen young, aspiring warriors, all holding smaller training bows. He was patient and focused, moving down the line to correct their posture.
“Keep your elbow high,” Neteyam instructed a young boy, gently adjusting the kid's arm. “Do not fight the bow string. Let it become an extension of your arm. Look at the center of the mark, breathe out, and release.”
The boy released the string, and the arrow thudded squarely into the inner ring of the target. The kids cheered, and Neteyam offered a rare, warm smile, patting the boy's shoulder.
“Very good. Again.”
“Nice,” you called out, stepping out from the shadows.
The group of young hunters immediately turned, their eyes widening when they saw you. In your clan, you were a legend among the youth, the daughter who flew like the wind and didn't care about the rules. A few of the older teenagers standing nearby immediately started whispering and nudging each other, grinning widely because everyone knew you loved to push Neteyam’s buttons.
Neteyam stiffened, his shoulders squaring as he turned to face you. He gripped his longbow, his ears twitching back. “I am teaching, Y/N. Go find something else to do.”
“I just want to see if I can help,” you said innocently, sauntering closer until you were standing right in front of him, entirely ignoring the giggles of the children behind him. You reached out, your fingers lightly tracing the curve of his heavy longbow. “You see, kids, the Omatikaya are used to shooting on the ground, on their feet. But if you want real precision while moving, you need a loose hip. Like this.”
You fluidly snatched a training bow from a nearby rack, notched an arrow in the blink of an eye, and without even pausing to aim, you spun on your heel and released. The young warriors erupted into gasps and cheers when they saw the arrow hit the center of the furthest target cleanly, totally thrilled by the display. You tossed the bow back onto the rack, turning around to look at Neteyam with a smug, raised eyebrow.
“See?” you murmured, stepping into his space, tilting your head up. “It’s about flexibility, too. Maybe I should give you a private lesson sometime. I can teach you how to loosen up what’s stiff.” you murmured, biting your lip.
Neteyam’s eyes narrowed, his aw practically tightening into stone. His face burned a furious, deep shade of violet, his golden eyes wide as he stared down at you. He knows, with a piercing awareness, how completely trapped he is between his duty and his sheer, chaotic attraction to you, and he shouldn’t like it. But he does, so Eywa help him. He took a deep breath, gripping his bow tightly to keep his hands from shaking.
“Class dismissed,” Neteyam barked out, his voice a strained, tight rumble. “Go practice your stealth skills. Now.”
The kids scrambled away, still laughing and whispering, leaving the two of you completely alone in the training grounds. Neteyam stepped even closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over you as he glared down, though the heat radiating from his skin told a completely different story.
“You are impossible,” he whispered fiercely.
You laughed, enjoying the sight of the crack getting bigger each day. You’ve never had this much progress in the past... Perhaps because you don’t really see each other for longer than a few days. Sometimes, your mother gets invited to festivals in the Omatikaya and she brings you and your brother with her, or it’s her who invites the Sullys to come for festivals in your clan.
You’ve always liked Neteyam better than his brother. Lo’ak is a good acquaintance, but it was Neteyam who you’ve always found more interesting. What with his intense focus and unyielding determination on everything he puts his mind to, but you could tell it was also born from his desire to live up to his parents’ legacy.
He is the firstborn, after all. The heir to the Omatikaya leadership. The return of the sky people was the reason why he’s grown even more serious and focused, determined to protect the people, Eywa’eveng, and his family, even more so. You respect that a great deal, but you also think he needs to loosen up a bit before he stresses himself into an early grave.
You wonder if he even has interest in women, or if he only cares about his bows and his arrows. But you don’t like to think of that. It makes you fiercely jealous to think of him directing that intense focus on a woman who’s not you... Or to think of him letting a woman see past the armor you’re working so hard to crack.
But you are too confident. You thought the crack in his armor was getting wider by the day, and you genuinely believed it was only a matter of time before he finally let his guard down.
You should have remembered that in war, the higher you fly, the harder you fall.
More council meetings ensued in the following days, and now, you found yourself back in the sky. The RDA had deployed a small convoy of armored vehicles, and Neteyam’s squad was tasked to do a quiet interception.
“Hold your position above the tree line,” you heard Neteyam’s voice through the comms, crisp and authoritative. “Do not engage until the ground team has disabled their communications. If they see you, they will lock down the area and call for reinforcements. Do you copy?”
You had copied. But as you circled in the grey mist, you saw one of the AMP suits pivoting its heavy cannon directly toward the dense foliage where Neteyam’s ground sweepers were crawling. Your heart leaped into your throat. You waited to hear from him, or for the communication to be cut, but you can’t wait when they could all be gunned down any second.
I am fast enough, you had thought, fueled by that same headstrong confidence that had always served you before. I can take out that suit before it fires.
So, you dove.
But you had underestimated the trees’ density in this sector. Your ikran’s wing clipped a massive branch, throwing off your trajectory by a fraction of a second, and it was all the automated sensors needed. The AMP suit spun, firing a volley of heavy-caliber rounds into the sky. A hot, tearing agony sliced across your thigh, a bullet graze, and the concussive blast sent your ikran screeching into a spiral.
Your sudden, messy descent completely blew the ground team's cover. The convoy opened fire on the forest blindly. Screams of pain echoed through the comms, cutting through your panic. By the time it all ended, the convoy was destroyed, but the cost to the war party was devastating. Blood soaked your leg wraps but you cared little for it, forcing your ikran into the air, flying back to the Hometree with your chest tightening in suffocating fear and shame.
When you landed in the clearing, the celebratory atmosphere of the past weeks was entirely dead. You scrambled off your mount, wincing as your injured leg buckled slightly, and rushed toward the center, catching sight of him immediately. Neteyam was lifting a huntress off the back of his ikran. Her arm was painted in deep, crimson blood from a horrific wound on her shoulder. It was Tarya.
“Get the medical bay ready! Move!” Neteyam roared, his voice cracking with a raw, terrifying desperation you had never heard from him before. He was covered in soot and someone else's blood, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated fury.
“Neteyam—” you breathed, stepping forward, your hands shaking. “Neteyam, I—I am so sorry. I saw the suit turning toward you, I thought I could—”
Neteyam snapped. He lowered Tarya into the frantic arms of the medical healers, then turned on you so fast his tail whipped the air. He closed the distance between you in two giant, looming strides, towering over you.
“You thought?” he asked, his voice drawing the shocked eyes of every warrior present. “I don’t think so! You are entirely, helplessly obstinate! You almost fell! You almost died, did you even think of that?!”
You flinched, stepping back, but he kept coming, his golden eyes blazing with a dangerous, lethal heat that made you feel incredibly small.
“And because you couldn't follow a single, simple order, these warriors are wounded!” He said in a hard voice, his jaw clenched so hard you could hear his teeth grinding. “Tarya might not survive the night! Do you understand that? Do you even care?”
“I do care!” you cried out, tears of shame finally burning your eyes. “I was trying to protect—”
“You didn’t listen! Like always!” he cut you off, his chest heaving as he glared down at you with complete contempt. “You treat this war like a game to win my attention! You are a massive, childish distraction, Y/N! Everyone knows it, and I am sick of it! Do you think people bleeding out in the mud is a joke? Do you think this war is just another festival for you to play around in?”
The words felt like physical daggers piercing straight into your chest, ripping away at your pride and your confidence. You stood frozen, completely exposed and deeply ashamed in front of the people present. Your mouth opened to apologize again.
“I'm sorry,” you choked out, your voice breaking.
“Save your apologies,” Neteyam said, his voice dropping into a cold, venomous hiss that hurt far worse than his shouting. “If you cannot take this seriously, you should just withdraw from the war efforts entirely. Frankly, your behavior is putting everyone's life on the line.”
He didn't wait for you to answer. He turned his back on you completely, jogging alongside the stretcher as they wheeled his warriors toward the human facilities.
You stood alone in the dirt. You couldn't even feel the throbbing wound on your thigh. The numbness of absolute embarrassment and guilt swallowed you whole. He was right. You had been stupid and childish. You had been playing a dangerous game with people's lives just to hear him say your name.
You didn't seek out the Tsahik. You didn't think you deserved her medicine. Weakly, you dragged yourself back onto your ikran and flew away from the Hometree, heading toward the borders of your own clan's territory. You spent the evening in isolation, using bitter, stinging ocean herbs to tend to your own thigh, weeping silently in the dark. You resolved that you would return to apologize to the wounded warriors, and thinking of doing that is already making you feel flayed.
You had been too confident in your abilities and now, you have put people’s lives on the line. You should be ashamed. He was right about you leaving the war efforts, too, perhaps that was for the better. Because of what happened, you don’t think you still have enough confidence to go out there and fight.
You went to your clan, simply to change clothes, but was welcomed by the heavy grief that befell the people. An honored elder had passed away from natural causes, and by custom, the clan had to gather for the burial rites. Your mother and brother returned from the war front to attend, their faces grim.
After the body was given back to Eywa, your brother found you sitting on a secluded cliffside, staring blankly out at the crashing waves of the Eastern Sea. He sat down beside you, sighing. “I heard of the northern ridge,” he said quietly.
You clutched your knees to your chest, refusing to look at him. “Is Tarya... is she alive?”
“She is. Jake’s human friends saved her. She will recover. The others are okay, too,” your brother assured you, placing a heavy hand on your shoulder. “The war party didn't lose its momentum, sister, if that’s what you’re worried about. But... the injuries could have been prevented. You know this.”
“I know,” you whispered, a tear slipping down your cheek. “I think I should leave, before I put everyone's lives on the line.” You looked up at your brother, your eyes hollow. “I’ll fly back tomorrow. Just to apologize to those who were wounded because of me. And then... I'm coming home.”
Later that evening, you stood inside your mother's yurt, packing away your combat gear. Ikeyni watched you from the entrance, her arms crossed, as you told her what you told your brother, your voice flat and devoid of its usual spark.
“It would be better anyway if I stay back here, Mother,” you said, tying off a leather pouch. “I can act on your behalf with the local hunters. I'm just a bother to the war council over there.”
Ikeyni stared at you, her sharp eyes assessing your rigid posture, your bandaged leg, and the complete lack of confidence in your eyes.
“Whose words are those?” your mother asked softly. “Are they yours?”
You paused, your hands trembling over your gear. You shook your head slowly. “Mother, he was right,” you said, a lump forming in your throat as Neteyam's furious face flashed in your mind. “I wasn't taking the war seriously. I think it would do the council better if I leave. We have plenty of competent riders to do my job. I don't belong there.”
Ikeyni let out a long, heavy sigh. She walked over, placing a firm, warm hand on the nape of your neck, tilting your forehead up to look into her eyes.
“If that is what you truly want, then so be it,” your mother murmured softly, leaning forward to kiss your temple. “But remember who you are, daughter. You are a child of the wind. Do not let one storm ground you forever.”
The journey back to the Omatikaya clan felt different this time. Usually, you would be racing your brother through the clouds, your laughter wild and loud, but today, you simply flew silently behind your mother. When you landed and entered the pavilion, the change in you was loud. Normally, there was always a sharp, teasing smirk ready for whoever caught your eye, but now, your face was barely moving, your eyes fixed on a permanent point in front of you.
The shame was suffocating and it felt like a huge boulder they tied around you. The council proceeded, discussing territory lines and defensive strategies for what felt like hours, while you stood rigid behind your mother, your eyes watching them move pieces on the map, unknowing of Neteyam’s eyes seeking you despite Ikeyni’s body blocking him from sight.
Taking a deep breath, you stepped forward into the light of the pavilion when the elders finally paused. Your voice was flat as you addressed the chieftains and the elders, completely stripped of its usual playful edge. “I want to apologize for the failure of my recent mission. I disobeyed orders, and I take full accountability for the consequences. I am even sorrier that it took me days to stand before you and say this; my clan was laying an elder to rest.“
You took a breath, your hands clasped tightly behind your back so no one could see them shaking.
“As you can see, I am unfit for this council. I lack the discipline required for operations of this scale. Moving forward, I am letting my mother decide on my replacement from the Tayrangi riders.”
A heavy silence descended upon the pavilion.
“Y/N,” Jake Sully spoke first, his deep voice carrying a wave of gentleness that surprised you. He leaned over the table, his eyes soft. “The war party didn't lose its momentum. We took out the convoy. You don't need to pin the blame solely on yourself. This is war. Mistakes happen and warriors are always meant to be wounded.”
Neytiri leaned forward next, her sharp, golden eyes searching your hollow face. “Do I understand what you mean, Ikeyni’ite? Are you leaving the council?”
“Yes,” you nodded, your voice firm.
Your mother stepped into the space beside you, her voice steady and protective, supplementing your words before anyone else could question you. “I have asked her to stay back with the Tayrangi. Ruk’e and I are heavily occupied with the war efforts here, and I need someone I trust to oversee the people.”
“Olo'eykte. Tsakarem.”
The voice cut through the pavilion, low and fractured, making your heart seize painfully in your chest. You didn't want him to speak. You didn't want to look at him.
Neteyam stepped forward from behind his father's shoulder. His posture wasn't stiff with the perfect discipline of a soldier anymore, it looked strained, his shoulders slightly hunched. “I wish to speak,” he said, his eyes locked on you, seeking yours, though you kept your gaze fixed somewhere near his collarbone. “I want to apologize to you, Y/N, before the council, for my reaction days ago. I was angry, and I spoke out of turn. You do not need to leave the council because of it.”
You felt a faint ripple of shock go through you, but it didn't revive your heart. Instead, a fresh wave of mortification washed over you. You felt even more ashamed that he felt obligated to apologize in front of the entire leadership just to close the issue gracefully and maintain alliance peace. To you, him telling you not to leave was just something he was saying for the record, a diplomatic necessity.
“You have nothing to apologize for, warrior, and I have nothing to forgive either,” you said, your voice entirely level, devoid of any anger or spite. It was just empty.
One of the Omatikaya elders turned to your mother. “Ikeyni, is this decision final? We would hate to lose such a skilled asset for the war efforts.”
“Yes,” you answered for her, your tone absolute. Nothing could have changed your mind. “If the council pleases, I excuse myself. I wish to apologize to the warriors who were wounded because of me.”
You were already looking at the door, not catching how Neteyam’s head reared back as if something had clawed at him. Without waiting for a formal dismissal, you turned and walked out of the pavilion, the sudden shift to freedom doing nothing to ease the tightness in your chest.
You walked straight toward the medical areas, knowing you would find the injured split between the Tsahik’s tent and the human facilities. You went to the Tsahik's tent first, stepping into the dim space. When you approached the wounded Omatikaya warriors, your throat tightened, but they easily brushed your apologies off with tired, warm smiles.
“It is no one's fault,” one of them murmured. “We know what we came there for. Being wounded is expected for a warrior.”
When you went to the human facilities, you found Tarya resting in a clean bed, her shoulder heavily bandaged. When you spoke your apologies to her, she reached out to pat your arm. “Do not carry this weight, sister. We are alive. That is what matters.”
The sheer kindness of their forgiveness almost made you cry. A bitter, agonizing thought crossed your mind, wishing Neteyam thinks the same.
But you immediately caught yourself, mentally slapping the thought away. Stop it. You need to stop thinking about what Neteyam thinks or what he doesn't. You knew it would take time. You had liked him for so long, possibly loved him, but that part of your life was over now.
You walked out to the clearing where your ikran was waiting, ready to leave this place behind for good. You were just reaching for her leather harness when heavy, frantic footsteps behind you, hearing your name being called.
You closed your eyes for a brief second before turning around. Neteyam was jogging toward you, breathing heavily. He had asked to leave the council to follow you the exact moment you walked out, but Jake hadn't allowed him to dismiss himself until the meeting officially concluded.
Now, as he stopped a few paces away, you actively turned off your imaginative mind. You completely shut down that part of yourself that used to over-analyze his every breath, forcing yourself not to read into the fact that he looked almost desperate, entirely at a loss for words.
Neteyam's eyes flickered down, and you saw his face almost crumple, a sharp grimace crossing his features at the sight of the cloth bandaging your thigh. You subtly shifted your weight, trying your best to hide the injury behind the wing of your ikran.
His eyes flickeredup to yours, swimming with a quiet, raw desperation you tried your hardest to ignore. “Y/N, please. I am so sorry for what I said in the clearing. I shouldn't have—”
“It’s alright, Neteyam,” you cut him off smoothly, your voice polite and empty. “You were right anyway. Truly, I should be ashamed of my behavior right from the start. I didn't take things as seriously as I should have, and that only proves how unfit I am for the council. So, you see, you were completely right about me leaving—”
“No,” he breathed, the word breaking from him like a gasp. His shoulders fell, and he took a sudden step forward, his hand reaching out.
Unconsciously, your posture tensed, and you took a sharp step backward, pressing yourself closer to the flank of your ikran as if to seek safety.
Neteyam froze. His extended hand trembled in the air before slowly dropping to his side. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, his voice strained with a deep pain that, once again, you forced yourself to ignore.
“I know,” you said quickly, forcing a small chuckle to ease the tension. “Sorry.” You cleared your throat, gesturing vaguely to the sky. “But just as I said, everything has become much clearer to me now. I want to leave before I put more people in danger. Perhaps, I should even thank you for opening my mind about that—”
“No, Y/N, listen to me,” he stepped closer again, his voice rising in an urgent, pleading rush. “I was just... I was so scared for the wounded. I was terrified. And I said things that I shouldn't have said, terrible things—”
“You said things that were true, Neteyam,” you interrupted softly, your face completely calm as you reached up to ruffle the crest of your ikran's head. “And as I said, I am completely cool about them. I accept them, and I understand. You have nothing to apologize for. In truth, it was just a superior delivering valid criticisms that I needed to learn from.”
“I was unnecessarily cruel,” Neteyam burst out, his jaw trembling as he stared at your polite, unbothered expression. “I was unfair of me to pin all the blame on you. Their tracking systems were upgraded, the terrain was bad—I couldn't tell you how much I have regretted my words every second since. Y/N, please... it is I who needs your forgiveness—”
You let out a sigh and Neteyam stopped abruptly, as if your sigh had put a physical gag on him. He watched you, terrified of whatever words were about to leave your mouth.
“Neteyam. It is over and done with,” you said, your voice shifting into a serious, cold finality that left no room for argument. “I have no hard feelings over it whatsoever. Everything you said that day was true. I didn’t listen, and it put people in danger. I was reckless. I was foolish. You were right, so stop insisting you were wrong, because I’ll start thinking this is just your guilt talking. Stand by your words, and let’s leave things be.”
You reached behind you, grabbing your kuru and connecting it swiftly to your ikran's, before fluidly mounting her back, settling into the saddle with a practiced, rigid grace.
Neteyam stood rooted to the dirt. He had stopped breathing. He stared up at you, his chest aching so violently he wished with everything in him that your ikran’s wings wouldn't work. He wished the wind would die. He wished he could reach out, grab the reins, and drag you back down. His heart throbbed with a suffocating mix of guilt, regret, and something far heavier that he couldn't even name.
He had hurt you. He had completely broken your spirit, and it was devastatingly obvious. Sitting on your ikran, you were unrecognizable. The brilliant, chaotic spark was entirely gone. Your playful confidence was buried deep beneath a layer of careful, polite nonchalance.
“Have a good life, Neteyam,” you murmured.
With a sharp click of your tongue, your ikran surged forward, her powerful wings launching you into the open sky.
Neteyam watched you fly away, your form growing smaller and smaller until you were nothing but a speck in the distance. A sharp, physical spasm ripped through his chest, and his golden eyes stung, blurring his vision. His fingers curled into tight, trembling fists, his teeth gritting together so hard he thought they would crack under the pressure.
He had wanted you to take the war seriously. He had wanted you to stop distracting him. But as he stood alone in the empty clearing, looking up at the empty sky, Neteyam realized he had never been more brokenly, horribly distracted in his entire life.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
The war efforts did not stop just because Neteyam’s world had lost its friction. If anything, the pace of the rebellion quickened after the destruction of the northern convoy. The Omatikaya and their allies pushed the RDA further toward the coastal margins, reclaiming three separate valleys within a single turn of the moon.
Neteyam did his duty with the same cold precision his father had drilled into him since he was old enough to hold a knife. To the common warriors, he was still the golden heir... Unshakable, vigilant, a pillar of the clan along his parents and Mo’at.
But inside his own skin, he was experiencing a slow, suffocating death.
Every hour of every day, his mind raced backward, tracing the bridge he had violently brought down. He missed you with a ferocity that physically brought ache to his gut. It felt like a boulder was placed in his ribs, overcrowding his lungs. Some days, he could barely breathe.
And the worst part was the quiet.
Before his stupidity, every spot of the Hometree was a minefield of your laughter. He had spent months training himself to ignore the sound of that, even though it was the balm to his soul at the end of every exhausting day, the honeyed delivery of your voice, and the way you would lean your shoulder against his, close enough for him to feel the heat radiating from you. He had thought of you as a massive, beautiful distraction. He had braced himself against you like a tree hardening its bark against a persistent storm.
Now, it was just gone. And the silence you left behind was deafening.
Dozens of times during the mid-day meetings, Neteyam would find his head turning instinctively to the left, his eyes scanning the roots or the wooden pillars for a glimpse of your vibrant red paint. At the training grounds, his shoulder would tingle, expecting the sudden touch of your hand.
But there was none.
By the second week, the pressure in Neteyam’s chest grew so immense that he began to lose his grip on his characteristic discipline. He became desperate for any connection to you, any excuse to hear updates from you that he found Ikeyni’s intense focus on war tactics and Ruk’e’s silence very irritating.
Stop talking of war, he thought. Let’s talk about your sister.
So when Ruk’e announced he was flying back to the Tayrangi to retrieve a shipment of leather harnesses and specialized arrows for the coastal hunters, Neteyam didn't even hesitate.
“I will go with you,” he had said, stepping into the ikran roosts before Ruk’e could even clear his mount for takeoff.
Ruk’e had paused, his hand tightening on his reins as he looked at Neteyam. There was no mission along the coast. There was no tactical reason for the commander of the ground forces to waste half a day acting as a pack-beast for supply crates.
“The eastern passes are clear, Sully,” Ruk’e said, his voice carrying that protective, guarded edge that you both possessed. “I do not need an escort.”
“My father wants an updated report on the drafts near the bay,” Neteyam lied, his jaw clenching as he connected his queue to his ikran. His voice was tight, nearly fracturing under the weight of his hidden urgency. “We are moving the division soon. I also need to see the terrain.”
Ruk’e stared at him for a long, heavy moment, reading the dark circles beneath his eyes and the frantic, nervous twitch of his tail. With a slow sigh, Ruk’e nodded silently. The flight to the Eastern Sea was the longest hour of Neteyam’s life. His mind ran through a thousand different scenarios, each one more pathetic than the last. He thought of finding you by the cliff’s edge. He thought of going down on his knees, uncaring of who saw him. He would let you see past his walls. He would let you see that he was nothing but a stupid man who had torn out his own heart stupidly. He was stupid, stupid, stupid.
Your final words had been repeating in his skull like a death chant. Have a good life, Neteyam.
It had sounded like a permanent severance. A final closure. He remembered how, weeks ago, when the realization that you intended to live the rest of your days without ever seeing him again hit him, he nearly doubled over, a physical gasp tearing from his throat as if he had been struck in the gut. Now, as they finally crested the high cliffs of the Tayrangi territory, his hope was crushed into dust. Apparently, you were not around. And he thought he was imagining the smirk that passed Ruk’e’s face.
They were there for close to two hours, gathering everything and securing it on their ikrans. At one point, Neteyam had looked high above and saw the unmistakable, bright red-and-orange span of your ikran’s wings flying down. His heart leaped into his throat, a sudden, violent surge of blood hammering in his ears. He leaned forward, preparing, his mouth already forming your name.
But then, Neteyam watched in absolute horror as your ikran turn back toward the blind side of the cliffs, diving deep into the sea mists until you completely vanished from sight. He looked at his ikran, its recognizable bright blue-green scales... Even from leagues away, you had seen the beast. Even though you didn't really see him, you decided to turn away. Avoiding him. Flying away from him.
Neteyam spent the rest of the supply run standing on the landing platforms, his eyes fixed on the empty horizon, his hands gripping his longbow so tightly his knuckles turned a sickly, pale shade of blue. You never came back up. You stayed hidden in the shadows of the rocks until they had to leave and fly back home to the forest, feeling more like a ghost than a living man.
Many nights later, Neteyam sat on a log near the weapon racks, idly running a whetstone down the edge of his hunting knife when a shadow fell over him. Jake Sully stepped into the light, his large frame blocking out the stars. He watched his eldest son for a quiet minute, taking in the rigid, defensive curve of the his spine.
“You're off your mark, son,” Jake said, his deep voice slicing through the crickets. “During the perimeter check today, you missed three separate trails on the western border. That’s not like you.”
Neteyam didn't look up. He kept his head bowed, the whetstone scraping against the blade. “Just tired, sir. The patrols have been long.”
“It’s not the patrols,” Jake countered gently. He stepped closer, leaning his hip against the weapon rack, his expression softening. “I know what happened after the ridge raid, Neteyam.”
The whetstone stopped.
Neteyam’s hands tried to grip the knife tighter to hide the trembling of his fingers. For the first time in his life, he couldn't hold his mask in place. A small, ragged breath escaped his lips, and when he finally turned his face up to look at his father, Jake blinked sharply from the surprise of seeing Neteyam’s eyes bright with unshed tears.
“I hurt her, Dad,” Neteyam said weakly, his voice breaking. “I was... I was so unnecessarily cruel. I was too stupid, opening my mouth like that. Shouting at her... saying those terrible things.”
He let out a shaky breath, his face crumpling from the sheer, agonizing effort of trying not to cry, but the first tear slipped anyway.
“Have you seen her at the pavillion, Dad?” he asked. “That's not her. That is no longer her because I broke her. I took her spirit and I crushed it with my cruelty. And what’s worse, what is killing me every second, is that she thinks she deserved it. She thinks I was right.” He dropped the knife into the dirt, his hands coming up to cover his face. “I don't know how to turn it all back around. I want her to forgive me. I want her to know... I’d rip my own heart right out of my chest if it means I could take away the pain I gave her.”
Jake let out a long, heavy sigh. His own features crumpled in deep distress for the two of you. He reached down, placing a calloused hand on his son’s trembling shoulder, squeezing tightly. “Have you tried apologizing again? Truly talking to her?”
“No,” Neteyam choked out, pulling his hands away from his face, his eyes red-rimmed from his tears. “I think she doesn't want to see me ever again. I flew to the Tayrangi with Ruk'e last week... and the moment she saw my ikran, she retreated. She dove back into the cliffs... She didn't want to be near me, Dad.”
Jake rubbed the back of his neck, exhaling through his teeth. “Have you tried hiding your ikran from view?”
Neteyam shot his father a miserable, exhausted look. “Dad,” he said, his you're-not-helping tone incredibly obvious. “I don't want to force her. If she wants to be away from me, I... I have to respect that. Even if it kills me.”
“Well,“ Jake said slowly, shifting his weight as he stared out into the dark canopy. “Perhaps you should just give her time... The perfect time to talk to her would probably be when she’s mated and having children with her husband—”
“Dad,” Neteyam’s voice rose and deepened, his head snapping up in sheer horror. The tears on his cheeks dried instantly as his heart did a terrifying, sickening dive into his stomach.
“What?” Jake asked, completely straight-faced, though there was a tiny, knowing glint in his eye. “You're taking too much time, son. Men could swoop in anytime, you know? Especially now. She’s back home, heartbroken, and trying to move on from a stupid boy who is too terrified to admit that he belongs to her. That’s exactly when other men take their chances.”
Neteyam closed his eyes, his breathing turning shallow and fast. For the first time in his twenty-two years of life, he felt a wild, primitive urge to beat his own father up.
It wasn't funny, but he knew that his father wasn’t joking either, and as he sat there, his mind began to spin into a dark spiral of jealousy and terror. He had always known that you liked him, that you had liked him since you were children, but because he had been so focused on his duty, he had never allowed himself to measure the depth of it. He had taken your presence for granted. He had assumed you would always be there, annoying him, teasing him, waiting for him to finally turn around.
But you were a chieftain's daughter. You were a legendary huntress, beautiful, fierce, and wild. He knew exactly how many Tayrangi young men watched you with fierce attraction when you flew. The only reason they had stayed away before was because you were down here, making a public nuisance of yourself over the Omatikaya heir.
Now, you were back home. Heartbroken and vulnerable.
Neteyam’s fingers curled into tight fists against his knees, his jaw clenching so hard his teeth groaned under the pressure. The thought of another warrior touching your hand, the thought of another man making you laugh, or seeing that brilliant, wicked smirk return to your face, made his blood run thick.
“She is the daughter of the Olo’eykte,” Neteyam muttered, his voice dropping into a low register. “She would not just choose anyone.”
“No, she wouldn't,” Jake agreed softly. “But she will choose eventually, Neteyam. And right now, you're letting her believe she is better off without you.”
Jake turned away, leaving Neteyam to sit with the desperate fire that had lit inside him. He had broken your spirit, yes. But he would be damned if he let another man be the one to fix it.
With this new fire in him, Neteyam returned to the Tayrangi three more times over the following weeks, armed with a bag of increasingly flimsy excuses. The first time, he claimed his father needed a precise audit of the coastal clan's surplus ikran armor. The second time, he practically forced himself onto a tracking detail meant to map the migration patterns of the sturmbeast herds near the Tayrangi territories. By the third time, he was carrying a bundle of forest herbs from Mo’at that Tayrangi healers hadn't even asked for.
Yet, three times, you managed to dodge him completely.
It was maddening. It felt as though someone was deliberately feeding you a schedule of his arrivals and departures. Every time his blue-green ikran broke through the coastal fog, you were already gone, out on a hunt, or patrolling the northern borders. He even began to suspect your brother, Ruk’e, was secretly warning you through some hidden signal, but he knew for a fact that the man had no way of communicating with you.
You were simply anticipating him. You were treating him like an incoming storm, closing your doors and retreating into a safe place before the first drop of rain could touch you.
By the fourth visit, Neteyam had reached his absolute limit. He didn't bring an escort, and he didn't use the main landing platforms. He left his ikran tethered half a league away, hidden in a dense thicket, and trekked up the rocky coastal paths on foot, his chest heaving, his heart hammering against his ribs. He was taking his father’s advice now, though he really hated the thought of surprising you.
He caught you by pure accident near the lower tide pools, where the cliffs formed a secluded cove. You were alone, repairing a frayed net, your long legs tucked beneath you on the smooth stone.When his shadow fell over you, you snapped your head up. For a second, your eyes widened in genuine, startled surprise. But the shock vanished, replaced instantly by that smooth mask of careful, polite nonchalance that made Neteyam’s stomach twist into a painful knot.
“Neteyam,” you said, your voice casual, but your fingers tightened so hard around the wooden netting needle. You made no move to stand, looking up at him as if he were nothing more than a passing trader. “What brings you here? Do you need help with anything, or were you sent here?”
You spoke the words with an easy, detached courtesy, even though your entire posture screamed that you wanted to be anywhere else but in front of him.
Neteyam closed the distance between you, his strides long and desperate. He didn't care about his dignity anymore. He didn't care that he was the commander of the ground forces or the son of Toruk Makto. He stopped just two paces away from you, his breath hitching as his eyes immediately swept down to your thigh. The bandage was gone, replaced by a white scar where the bullet had grazed you.
The sight of it made his throat tighten with a fresh wave of suffocating guilt.
“I wasn't sent, Y/N,” he said, his voice dropping into a low, fractured register. He took a half-step forward, his hands twitching at his sides, wanting so desperately to reach out but forcing himself to stay back. “I came because of you. I came because I want to talk to you. I... I cannot sleep, I cannot breathe, and I—”
You let out a sharp, sudden breath, dropping the netting needle into your lap. The polite facade finally cracked, and you stood up, your tail whipping the air behind you in a sudden flash of genuine irritation.
“Aren’t we over this, Neteyam?” you snapped, your eyes narrowing as you glared up at him. “We discussed this already. I thought we agreed to get past it.”
“Y/N, please—”
“No, listen to me,“ you cut him off, your voice rising, hard and sharp. “If this is about your guilt, you can lay it down. I told you before, I have nothing to forgive. I accepted your words because they were true. But if you are going to keep coming here with more pathetic apologies and diplomatic reassurances, you are actually going to make me angry.” You stepped closer. “I told you to stand by your words. If you cannot back your own words, Neteyam, I would be deeply disappointed. You are going to lead your clan one day, and an Olo'eyktan’s words must be solid as stone. If you are this fickle with your own tongue, how can anyone trust you?“
“That is the problem!” He said pointedly, his voice cracking with a raw, agonizing emotion as he grabbed your hand, his fingers locking around your wrist before you could pull away, his grip desperate but fiercely tender. “I regret my words, I regret them every single second of every day—”
You tried to wrench your wrist free, but he held fast, his eyes blazing down into yours with a terrifying, weeping intensity.
“I know I cannot take them back,” he breathed, his chest heaving as he stared into your eyes. “I know I cannot magically wipe away the pain I inflicted on you, and I know I cannot just hand you back the confidence that I shattered, but I will work on my hands and knees to bring you back to who you used to be. I will do whatever it takes, Y/N. I swear it to the Great Mother.”
You stopped pulling against his grip, your frame going completely rigid. A bitter huff escaped you, “I don't like who I used to be,” you whispered, and his head moved as if you’d slapped him. “And you said it yourself that day, you don't like it either. You said you were sick of it. You said I was a massive, childish distraction—”
“I was a fool!” he cried, his voice breaking completely. “I was terrified for the warriors, but most of all, I was terrified for you. When you fell from the sky... I thought I lost you. I let my fear turn into venom, and I threw it at the one person who didn't deserve it.”
You stared at him, your jaw tight, your breathing ragged. For a second, just a fraction of a second, Neteyam thought he saw a flicker of the old warmth that used to belong entirely to him. But then, your expression hardened again.
“It doesn't matter why you said it, Neteyam,” you said, your voice flat. “The fact remains that your assessment was correct. I was reckless, and I put lives at risk. Your cruelty was just the mirror I needed to see myself clearly. Now, let go of me. I have nets to mend."
Neteyam’s fingers slowly uncurled, his arm dropping to his side as if it had been cut. You didn't give him another glance, you simply sat back down on the rock, picked up your wooden needle, and began weaving the fibers with steady, unbothered precision.
That day was completely unproductive for him. He spent the remaining hours sitting on a boulder a few paces away, watching you work in absolute silence. You didn't speak to him again. You didn't look at him. You treated him like a piece of rock, completely ignoring his presence until the sun began to dip and he was forced to hike back to his ikran, his heart heavier than when he had arrived.
Neteyam did not give up. In fact, his failure only made him more relentless.
He began flying between the Omatikaya and the Tayrangi almost every single day, uncaring of the brutal, grueling transit on top of his patrols, trainings, and war meetings. He would wake up before the first light of dawn, complete his mandatory border patrols, and then immediately push his ikran through the treacherous mountain drafts just to spend an hour or two on the cliffs.
He became a desperate fixture in your clan. He didn't care how it looked to your people. He didn't care that they watched with raised eyebrows and murmurs of amusement as the proud Omatikaya heir practically degraded himself for a glimpse of their chieftain's daughter. He didn’t know how to fully show you how sorry he is, and how sorry he will be for the rest of his life, so he started with the absolute surrender of his pride.
If you were out in the lower fields gathering ocean kelp for the healers, Neteyam would appear beside you to help without a word. He would haul the heavy, water-logged crates onto his shoulders, carrying them up the steep cliff paths so you wouldn't have to. You would tell him to leave, your voice sharp with annoyance, but he would simply set his jaw, and go back down for another load.
When you were assigned to clean and grease the riding saddles, he would sit on the floor opposite you, taking the rough scraping stones out of your hands. He would spend hours working the stiff leather until his fingers blistered, quiet despite the clear annoyance and suffocating silence you serve him. Some days, you wouldn't even show yourself, your people telling him you went to patrol or hunted, leaving him sitting alone on the rocky ledges for hours.
But he always came back the next day.
One evening, after a particularly brutal afternoon where you had completely ignored his existence while he helped the elders fix something, he caught you as you walked back toward your family's yurt. The sky was a bruised purple, and the bioluminescence was casting a soft light across your face.
He called out your name, his voice light despite the clear exhaustion on his face. He looked terrible, his shoulders were bruised from hauling timber, but there was still the sharp, military crispness of his posture despite the air of a man who was running on nothing but sheer desperation.
You stopped, but you didn't turn around to face him. “Go home, Neteyam. Take the war seriously instead of spending so much of your time here. Your father needs you.”
“My father has other warriors,” Neteyam said, stepping closer. “I will not stop. I will come here every day. I will carry every basket, I will mend every net, I will bleed on these rocks until I’ve proven myself to you.”
You finally turned your head, looking over your shoulder at him. Your face was half-hidden in the shadows, but your eyes were fixed on him.
“You are wasting your time,” you said, though your voice devoid of its usual malice, carrying only a profound, weary sadness. “The girl who would have been happy with all of these is gone, Neteyam. Even I couldn’t bring her back. You cannot bring back something that no longer exists.”
His breath hitched, the words hitting him harder than any physical blow from his father’s training sessions. His ears pinned flat against his head, but he took a deep breath, lowering himself on his knees in front of you. You silently gasped, watching the proud, golden boy of the Omatikaya, who had been raised to hold his head high, lowering himself in the dirt of the Tayrangi cliffs.
“Then who is she now?“ he asked quietly. “Would you let me meet her?” he pleaded, looking up at you soulfully, his chest heaving. “If she is a stranger, then let me earn her. Let me learn the way she breathes, the way she speaks, what makes her laugh now. I do not care if it takes the rest of my life. I will build a bridge over whatever ocean you put between us.”
You looked down at him, your eyes tracing his bruised shoulders, the raw, blistered skin on his fingers, and the deep shadows under his eyes. He looked so tired, what with his duties back home and the tasks he’s killing himself to do here, only to be ignored by you.
“You are a fool, Neteyam,” you murmured softly.
“I am,” he agreed instantly, his eyes tired but fiercely intense. “I am a fool who took you for granted and hurt you, who took too long to realize that my world has no tilt on its axis if you don’t belong in it.”
You swallowed the lump in your throat. For many moons, you had kept your heart behind an impenetrable wall of ice, convincing yourself that what had happened broken something inside you that could never be mended. But looking at him now, no armor to break nor wall to climb, and entirely surrendered at your feet, a terrifyingly familiar warmth threatened to crack the frost.
You stepped around him, your tail flicking with a wave of mixed emotions. “The elders need the nets mended by first light tomorrow,” you said, not looking back as you pulled open the flap of your yurt. “If you are going to bleed on our rocks, you might as well make yourself useful.”
You left him outside and he watched the flap shut close with a twinkle in his eyes that hadn’t been there in moons. He let out a long breath, staying on his knees for a moment longer. A fierce, protective spark reignited in his chest. That wasn’t exactly forgiveness, but you had indirectly told him not to leave and tend to the nets, a complete opposite of how you’d pushed him away every single day in the past moons.
He’s not confident yet, but it was a crack in your armor.
Standing up, he wiped the dust from his knees, his eyes watching the flap with tangible longing, before deciding to walk down toward the docks where the torn nets lay waiting.
Days turned into weeks, and Neteyam’s presence in the cliffs before the first light ever crested the horizon has become a constant view. You were drinking your morning tea on a higher ledge when you saw him trekking up the hill, his ikran stubbornly left in a hidden thicket half a league away even though you’d stop avoiding him or fleeing away at the sight of his ikran. You’d seen where he hids his ikran and knew that he had to trek the rocky, miles-long paths on foot before he could even reach your home.
“You should have just brought your mount here instead of trekking that much distance,” you casually said.
He stared at you, as if surprised that you’d suggest that. “Maybe... Maybe tomorrow,” he replied.
Your eyes narrowed at how he was uncharacteristically wearing his warrior cummerbund. It was a gear he wears during missions, but one he rarely wore for casual labor. On top of that, he also looked too pale for your liking, his skin lacking its usual vibrance and his lips almost as white as sea foam.
“Did you come straight here from a mission?“ you probed and he immediately shook his head.
“Just patrol,” he answered, his voice a little gravelly.
Your eyes narrowed, refusing to press for more answers but you watched him almost the entire time, silently going straight to work, lifting heavy timber, hauling supply crates, and helping grease the stiff riding saddles of your clan’s riders. It was past mid-day when he finished, just in time for him to get back for the council meeting, if their schedule is still the same as you remembered.
You caught him just as he was walking down the mountain path. “Neteyam,” you called out.
He turned around immediately and you saw the slight sway that followed that sudden movement, which he tried to mask by shifting his weight.
“You should eat before you go,” you said, keeping your voice even. “I haven’t eaten yet, too... Only if you’d like,” you added.
A look of pure surprise crossed over his pale face. For a second, he just stared at you, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. The exhaustion weighing him down seemed to lift, replaced by a twinkle in his eyes that made you almost smile. Thank Eywa, you were able to stop yourself!
“I... I would like that,” he murmured, his voice soft.
He walked back with you into the communal yurt, aware of your people’s eyes tracking your movements. After all, this was the first time you actually invited him in for anything, knowing how their imaginative minds have long came up with stories of their own to explain the presence of the Toruk Makto’s heir in the Tayrangi.
He sat across from you and you noted how slow he seemed to be moving, having known how efficient he usually is, so you handed him a bowl of steaming soup and a plate of honeyed roasted fish that you’ve already cut into bite-sized pieces. His eyes were heavy on you that your skin seemed to tingle at your every move, too conscious of yourself knowing that he’s watching you.
Your eyes snapped to his, your brow rising. “Eat. The food will go cold,“ you said.
He nodded, redirecting his attention on his food. Despite the pain on his side, a sense of profound peace seemed to settle over him. He was sitting across from you, eating your food, sharing your space. He was so glad he perservered to go today. Whatever agony pokes at him under his tight cummerbund was a cheap price to pay for this single moment with you.
When the bowl was completely empty, he placed it down with meticulous care, waiting for you to finish without speaking, but halfway your meal, your eyes snapped up to his.
“You can go, if you wished,” you said casually.
“Believe me, I do not wish to be anywhere but here,” he replied. “I knew I would have to wait, you were always a slow-eater.”
Your lips pushed forward. He knows that. You tilted your head to brush it off. “I’ve grown faster since I became a huntress,” you retorted.
“Hm. I wish I can see it,” he said, his voice laced with humor.
You stuffed the rest of your food into your mouth, chewing non-stop as your cheeks filled with food bubbling like a syaksyuk eating utumauti. A snort escaped him as he watches you, one that turned into a genuine laugh, though it was cut short, his ears twitching and his jaw tightening as he suppressed a grimace.
“Why?” you asked, your voice muffled by the food in your mouth. He looked like he was pained.
He shook his head, leaning forward with his elbows on the low table. He handed you a bowl of water. “Slow down, syaksyuk, or you’ll choke...”
He chuckled when you rolled your eyes before ccepting the water he offered, continuously chewing. Once you were finished, you finally spoke, “You should get moving,” you said softly, reaching over to stack his empty bowl onto your plate. “If you are late for the council meeting, they might think that Toruk Makto’s heir lacks discipline. We don’t want that.”
Neteyam let out a quiet sigh, the humor fading into a weary but profoundly content expression. He slowly pushed himself up from the ground, a sharp, involuntary gasp escaping his teeth before his hand flew to his ribs, but he quickly converted the movement into a stretch. He looked down at you with a lingering fondness.
“Thank you for the meal,” he said softly. “I must head to the council now. I will... I will be back tomorrow. With my ikran, if you meant what you said.”
You went to stand, following him out of the communal space to walk him only until the ledge. “Take care...” you whispered in the wind as you watched him go. Your eyes narrowed, noting how unusually heavy his steps were. He really looked remarkably weak.
You figured you'd ask him tomorrow, but your suspicion was answered much sooner than you expected. In the dead of night, Ruk’e quietly entered your yurt, his expression unusually grave.
“Pack your weapons,” he said, his voice low. “The war council needs you back urgently. The RDA is pushing the western flank, and they need every competent ikran rider back in the air.” He paused for a moment before adding, “Mother agrees it is time.”
He left out the part where Jake Sully himself spoke with him. What you didn't know was that back at the Omatikaya hometree, Neteyam had fallen ill through the night. Yesterday, during a swift ambush on an RDA scout unit, a stray shrapnel had torn into his midriff. It was just a minor injury that required only bed rest, but Neteyam had completely ignored the Tsahik's orders. He had wrapped it tightly, hidden it beneath his cummerbund, and flown straight to the Tayrangi to help haul your clan's imports.
When he returned to the forest, he could barely stand. His wound was bleeding beneath his cummerbund, and his body hot with fever.
Now, he lay on a mat in the Tsahik’s tent, practically delirious. Neytiri sat near him, her tail whipping in a furious frenzy as she scolded him. “You went to the Tayrangi? What did you even do there that you’d managed to have your flesh torn open?! Have you lost your mind, Neteyam?!”
Through the haze of his fever, Neteyam weakly opened his eyes. “Mother... it’s fine. I am fine. Just... do not tell her. She wants me to bring... My ikran tomorrow...” his mouth formed into a lazy smile.
“What?!” Neytiri cried out, her voice breaking in panic. “Neteyam, you could barely open your eyes, and you're flying back there again to do only the Great Mother knows what?!“
“Mother, it’s okay,” he muttered, brushing her hands away.
Jake stepped into the tent, his large hand resting on his wife's shoulder to calm her, though he himself was worried. “You can't do this to yourself, boy. You're going to kill yourself before the RDA even gets a chance to.”
Neteyam let out a long, ragged sigh, his eyes closed. “Have you ever had someone be your entire world, Dad?” he whispered, his voice laced with contentment. “We ate together earlier... And it felt like my entire world was narrowed down on that table... With her sitting across from me. I don't think... I don't think I can miss a single day not seeing her. If I stop showing up... She will think I gave up.”
Neytiri’s fury slowly melted away, her face falling as she watched her son finally drift into a deep, feverish sleep. She turned to Jake and his eyes snapped to her, sharing a look of understanding.
The next morning, you walked with mother and brother to the war pavilion. You had flown back with Ruk’e at dawn, your mind focused on the reports Ruk’e has told you, but some parts of you were thinking about how Neteyam would react seeing you back in the council. Now, he wouldn't have to exhaust himself flying from the forest to the Eastern Coast.
The council welcomed you, asking you about things back home and slowly easing the current climate regarding the sky people into the conversation. You assured them your brother has told you and that you know what you came here for. You turned to the pavilion’s entrance when you heard an entourage enter, freezing at the sight you saw.
Neteyam entered first, his midriff wrapped with a medical woven fabric, and there was an unmistakable fresh smear of blood already blooming through the center of the cloth. He looked very pale. His head casually snapped to your direction, and the absolute shock on his face mirrored your own. Written on his forehead was a huge why are you here?
He instinctively took a half-step backward, his tail twitching as if he wanted to flee the pavilion entirely rather than let you see him like this. But Jake was standing directly behind him. His father placed a firm, unyielding hand on his shoulder, gently prompting him forward into the room. Neteyam swallowed hard, forced his chin up, and continued walking as if everyone in the pavilion didn’t witness his panic at the sight of you.
Well, it’s not like these people are oblivious to his daily trips to the Tayrangi. They had known, it’s only that they didn’t know exactly what for though they had a hunch. And now, he practically confirmed it. He was persistently going there for you.
Meanwhile, the pieces in your mind instantly fell into place. His paleness yesterday, the cummerbund, the obvious weariness... He had been bleeding out while lifting things that normally needed the strength of two men.
“Thank you all for gathering so quickly,” Jake began, clearing his throat as he addressed the elders. “I spoke with Ikeyni and Ruk’e yesterday. We have expanded our flight perimeters, and we drastically need our most skilled ikran riders back in the vanguard. Y/N has agreed to step back into her role.”
As the chieftains murmured their approval, the briefing began. You forced your mind to focus, stepping up to the map table to report on the coastal movements. “The Tayrangi borders are currently stable,” you said, your voice serious and level. “We ran three separate scouts and extended it along the northern reef daily. So far, it's untouched.”
You reached across the wide table for a wooden marker to illustrate the scout lines, but your fingers missed it by a few inched. Before you could lean forward again, a hand moved into your field of vision.
Neteyam picked up the marker for you.
As he extended his arm, a subtle flinch crossed his features. His jaw clenched so hard the muscles in his neck strained, the simple effort of reaching across the table obviously hurt him. But when his golden eyes turned to meet yours, the pain vanished behind a cool mask of a hardened warrior. He stared at you with an intense, unblinking focus that made your face feel incredibly hot.
The silence stretched for a beat too long. Jake cleared his throat loudly, and from the corner of the pavilion, Lo'ak let out a highly audible, mocking snicker.
You quickly tore your gaze away, your cheeks burning. “Thanks...” you muttered, looking at the map through your lashes.
“You're welcome,” Neteyam drawled, his voice low and smooth despite the sweat glistening on his brow.
You bit your lip, your cheeks still burning as you forced your voice to level to continue your report. The moment the council was dismissed, Neteyam stayed back, lingering by his father's side to converse with the elders. He was very obviously trying to avoid leaving the pavilion at the same time as you.
But you weren't going to let him escape. You walked out with your arms crossed and waited right outside the entrance, your eyes already narrowed into slits. When Neteyam finally emerged, he stopped dead in his tracks. Seeing you standing there like a warden, he took a breath and adjusted his posture, walking toward you with every ounce of military bravado he could muster, desperately trying to hide the slight limp in his stride. The red stain on his white bandage had grown wider.
“What is that?” you demanded without so much as a greeting, gesturing sharply to his torso.
Neteyam stopped two paces away, his expression carefully neutral as he looked away toward the trees. “Just a minor injury from the recent mission. It is nothing.”
“You got shot?” you pressed, stepping closer, your voice rising in genuine disbelief.
“It's a shrapnel,” he corrected quickly as if that made it all better.
“Great! An iron slug tore through your side, and you still came to the coast yesterday? You still did the heavy lifting? You still hiked miles on foot to your ikran?!”
“It was just small,” he lied smoothly, though his breathing was shallow.
“Then why is it actively bleeding?!“ your voice rose slightly.
“It just got strained yesterday, but it’s nothing serious—”
“Are you insane?!” you huffed, your anger finally boiling over. “My father died from a small wound and left my mother a widow, Neteyam! You are not thinking! You have a responsibility to this war, to your family, to your people! How can you preach to me about discipline and taking things seriously when you are out there compromising your own body for something so small?!”
Neteyam listened to your tirade, his ears pinning back slightly against his head. But he didn't flinch away from your fury, instead, he watched you with that stupidly twinkling eyes. He took a step closer, the hardened soldier completely melting away to reveal the raw, aching man underneath.
“What are you calling small? Your forgiveness? Your attention? The chance I was asking for from you? It’s not small to me, Y/N. It is everything to me... And right now, it is all that is holding me together,” he said softly, his golden eyes locking onto yours with a terrifying intensity.
“Must you really put yourself at risk like that?” you cried, throwing your hands up in exasperation.
He groaned, closing his eyes momenyarily, when you could no longer hold your tears back. You are so scared right now, so worried for him, it’s not even funny.
“Just let me, alright? I said I will do everything to earn the right to at least be near you again, and this is me standing by my words. Like what you told me to do,“ he said, his voice cracking under the weight of his conviction. He stepped into your space, ignoring the sharp twinge in his side. “I told you, I will do whatever it takes. I did not want to miss a single day of trying to show you that I will show up. Even if I am bleeding, even if you do not look at me, I will be there.”
You stared at him, your breath catching in your throat. The sheer, stubborn idiocy of his devotion was infuriating, but beneath the anger, that stubborn wall of ice around your heart suffered another massive, catastrophic crack.
“Well, you don't have to do all that anymore,” you said, looking down at his bleeding bandage, your tone softening into something weary. “I am back on the council now. I will be here in the forest. You don't need to fly to the coast for me.”
“It does not change anything,” Neteyam countered instantly. He reached out, his hand hovering near your arm, close enough for you to feel the heat of his fever, though he refrained from touching you. “Just because you are back in the pavilion does not mean I am done. I will still work for your forgiveness, Y/N. I will still do everything in my power until you can look at me and trust me the way you used to. I am not stopping.”
You looked up at him, your mouth slightly open, completely at a loss for words. You mouth opened again to retort, but before you could even speak, a sudden, frantic rustling erupted from the pavilion entrance. Lo’ak came scrambling out, his limbs flailing wildly as he tried to prevent himself from falling into the dirt.
You and Neteyam quickly turned to him, only to get surprised to see not just Lo’ak, but an entire audience: Jake, Neytiri, Ikeyni, and Ruk’e. They were all standing completely still, their expressions a mix of profound interest and varying degrees of amusement. But because Lo’ak had tripped and completely blown their cover, the privacy shattered instantly.
Ikeyni was the first to recover, clearing her throat with a loud, entirely performative cough. “Ah... Ruk'e, we must go and inspect the riders at the vanguard. Immediately.“
Neytiri smoothed down her braids, her sharp eyes twinkling as she looked anywhere but at her eldest son. “Ah, and I must find Tuk. We have... things to gather. Many things.“
Jake offered a highly unconvincing nod, clapping a hand on a thoroughly embarrassed Lo’ak’s shoulder. “Right. And I have an urgent meeting with the elders about... perimeter lines.”
“I am hungry,” Ruk’e announced flatly to the sky, ignoring the fact that he had consumed a massive breakfast less than an hour ago.
Lo’ak let out a low whistle, backing away alongside the adults. Within three seconds, the entire crowd had vanished, leaving you two alone.
You turned back to Neteyam, your ears pinning flat against your head as you glared at him, trying desperately to mask the raging blush creeping up your neck. “You need to go see the Tsahik. Right now. You are bleeding through your bandage.”
Neteyam nodded, but he didn't move. He stayed standing there, towering over you, watching your fiery exasperation with a soft, maddening look of pure adoration. You groaned, a sound of defeat tearing from your throat.
Reaching out, you firmly grabbed his wrist and began dragging him yourself toward the Tsahik’s tent. “Move, you stubborn man,” you muttered. You figured you wanted to see exactly how small this wound actually was.
When you pulled him into the warmth of the Tsahik’s tent, Mo’at didn't look even remotely surprised to see you practically hauling the clan's golden heir by his arm.
“Ah, and he returns,” Mo’at remarked dryly, setting down a bowl of poultice. “Did I not tell you last night, Neteyam, when you came home violently ill and shaking with fever, that your flesh would tear? Look at this!”
With practiced, firm hands, she unclipped the medical wrap. When the bloody fabric fell away, your breath hitched, and you winced sharply.
The wound was not small. It was an angry tear about as long as your pinky finger, stretching deep into the muscle of his side, the edges raw and weeping fresh blood from where he had strained it.
“You are a liar,” you hissed, the fear in your chest turning into a surge of anger. You reached out and forcefully pinched his shoulder. “You said it was small!”
Neteyam’s hand instantly shot up, his fingers gently trapping yours against his shoulder. His twinkling eyes locked onto yours, completely unbothered by the pinch, and he flashed a rare smile that showed his pearly whites. It was so genuine, so disarming, that the hot anger in your chest simmered down into a helpless flutter.
“There is nothing to worry about, Y/N,” he murmured softly. “I’ve had worse before.”
You merely hissed at him in response, pulling your hand back.
Mo’at wiped the blood away and applied a fresh layer of soothing poultice, wrapping the midriff with tight, clean linen. Once finished, she stood up, turning her sharp gaze directly onto you. “Y/N, I am entrusting this hard-headed man to you. He does not listen to me, to his mother, or to his father. He needs strict bed rest. That wound will never close if he keeps moving and straining himself.”
You nodded with absolute solemnity, crossing your arms. “You can trust me, Tsahik. I will personally castrate this man if he even thinks about lifting a finger.”
Mo’at let out a rare, breathy chuckle, shaking her head as she gathered her bowls and exited the tent, leaving the two of you alone.
You turned to him. “Sleep,” you hissed.
“Alright, alright,” he mumbled, a soft chuckle escaping him as he sank into the furs with a weary sigh, his eyes half-closed as he looked up at you through his lashes. “No need for castration... that would make you miss your babies...”
The last words were a barely audible, sleepy whisper, but the tent was so quiet that they rang like a bell in your ears. “What?!” you snapped, your entire face exploding in a violent heat.
Neteyam just smiled lazily, turning his head onto the fur pillow. “Sleeping now...”
True to your word, you made sure he took his rest. For the next week, you refused to let him leave the Tsahik’s tent unless necessary, sitting by his side, forcing him to eat, and threatening him with your dagger whenever he tried to sit up too fast.
But once his fever broke and the wound finally closed into a healthy, silver seam, he went back to waiting at your feet, and he became entirely shameless. He would bring you the sweetest fruits before morning drills, sharpen your arrow tips and hunting dagger, and sit quietly beside you during meals, completely content just to exist in the same space. He was still the same as before. There was no pushing or demanding, only working to seamlessly wove himself into your daily routines.
If you are to be asked when exactly did the remaining ice around your heart melted, you’d say it had turned into a puddle long ago. But now, as the Hometree came alive with the people singing and dancing to celebrate a turn of successful hunts, your chest was singing with a familiar hum. One you never thought you’d feel again. You stood near the outer roots, watching the dancers, when a familiar warmth bloomed at your side.
Neteyam stood beside you, wearing his formal warrior gear. He didn’t speak, but his hand hung loosely between you, his fingers inches from yours. You bit your lip, looking at his profile through your lashes, noting his sharp jawline and his beautiful patterns. It was the same image of the boy you swore to make fall in love with you. You wondered what thirteen-year-old you would have thought if she knew that this man literally bled into the dirt just to prove he wouldn't give up on you.
You let out a soft, long sigh. Slowly, deliberately, you moved your hand to intertwine your fingers with his.
Neteyam froze. His head snapping down to look at your joined hands, and when he lifted his eyes to yours, they were bright, watering. “Y/N...” he breathed, his voice trembling.
“What?” you whispered, a soft, familiar smirk finally returning to your lips. “Some would say this is the perfect time for a kiss... Unless you’re scared,” you mumbled.
He blinked, his forehead creasing for a moment before a ragged, breathless laugh escaped him. It was you who moved and tiptoed to press a soft kiss on his lips, and you felt his arm wrap around you, pulling you closer, kissing you better. You smiled against his lips.
“I forgive you, Neteyam...” you pulled away only to murmur, and he chased your lips.
“I love you...“ he murmured, pressing his forehead against yours. The sheer, unadulterated happiness radiating from him was intoxicating, and you cannot help but grin.
But the beautiful moment was violently ripped away when a deafening horn blew, shattering the festival music and the celebration.
“Fire! Fire! Fire!” The people announced.
High above, in the eastern branches of the Hometree’s canopy, a terrifying orange glow erupted. Your breath seized at your chest, a cry of panic escaping you as the people frantically ran to and fro in all directions. Neteyam moved, signaling to the nearby hunters.
“All hunters! Gather water from the river! Move!” he roared, crisp and authoritative.
The communal clearing exploded into calculated chaos. You and Neteyam sprinted toward the lower roots, organizing lines of warriors to haul water containers up the massive vines, while flyers are gathering water from the river to splash it to extinguish the fire. At first, everyone thought it was an accident, but as the smoke cleared, a familiar deep thrumming vibrated through the air.
From the clouds, the shapes of sever RDA gunships dropped into view firing blindly into the canopy.
“To the air!” Jake’s booming voice echoed.
You and Neteyam sprinted to the high roosts, connecting to your ikrans in a synchronized flash of movement and flying into the open sky where the warriors on their ikrans were already fighting fiercely. You dove through the smoke to shoot pilots and sent arrows to the exposed underbellies of gunships you happen to get close to. Within an hour, the invading gunships were spiraling into the jungle in balls of fire.
You watched the fire it caused to the forest, your chest aching with fury and grief at the sight of it.
The war party was victorious, but the destruction it brought made all of you grim. The eastern branches of Hometree were charred black, but it didn’t burn the entirety, and fortunately, no one was dead or gravely injured.
The council convened immediately beneath the glowing roots, the air thick with tension.
“It is no longer safe to keep the children and the elders here. Hometree is too big a target,“ Jake said, his face shadowed by the firelight as he leaned over the map.
“We must relocate... for the meantime,” Neytiri agreed, her voice tight with grief.
“The Hallelujah Mountains. It’s filled of magnetic interference, their metal birds wouldn’t like it very much up there,” Neteyam spoke up, placing a stone on a specific grid of the map.
Jake nodded decisively. “We’ll send scouts, then we’ll evacuate those who cannot fight immediately. The warriors will stay on the ground to secure the perimeter and prepare our counter-strike.”
The plan was drawn swiftly. Jake didn’t want to wait longer. As soon as the clan is evacuated, the party will strike back. As you ordered some Tayrangi men to help with the evacuation, Neteyam caught your arm near the edge of the pavilion, his grup firm and his eyes holding a fierce, protective spark in them.
“After... After the battle is over...” he began, his eyes blinking too many times per second as he stammered for the right words to say.
“Hm?“ you prompted.
“Would you like...“ he trailed. “To have me as your mate?” he added, his words stumbling over one another, and even in the dark, you could see how his cheeks were tinted purple.
You blinked, your heart jumping at your throat, causing it to close as your eyes stung with hot tears. “How could I ever say no to that?” you said in a hoarse voice, your hand holding his firmly.
He pulled you close. “Yes?” he asked breathlessly and you nodded. His breath audibly caught in his throat, leaning forward to kiss you and pulling you even closer to deepen his kiss.
Neteyam broke the kiss reluctantly, his forehead resting against yours for one final, desperate second as the chaos of evacuation whirled around you two. He held your face in his hands, pressing another deep kiss. “Great Mother. I love you so much...”
You chuckled, gripping his forearm. “Glad you’ve finally caught up,“ you mumbled, giving him a peck.
“I have always been here, I was just stupid,” he chuckled, his eyes caressing your face.
The tender moment shattered, though, when a loud cough echoed from the shadows. Neteyam stiffened, and you pulled back just enough to see your brother stepping into the dim light. He had his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes narrowed at Neteyam that practically shouted an order to let you go this exact second.
Neteyam cleared his throat, his hands slowly lowering, though he kept his fingers loosely holding your hip for just a heartbeat longer before fully stepping back. You bit your lip, stopping yourself from smiling as you took Neteyam’s hand to hold it. Ruk’e looked at you with a look that would normally be accompanied with a snort.
“Mother is looking for you. Right now. She says the Tayrangi scouts need their final instructions for the eastern ridge, and you're the only one who knows the layout of the lower caves.”
You pushed your lips forward. “I'm on my way,” you said, turning to Neteyam and tiptoeing to kiss him again. You bit his lower lip before pulling away, patting his chest. “Later.“
You turned away, your tail moving behind you, its hairy tip brushing his lower abdomen. You heard his gasp and you grinned as you walked away. You brought this small pocket of joy as your ikran perched on a cliff along with the others, waiting for the signal to fight. Neteyam was several ikrans away from you, although Toruk’s big head was almost hiding him from sight. He caught your gaze, giving you a fierce, sharp nod.
The signal came not from a horn, but from the unnatural tremor of distant explosions. War cries from your people and from the warriors from various clans erupted as hundreds of ikran took to the sky.
You plunged off the ledge, diving straight into the smoke. Your ikran, holding a large boulder in its hind legs, flew over a gunship’s rotors and threw the boulder with a force that tilted the gunship before it exploded into a ball of orange flame. You banked hard, narrowly dodging a volley of gunfire directed at you.
You pulled your ikran’s reins up, pulling the string of your bow before releasing an arrow through the glass of the gunship pursuing you. You watched the vehicle spin wildly, clipping another gunship before exploding into the nearest floating mountain. A sharp war cry tore from your throat, raising your bow before flying higher.
Below, you found Neteyam, riding with the reckless bravery of Toruk Makto himself, but with the terrifying precision of Neytiri. He guided his ikran into a dive, sending arrow grenades directly onto the rotors of a Dragon Assault ship, flying upstream before the large aircraft blasted, his war cry echoing over the din of combat.
For what seemed like hours, the sky bled. Whenever you feared you couldn't find Neteyam in the swirling ikrans flying in the air, he’d appear by your side, moving perfectly synchronized with you. Every time a threat closed in on your blind spot, Neteyam’s arrow finds them. Every time gunships threatened to box him in, your own lethal accuracy puts an end to it.
By the time the sun began to dip below the horizon, the final RDA gunship was on a slow descent in flames. This should be a victorious moment, but the sight of the burning jungle below you filled you with a grief that seized your breath. The adrenaline of the battle took hours to fade, but after securing the perimeter of the clan’s hideout, and convening with the council to speak of the next steps the party should take to completely batter the RDA, you felt Neteyam’s hand catch your forearm again.
You turned to him, your excitement bubbling in your chest despite your exhaustion. You followed him as he navigated some steep edges and climbed a few vines, wondering where exactly you two are going, but when he pulled you up on what seemed like a hidden hollow, the sight of a secluded, bioluminescent pool surprised you. The water glowed with a soft, blue light, casting shifting, watery patterns across the jagged walls.
Your mouth curled into a huge smile, turning to him. “This is beautiful...”
“Found it when I was sixteen aimlessly flying around here. I thought then that maybe this could be a place for dates with my mate,” he said, smiling at you, his face devoid of tension.
“Dates?” you echoed.
“It’s... a human thing. My parents often go on dates. Just the two of them, spending time with each other...” he explained.
You smiled, “I like that.”
His hand traveled up your forearm to hold your elbow, pulling you closer. “Good. Because I’ve always thought of bringing you in this place,” he mumbled.
You looked up at him, the soft blue light from the pool catching the warmth in his eyes. “Even back then?”
“Yes,” he murmured, his voice dropping into a reverent tone that made your chest tighten pleasantly. He reached down and gently slid his fingers between yours, leading you to the edge of the water. It was you who pulled him to sink into its chilly waters. “Even when I was trying to convince myself that I had to have laser focus on my duty, to be the most competent warrior I could be for my people, you were always the exception... You were always the tilt in my world.“
He held your jaw in his hand, leaning forward to press a soft kiss on your lips. His arms wrapped around your waist, his forehead pressed against yours.
“I know you forgave me. I know you said I didn't have to keep doing... all of that. But I need to say it, ” he paused, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. “I am so sorry. I will always be sorry... For the words I threw at you, for the pain I caused, for making you feel like you had to change who you were. I will spend the rest of my life making sure you never feel that way again.”
You moved your head slightly, you nose brushing his. The raw, unshielded vulnerability in his golden eyes was breathtaking. The proud, stubborn commander of the Omatikaya was completely laid bare before you, entirely surrendered. You have only ever dreamed of that.
“Neteyam,” You said softly, cupping his jaw with both hands. He stared at you, his eyes bright and swimming with an overwhelming wave of emotion. “The girl who used to be reckless might be gone, but the woman standing in front of you loves you more than she ever did,” you whispered, a soft, tearful smile breaking across your face. “I see you, Neteyam. I see everything you've done to make up for what you did. You don't have to carry the guilt anymore. Lay it down.”
A breathless sigh escaped his lips, and he closed his eyes, leaning heavily into the palm of your hand as if a massive weight had finally been lifted from his shoulders. When he opened them again, the absolute devotion burning within them made your heart skip a beat. “I love you,” he breathed, his words an unbreakable vow. “Baby, I love you so much.”
He leaned forward, capturing your lips in a kiss that was entirely different from the stolen moments before the battle. This was slow, deep, yet desperate. You groaned softly, your fingers tangling into his braids, he pulled you even closer until there was no space left between you. His hands moved down to your hips, gently stepping you back until you hit the velvety edge of the pool.
He pulled away to look down at your face, his large form towering over you so much now that you’re nearly lying down on the flat edge. Slowly, deliberately, he brought his kuru forward, the glowing tendrils at the tip unfurling, searching for anything to connect with. “Are you sure you want me as your husband?”
You raised a brow, “Is that a warning?”
He pressed a hard kiss on your lips. “It’s only that there is no turning back... You are mine. Forever.” he whispered conspiratorially.
You took your kuru behind you, “I’ve never been one to turn back in fear...” You met him halfway, bringing your kuru forward until the tendrils entwined in a sudden, breathtaking flash of pure energy that caused borh of you to jerk involuntarily. You watched his pupils dilate, the black almost swallowing the gold.
His world felt as though it expanded, then narrowed down to just you, while you could feel the steady, powerful thrum of his heartbeat as if it were beating in your own chest. You felt the raw, overwhelming depth of his love for you, the fear he felt he drove you away from him, the desperation that ate at him when you no longer cared for him, the hope that bloomed in him when you were so worried about his small wound, and the pure, weeping joy that had consumed him when you finally held his hand at the festival.
You let out a ragged, trembling breath, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck and pulled him down into a deep, bruising kiss. Neteyam groaned softly against your lips, his arms instantly locking around your waist. He pulled you flush against his chest, lifting you slightly off the stone as if he couldn't get you close enough. The kiss shifted from soft and tender, to the desperate hardness of a man who wanted to devour you.
His hands were everywhere on your body, unclasping your beaded top and untying your loincloth behind your tail. You chuckled in his ears when his hand on your tail tickled you, and he angled his head to press a hard kiss on your jaw, shedding your loincloth off of you. He hauled you up to the ledge before following you to hover over you, his chest heaving as he looked down at you, naked under him. The cool blue light of the secluded pool danced across his broad shoulders, making you shiver with awareness about how large of a man he actually is. He looked down at you with a hunger born from years of restraining himself.
His large hands slid down from your waist, his thumbs tracing your curves down to you thighs before firmly pressing your thighs apart. You let out a soft gasp as the cool air hit your skin, but the chill was instantly replaced by the intense heat of his body as he settled between your knees. He looked up at you, his eyes dark and searching, demanding you witness exactly how completely he belonged to you.
Slowly, he lowered himself, his calloused hands guiding your knees wider, draping your legs over his broad shoulders. Your breath caught in your throat as his breath fanned across the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the smooth skin of your knee, then another higher up, tracking a slow, agonizing path inward until you were trembling beneath him.
“Neteyam,” you called, panicking as you pushed him back by his shoulder.
His eyes snapped up to you, his eyes dark and dangerous, as if waiting for you to tell him no, but the heat in his eyes flustered you with a heat on your cheeks. He kissed your inner thigh again, and when his lips finally found the center of your heat, a sharp gasp escaped you, your hand squeezing his shoulder.
He pressed a gentle hand on your chest, travelling a bit sideways to cup your breast. “Lay back,“ he mumbled and you did, propping yourself up on your elbows.
His lips found you again and he groaned against your flesh, his hands wrapping securely around the back of your thighs to hold you steady as he parted you with his fingers. His tongue was warm, broad, and too deliberate, drawing upward, tasting you fully. The connection through your entwined kurus sent a jolt of unadulterated pleasure down his spine, and in turn, you could feel his own arousal spiking through the bond, heavy and demanding.
You arched your hips off the ground, your fingers digging into the thick roots beside your head. “Neteyam...” you whimpered, your head rolling back.
He grew even relentless, his pace quickening, his tongue swirling and pressing harder against your sensitive nub. Your hips bucked when his finger slid inside you, feeling uncomfortable with the slight stretch as his mouth sucked at your heat. The sensation was too noverwhelming, and the bond is only amplifying everything. You could feel his deep satisfaction at your undoing, his pride swelling as your body began to tighten around his fingers, and with a firm stroke of his tongue, you felt a powerful tremor in your body, a loud sob tearing from your throat as your thighs clamped around his head.
Neteyam held you through the tremors, swallowing your heat, his purr vibrating heavily against you until your breathing began to slow. As he dragged himself back up to hover over you, his face flushed and his lips glistening, you caught your breath. “That was insane...” you huffed.
His eyes lightened a bit, the darkness yielding to his curiosity. “Really?“
“You know how good it felt for me,” you smiled, tugging at your entwined kurus. A sudden, wicked spark flared in your chest, traveling straight through the bond to hit him. “I want to do it to you, too,” you whispered, your voice husky, your eyes locking onto his.
Neteyam blinked, a sudden wave of heat washing through his expression as his pupils dilated further. “You don’t need—”
“No,” you cut him off, your hands sliding down his muscled abdomen, until it lowered where you felt him. He breathe sharply when you felt him through his loincloth, your hand gripping the massive hardness. “I want it in my mouth, too...”
He closed his eyes for a moment before giving in with a low, defeated groan, shedding his loincloth off before rolling onto his back on the moss. You chuckled, the sound so womanly to him he felt a currently of electricity running exclusively on the margins of his body, causing his ears to pin back against his ears as he watched you rose on your knees, parting your thighs to straddle him.
His hand moved to touch you between your thighs and you jolted with a loud moan, nearly falling over if you didn’t catch yourself by propping a hand on his chest. His fingers caressed your velvety folds, gathering your fresh wetness.
“I need to concentrate, ‘Teyam...” you groaned and he chuckled. You saw him bring his fingers into his mouth.
“Sorry... You just taste so good,” he licked his lips, reaching to kiss you, but you moved your head to kiss his jaw instead.
You pressed soft kisses on his skin, contrasting his hard and heavy kisses. His hands hovered at your waist, his head falling back, letting you slide down his body. He watched you through heavy eyelids, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as you positioned yourself between his muscled thighs. You bit your lip at the sight of his length fully erect, thick, and leaking a bead of thick pre-cum at its tip.
You leaned down, your braids brushing against his thighs as you wrapped your lips around the smooth, hot head of his shaft. Neteyam’s breath hitched violently. He threw his head back against the moss, his jaw clenching so hard the cords in his neck strained as you took him into your mouth, your hands fisting and moving by instinct. Your tongue swirled around the ridge, your hand wrapping around the base to stroke him as your mouth moved.
He moaned, his hips bucking as the bond flared with a white hot intensity. Through the connection, you felt the sheer, agonizing pleasure ripping through him, the tight, desperate control he was trying to maintain as the wet warmth of your mouth drove him insane.
“Oh, baby, please, I can't—“ he gasped out, his hips lifting involuntarily off the ground as your mouth sucked him harder. He reached down, his large hands tangling into your braids.
You thought he was going to push you away, but he only held your head there with more pressure for a few more desperate seconds that his largeness almost choked you, but then he gently pulled you up, his breathing completely shattered. You groaned, frowning that he had to pull his cock out of your mouth.
He looked you in the eyes, serious and with finality. “No more. I want to come inside you.”
He hauled you up by your waist, flipping you beneath him in one fluid motion. He was completely done with waiting. His large hand pinned both your wrists above your head, his other hand holding your waist in place as he aligned his hard length against your softness, his mouth coming down to capture yours.
With a slow, heavy thrust, Neteyam began burying himself inside you, until he’d sank in entirely. You wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders , letting out a breathless cry, feeling your walls stretching to accommodate him. The sheer, overwhelming sensation of the fit sent an exquisite pleasure for the both of you through the bond, and it felt as though your souls were melting into one another, leaving no distinction between where you and him stand.
Neteyam paused for a second, his eyes closing as he absorbed the tight, wet heat of your walls squeezing him. A ragged groan tore from his chest before he began to move in a pace that was immediately hard, deep, and desperate, as if he was pouring into you all the pent-up energy he had left from the battle.
He drove into you with a fiercely possessive rhythm, his hips pounding against yours with a strength that had you crying out his name. Every time he pulled back, he returned deeper, marking you, claiming every inch of your body as his own. His arm wrapped under your body, while the other hand hiked your knee up to your chest, making sure you receive each of his forceful thrust.
The bond left no walls or armors to crack, both of you feeling only the pure, intoxicating love, devotion, and absolute surrender you have for each other. The tension in your lower abdomen coiled tighter and tighter until it was unbearable. Neteyam’s pace became frantic, his jaw locked, his eyes fixed on yours with a terrifying intensity as he felt your walls begin to tighten around him.
“Oh, baby,” he choked out, his grip on your thigh tightening.
You screamed his name as your body convulsed around him, the pleasure shattering your vision into a thousand white sparks. Your grip on him triggered his own release, and a deep, guttural roar escaped him as he thrust brutally deep into you one last time and held himself there, his body stiffening as he spilled himself completely inside you.
“Fuck, I’m seeing stars...” he groaned, collapsing against your chest, his head buried in the crook of your neck, his own chest rising and falling in ragged, exhausted gasps. You broke into a weakened laugh, your hold on him loosening up a little as you pressed soft kisses on his temple.
The weeks that followed were a blur of war council meetings, suffocating maps, and aerial patrols around the High Camp. The ongoing struggle against the RDA had left very little time for you and Neteyam to enjoy your first days together, but it’s when you’re high above the sky that everything seemed to be yours.
You banked hard to the left, your ikran letting out a shrill cry as the wind rushed past your ears. Behind you, Neteyam dipped beneath a floating vine, a wild, unburdened laugh tearing from his throat. For a few glorious hours, the shadow of the RDA did not touch you. There were no battles, no strategies, and no bloodshed. There was only the dizzying feeling of flying, the wind, and the intoxicating freedom of racing the Neteyam through the floating mountains and its hanging vines.
He pulled up right beside you, his ikran's wingtip nearly brushing yours. When he turned his head, his golden eyes were bright, his smile throwing all his typical military crispness to the wind. You flashed him a sharp, challenging smirk, diving straight through a cascading waterfall.
“Keep up!” you taunged, leaving him to chase your laughter through the mist.
By nightfall, the adrenaline gave way to the familiar craving for quiet. You returned to the hidden hollow, slipping into the bioluminescent pool. The chilly waters swirled around your waist as Neteyam hugged you sideways, his chin finding your shoulder, bending his large frame to fit himself at your side.
Every night felt different, but tonight was calmer, filled with your soft mumurs and his low, rumbling chatters as you talked for hours about nothing at all, your fingers tracing the faint, silvery marks of his scars, before the talking faded into the slow and heavy rhythm of your lovemaking.
You are a impatient woman, but you couldn’t deny your love for his deliberate, agonizing slowness sometimes, his hands anchoring your waist as he worshipped you. Every thrust was deep and strong, his lips pressed to your throat, whispering your name like a prayer until the sensations from the bond left you both breathless, tangled together in a sweating, blissful heap.
The sky was just beginning to shift from darkness to the bruised purple of pre-dawn light when you woke up, your body singing with delicious soreness and you snuggled closer to his warmth. You kissed the soft skin of his shoulder, you hand caressing his muscled chest down to his abdomen. You smiled when he stirred, pressing soft kisses on his shoulder and neck, until you reach his jaw.
“Wake up, handsome...“ you mumbled. “It’s your turn today.”
He groaned softly, pulling you closer to him. “I hate leaving you.”
You chuckled. “So dramatic, my handsome man. I will be close behind,” you said, patting his abdomen. “Quick, quick. Before they wake up.”
He grunted, hauling you on top of him effortlessly. His eyes, though sleepy, watched you darkly as his hands moved to knead your breasts. You gasped softly, your hand clutching at his bicep as you peered down at him.
“I’m still sore from last night,” you said with a little drama, pouting at him.
He bit his lip, cooing at you. “I’ll help...” his hands moved down to your waist, ready to roll you over to your back but you were quick to sit up.
“No thanks. I know it’s not really help,” you smirked, grabbing your top. “Get up, warrior. You don’t want to get caught, do you?”
Neteyam groaned, a soft smile on his face before getting up, his hand clamping on your ankle to pull you toward him. You smiled when he bent his head a little to level with you. “Kiss,“ he mumbled and you gave him your lips.
You two kissed and kissed, but when you felt him nudging you to lie on your back, your eyes snapped open, pulling away from the kiss with narrowed eyes. “Neteyam...”
He smiled, his head falling dramatically. You rushed him, watching how the sun is almost peeking through the bruised sky, and Neteyam moved as quickly as he could, stealthily slipping back into the camp, walking with a light, quiet stride, a faint smile still on his lips as he neared his family’s tent.
“Out late?”
Neteyam froze, his ears pinning flat against his head. His father stepped out from the shadow, his arms crossed. From just inside the tent flap, Neytiri stepped forward, her sharp eyes narrowed at her eldest son in a way that made Neteyam’s posture instantly snap into military rigidity.
Jake sighed. “Neteyam... I've been meaning to talk to you, boy. I know you’re sort of courting Y/N. The whole clan knows it, everyone knows it, but you cannot just spend nights after nights with her to only Eywa knows where. You are both unmated. It's a small camp, people talk, and it’s not going to be a good look for her reputation.”
Neytiri stepped fully into the dim light, her tail twitching. “Just last night, when you had to sleep here, you looked like you were being sent to war instead of just holding Tuk because she’s asked to snuggle with you,” she pointed out. “You best ask for her hand from Ikeyni, son. Formally. You can’t dishonor her with this fooling around that you young people tend to engage in these days.“
Neteyam opened his mouth to speak and explain, but the look on his father’s face had him turning his head to follow Jake’s line of vision. He then saw you stepping into the clearing, completely unaware of the tribunal happening right in front of the Sully tent. You had planned to quickly slip into the yurt you shared with your mother to change your clothes and fix your hair, but you had taken the wrong turn.
You stopped dead in your tracks.
To say you looked thoroughly ravaged was an understatement. Your hair was a wild, tangled halo of loose braids, your lips were visibly swollen, and your chest was heaving from the hurried walk. You looked exactly like a woman who had spent the last hours being thoroughly fucked. Jake blinked, looking from you to his son.
Neytiri tilted her head, her gaze shifting slowly from your wild hair down to Neteyam’s deeply flushed face. She looked at her son pointedly, her eyes narrowing to dangerous slits. “Neteyam...”
Neteyam looked at you, then at his parents, his chest rising as he took a deep, steadying breath. The boyish embarrassment vanished, replaced by the fierce, unyielding pride of a man who knew exactly where he stood.
He walked over to you, completely ignoring his father’s stunned expression, and firmly wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him.
“I will personally apologize to the Olo’eykte, Mother. Because there is no need to ask for her hand,” Neteyam said, squeezing your waist a bit as he looked at his parents. “We are already mated.”
Your heart jumped into your throat, your cheeks burning.
Jake stared at his son, utterly speechless for three long seconds, before a slow, defeated smirk began to tug at the corner of his mouth. “Well... damn. Congratulations, I guess,” he said. “But you need to talk to Ikeyni about this. Immediately.”
“What is the matter at hand?” Your mother’s voice coming from your clan’s side of the camp.
You startled, pursing your lips. Neytiri watched you, the stern face for her son breaking into a soft smile as she shook her head in comical disbelief for your and Neteyam’s stubbornness.
“We have a ceremony to prepare, Ikeyni,“ Neytiri turned to your mother with a triumphant smile. “The two seemed to have finally met halfway.”
pairings aged-up!neteyam x metkayina!female reader
notes arranged marriage, reader is the youngest daughter of ronal and tonowari (someone requested a ronalxtonowari daughter grieving ronal’s death hehe), opposites attract, reader is literally a mini ronal, neteyam is a hardcore yearner even when reader is mean and rude to him, ao’nung and tonowari the matchmakers <3, smut (p in v), oral (f receiving)
synopsis hardened by the grief of losing your mother and fueled by the rage you have for both the sky people and the sullys— who brought their war on your shores— you made it your mission to avoid them at all costs. unlike your siblings, you never softened up to them, and you loathed the fact that neteyam, their eldest, just wouldn’t stay out of your sight.
word count 20.3k
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The water was too red.
That was always how the dream started. In your memory, the ocean of Awa’atlu was a perfect, piercing turquoise, but in your nightmare, it turned the color of blood. You saw the skimwing first, its rider’s face blurred, and then the body draped on the skimwing’s large body, unmoving and lifeless swaying rhythmically with the waves.
“Mother?” you tried to scream, but no voice seemed to come out of your mouth.
You heard your father’s loud gasp, his feet moving instinctively. You watched him lift your mother’s body off the skimwing and onto the sand. Your father bellowed in pain and you fell on your knees, looking around, not knowing who to ask for help. Your mother was wounded! She was bleeding!
When the Tsahik is wounded and dying, who do you ask for help?
You saw the Sully family standing just a few paces away, their golden eyes wide with a guilt that won’t bring your mother back. Then you felt a hand on your arm and it felt so real. You knew who it was. Your head swiveled back and saw Neteyam. He was looking at you, his face etched with a pity you didn't want.
You remembered screaming at him then, but your dream was cut short when you bolted upright in your hammock, its woven ties creaking at your sudden movement. The smell of moss and sea attacked your nose, overpowering the smell of blood your brain had conjured during your dream, as if to completely horrify you. For a moment, you stayed perfectly still, waiting for the pounding of your heart to calm down.
You were nineteen now. The soft roundness of the fourteen-year-old that your mother will always remember has long yielded to the sharpened lean of a huntress. The same dream had plagued you for years and you knew your entire day would be shrouded with grayness. You stood and grabbed your spear, its blade carved from crystal coral.
You didn't look at your older sister who was still sleeping peacefully next to your hammock. You didn't want Tsireya’s comfort, because it always came with a plea for forgiveness and understanding for the Sullys. The morning mist was thick as you made your way to the docks and saw that you were not the only one up. Near the edge of the water, a figure was preparing his mount.
Even from a distance, you recognized the way the man carried himself with a different strength and grace you don’t see among the men of your clan. “You're late for the patrol check,” you said, your voice cutting through the mist.
He turned, now a man fully grown, his braids longer and his stature a mimic of his legendary father. He simply tightened his grip on his ride’s harness. “The sun hasn't broken the horizon,” he pointed out.
You lifted your chin up, looking down at him who is already submerged in the water while you’re still on the woven pathway. “The sky people don't wait for the sun. I bet you know that,” you snapped. You tried to look past the way the morning light caught the patterns on his skin. The patterns you once thought Eywa had spent extra of her precious time on... You still think that, and it’s annoying.
“I understand. It won’t happen again,“ he said softly. His voice had deepened over the years, becoming a calm anchor that usually soothed others. To you, it only sounded like he was avoiding an argument by placating you with words.
“See that it doesn't,” you said, turning your back on him and walking to the other side of the village to dive into the water.
The cold water of the reef was the only thing that felt honest anymore. As you dove, the pressure against your skin comforted your from your nightmare. You spent the morning in the deeper currents, hunting for a silver-finned fish. It was solitary work, the kind that allowed you to sharpen your focus until the world was reduced to the tip of your spear and the shadow of your prey. But the solitude didn't last.
Breaking the surface for air, you saw them. A patrol of Metkayina warriors moving in a synchronized glide, and right at the center was Neteyam. Even among your own people, he stood out, riding his skimwing with a disciplined, military precision that is so distinct compared to the fluid nature of your people.
You saw his head turned, his eyes locking onto yours immediately despite the distance. You don’t know why he's always had his eyes on you but you felt the familiar heat of irritation rise in your chest all the same. You know that your siblings constantly worry for you, your father even more so, and this heavy, watchful gaze from someone you know had always been the guardian felt like an insult.
He guards you on behalf of your siblings, you have long concluded. So, with a sharp roll of your eyes, you tugged your mount's reins and dove back into the water, leaving nothing but a mocking splash in your wake. Much later, you had returned to the village with a successful haul, but the grayness of your morning had turned into a desperate, hollow boredom and so you found Kxat by the mangroves. He was your second “interest“ just this moon, a boytoy, if you will.
You don’t even like him. He was simply a man with strong arms and a head full of empty flattery. He was merely a distraction, and more importantly, he was a way to watch your father’s forehead crease in silent disappointment and your brother’s jaw tighten with displeasure. You are not your perfect sister, alright. You are just you, the one they left behind when they took on mature duties following your mother's death.
As you led Kxat into the thick shadows of the woods behind the village, you felt the thrill of the hunt. Not for any prey, but for a reaction. You pushed him against a moss-covered trunk, the air thick with the scent of damp soil so different from the smell of the salt air from the sea. He leaned in to kiss you and you kissed him back, his hands wandering with a clumsy boldness toward your chest.
But before he could fully touch you, the sound of a dry branch snapping under a heavy foot alerted both of you to a presence. You can’t help but smirk as you moved your lips away from Kxat. Like clockwork. You pulled away slowly, smoothing your hair with a practiced nonchalance as you turned to find the intruder.
Neteyam stood ten paces away. His face was a mask of stone, his scarred and broad chest on display. He looked like the perfect image of a warrior carved from stone, unmoved by the intimacy he had just interrupted.
“Your brother is looking for you,” he said, his voice dropping into a cold clip. He didn't even spare Kxat a look, as if the other man didn't exist. He turned his back, ready to walk away.
“Can’t that wait?” you called out, your voice dripping with honeyed venom. You leaned back against the tree. “You see, I’m having fun here.”
He stopped, turning back slowly, his eyes narrowing until they were slivers of molten gold. “No, it can’t,” he said, his gaze finally flicking to you. “And I doubt that. You looked nauseous.”
The insult hit like a physical slap, but before you could snap back, Neteyam shifted his focus to Kxat. He simply looked at him, standing there with the quiet, terrifying authority of a commander, a look that always reminded everyone that while the Metkayina were his hosts, he is still the firstborn son of fearsome war leaders.
Kxat, who had been acting so bold with you only a minute ago, withered. He lowered his gaze, his shoulders slumping as he wrangled his hands. “I... I should go,” Kxat stammered, not even looking at you before he scrambled away.
You watched him go with a sneer of pure disgust. Weak. Another one. You turned your fury back on Neteyam, who was already starting to walk away again. “You have no right!” you hissed, stepping after him. “You don’t get to scare off the men I’m with just because you’ve decided to play babysitter!”
Neteyam didn't stop. He didn't even look back to see how angry you are. “I don’t care who he is to you,” he said over his shoulder, his voice firm on. “If he were half the man you pretend he is, he wouldn’t have run. You’re wasting your time on cowards who probably wouldn’t be able to stand in front of your father and ask for your hand. Your brother expects you, princess.”
He left you standing there, your chest heaving with a rage that felt dangerously like something else. He was infuriating. He was so arrogant. And the worst part, the part that made you want to scream, was that he was right. All of those men were weak. No matter how many men you brought to the woods, they all crumbled the moment Neteyam te Suli appeared to remind you who you are to this clan.
You stomped through the village, the woven walkways yielding against the soles of your feet. You didn't care who saw your temper. The gray cloud from your nightmare had turned into a storm cloud over your head. You found Ao’nung near the training sands, sharpening a set of practice spears. He didn't even have to look up to know it was you, the crass way you approached him gave you away.
“Tell your watchman to leave me alone!” you hissed, slamming your hand against the wooden rack beside him.
Ao’nung blinked, looking up with a confused frown. “What are you talking about?”
“Neteyam!“ you snapped, pacing the small space. “He’s a parasite! Every time I turn around, there he is, looming and acting like he owns the woods. Did you order him to watch me? Did you send him? Did you tell him to go find me and ruin my afternoon?”
Ao’nung set the spear down, a slow sigh escaping him. “I didn’t send him to do anything specific. We were discussing patrol routes. He just... offered to go get you. It’s not intentional.”
“Offered to go get me?” you growled.
His eyes narrowed then, his protective brotherly instincts finally catching up to the context of your anger. “Wait. You were with someone? Again? While the sun is still up?” He stood to his full height, his face hardening into an expression that looked like your father’s. “You’re fooling around again?”
“Oh, for the Great Mother's sake,” you groaned, flicking a hand dismissively. “Is it such an issue? I’m nineteen, Ao’nung. Mother was already mated and pregnant with you at this age. I’m just living.”
“That is exactly the point!“ Ao’nung stepped closer, his voice an angry rasp. “Mother was mated! She chose a warrior of honor. You have no interest in actually taking a mate. You’re just fooling around to make a point. You are a daughter of the Olo’eyktan! These worthless, spineless men do not deserve to even stand in your shadow, yet you let them touch you just to spite us!”
You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt, moving past him to sit lazily on a pile of woven mats, looking bored. “Are you done? Or do you have more rehearsed speeches about my virtue? Tell me what you called me for so I can go back to having fun.“
Ao’nung went quiet. He looked at you, then looked toward the path where Neteyam had likely returned from. A strange shadow of realization crossed his face. “I... I actually didn't have anything urgent to say to you,” he admitted slowly.
Your head snapped up, your eyes narrowing. “Then why am I here?”
Ao’nung tried to remember what had happened. Neteyam came to talk to him about the western reef patrols. He couldn’t even remember how the conversation veered to you, but he remembered Neteyam telling him he needed to speak with you for some reason and when he said he’d talk to you when he sees you you next, the man had looked him right in the eye and said, ’You can talk to her now. I saw where she is.’
Ao’nung tilted his head, his gaze lingering on you with a sudden, sharp enlightenment. He remembered how many times Neteyam had happened to be the one to find you, he’d practically lost count of it over the years. He remembered how Neteyam’s jaw would set whenever your name was mentioned in relation to the village boys. You had always been very restless, hot-tempered like Ronal, that Tonowari himself had long given up in his attempts to straighten you up.
They all have, to be honest. You were of age, after all. It was only Neteyam that seemed to still guard you, which is funny, because he doesn’t even guard his own sister. A slow, knowing smirk began to tug at the corner of Ao’nung’s mouth, a look that made you feel suddenly very anxious.
“What?“ you demanded, feeling a prickle of unease. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Nothing,” he said, his tone suddenly much lighter, almost playful. He picked back up his spear, his anger seemingly vanished. He just found the perfect solution so that your ‘boytoys’ will no longer be a worry for them. It seems you’ve already met someone who has the guts to challenge you. You just haven't realized it yet.
“What is that supposed to mean?” you barked, standing up.
“Nothing. Just...” he looked at you again and stifled a smirk. “Go on with your day.”
He turned on his heels and walked away. If you want to keep fooling around, you might want to find a place where a certain Omatikaya warrior isn't constantly watching your every move. But he doubts such a place exists.
You were with Neteyam and several hunters in the next morning patrol near the reef. You were on a long range scout in the southwest, having parted ways with the team so you could patrol each corner of the reefs, when you heard the familiar groan of engines, a sound that always made you tremble in anger.
You gritted your teeth at the sight of a small gray vessel. A familiar large weapon on its deck, followed by a larger black vessel. They were too close to the tulkun calving grounds.
“Stay low!” Neteyam’s voice commanded over the waves. He was leading the wing, his skimwing cutting through the water toward you. “We observe and report. Do not engage unless they cross the reef line.”
Observe and report. The words grated in your ears and it made you tilt you head. You looked at the metal ships and sniffed, knowing that inside those metals were the same demons who killed your mother. Your vision blurred red.
“Observe this,” you hissed under your breath.
You tapped your skimwing into formation before it drove into the deep water. You have never been a rule follower, but you try. However, you can’t possibly let a situation like this slide... your blood demanded a debt be paid. As the scout vessel turned to track the unusual movements underwater, you broke the surface, locking a spear into your thrower and throwing it with all the force your arm can give.
You saw it punch through the glass of the scout’s cockpit, impaling the pilot and making the boat swerve violently. You saw four men with guns looking for where it came from. One of them saw you, but you didn’t wait for him to aim his rifle, launching another spear, catching the man in the chest.
“Y/N, back off!” You heard Neteyam scream, his mount cutting through the waters with lethal efficiency.
You ignored him to throw another spear for the man on the deck who was trying to deploy a sonar buoy. The kind that deafened the tulkun. The spear hit him square in the neck and you felt a grim satisfaction upon seeing him fall into the water, the water blooming into the same crimson shade as your nightmares.
Your trembling hands reached for another spear but a heavy weight slammed into your side. Neteyam had driven his mount right into yours! Before you could even look at him, his large hand had already gripped the reins of your skimwing to force it into a deep dive. You squirmed in protest but the sight of bullets piercing through the waters like lethal hailstones made you drive you skimwing deeper.
The muffled sound of bullets passing through the water above you made you look back to Neteyam, seeing him drive his skimwing faster to follow you. You both didn’t stop until you were far enough, breaking the surface for air. But Neteyam continued moving until you both reached the shore near the village.
You were shaking, and you know that it didn’t have anything to do with the fear, but from the sheer electricity of the kill. This isn’t the first time, because you had killed a few before, in the battle years ago... But this, it provides the thrill of revenge.
Neteyam vaulted off his mount and waded toward you, his face no longer a mask of stone. It was a mask of fury. You saw his arm bleeding and your eyes widened. “Neteyam—”
“You are careless!” he roared, his hands frantic on your arms, checking for any wound as if he wasn’t wounded himself. He was literally heaving, closing his eyes to calm himself down after he’s checked your arms, chest, and shoulders for anything. “You could have been killed! They had a turret tracking you!”
You were breathing as heavily as he does, shoving his hands off you. “I killed three of them! They were going to the calves!”
“I know,“ he said, his voice calmer now. “But you cannot risk yourself like that. You are the daughter of the Olo’eyktan—”
“I am the daughter of the woman they murdered!” you screamed, your voice cracking with the weight of grief. You stepped closer until his breath fans your forehead. “You can hide behind your discipline, because I know that you're scared, Neteyam. You've been scared since the day you ran from the forest from whence you came. But I will not hide from the demons who filled the sea with my mother’s blood!”
The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut. Neteyam’s jaw tightened so hard you heard his teeth gritting. His gaze dropped to your mouth, then back to your eyes, his nostrils flaring.
“You think I'm scared?” he whispered, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous rumble that made the hair on your arms stand up. “You think I don't want to kill every one of those demons until they are all gone?”
He stepped even closer, his presence overwhelming you that you unconsciously stepped back, a move that brought heat to your cheeks. Shame!
“I am trying to keep you alive, you stubborn, arrogant girl. Because unlike those boys you lure into the woods, I actually know what it's like to lose a world. And I will not let you be the next thing the ocean takes.”
Your nose flared. “Stay out of my way,” you hissed, though your heart was suddenly hammering against your ribs for an entirely different reason.
“I can’t do that,“ he said, his voice soft but terrifyingly firm. “And I won’t. I will not obey you.”
He turned away to walk, and you watched him glance at his arm, and probably only saw then the wound on his arm. You heard him hiss and your hands trembled. He is annoying. Infuriating and meddlesome and a parasite. But as you watched him walk with his arm bleeding, you felt a pinch in your heart and some anger for yourself for having caused that.
Neteyam made his way back to the village, going straight to the healer’s tent, walking with a bravado that didn’t belong on a wounded man. He heard Lo’ak’s voice mingling with Tsireya’s, hissing under his breath that the two had to be here at this hour. He was aiming for a random healer to tend to him, so he won’t be asked any questions.
He moved the beaded curtains and walked inside, making Lo’ak snap his head to his direction.
“What happened, brother?” Lo’ak asked, his eyes wide with panic as he saw the state of Neteyam’s arm.
Neteyam didn't answer immediately. He was standing like a pillar, his face still that infuriating, stoic mask even as blood trailed down his bicep. But the moment you stormed in, he whirled around, his golden eyes widening, flickering with surprise.
“Give me your arm,” you commanded, your voice hard enough to crack stone.
“Did you shoot him?” Lo’ak blurted out in horror, his gaze darting between you and his brother.
Your head snapped toward him, a snarl curling your lip, but Neteyam’s voice boomed before you could lash out. “No!”
"Then what happened?" Lo’ak pressed.
Tsireya moved closer, her hands reaching for a bowl of clean water. “It is a bullet wound. Thankfully, only a graze. Let me see it, Neteyam.”
“No. I got him,“ you said, stepping toward him and he met you halfway, his gaze never leaving yours. You reached out and Neteyam offered his arm with a heavy submission that made your heart stutter.
“Does she even know how to treat that?” Lo’ak muttered, his worry making him bold. “She doesn’t have formal healer training.”
“She is a Tsahik’s daughter, Lo’ak. Of course, she had training.” Tsireya whispered, before her eyes met yours with a soft, knowing look. “You got it, sister?”
You nodded firmly and you gave Lo’ak a final, lethal glare until he withered.
“Well, then... I guess we’ll leave you for now,” Tsireya said, her voice laced with a strange, quiet satisfaction as she grabbed Lo’ak by the elbow and dragged him toward the exit.
“What if she purposely causes an infection or something—”
“She won’t do that!” Tsireya hissed, her voice fading as they disappeared behind the beaded curtain.
Then, there was only the two of you.
Neteyam didn't need to be told, he lowered himself onto the mat, and you followed, your knees hitting the floor. Up close, the graze looked worse. There was an angry jagged wound in his skin where the metal had hissed past, leaving the flesh raw. You bit your lip so hard until you tasted a metallic tang. You deserve that.
You worked in silence, cleaning the wound with meticulous care, your fingers, usually so steady on a spear, trembling just enough that you hoped he wouldn't notice. You applied the poultice, the cool herbs to make him feel better. You were so careful, so precise, treating his skin as if it were the most fragile thing in the world.
Meanwhile, Neteyam was so still you wondered if he were even breathing. He watched your face, savoring the fact that he was this close to you. You can’t believe you were a little too conscious about it though, because you could feel his gaze like it was a physical touch. On your forehead, your cheeks, your lips.
Finally, you bound it with a gauze softer than it required.
“Thank you,” he said softly, as you were cleaning the supplies. You supposed you were guilty... But in truth, you cannot shake off the anger you have for yourself right now that he was wounded because of your recklessness. You could barely breathe with how tight your chest feels.
“I’m sorry...” You expected the words to feel like stones in your throat, but you didn't feel the weight you expected. Instead, you felt a burn on your cheeks so embarrassingly hot that you couldn't stay a second longer. You didn't wait for his reaction. You stood up abruptly and bolted out of the tent, the beaded curtains clattering violently in your wake.
Inside the tent, Neteyam remained on the mat, his lips parted in a breath of pure disbelief. It was as if a tornado had just swept through and left him in the eye of the storm. He let out a huff of a laugh, his chest deflating as he leaned back. The anger he had felt on the reef, the exhaustion of the patrol... It was all gone. Just two words. You had given him two words, and he felt as though he were melting into the floorboards.
He closed his eyes, his heart hammering a slow, rhythmic drum against his ribs. He had spent years receiving the sharp end of your anger, guarding you, and watching you from the shadows. And now, as the warmth of your apology enveloped him, you got him deeper on his knees on the sand, ready to crawl for whatever you can give.
Remember that seed that sprouted in Ao’nung’s head weeks ago? It didn’t simply just sit there, it took root, and grew vines. Vines that now reached Tonowari, because Ao’nung had not been anything but a constant buzz in his father’s ear, pitching the idea of a union like a trader auctioning a rare pearl.
At first, Tonowari had been hesitant, thinking of your volatile temper and the respect he has for the Sullys. He wanted a good match for you, yes, but the Sullys, no matter how long they had been here, living the ways of his people, are still his prime guests. Neteyam is the firstborn son of Toruk Makto. And you... You had not matured yet, not at all. You loved fooling around and the Sullys are a witness to your behavior.
But then, he started looking.
And he couldn’t believed just how much he missed out on you. And on those who have watched you from afar. One quiet evening, Tonowari had been walking the outer docks, seeking tranquil of the tides when he spotted a figure sitting on the sand far enough that he almost couldn’t recognize who it was. But he knew.
It was you, sitting there with your knees pulled to your chest, staring out at the horizon where the sky met the sea, the spot where your mother had never returned from. You looked small and for the first time in years, you looked like the fourteen-year-old girl who had lost her world. He felt a pinch in his heart.
He had been so blinded with your snappy wit, your laughter, and the temper you’d gotten from your mother, that he didn’t see how lonely you were while he, Ao’nung, and Tsireya all faced a bigger duty than they did before. He thought he’d done his part by making sure you were not burdened with duty and expectations... But you were certainly burdened with something else entirely and none of them had seen that.
Tonowari moved to step forward, fully intending to go to you, and give you comfort. But he stopped when he realized he wasn't the only one watching.
Neteyam was standing in the shadows of a nearby tree. His stance told him he wasn’t going to approach you and he remembered how years ago, when Ronal died, Neteyam tried to hold you and you snapped at him... Blaming him and his family for what happened. Tonowari thinks that Neteyam seemed to know better now, but he was still there, leaning against the tree, his eyes fixed on your back with a look of such profound, aching tenderness that it made Tonowari’s breath catch.
From where he stood, he could see that Neteyam sees past the troublesome or wanton daughter that the village gossiped about. He watched the way you wiped your cheek, and Tonowari saw Neteyam’s hand twitch, his fingers curling into a fist as if he were physically fighting the urge to go to you and pull you into his arms.
The came the day at the training sands. Ao’nung wouldn’t stop whispering in his ears. He had seen it, alright, Neteyam at least. But he wasn’t sure if Neteyam were simply empathizing with you, or if it stemmed from somewhere deeper in him.
He watched you stand at the edge of the training sands, ostensibly there to sharpen the blade of your spear. Both your father and brother watched from the shade of the pavilion as Neteyam led a group of young hunters through spear drills, his blue skin glistening with sweat, the powerful muscles of his back and shoulders rippling with every strike.
They saw the way you stood perfectly still, your eyes traveling shamelessly on the muscles on his broad back, and the strength in his arms. You were ogling him, plain as day, biting your lower lip just slightly when he lunged. But the moment Neteyam sensed your gaze and turned around, wiping sweat from his brow and offering a small, questioning tilt of his head, your face contorted into a mask of pure annoyance.
“What are you looking at, forest boy?” you had barked, loud enough for half the beach to hear. “Correct your grip! You’re swinging that spear like a clumsy child!”
Neteyam had only blinked, a flicker of amusement crossing his face before he looked back to his students. Meanwhile, you have sassily turned your back on him, looking over your shoulder probably to check if he looks at you again, and he did. He looked over his shoulder the same time you did. You snarled and Neteyam quickly turned his back like a child caught not sleeping during siesta.
Ao’nung giggled. “You see, Father?” Ao’nung had whispered then.
Oh, Tonowari had seen, alright, and he definitely shouldn’t have, for Eywa’s sake. He wish he had Ronal with him in this moment. He wondered what his wife would have done after seeing her youngest daughter practically ogle a man, and act like she doesn't know whether to kiss him or spear him. And the man? He is the only one who doesn't flinch when she screams.
Several days later, the village was gathered for the communal dinner. The smell of roasted fish filled the air and the fire roared at the center of the circle. You were in the middle of your rowdy group instead of sitting at the dais among your family, being louder than necessary and aughing with your head thrown back.
Ao’nung sat close to Tonowari, leaning in as the firelight danced in his eyes. “Watch,” he prompted.
And so Tonowari watched, feeling a little ashamed with how invested he is with this. Neteyam was sitting with the warriors, his posture straight, and his face impassive. It was in moments like this that showed how beyond his years he seemed to me, a man who had grown up too fast in the shadow of war. He was listening to the warriors talk around him, but his eyes were fixed across the fire, just... watching. Something Tonowari and Ao’nung are both so aware now.
They both felt stupid having not noticed something so obvious before, especially when Neteyam looks as though he is guarding a treasure he hasn't even claimed yet. He doesn't even look at any of the other girls this way. Not even the ones who actually try to get his attention.
Across the fire, you were in the middle of a story, gesturing wildly, but every few seconds, your gaze would break away from your friends, snapping to where Neteyam is, and for a heartbeat, your rowdiness seemed to vanish. Your laughter dying down unconsciously, your hand dropping to your lap. You realized you were staring and quickly rolled your eyes, tossing your hair back and snapping a rude comment to the boy sitting next to you.
But the effect was clear: Neteyam’s attention had literally made you behave. Neteyam looked down at his food, a small smile tugging at his lips.
“I don’t know about you, Father,” Ao’nung said, his voice a low rumble of conviction. “But I see a match. And remember what Mother thought of him? Even when she was wary of the Sullys, she favored him.”
Tonowari leaned back, his massive chest expanding as he took a deep breath. He watched you. His youngest, his wild skimwing, and then he looked at the stoic, unbreakable young man who seemed to be the only one capable of clipping your wings without hurting you.
“Neteyam is a man of honor,“ Tonowari agreed, his voice thoughtful.
Ao’nung grinned. “Betroth them. It settles her, it secures an alliance with Toruk Makto’s bloodline, and most importantly... it gives her someone she can't scare away.”
Tonowari nodded slowly, his decision solidifying. You, on the other hand, was blissfully unaware of what schemes were cooking in your midst. The morning after the communal dinner, you found yourself in the family pod with your sister. Tsireya was the image of Metkayina grace, her hands moving gracefully as she sorted through dried medicinal herbs. She was the good daughter, and sometimes, looking at her felt like staring at a mirror that only showed you what you lacked.
“You were loud last night,” Tsireya said softly, not looking up from her work. “Even for you, little sister.”
“Better than filling it with the silence of the absent.”
Tsireya paused, her eyes lifting to yours, shimmering with a pity that made you want to snarl. “It has been five years, sister... Mother would not want you to live your life like this... She would want you to find peace. Perhaps even... a partner to share it with."
“I have plenty of partners,“ you snapped, standing up and grabbing your crossbow. “Ask Ao'nung. He seems to have a list of them to lecture me about.”
“Those boys are not partners,” Tsireya countered, her voice gaining a rare edge. “They are distractions. You choose men who are easy to break because you are afraid of someone who might actually hold you together.”
“I don't need holding together!” you snapped, your voice echoing as you stormed out before she could respond, feeling both irritated and guilty for feeling it.
Tsireya didn’t deserve your anger. You had both lost your mother and she had to take on a role no fifteen-year-old was ever ready for. You stopped on the walkway, looking over your shoulder and debating whether to go back and say sorry... But you were still angry, and you think it wouldn’t be so sincere to force yourself to do it now.
So you headed for the tide pools, needing the cool water to relieve the heat in your blood. But fate had other plans. Neteyam was there, knee-deep in the shallow water, repairing a broken Ilu pen. He was alone, his long braids slightly pulled back, his brow furrowed in concentration. As soon as you saw him, the irritation from your talk with Tsireya found a new target.
“We have the people for this,” you called out, stalking toward the water's edge. “Or are you so desperate to be useful that you’ve taken up the work of laborers?”
Neteyam didn't flinch or look up. He simply pulled the fibers taut and knotted it. “The pen was broken. I have hands. It seemed a simple equation, princess”
You stepped into the water, the cool waves splashing against your calves, and marched right up to him. You were shorter than him, but your chin tilted high.
“You’re doing it wrong,” you lied, reaching out to swat at the rope he was holding. “The knot needs to be beneath the crossbar, otherwise the tide will fray it. But I suppose a forest dweller wouldn't understand how the sea eats away at things.”
Finally, Neteyam looked at you, still not angry or intimated. He looked at you with that same calm, steady intensity that always made you feel so exposed... As though you were naked.
“Then show me,” he said, his voice low. He held out the rope toward you.
You blinked, caught off guard by his lack of resistance. “What?”
“Show me,” he repeated with challenge in his eyes. “If I’m not doing it right, then teach me the right way. I am a fast learner.”
You stared at him with narrowed eyes and he met you with the usual intensity, making you roll your eyes, grabbing the rope from his hand, your fingers brushing against his skin. The contact sent a jolt through you that you chose to interpret simply as annoyance. You began to tie the knot with aggressive, jerky movements, your breathing heavy.
“You think you're so patient,“ you hissed, not looking at him. “You think if you just stand there and take it, I'll eventually stop biting. You’re wrong.”
He watched you, his head tilted. He knows this. You are the daughter that took so much from Ronal. He knows you will not soften easily. He expects you to sharpen even more.
“I know whose daughter you are,” Neteyam said. He had moved closer, so close you could feel the heat radiating off him.
You didn’t know why it made your insides shiver. You gaslighted yourself it couldn’t possibly be excitement. But... He wasn't backing down, at all. And you know he will did and he never will. Most men in the village would have retreated by now, but Neteyam stood his ground like a mountain resisting a gale.
“I don't want you to soften,” he whispered, his voice for your ears only. “The sea isn't soft. It’s hard and dangerous. But it also gives life.”
You froze, the knot half-finished. You looked up at him, a sharp retort dying on your tongue. His face was inches from yours, his golden eyes searching yours with a terrifying honesty. “You are a nuisance,” you managed to whisper, though it lacked its usual sharpness.
Neteyam let out a short, quiet breath that sounded like a laugh. He reached out, his hand hovering near your waist before he seemingly caught himself and pulled back. “And you,” he replied, his gaze dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second before meeting your eyes again, "are not as difficult as you believe you are.”
You let go of your half-knotted ropes and stepped away, the water splashing around you. “You begged me to teach you, but you're doing everything but listen. Finish that. I’ll check it when I get back.”
You turned and whistled for your skimwing, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. You didn't look back, but you didn't have to because you could feel his eyes on your back, steady and unyielding, watching his treasure as it tried to run away.
The ride out into the open sea was supposed to clear your head, but all you could feel was the phantom heat of his skin against yours. How dare he move closer to you?! You groaned and dove deep, pushing your skimwing until your lungs burned, trying to drown out the sound of his voice calling you that stupid word you don’t even know the meaning of. Princess. What was that word?
He’d call you that for years and you had no one to ask. Your pride won’t allow you to just go and ask Lo’ak or Kiri about it... Especially because they’d almost certainly know who had been calling you that.
For the next two days, you went out of your way to avoid him, which was nearly impossible in a village built on connected walkways. And now, you found yourself back in the woods at the back of the village, your path lit by the bioluminescence of the plants and the moon filtering through the thick canopy. You held O’nun’s— or was it Ralu?— hand, pulling him closer to you. His hand wounded in your curly hair, leaning down so he could kiss you. Your lips curled before you welcomed his kiss, your ears tuning in for any unusual sound around you.
Ralu’s hands moved lower to your waist, and you pulled away from the kiss, craning your neck, and just then, you saw a shadow detached itself from the darkness. Your eyes widened a fraction and you felt an urge to push Ralu away as his ragged breathing fanned your neck. You watched Neteyam stand there, a tower of solid muscle and silent menace, with his arms crossed over his chest. He didn't even look at the man you were with. He looked only at you, his eyes glowing like two orbs of sun in the dark.
Ralu felt the weight of that gaze before he even saw him and his hands froze on your waist. He looked over, saw the silhouette you were seeing, and his face went pale even in the bioluminescence. He looked at you and you rolled your eyes when you saw how he’s almost ready to bolt, and without a single word of apology to you, without even a backward glance, Ralu scrambled away. He practically tripped over a root in his haste to disappear back into the village.
Weak, you thought. You turned your fury on the dark figure still standing in the clearing. You walked to him, “Tell me, warrior, do you take pleasure in this? Or is it just a hobby now?“
You remembered then what the hunters had been whispering. During combat drills, in which Neteyam is the head of, any man who he had recently seen in your company found themselves at the business end of Neteyam’s fist, hitting them harder and more frequently than anyone else. Now, he didn't need excuses to scare them away anymore; he has weeded them out quite successfully. No man in Awa’atlu wanted to be the next one whose ‘defense’ Neteyam pierces through with an elbow to the ribs.
You walked toward him, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm. You stopped inches from him, your breath hot against his neck, and pressed your palm flat against his broad chest. You felt the protruding, hard muscle of his chest jump beneath your touch.
“Do you want me only for yourself, warrior?” you taunted, your fingers curling slightly into his skin, caressing the heat of him. “You stop me from having fun... you bar me from every experience. Do you intend to provide my fun instead?” You rose onto your tiptoes, your lips nearly brushing his jaw, challenging him to break.
But Neteyam was a mountain. He didn't move until you tilted your head to kiss him, and then his hand shot out like a vine, settling on your waist, his grip firm and grounding.
“Do not kiss me with the same lips you just kissed another man with,” he said. His voice was deep, and vibrating with a possessive rage that made your insides shiver.
You flared instantly, your pride screaming at the slight. You shoved at his chest, trying to wrench yourself away. “Alright! I’ll go find someone else then! I’ll kiss every man in this village if I please! I am an unbounded woman!”
His other hand caught your opposite arm, pulling you flush against him so quickly the air left your lungs when you landed against the hard wall of his body. “Is that so?” he asked. There was no humor in his voice, only a dark, palpable anger that felt like a storm breaking.
He knows he should feel ashamed with how possessive he’s feeling about you. But it was what he was feeling... And for the first time in his life, he wanted to be selfish. He’s watched you for years, guarded you from your own recklessness... He’s not going to let some spineless boy have what you’ve been promising him with every look you throw his way.
He leaned down until your noses were a hair breadth away from each other, his eyes locking onto yours with a terrifying honesty. “Go on then,” he whispered, his grip tightening. “See if any of them would dare.”
You opened your mouth to snap back, but your voice failed you. You were trapped between the tree and the man who had effectively cleared your world of everyone but himself.
At the same time back in the village, the atmosphere between Tonowari and Jake Sully was much more formal. Tonowari sought Jake out, and now, a look of grim amusement adorned the face of the legendary war leader as he listened to your father’s proposal.
“You're serious?” Jake asked, rubbing the back of his neck. “My son and your daughter? Tonowari, your daughter... She does not take well to my son. You’re sure you’re not thinking of Tsireya and Lo’ak instead?”
Tonowari shook his head, stifling a chuckle. “I have seen it, Jake Sully. Believe me. My daughter... She has a strong personality. But Neteyam sees her, do you know this?”
Jake’s gaze looked thoughtful. He knows that. He knows his son. “Yes, he does. But your daughter... Wouldn’t she be forced into this?”
“No. She sees him, too, Jake Sully. Trust me,” Tonowari replied.
Jake looked out past the village, into the woods behind the mangroves, where he could just barely see silhouettes of two people, one definitely was his first born. You were stomping back to the village, looking back to Neteyam and seemingly snarling at him, but he saw the sheer amusement in his son’s eyes. He was enjoying this.
He sighed, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Alright,” Jake said, holding out his hand to seal the pact. “Let’s see if they survive the announcement.”
You had only just stepped onto the woven floor, your breath slightly hitching when you saw your father and Jake Sully standing together in a way that felt far too intentional.
“Great. You're both here,” Tonowari said, his voice booming with a finality that made the hair on your arms stand up.
“What is it?” you asked, shifting your weight. You gave Jake a polite nod but your eyes immediately darted to Neteyam, who had followed you in like a shadow.
As Tonowari laid out the arrangement, all the words hit you like a physical blow. “I I have spoken with Jake Sully,” Tonowari said, locking eyes with you. “To secure the future of our leadership and to ensure the blood of our protectors remains strong, you will be joined. Neteyam is the firstborn of Toruk Makto, a warrior of proven honor. Your union will hold our people together against the coming storms.”
“Joined?” you repeated. “Father, what are you saying?”
“I am saying that you are betrothed, daughter,” Tonowari said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “The ceremonies will begin with the next high tide.”
The silence that followed was deafening. You felt as though the floorboards had turned into thin ice, sending shivers up your body, not of anything resembling anger or betrayal, but of surprise. You looked at Jake, who was watching you with a weary, knowing sort of sympathy, and then finally, you let your gaze snap to Neteyam.
“What?” The word escaped your mouth. Again, not from the feeling of betrayal from your father.
You just simply couldn’t believe it. You hadn’t even thought of this as a possibility. Neteyam... Your mate. That is crazy. Jake watched your face. He’s not stupid to not know your dislike of his family, of the chaos they have brought. Compared to your siblings who have taken to his children well, you were distant and sharp-tongued toward his sons. But right now, he sees no actual protest in your eyes. In fact, your eyes were twinkling, and you were stammering, your lips parting to say something that just wouldn’t come out.
“It is a match of great benefit. It is settled.” Tonowari said, testing your waters.
Neteyam cleared his throat, the sound rough and low. He didn't look surprised at all, he looked like a man who had just been given the coordinates to the only destination he ever wanted.
“Can I say no?“ you asked, though the usual sharpness in your voice was wavering, replaced by a breathless tone.
“No,” Tonowari answered firmly.
You looked at Neteyam, and he met your gaze with a challenge that made you roll your eyes.
“Do you agree to this, Neteyam?” Tonowari asked.
“Yes,” Neteyam couldn’t have answered faster. “If it is the will of the Olo’eyktan... and if it is okay with her.”
You let out a dramatic, frustrated huff, throwing your head back. “As if I have a choice,” you said sharply, trying to hold your reputation tightly. “Fine! Do as you wish!” It was delivered so half-heartedly that you had to turn on your heel to march out before they could see the heat rising to your cheeks.
As you disappeared into the night, Tonowari looked at Jake and let out a short, huffed laugh. “You see? If she truly hated the idea, my ears would still be ringing from her screams. She is going to the docks to poute, and to wait for him to follow.”
Jake smiled, watching his son, who was already shifting his weight, eager to give chase. “Go on, son,” Jake murmured.
Outside, your mind was a chaotic storm. Your were wrangling your fingers, and a ticklish, electrifying heat was blooming in your chest. You wanted to scream, but not in rage—you wanted to scream because the one thing you had been fighting for five years had just been handed to you by decree. When will the mating be? the thought popped into your head, unbidden and traitorous. Also, why are you excited?!
A hand caught your elbow, firm and warm. You were maneuvered around to face him.
“You okay?” Neteyam asked, his eyes searching yours.
You quickly wore your mask. “It is my duty,” you said sharply. “To the clan. To my father. I do not have the luxury of whim.”
You were acting as if you were forced into it, when the fact was clear as day. It took you like a few seconds to agree. His eyes went dark, a predatory heat settling in them. He didn't care about the politics Tonowari was talking about, he only cared that the barrier he’d been punching through for years will finally be gone. You are his.
The communal dinner the next night was a blur. When Tonowari announced the union, the village erupted. Tsireya squeezed your hand, her eyes misty, while Ao’nung leaned over with a smug grin. “This is a long time coming, sister.”
As you and Neteyam stood on the dais, you do not feel any weight on you. In fact, this is the lightest you've ever felt... You could practically float, but you won’t admit that, not even to yourself. Neteyam stood like the dutiful warrior he is, stone-faced but you knew him well by now. There was no denying the smug light in his eyes. He leaned toward you, his breath hot against your ear.
“You are bounded,” he whispered, the words a low, possessive rumble.
“Not yet mated,” you hissed back, keeping a fake, sharp smile plastered on your face for the crowd.
In one smooth motion, he wrapped a heavy arm around your waist, hauling you flush against the heat of his side. The contact making your knees weak. “Do not let me catch you,” he murmured, his voice dropping into a dark, morbid promise, “or this clan will mourn a brother.”
Your eyes widened, snapping to his face. You expected a joke, but his expression was deadly serious. You never imagined him to be this morbid... He was always the upright and no-fun Sully brother to you. Now, you could feel the back of your nape warming from how blown his pupils were.
Before you could retort, a chorus of hoots and whistles broke out from Lo’ak and the other young hunters, demanding a kiss to seal the betrothal and since you were already looking up at him in shock, Neteyam didn't hesitate. He tilted his head and leaned down, his lips meeting yours in a chaste, firm kiss. It was brief, but it electrified your entire body more than every empty kiss you’d ever shared in the mangroves combined.
You reached down and pinched his side as hard as you could, but he didn't even wince, he just tightened his grip on your waist and gave the crowd a huge smile that showed his pearly whites.
The fortnight leading up to your mating were a blur of sensory overload. Everyone was on you. Tsireya and Kiri were busy collecting whatever bright seaweed and shells and pearls they could find, and Tuk was begging for the honor to braid your hair because apparently, she has a particular vision for it, said she’ll braid only the front and put an iridescent seashell she had found in the center. She swore it will make you look like a princess.
“What is that word?” you asked her, thinking this was the perfect opportunity. Tuk is only ten, she wouldn’t piece two and two together. “Princess, I mean.”
She giggled. “It means a beautiful girl in beautiful dresses. The daughter of a King, my Dad told me,” she said.
“What is a King?” you asked.
“A leader, I think. Like my Dad, back in the forest. And like your Dad here, I think,” she said, and she did look thoughtful. “My Dad said my Mom is also a princess, you know? My grandfather was Olo’eyktan. Dad used to tell us a story about a warrior who met a princess and fell deeply in love with her.”
You smiled softly, putting a hand over her small head before your nimble fingers continued weaving luminous sea-grass and pearls into your ceremonial shawl. She’s adorable and very talkative besides. “Alright... I’ll trust your vision. Make me a beautiful princess on the day of my mating,” you said.
She squealed and jumped on the balls of her feet, hugging your neck. “Oh, I will not let you down, sister! My fingers are made especially for braiding. I braid my family's hair! All of them!”
“Even Neteyam’s?“ you blurted out. You can’t imagine his large sitting down in front of his little sister, patiently waiting for her to finish braiding all the strands of his hair.
She grinned. “Yes! He's the most behaved, actually. He doesn’t complain at all,“ she said, smiling to her beads.
You pushed your lips forward. Now, that you could imagine. You can’t imagine him losing his cool. You remembered getting irritated with Lo’ak several times when you were young... You’ve seen how Neteyam looks out for him, how Neteyam takes the blame for his transgressions, and how in turn, he would rebuke Neteyam and call him the perfect and dutiful son, as though they were insults meant to slight. And you saw how they did hurt Neteyam, for some reason.
Of course, Lo’ak had grown past that now.
But as you think of this now, you cannot help but think of your own behavior. How your older siblings had done nothing but look out for you, and how in turn, you showed them the lengths of your ungratefulness. You thought you were useless for not having the same duty they had to carry after your mother died, but you didn’t see how hard they worked to not tip the scale on your side, to not burden you with anything.
You are ungrateful. You wallowed in your pain, in your hatred, and in your grief, but you were not the only one who lost a mother. Your head snapped to the beaded curtains when it clanked, seeing Tsireya with a woven basket of whatever she’s collected. She was humming softly, and she smiled at the sight of you. Hot tears pricked at your eyes and you put your materials down to hold her hand.
She was surprised, obviously, but she quickly put the basket down to let you pull her into a hug. You broke into a sob, hugging her tightly, saying I’m sorry repeatedly, like a little kid. Tuk watched you two with pursed lips, not knowing what to do, but she thought she needed to go and join the hug, so she did, her small head cradled on your head.
“Sorry, what for, sister? You have nothing to say sorry for,” Tsireya said softly.
“There are a lot, sister, believe me. I was so ungrateful to you and Ao’nung... To Father. I thought the world should look at my grief, at how angry I was... That I have forgotten to see the three of you...” you said.
She looked at you with soulful eyes, smiling softly. “We all grieve differently... And I am thankful to whatever measure you took to ensure you would still be here. Mother would be happy to know you are in my arms right now, crying as you would always do when we were kids...”
You sobbed even harder, not even noticing that the curtain had once again clanked to signal a new arrival. It was only when Ao’nung’s voice boomed that you two looked up.
“What’s going on?” he asked, his hand immediately on your shoulder to pull you back and check your face. His face crumpled at the your tear-stained face, and then his head reared back. “Does this match bother you so much, sister? Do you not want it? I will talk to Father, we can always stop this— Ow.“
He stopped talking when you jumped in his arms, throwing your arms around his shoulders to sob. “No,“ you sobbed. “It does not bother me and I do want it!” you said.
He hugged you back, his arms tight around you to pull you as close as possible. “Then why are you crying?“ he asked pointedly.
“I am just very sorry... For everything,“ you said. “I am ungrateful. I am so mean to you and Tsireya and Father... I think only of myself...“ you sobbed.
“Err... And I am handsome and hot..?“ he uttered, his voice laced with humor.
“Ao’nung!” Tsireya’s voice boomed with an unusual fire.
“What? I thought we’re listing facts here!” he said, laughing and wiping your tears as you giggled at what he said. “Come on... I mean. You are mean, but only a fool wouldn’t understand. We lost Mother, and you were practically her tail. Losing her, to you, meant losing half of you. And we understand, you know? Besides, it’s not like nothing's new. You’ve always had that mean girl in you.“
You laughed at what he said again, but your tears were still falling. Tsireya smiled softly, riding hug the two of you, pulling Tuk into the hug because the kid was determined to belong. You sobbed and renewed your hold to include Tuk. Eventually, you all calmed down and Ao’nung had to leave for the training grounds.
The skies were beginning to be a battleground between purple and orange by the time Neteyam returned from his long-range patrol. You were now huddled with a sleeping Tuk, while Tsireya continued your work on your shawl, both of you laughing as you reminisced moments when you were children. But as the beaded curtains clattered, your laughter quiet down.
Neteyam stood there, his eyes immediately finding yours, and you saw the exact moment he registered your face. Your eyes were red-rimmed and swollen from the afternoon’s emotional purging.
He didn't say anything, but his jaw tightened, offering a polite nod to Tsireya while a small, tired smile formed on his face at the sight of Tuk huddled next to you, but his gaze were heavy on you.
“Will you walk with me?” he asked softly.
You glanced at Tsireya and she teasingly smiled at you, making you roll your eyes. Neteyam had subtly been courting you in the past days, and to be honest, the only thing stopping him from going all out was your preference. He wanted to savour the courtship days, and he thinks it was moving too fast, but he also wouldn’t complain, especially because it’s leading to your mating.
You stood up, followed him out onto the beach. For a while, there was only the sound of the crashing waves.
“Your eyes,” he finally spoke, his voice barely louder than the waves. He stopped walking and turned to face you. “You have been crying. A lot.”
“I have,” you admitted, lifting your chin. “It was... a family matter. We were speaking of Mother.”
Neteyam’s expression softened, but still, a look of genuine, gut-wrenching worry crossed his features. “Is that all it was?” he stepped closer. “Y/N, be honest with me. If this is because of the mating... if you feel the weight of my father and yours pressing you into a life you do not want... tell me now.” He looked down at his hands for a second, then back to you. “I can speak to your father. I will take the blame. I do not want you to look at me and see only a cage.”
The thought of him calling off the mating, the thought of losing the very thing that had secretly kept your heart beating for five years, hit you like a physical strike. You didn't even think before your nose flared.
“No!” You hissed, your fangs almost baring as you stepped into his space.
Neteyam blinked. “I am trying to give you a choice—”
“Are you?” you barked. “Or are you just saying that because you actually do not want to go through with this? You’ve been forced into this duty, and now you’re looking for an exit!“ You narrowed your eyes. “Is it because of some little forest girl you’ve left behind back home? Some quiet, dutiful Omatikaya girl who doesn't hiss when you look at her?”
Neteyam stood there, his mouth slightly agape, looking utterly dumbfounded. He could barely keep up with how fast you’ve turned the conversation a whole 360 degrees, and you’ve thrown in a silly assumption there, too. He tried to speak twice before the words actually came out. “What? A girl back home?” He let out a breathless, confused sound that was almost a laugh. “No, of course not. Where would you even get such a thing? I have spent my life training to be a warrior, I did not have time for that. I didn't leave anyone behind because there was never anyone else.”
He took a step forward, closing the distance until you had to look up at him. “I want to go through with this. I want to be your mate.”
Your face softened, but then you forced a scowl. “Then don’t ask me that question again!" you hissed, though your voice didn’t hold its usual bite.
He stared at you, his heart hammering so hard he was sure you could hear it. He wanted to reach out, to pull you against him and quiet the frantic energy in your body, but he stayed still. He was trying to piece together your outburst. The little forest girl? A part of him wanted to laugh. Could it be possible that you were jealous?
He didn't dare say it out loud. He knew you well enough to know that if he teased you now, you might actually beat him up to a pulp.
“I won't ask again,” he promised, his voice low and steady. “If you are sure, then I am sure. Three days, princess.”
And three days later, you found yourself at the Cove, wading deep into the water to reach the Spirit Tree, mesmerized by its particular glow tonight. The village elders and your families swim in the surface, watching you two dip further into the waters.
Neteyam reached out and you looked at him with a glowing smile, giving him your hand, his fingers lacing through yours with a grip that promised he would never let you drift away. You faced each other by the time you reached the tree, but its glow rivaled the one in Neteyam’s eyes. You smiled at him, reaching for your kuru, your movements a little shaky, but Neteyam held his halfway, waiting with an agonizing, respectful patience. It was you who closed the distance, guiding your queue to meet his.
The moment the bond snapped into place, your back arched as a physical surge of electricity jolted through your spine. Your pupils dilated until the teal of your eyes was nearly swallowed by black and for a moment, your eyes were marred by streaks of white as you felt a large ball of warmth spread through you.
It was an explosion of color and feeling.
You felt him. There was a devotion so deep it felt like the ocean itself, and an attraction that provided you warmth in the chill of the water. Some visions began to flow. In your mind’s eye, you saw yourself through his perspective. You saw a version of yourself from years ago, riding your ilu through the crest of a wave, laughing with a carefree joy you’ve never known since. You were beautiful, radiant, and in that memory, you felt the exact moment Neteyam’s heart had been captured.
But as the bond deepened, you felt as though the waters had flowed into uncharted territories and the golden glow yielded to grayness. You felt his crushing grief for you when your mother died. You felt the weight of his guilt for being who he is, for being part of the reason your world had shattered. Your eyes snapped open underwater, seeing his features crumpling in pain as he absorbed the sheer magnitude of your own feelings.
His heart was beautiful. And you know that yours was ugly.
His end of the bond was flooded with what you had carried. Anger, resentment, and the bitter hatred. It was heavy, toxic, and you felt him taking it all, letting your poison flow into him without a single flinch of rejection.
You let out a breath, forgetting that you were underwater until the air bubbled in your face. Unable to bear the sight of his suffering, you dislodged your kuru. The connection snapped, and you saw a flicker of pure, exhausted relief cross Neteyam’s face before he masked it with his usual warrior stoicism.
He could barely look at you but he never let go of your hand, and shame embraced you like thorn vines. As you two swam back to the surface, the people’s voices boomed in celebration before they began to whistle for their mounts. You didn't call for your skimwing. Instead, as Neteyam climbed onto his, you slipped into the seat behind him.
He turned his head, his eyes wide with a silent question. You didn't give him the fire he expected. You looked at him like a child who was caught breaking something precious. “I’m riding with you,” you murmured, wrapping your arms around his thick, muscular waist and pressing your cheek against his broad back.
Neteyam’s posture softened instantly. “Oh,” he breathed, his lips pulling into a small, private smile.
As he led the procession back, his large, warm hand reached back to cover yours where they were clasped over his abdomen. You stared at the back of his head, your heart aching with a new kind of pain. Shame. He had seen the darkest corners of your soul and his first instinct was still to never let go of your hand. Perhaps he was used to ungratefulness; he had faced it from Lo'ak for years anyway. But you realized then that you didn't want to be another burden. You wanted to be his peace.
Later at the village, the celebration of your mating was a riot of colors and music. The drums were louder now and the dancing more frantic. You and Neteyam were seated on the high dais, the center of every gaze. As tradition dictated, you dipped your fingers into a bowl of rich, spiced fish sauce to feed him.
Some drops of it dripped on your fingers and before you could pull away, Neteyam’s hand caught your wrist, bringing your hand to his mouth, his tongue darting out to lick the sauce from your skin. He never broke eye contact, his eyes dark and molten, reflecting a hunger that had nothing to do with food.
It felt like someone had accidentally made a spark in a forest filled of dry leaves. You felt your breath hitch, your earlier shame melting into a fierce, desperate need. You leaned in, your movements no longer a performance for your audience. You reached up, twirling a finger into one of his braids, anchoring him to you so he couldn't retreat just in case he decides to tease you.
You leaned close, your lips brushing the corner of his mouth as you licked a stray bit of sauce away. “I want you...” you whispered, the words trembling against his skin. “Do you want me?”
He let out a huffed sound, a mix of a laugh and a growl. “I’ve always wanted you,” he rasped, his hand moving to your arm to pull you closer. “Since the day I saw you on the docks. I have wanted nothing else.”
You know that now... You know. You pressed a hard, demanding kiss to his lips, tasting the salt and the spice and the promise of the night to come. “Show me,” you challenged, your voice dropping to a seductive tone as you smirked.
You stood up, your beautiful shawl flowing behind you as flawlessly as your curled hair, all of which are extremely captivating for Neteyam. You pulled his hand up, looking back at him with sultry eyes before dragging him away. You don’t even care about the hooting young men and the laughing crowd knowing just what you two will do next.
You dragged him to the eastern side of the village where your new pod is, smelling of fresh weave. The air between you and Neteyam was thick with a tension that made the drums at the festival sound nothing compared to the thrum of your heartbeat behind your ears. You stood in the center of the room, the embers of the fire in the hanging firepots casting a soft, ethereal glow over his dark blue skin.
You watched him as he began to shed his warrior gear. His hands, usually so steady and precise, moved with a slight tremble as he unbuckled the Omatikaya cummerbund he had recently commissioned. He had refused to replace it with a Metkayina chest guard and honestly, you respected his unwavering loyaty.
You reached for the ties of your own top, practically breathless as you watched his muscles ripple with every movement. You let the ceremonial pearls clatter softly as it fell to the floor. Neteyam’s breath hitched, his eyes focused on you with a hunger that made your skin prickle. You are so excited you’re literally a live wire. You walked toward him, and he met you halfway, his large hands reaching out to claim you.
He leaned down, and when his lips met yours, you felt like both of you melted into each other.
He kissed you like he was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth, his hand firm at your nape, tilting your head to gain better access. He was clumsy at first, and you could tell he doesn’t usually do this... or didn’t do it at all, but you didn't mind. He was so cute, because he was just going by instinct, so you guided him, your tongue dancing with his, showing him what you had learned from years of being the rebellious daughter. When he realized how skillfully you were kissing him, a low, guttural groan vibrated through his chest, a sound of both frustration and desperation.
He lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to the soft furs on the floor. His kisses descended, tracing the line of your jaw, the hollow of your throat, and lower to your chest. You let out a loud moan when his mouth enveloped your pebbled tip, while his hand fondled the other, rolling and pinching your nipple. You shivered at how good it felt, squeezing his large upper arm as you melt into the furs.
While he was busy literally feasting on you, you managed to bring your trembling hands behind him, your fingers wrapping around his tail and caressing it. “Ow!” your back arched when, in shock, his teeth clamped down around the flesh of your breast.
“Fuck, sorry...” he mumbled, his tongue popping out to lick around the flesh and you mewled, your hand gripping his tail.
Your fingers persevered to untie his loincloth despite the fact that you’re literally bordering on delirious with what he’s doing to you. He helped you shed his loincloth, and the weight of his arousal against your thigh made your own breath hitch. Your hand snaked down, your fingers brushing against the heat of him, and his hips buckled.
In the heat of the moment, you reached for your kuru, the shimmering white fibers seeking his. Neteyam stopped at the sight of it, his eyes looking at yout queue as if it were a predator. He let out a ragged breath and you saw the exact moment he was reminded of what your kuru had brought him. He didn't want the shared pain of your past right now; he didn't want the ghosts of your mother or his guilt to intrude. He wanted you and the reality of this moment.
You understood. You let your kuru fall back, pulling him down for a kiss that tasted of surrender. He ran his fingers through the strands of your soft hair, his hands caging your head as he kisses you, hard and punishing, for what seemed like eternity. You loved kissing him, and it might just be your new addiction.
He kissed his way down your body again, and when he moved between your legs, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, you arched your back, your fingers tangling in his braids. The first time his tongue flicked against you, a loud, unbridled moan tore from your throat, echoing off the woven walls of the pod. You didn't even care who heard you.
His fingers joined his mouth, determined to watch you come undone with every kiss and suck. You grabbed a handful of his braids, not knowing whether to push him away to relieve you from the bizarre stimulation he’s making you feel, or harder on you to indulge yourself with the feeling.
“Neteyam!” You shouted, pushing his head away, but he won’t budge, his large hands pushing your legs further away.
It was too much, but you find that you wanted it, too. You fisted on the soft furs, moaning louder than you did earlier, your back arching as you felt a knot inside you break and explode. Your foot tried to push him away again when you felt a warm liquid gush out of you, but his mouth only sucked and licked, making sure no drop was wasted.
Your limbs fell on your sides weakly, your eyes a little unfocused until you saw him rise, his large frame covering your view of the hanging firepot. He hovered over you, his golden eyes wide with a mixture of reverence and nerves. He kissed your jaw.
“Was that good?”
You gave a lazy grin, but also, you remembered that he was good. How did that happen? Your features turned a little sharp with awareness, your eyes narrowing. “Who?”
His face previously hazy with lust and desire snapped to attention, “What?”
“You are good. It was good,” you said. “Who’s the woman?”
His forehead creased and a weakened breath of laughter escaped him. “No one,” he said, his lips grazing your cheek. “No one. I do not touch women who are not mine. And I do not let them touch me,” he said, emphasizing the last words.
You pushed your lips forward, catching that stray. “Well...” you pushed your lips forward. “For what it’s worth, I’m a virgin, too, you know? But I know how to kiss. See, it helped us earlier. Your teeth were bumping against mine—”
His forehead fell against yours as he shook with laughter. You groaned.
“I’m telling the truth! No one has touched me where you’d touched me! You don’t believe me?” you said, your voice rising in slight.
He was pressing a kiss against your neck but his head quickly lifted up. “No, no. I do believe you,” he said, his eyes widening a little in his conviction. “I believe you.” he repeated, his eyes softening, lowering down to your parted lips. “And it doesn’t matter, I think. I just need to know names, if so.“
“Names?“ you echoed.
“Names of the men,” he said, his eyes narrowing.
You squeezed his shoulder. “No one,“ you replied. “I mean, beyond the kisses...”
He pressed his lips to yours, his tongue sliding in when you parted your lips, exploring with a tentative curiosity that made your toes curl into the soft mats. As his hands wandered down your body, grazing the curves of your hips before he lifted his head up again, his eyes caressing your features, admiring the intricate tattoos on your face.
“You are so beautiful,” he murmured. He can barely breathe watching you from afar, and now, you were under him. His mate. His wife now. He has all the time in the world. With you.
“Then stop looking and start doing something,” you teased, your voice so womanly it made him shiver.
He chuckled, positioning himself properly between your thighs. His cock felt heavy against your pussy. You’ve felt him earlier, felt the weight of him. He was thick and long, and despite your fear, you were more excited for when he finally enters you.
“Tell me if it hurts,” his deep voice grated.
“I want you inside me,” you whispered, spreading your legs. “Now.”
He bit his lip, fisting his cock and pointing it at your pussy and your fingers balled in anticipation. Its wide head nudged you with a slow, agonizing precision, his wide eyes watching your face. You gasped, your back arching as the initial stretch of his girth filled you. Your breathing was jagged, your hand clamped on his shoulder as you clenched around him unconsciously.
He patted your thigh, wincing. “Baby, you’re squeezing me...”
You groaned and tried to relax as he pushes more length into you. Just when you thought it’d be over soon, you made the mistake of looking down and seeing that he’s only halfway in. “This can’t be serious.” Your head fell back on the soft furs.
“Why?” His hand caressed your hip, and when he moved, seemingly to dislodge himself from you, you tightened your legs around him and pushed your hips up.
In that single move, the remaining length of him disappeared in you, making you quiver as if you’d reached the same high he's given you with his mouth earlier. You are incredibly sensitive.
“Oh, Great Mother,“ you moaned loud, the sound ripping from your throat. “You are so big...”
He kissed your jaw softly. “I’m sorry...” He then began to move in shallow thrusts, his lips peppering your face with kisses. Each slide of his shaft sent jolts of pleasure through your core, and as the friction built, loud sounds begun to escape your throat. Moaning and wailing in pleasure. You weren't shy. You had never been shy.
“Yes! Ah, right there! Oh, Neteyam, so good!” you screamed, your voice carrying to whoever knows where.
Neteyam’s face slightly crumpled, a little embarrassed, but a grin tugged at his lips as he picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming steadier, deeper. You didn't hold back. Every time he thrusts hard, you let out a loud, unabashed shriek of pleasure.
“Neteyam—” you gasped, your voice breaking as he drove into you. “Great Mother. Neteyam... please.” You pressed a palm on his lower abdomen as he continuously hammered into you.
He didn’t slow down. If anything, your pleasured screams only fueled the predatory fire in his eyes. He leaned down, his large hands caging your head in place. His mouth muffled your sobs as be kissed you, and your eyes rolled back to your head, feeling delirious about everything.
“What does my princess want?” he rasped against your lips, his voice thick and dark.
“I don’t know...” you sobbed. “So good...”
He kissed you again before he rose to a kneeling position between your parted thighs, grabbing one of your legs and hiking it up his shoulder, before slamming into you with a series of forceful thrusts that made your screams sound jagged. Scandalous wet sounds filled the air as he hammered into you. You were a mess of sweat and saliva, your breasts bouncing with every thrust.
You were so loud, and so lost in your pleasure, that you didn’t even notice the pause in the rhythmic pulsing of festival drums in the distance. It was only when Neteyam slowed down that you noticed, you looked at him through a hazy vision and saw his head tilting to the direction of the village’s communal area. His eyes snapped at you and you chuckled, still panting.
“I think they heard you,“ he said, lowering his body to kiss you.
“It will serve the clan to know that the newly mated woman is being mounted... hard,” your teeth tugged at his lower lip. “Happy wife, happy life, you know?”
He groaned, his eyes closing for a moment before it opened again to meet yours. The joy in them made you feel like someone offered you a blanket during a storm. “I will make you happy... Always.”
You smiled. “I will make you happy, too, Neteyam... I promise.”
A smile broke through his facade and it made tears prick in your eyes for some reason. “You being mine is enough. I need only to remember that to be happy,” he said.
“I am yours,“ you replied quickly. “In all the ways you could think of.”
He kissed you, losing himself in the heat of you. He pushed deeper, the sound of your bodies meeting creating a wet, squelching noise. You clung to his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as he hit a spot that made your vision blur. With a deep push, he shuddered, his cock pulsing inside you as he spilled his seed. You followed him seconds later, your internal muscles clamping tight around him in a series of violent spasms.
He hugged you, as though you’d slip away if he didn’t. Your hand moved up to caress his braids, kissing his jaw. “I am here with you, Neteyam...“
The next day, you woke up to the sight of morning sun filtering through the woven walls and beaded curtains of your marui, casting a warm light over everything. You didn’t need the weight of the heavy arm draped over your waist to remind you where you are. Neteyam had been awake for an hour. He had spent the time simply watching the way your chest rose and fell, noticing how the bioluminescent freckles on your skin seemed to dim in the daylight, and memorizing the intricate tattoos on your face. He’d admired the blooming purples and reds of the marks he’d left behind on your neck and chest, and wondered if you’d complain about it later.
When your teal eyes finally fluttered open, the instant flash of joy in them made his own heart skip. Without a word, you rolled over witha lazy grin spreading across your face as you draped an arm over his chest to pull him to you for a lingering morning kiss. It felt so natural, if only his heart won’t stop kicking violently against his chest. It was as if you had been waking up in his arms for years instead of just one night.
“Hungry?“ he murmured, his voice still gravelly with sleep.
“Yes,” you yawned and stretched your body a little, your face snuggling in the crook of his neck. Your throat felt raw and your voice came out hoarse, evidence of your screaming last night.
You bit your lip, closing your eyes at how comfortable it felt. He chuckled, his eyes sparkling even if you were not looking. You are a mated woman now... The memory of the night rushed back in your mind in a heated wace. The way he had looked at you like a predator let out of its cage. The way he had held you so devoid of the politeness he’d shown in the past years... The way he mounted you.
Oh, Great Mother. You felt so giddy, you couldn’t help but shiver in his arms.
“Why?” he asked.
“I was just remembering last night,” you said shamelessly.
He softly kissed your foreahead. “Why shiver? Are you getting shy?“ he asked softly.
Your eyes widened. “No,” you lifted yourself up, the soft fabric of the blanket falling off your shoulder and revealing your naked form to him. “What should I be shy about?”
He looked at you with hazy eyes, as if you’d used some booze on him and his eyes were just pupils blown wide now as they caressed your form. “For one, you were so loud last night...”
You raised a brow. “Eh. I’m not abashed... It’s normal to be loud when you’re feeling good,“ you smirked.
Besides, does he know just how many girls and women in this clan wished they’d give them attention? Your eyes narrowed, thinking of all those village women who used to sigh when he walks past. You hoped they’d heard just how good you were getting it from him last night.
“Are you bothered?”
“No,” he said, his voice dropping into that deep, possessive register.
You smirked, grabbing your top to wear it again. He sat up, his muscles flexing from all his movements. His large hands hovered over your shoulder, surprisingly gentle as he helped you tie the fastenings and adjust the pearls over your chest. As the blanket slipped away from his lap, your eyes caught the sight of him. Already hard and erected.
Without thinking, your hand darted down to touch it, but he was faster, catching your wrist. “No. Breakfast first.”
Your nose crunched in a pout. “I just want to touch it. It looks... lonely.”
“Maybe later...” he said, his voice strained as he reached for your loincloth to help you dress.
“But it's hard now,” you pouted, looking at him through your lashes.
Neteyam let out a long, shaky breath, looking away. “It will pass. It’s always like that,” he said.
“Always like that?“ you asked.
“When you’re around,” he admitted, his jaw tight.
Your eyes widened, a triumphant smile tugging at your lips. “Really? Even when I was being mean to you?”
“Yes. Sometimes, even when you weren't around... I’d think of you,” he confessed, his ears twitching in a rare show of vulnerability.
“What? But wouldn't that be painful?” you asked, glancing at his crotch, which he has now hidden beneath the fabric.
“I relieve myself,” he said bluntly, watching you tilt your head in confusion. He then made a quick up-and-down motion with his hand, his eyes locking onto yours. “And I think of you while I do it.”
You felt a surge of heat so intense you thought you might actually turn purple. The idea of the perfect and dutiful firstborn son of Toruk Makto, alone where no one could see him, losing his mind over thoughts of you, was the most intoxicating thing you'd ever heard. “What do you think of? Tell me. I think we can... make it happen now.”
Neteyam leaned in, his shadow towering over you as he whispered in your ear, his voice a dark, detailed rasp. He described a vision of you arched over a forest branch, the way he wanted to feel your hair against his skin while he took you from behind, and the way he imagined your face would look when you’re feeling good. He’s seen it last night, and it beat all the fantasies he had.
By the time he finished, you were breathless and burning.
“We are definitely doing that tonight,” you whispered, leaning toward him to kiss the side of his lips.
Days later after you were more properly settled in your pod, Jake and Neytiri hosted a dinner, inviting your father and your siblings. Now, you knew you were never shy... But also, these are Neteyam’s parents. And they’ve been witnesses to how volatile and difficult to deal with you could be compared to your siblings.
You were never welcoming. You were aloof. And now, you are mated to their most prized son. Because of this, the thought of sitting in the same table as Neytiri filled your blood with cold dread. You sat with your spine perfectly straight at the dinner table, your hands folded neatly in your lap, a sharp contrast to the wild, snarling huntress they usually saw on the docks.
Next to you, Neteyam looked like the picture of the perfect warrior, but there was a glint in his eye that made you uneasy. He knew exactly why you were acting so stiff.
“You look beautiful tonight, daughter,” Neytiri said, her golden eyes scanning you with a terrifyingly intensity.
“Thank you, Neytiri,” you replied, your voice soft. “It is an honor to be at your table.”
Neteyam let out a short, soft huff that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. He leaned closer to you, ostensibly to reach for a bowl of fruit, but his shoulder lingered against yours.
“She is very practiced at the proper daughter look,” Neteyam murmured for only you to hear. He turned his head to look at you, a smirk playing on his lips as you glared at him.
Tonowari finally cleared his throat, shifting his gaze between you and Neteyam, his expression a mix of fatherly concern and the stiff formality of an Olo’eyktan. “Ah... so,” your father started, his voice a bit forced. “How have you two been?”
You nodded. “We’re having so much fun,” you blurted out without thinking.
Oh, that they know about. It’s not like the marks on your neck or the red nail marks on Neteyam’s shoulders weren’t announcement enough. Neteyam who was sipping water nearly choked. A violent cough erupted from him as he tried to regain his composure, his ears blooming indigo, twitching.
“Do you have everything you need for the household? Nets? Storage?” Jake Sully intervened.
“We have everything we need, Dad,” Neteyam managed to rasp out, finally finding his voice.
You leaned closer to whisper. “Right. My husband is a very... efficient provider. He doesn't leave anything unfinished, does he?” You snickered.
He raised a brow. “Whispering now, huh? It’s hard to believe this is the same woman who was screaming my name so loud in the woods just hours ago,” he whispered back.
Neytiri watched the two of you from across the table, her golden eyes shining. “It is great to see the two of you approaching your marriage life so smoothly,” Neytiri said, her voice smooth. She looked at Jake. “Reminds me of our first nights together. Do you remember, Jake?”
Jake chuckled. He knew exactly what Neytiri meant. He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at Tonowari who looked like he wanted to dive into the ocean to avoid this conversation.
“Can we talk about literally anything else?” Lo’ak groaned, picking up a piece of fruit and tossing it at Neteyam. “I don't need to hear about my parents’ first nights together or why Y/N’s throat sounds like she’s wounded her throat from screaming.”
“Lo’ak!” Tsireya hissed, though she was shaking with silent laughter.
“What?” Tuk asked, her large eyes moving between everyone. “Why was she screaming? Was there a moonwraith in the new pod? I can go kill it for you, sister!”
The table erupted. Ao’nung, who had been trying to remain stoic and dignified, finally doubled over with a booming laugh. Your father let out a heavy, defeated sigh, rubbing his temples, while Jake just shook his head, a grin finally breaking through his facade.
“No moonwraiths, Tuk,” Neteyam whispered to his little sister while you laughed beside him.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
In the weeks following your mating, the village began to feel less like a place of grief you moved through with a routine, and more like a playground for the two of you. You found yourself exploring the woods behind the village with much curiosity than you did before, keeping in mind that this was the kind of place your husband grew up in.
You’ve always wondered the way he moved with such a predatory yet quiet grace, able to sneak up on people without making any sound, unless he meant for them to hear him, but as you walk through the forest, you realized that it was because the trees seemed to have eyes everywhere. You couldn’t even walk here without your foot stepping on a dry leaf that makes a crunchy crack, announcing your presence.
Neteyam had told you that it was one of their trainings back in the forest. To walk in the woods silent as a viperwolf, and you’ve seen in it in the way he moves through the brush. “Your people believes in the tranquility of the ocean,“ he mumbled, standing behind you as he helped you adjust your grip on his longbow. “But the forest, it is a living thing. It listens and it watches. There is no current to fight, you only move with it.”
He pressed his chest against your back, his large hands covering yours on the bowstring. He taught you how to breathe into the shot, his heartbeat a steady thrum against your shoulder blades. When you finally released, the arrow thudding perfectly into a distant fruit, your eyes widened and you smiled triumphantly.
You had obsessed over archery for weeks. It is different from your people’s crossbow, which you were really good at. Different compared to a spear, more so. You thought you were simply a bad shot at this thing, but now, you hit the target and you couldn’t believe it! You turned in his arms with a laugh, rewarded by the pride shining in his golden eyes. He leaned forward to kiss you hard, and you melted in his arms.
“That one was good,” he grinned.
You pursed your lips. “Now, I understand why Lo’ak always calls you the perfect son...” you pressed a hand against his chest. “You excel in everything. This was easy for you, a crossbow is easy. A spear is easy. Riding your ikran is easy. Riding a skimwing is easy...” you tiptoed to kiss his lips. “Riding me... so hard, though.” You snickered.
He laughed, a rich and deep sound that warmed your chest as his arm suddenly pulled you to him. “You said you were sore...”
You bit your lip, widening your eyes at him. “I am.”
“Then why are you tempting me?” he asked, raising a brow.
You laughed. “Maybe I want more of that thing where I’m lying on my stomach, and you’re so close on my back,” you moaned in his ears. “That was so good.”
He groaned, deep and long, pulling you to him. “Strip. Let’s do it now, if you want it—”
“Neteyam and Y/N! Yuhoo!” A familiar, high-pitched voice cut through the trees.
You jumped away from him, nearly toppling over. Neteyam’s strong arm wrapped around you like a vine, helping you find your footing as Tuk came crashing through the brush, her large eyes bright with excitement.
“Oh, great! There you two are,“ she heaved, skidding to a halt. She paused, looking at the two of you, you with your hair a mess and Neteyam looking like he was ready to wrestle a palulukan. “Why are you purple again, sister? The forest isn’t hot. In fact, it’s so cold here.” She twirled around.
You chuckled. “Oh, well... I was purple from laughing,“ you chirped, smoothing down your hair.
Neteyam cleared his throat, his ears still twitching violently. “Yes, she was laughing so hard.”
Tuk narrowed her eyes, looking between the two of you. “You guys are weird,” she concluded.
“Wait, why are you here, Tuk?” Neteyam asked.
She pouted. “Lo’ak sent me. He has a question for you, he needs you to go see him,” she said. “Hurry up, you two!” You watched her disappear, then turned to Neteyam who was already shaking his head.
“I'm going to kill Lo'ak,“ Neteyam muttered, though he was already smiling as he followed you. “I'm definitely going to kill him.”
But the peace was never a stagnant thing.
It started with the scouts. Warriors returning, speaking of a metal village rising from the waves near the territory of the neighboring clan. They’ve luckily intercepted a group of hunters from that clan who were sent to deliver a message to Toruk Makto about the sky people’s activities. Jake personally went there with Tonowari, Neteyam, Ao’nung, and Lo’ak to see it for themselves.
When he came back, he told the council about the massive, artificial island of steel that is turning the crystal-clear waters into a murky, toxic sludge. The news grew grimmer by the hour: the neighboring clans had tried to resist, but the demons had met them with violence, leaving the waters beyond the reef littered with the bodies of those who dared to protect their home.
Inside the council marui, the air was suffocating. Tonowari sat with his head bowed, his hands fisted so hard his knuckles were white. Beside him, Jake Sully paced, his jaw set in a grim line that you recognized from Neteyam’s own face during charged encounters.
“They are expanding,” Jake rasped. “If they finish that platform, they’ll have a permanent base for their tulkun hunts. The neighbors are already dying.”
Your arm around Neteyam’s waist tightened and he gripped your arm. “Neteyam...” you murmured, an uncharacteristic fear coiling in your gut.
He pulled you close, his cheek nuzzled in your temple. “It’ll be alright.”
The tension snapped two days later.
A hunting party returned... Not with a haul of fish, but the broken bodies of two warriors. The wails of their mothers reminded you of your own grief but you stayed and prayed over them with Tsireya and the elder healers, carrying their grief for them. Days later, patrolling hunters came back with news that made you rush to the sea, riding your skimwing in a rush, with Neteyam hurriedly following behind you.
You fell over at the sight of your mother’s spirit sister, Ro’a, drifting aimlessly in the waters, her flank torn open by a massive harpoon. She didn't survive the night. You swam to her, hugging her body tightly as you hugged your mother years before. Tsireya cried silently beside you, her face anguished, a contrast to your angered features.
Ro’a was the last piece you have of you mother... And to see her brutally murdered seemed to have brought a shift, even to your father. His face contorted in a grief so sharp it looked like a physical wound and you couldn’t help embrace his unmoving body.
“Send word to our neighbors! We will not wait for the metal to reach our shores.”
As the village fell into a frenzy of preparation for days, you dove into the waters before the sun even rose to get a potent herb. It was poison, you would no longer mince your words. You want no one alive. When you broke the surface bringing a handful of it, you saw Neteyam standing on the shore and you felt a jolt of surprise.
You made sure to not take too long. You have not been gone for more than ten minutes!
“Where were you?” he asked, his hands immediately touching your upper arms to pull you into a hug, uncaring that you're wet and cold.
“I wasn’t gone long,“ you said.
“I woke up with you gone, you don’t know how much that is a stuff for nightmares for me,” he replied, hugging you tighter. “I saw your weapons though. I knew you wouldn’t go anywhere crazy without them. But now, after seeing that you were indeed in the waters, I didn’t like the idea of it. They could be anywhere, baby...”
You sighed. “I just... foraged something.” You lifted the herbs and saw the confusion in his eyes. “It’s poison.” you whispered darkly.
His eyes widened a little.
You tilted your head. “It’s to ensure maximum damage... If the blades don’t kill them, this will do the job.”
His eyes darkened with every word your spoke. He didn’t even flinch and recoil, nor lecture you on the code of a warrior or the sanctity of a clean kill. Instead, he reached out, his thumb grazing your jaw.
“Make it strong,” he whispered, his voice vibrating with a dark resonance that made the fine hairs on your neck stand up. He took the herbs from your hand, his fingers lingering against yours, grounding you even as the storm raged in your chest. “Come. The hunters are gathering at the weapon racks. Your father is calling for the final blessing.”
You followed Neteyam to the central deck, where Tonowari stood like a pillar, his spear held high among the warriors whose own spears they had sharpened for days.
“You are not going,“ Tonowari quietly said when he was done talking to his warriors, his eyes landing on the lethal kit you were preparing.
“Father, I cannot not go. I need to be there. They killed my mother, they killed her sister. My home is being choked by their filth. You tell me to stay, Father, and you might as well tell the tide to stop rising.”
Tsireya stepped up beside you, her jaw set in a way that mimicked your own. You had a hunch he’d told her the same thing. Your father looked at the two of you, both fierce images of the woman who was and is his strength.
Your father let out a long, shuddering breath, the weight of the world bowing his shoulders for a fleeting second before he hardened again. “Fine, but be... careful. I cannot lose any of you.”
You choked a sob and hugged him. You are scared, but you also cannot imagine yourself not fighting out there while eveyone risks their lives.
Inside your marui, the weight of the impending battle had shrunk to just the two of you. The morning sun flickering against the woven walls as you sat between Neteyam’s legs, your fingers dipped in the thick pigment of his war paint.
He was silent, his broad chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm that grounded your frantic heart. You traced the line of his nose dowm to his chin with the paint, your touch lingering longer than necessary.
“You're shaking,“ he murmured, his large hand coming up to steady your wrist. He leaned into your touch, his golden eyes searching yours.
“I am not,” you lied, your voice a mere breath. You dipped your fingers back into the bowl, drawing a sharp, jagged line across his cheekbone. “I am just... impatient.”
Neteyam caught your hand, pressing a firm kiss to your palm, his gaze intense. “Look at me. I will be in the sky with my mother. I will see everything. If you are in trouble, I will find you. Do you hear me? I will always find you.”
You stared at him and nodded. “Neteyam... When we did the tsaheylu... I know you’ve seen my ugly heart—”
“Do not speak of it that way!” he cut you off.
“Alright, my ugly emotions. Dark and bloody, full of hatred,” you said.
He tilted his head. “I also saw me. You liked me when I first got here,” he said, smiling. “You find me so handsome.”
You groaned. “I’ve always thought so...” you pushed your lips forward. “I was just in-denial for such a long time.”
“It’s all that matters to me that night, you know? To know that I have at least stirred your heart. I was thinking, I can definitely build on that. I will make you love me as I love you. I will make you so happy as you make extremely happy,“ he said, angling his head to kiss you.
Your face crunched as you felt a pinch in your heart. “You need higher standards,“ you said in a trembling voice. “I was so rude. All the time. I was mean and I didn’t think of your feelings—”
He hushed you, wrapping an arm around you, some of his face paint transferring on your face. “I understand. I understand all of it,” he said in a quiet, devoted voice.
You know that. You’ve seen it in his heart, but still, you couldn't help but weep. “But I can’t understand, ‘Teyam, why I had treated you so badly when you didn’t deserve any of my anger. I don’t want you to forgive me. I don’t even deserve this love you have for me. I cannot understand it,” your tears fell.
Everything seemed to have came up on you and it all culminated to this. “You do not need to understand it. I love you. I love you very much,“ he said, his large hands cupping your jaw so he could look in your eyes. “And my forgiveness is mine to give, only that there is nothing to forgive. Do you understand? I love you, and I love you in any form you show me. You cannot dictate my heart.”
He smiled at you and you cried even harder. You don’t know why you couldn’t stop crying. There is a golden ball of warmth threatening to burst inside your heart and you couldn’t hold it back. You pressed your forehead against his, uncaring that his paint will transfer to you.
“I love you, Neteyam. I love you so much...” you mumbled, kissing him even though you wanted to see more of the surprise on his face. You squeezed his bicep, your heart aching with the force of your love for him.
When you two stopped kissing to breathe, you saw his eyes sparkling with tears, his strong arms maneuvered you so that he’d cradle your upper body like a baby and you laughed.
“I can’t believe how freeing that feels. I love you, Neteyam. I love you, I love you, I love you,“ you said, obsessed with how good it feels to say that.
He lowered his head and kissed you. “I love you so much. More. I love you more, I love you more, I love you more,“ he said, pressing a kiss to your lips nearly with every word.
“We’ll talk again tonight,” you mumbed, caressing his jaw. “And then we’ll do more. I’ll let you do anything you want with me, so make sure you’ll be careful up there—”
“Hey, love birds—”
“Lo’ak!” Neteyam growled so deeply you felt his body vibrated with it, making you throw your head back with laughter.
Later, with all the warriors assembled, the war cries of your people echoed across the wave as the shadow of Toruk’s wings covered almost the entire village as he flew past, leading the vanguard. You saw Neteyam’s ikran along with Neytiri’s follow the beast like predatory birds. With a sharp whistle, you urged your mount into a high-speed plane, riding among the warriors of your clan, holding your spear tightly as war crimes erupted in your throat as your fleet reached the destination.
You saw a scout vessel banking hard, its mounted gunner spraying the water with bullets to aim at your fleet. Your father signalled to disperse and you dove into the water the same time everyone did, swimming on the other side, where you know you can find a weakness. As the vessel’s hull loomed, you broke the water and made your skimwing leap in the air, shooting with your crossbow with a strained scream.
It punched through the reinforced glass of the cockpit and you saw the pilot slumped instantly, before you landed back on the water. The vessel veered wildly, crashing into a large rock and erupting into an orange flame. You smiled, diving deep into the cool pressure of the water. Beneath the surface, your eyes fixed on the mechanical silhouettes of the submersibles moving in the depths, hunting your brothers and sisters.
You propelled your mount toward a sub’s rear rotor and with a practiced strike, you jammed your spear into it, rendering it to a stop, before you strike to puncture the glass. You left it after ensuring that the pressure of the deep would do the rest for the pilot. You did that to more submersibles, and was pursued by some, too, using what you’ve learned from all the times you played underwater.
Breaking the surface for air, the sight that welcomed you was filled of fire and ash. Your gaze instinctively snapped upward, and your heart jumped at your throat when you saw a missile pursuing Neteyam, who dove his ikran into a vertical corkscrew, the missile desperately following him. At the last second, he banked hard, luring the missile directly into the path of a pursuing fighter jet. The jet erupted in a beautiful display of orange and skittered to another jet, bringing it down as well.
A huge smile broke on your face as Neteyam leveled out, hearing his war cry echoing to reach you. The artificial island seemed to have tilted to the side, its steel skeleton groaning as if people were working to dismantle it from below, as it burned from above. It was reduced to a vision of dancing fire.
By the time the sun began to dip toward the horizon, the metal village was nothing but a graveyard of sinking iron. The ocean, though scarred, had claimed its prize. The journey back was silent as you rode beside your father, whose face was a mask of grim satisfaction. As the familiar woven walkways of the village came into view, the village erupted in cheers for the returning warriors, you looked to the sky.
You saw Neteyam’s ikran flying toward the forest, making you vault off your ikran to go there and meet him. The bioluminescence of the forest was just beginning to wake but you paid it no attention, focused only on Neteyam’s majestic form as he descended his beast. You ate up the steps between you and threw yourself at him, your arms locking around his neck with a force that nearly sent both of you back into the brush.
He caught you, his large hands anchoring you against his chest as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in the scent of salt from the ocean before peppering kisses along your jaw and neck, his grip tightening until you were molded against him.
“You okay? Wounded anywhere?” he asked breathlessly, his large hand touching you everywhere.
“I saw you,“ you rasped, ignoring his questions. “In the air. You are so hot,” you pressed a kissed to his lips. “You? Are you wounded anywhere?”
You checked his arms as his face melted into your neck, he shook his head but you still made sure by checking thoroughly. “I wished I saw you in the waters, baby...” he whispered. “But I know you were a nightmare for them.”
You pulled back just enough to see his face, grinning through the smearing war paint. “I know we haven’t weeded out all of them yet... But I’m glad they are gone for now,” you sighed, looking back at the village when you heard the drums. “They are starting the celebrations.”
You were about to turn around and go back, but Neteyam’s grip on your waist tightened, his thumb tracing the curve of your hip with a deliberate, slow pressure that made your breath hitch. “You seemed to have forgotten something...” he mumured, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that always made your heart skip.
Your brows furrowed. “What?”
His golden eyes burned on you with a focused intensity that made the surrounding forest feel like it was fading away. “Your promise.”
You blinked. What promise— Oh! “Oh... Right,” you cleared your throat. “We’ll talk, yes...”
His head tilted, raising a brow. “That all?”
You bit your lip and laughed. “Alright, I give up. I remember! I’ll... We’ll... do it,” you mumbled, your cheeks burning as if this was the first time when you’d literally fucked each other every day in the past moons.
“And?” he probed.
You huffed. “And you can do what you want with me.”
He smiled, squeezing your waist. “Right.” he nodded once, leaning forward to kiss you.
“Let’s not attend the celebration... There’s somewhere I want to go,” you said, holding his hand and dragging him back to the village. “Call for your mount.”
Tonight, you’re planning to renew your mating. The night of your mating never left your mind. The tension, the ugliness of you unresolved anger, and the way he had taken the weight of your hate during the tsaheylu. You wanted to give him back the love he deserved, pure and unmarred.
He called for his skimwing and you both rode it to the cove. He looked at you when you held his hand, slipping off the skimwing and into the water. “Come,” you told him softly. He slipped off the skimwing and wrapped his arms aroujd you. You smiled and kissed him. “I want to do it again, my love. I want you to see me now. Just me.”
His gaze caressed your face lovingly and you felt your heart burst with warming emotions. “I love you so much,” he mumbled. “I love you.”
You smiled, your eyes twinkling. “I love you more, Neteyam.”
You kissed the side of his mouth before you dove into the water, with him following you until you both reached the spirit tree. You reached for your kuru behind you, bringing it between you. You’re now the one waiting with quiet yet desperate patience, but he didn't make you wait long, he brought his kuru to yours in an instant. As your neural braids connected, the world shifted.
This time, there was no wall of resentment for him to climb. Instead, Neteyam was flooded with the sheer, overwhelming force of your love. He felt the way your heart skipped when he walked into a room, the heat of your attraction, and the deep loyalty you held for him. On your end, you felt how his love grew even fiercer, a golden sun that warmed every corner of your being. But then, the connection pulsed with something else... His anticipation for later.
You think he didn't mean to, but his desires began to leak through the bond, messing with your senses. Without him even moving a finger, you felt the ghost of his hands on your waist, the phantom pressure of his length moving inside you in hard, forceful movements, and the feel of his kisses on your body. You shivered in the water, your eyes blowing wide.
He smirked, watching you with a predatory, adoring look. Your eyes narrowed, signing to him, gesturing to the spirit tree. “I want us to meet my mother first. I want to show her my mate.” you signed.
He looked at you, nodding and gently breaking the connection so you could both connect to the spirit tree. You held his hand and closed your eyes, immediately finding yourself back in the village, seeing your mother’s form standing on the dock. She looked as she always did. Fierce, eternal, and serene. She held no memory of your teenage rage or the years you spent mourning her. To her, you were simply the lovely daughter who got so much from her.
She turned as if she sensed you, her smile brightening, but it faltered into genuine shock when she saw the man standing beside you. “Neteyam?” she asked, her eyes moving to your entwined hands.
“Mother,” you greeted softly.
Neteyam touched his forehead. “Oel ngati kameie, Tsahik.”
“Daughter...” she tilted her head in question, a soft smile touching her lips.
“He is my mate, Mother...” you said, squeezing her hand.
Ronal chuckled, looking between the two of you. “And you agreed, young man?”
Neteyam glanced at you, smiling. “It is a gift to have her in my life, Tsahik. I have loved her since I was young.”
You turned to Neteyam, smiling, when you heard the crack in his voice. Ronal sighed dreamily, a knowing look crossing her face. “Oh, that I know. I’ve seen it.”
“Seen what, mother?” you asked, surprised.
Ronal stared at you, at how unknowing you are. Even then, she knew it would be a problem between you two. She’s always observed how Neteyam always had his eyes on you, how he seemed so aware of you and your presence. She initially thought it was simply a boy being curious, but she didn’t know how she’d known.
You two stayed with your mother for what seemed like hours. But in reality, it lasted only or even less than five minutes. You disconnected from the tree, squeezing Neteyam’s hand and blowing hair out of your nose. He wrapped an arm around you, and swam back to the surface. The water broke with a sudden, violent splash as you both surfaced, gasping. Neteyam gripped your waist, his fingers digging into your skin as he swam to a nearby flattened ground. He hauled you up on it, heightening the frantic beat of your heart.
He hauled himself up, and you moved back, giving him space but he grabbed your ankle, stopping you. The cold air gave you chills but it was immediately replaced by the heat of his body fitting itself between your legs, and pressing against you. You pressed a palm against his chest when he lowered his head to kiss you, you parted your lips to welcome it, feeling his tongue expertly plunge into your mouth.
His hand found your breast and squeezed, deepening his kiss and wrapping a muscled arm around you. By the time he left your lips, you were gasping for air. His gaze caressed your features, “Did you feel it through the bond?” he rasped, his voice a jagged edge of desire.
“I felt everything,” you breathed, your hands sliding up his chest to grip the back of his neck. “I felt how much you want me.”
He let out a low, predatory growl, his golden eyes darkening. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot. “You made a promise, baby. You told me I could do whatever I want with you.”
“I did,” you whimpered, arching your back as the hand squeezing your breast slide down to the junction of your thighs.
“I intend to hold you to every word.”
He didn't waste another second. His fingers tore at the simple wraps of your top and loincloths, quickly ridding you of them. He stripped himself with a frantic urgency, his heavy, cock springing free, already glistening with a thick bead of pre-cum just from kissing you and feeling you up. He looked massive, a vein pulsing along the length of his shaft, the head swollen and dark.
“I need to be inside you,” he growled, kissing you hard.
He gripped one of your thighs, hoisting it high and draping it over his broad shoulders while he fold the other to spread you wider. He didn't ease in like he usually does, instead, he aligned the broad head of his cock and lunged forward in one powerful, unrestrained thrust.
You let out a sharp, strangled scream that echoed through the cove, your head falling back against the mossy ground. He filled you completely, stretching your walls to their absolute limit. The sensation was an explosion of pressure and heat, a blunt force that seemed to reach your very core.
“Baby, you're so tight,” he groaned, his voice vibrating through your chest. “So wet for me.”
Your hand hold onto his biceps, squeezing as you clenched around his girth. “Neteyam...”
He kissed you hard, murmuring praises. “You feel so good, baby... So warm and tight. Is it good?”
You nodded, kissing him. He began to move, and the pace was immediately punishing. There was no tenderness here, only the raw, starving need of a man who spent the entire day fried by adrenaline on the battlefield, holding onto the promise you’ve given him. Every thrust produced a loud, wet sound, your juices being churned into a frothy lather. The sound was so scandalous and yet it seemed to arouse him even more.
“Oh, babe,” you choked out, your fingers clawing at his shoulders, leaving red marks in his skin. “Neteyam, please, more...”
He licked the side of your neck, slamming his hips forward again. The force of the impact sent a jolt of electricity through your spine. He began to hammer into you, his cock sliding in and out with a violent friction, every glide of his pelvis against you making your clit scream with pleasure, a delicious ache that made your toes curl. Your pussy gripped him with desperate spasms, milking him as he drove himself deeper and deeper.
His head lowered to kiss your breast, his warm mouth catching a pebbled tip and sucking hard. Your back arched as you moaned in pleasure, not knowing what to focus on. His mouth sucking on your breast, or his cock forcefully sliding in and out of you. You’ve been mated for moons, and Neteyam still doesn’t know what to with everything you’re offering, and yet he always seems to be so extremely thorough.
He’s wanted this for years... And to think that you are his now is driving him mad.
He shifted his weight, his hands sliding under your ass to lift you higher, changing the angle so he could bury himself even further, that you could see him bulging in your lower abdomen. You felt your orgasm building, making you tremble in his arms.
“I’m close,” you wailed, your voice breaking. “Neteyam, I'm—”
“Not yet,” he grunted, abruptly stopping.
You whined, weakly kicking your foot but he had lowered your hips down on the ground, pulling out of you. “Neteyam...” you whined, your face reflecting yoir agitation despite the pleasure in it.
You missed him inside you, but the absence didn’t last long, he grabbed your hips and flipped you over with a sudden, authoritative motion. You landed on your stomach, your face pressed into the soft moss. Your upper body rose by instinct, by Neteyam dropped his weight onto your back, caging you in his massive arms. He pinned your wrists beside your head, his chest crushing your shoulder blades. He positioned himself behind you, the tip of his cock probing at your wet entrance, teasing the opening before he surged forward.
He entered you from behind with a guttural roar, the angle allowing him to penetrate deeper than before. You moaned, your mouth perpetually gaped to make sounds of pleasure as he fold one of your legs, his large hand seeking your clit from under the two of you. You gasped and jolted, moving away from his hand but his hand chased you, caressing your sensitive nub as he teasingly moved inside you.
“Look at you,” he whispered, his voice a low rumble in your ear. “Pinned under me. Just where you belong.”
He licked your jaw, angling his head so he could kiss you as his thrusts began to gain pace, a relentless, driving rhythm. Each thrust was a heavy blow, pushing your breasts into the moss. The wet sound was louder now, a messy noise of friction and fluid. You could feel the heat of him, the way his cock stretched and molded into you, claiming every inch of you.
“You're mine,” he gasped, his grip on your wrists tightening.
You nodded. “Yes, yes, yes. I am. I’m yours, Neteyam...”
The admission seemed to break the last of his restraint. Neteyam's movements became frenzied, his hips hammering into you. The friction was intense, the heat bordering on pain, but it was the only thing that mattered. You felt the walls of your pussy clenching around him, triggering his own release.
He let out a long, shaking moan, his body stiffening. He drove himself in one last time, burying his cock as deep as it could possibly go, and stayed there. You felt the hot, thick jet of his seed erupting inside you, pulse after pulse of scorching liquid filling you.
At the same moment, your own climax ripped through you, a violent shudder that left you sobbing. You felt the warmth of his cum leaking out around the sides of his shaft, mixing with your own fluids to create a slippery mess between your thighs. Neteyam collapsed on top of you, his heavy breathing making you shiver as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his skin slick with sweat.
“Fuck,” he cursed under his jagged breaths. He’s practically seeing stars but he was already maneuvering your body to face him, slowly pulling out of you so he could roll you on your back.
You mewled at his absence, spreading your legs again once you're lying on your back. He licked his lips wet as he watched you spread your legs, knowing what you want. His cock pressed against the slick and swollen lips of your pussy, and then he eased himself in, feeling every involuntary clenches your pussy is making around his girth. He lowered his head down to kiss you.
“I love you,” he whispered, his voice returning to that soft, adoring tone as he caressed your slick inner thigh. “Did I hurt you?” he asked, his hand moving up to softly caressed your breast, his thumb rubbing its tender tip.
You shook your head, smiling lazily, your eyes still hazy from your mind-blowing climax. “No,” you said firmly. “I loved everything you did to me. I love you, Neteyam...” you cupped his jaw, kissing him hard.
“Sure?“ he asked, his hips unconsciously moving between your legs and burying himself deeper in you.
“I’m very sure,” you grinned. “But how was it? Did you feel good?“ your palm caressed his sweaty chest.
“Good? Baby, I was seeing stars,” he chuckled, his gaze caressing yoir features for a long time, before he pressed his forehead against yours. “I love you so much it hurts."
You smiled. “I love you more, my love...” your hand slide up to his shoulder to grip his nape. “The night is long... And the promise isn’t over yet. You can still very much do what you want.”
pairings aged-up!neteyam x mangkwan!female warrior
notes stupid loverboy neteyam, emotional turmoil for the reader, smut (p in v), oral (f & m receiving), childhood trauma :(, kuru torture, violence and blood, reader is a tough cookie but deep inside she just longs for a normal life
synopsis you were sent to kill neteyam, the warrior you have repeatedly grappled with in your clan’s raids that he kept sabotaging. you are confident he won’t recognize you without your paint, but alas, he does!
word count 25.1k
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“Take this and go!” You pushed a woven basket of herbs into the arms of a young raider, jerking your head toward the hoard of direhorses waiting on the sidelines.
The smell of burning fibers is the familiar perfume of your clan's raids. As the people around you scream in horror, you could almost smell their fears, too. The village huts dissolved into orange embers while you moved around, your double-bladed staff a crimson blur, deflecting a wild swing from a desperate villager and had the man running away. Your fellow raiders pillaged what could be pillaged while Vakrep, the nephew of Varang’s second-in-command Riku, barked orders.
The Mangkwan fell in a disarray the moment Omatikaya war cries were heard from above. Now, most of them were panicking, much like the people of the clan you were just raiding. You were running toward what seemed to be a storage hut when a scream resounded from the distance, your head whipped on its direction, immediately seeing a young boy, barely taller than your waist, his eyes wide with terror as he dodges a Mangkwan warrior twice his size. Taykan, laughed a harsh, guttural sound, his spear already arcing down. You didn't hesitate, you ran towards them, holding your bladed staff out, the curved blade flashing before it hooked on the Taykan’s arm, yanking him off balance. He stumbled, roaring in surprise.
“Go!” you said, a low growl in your chest, eyes fixed on the child.
The boy scrambled away, a small blue streak vanishing into the smoke. Tayrep snarled, regaining his footing.
“For fire’s sake! What is wrong with you?!” he spat, eyes narrowed at you.
You fixed him with a stare that promised pain. “We are to raid the village, not hunt children for sport. Go, help the others secure the hoard!”
He hesitated, then grumbled, turning to rejoin the fray. Your gaze tracked the boy’s escape, a flicker of something soft in your eyes when suddenly, you heard a loud curse from one of the sky people who accompanied you in the raid. Your head snapped to his direction, seeing his metal body grappled against an Omatikaya, larger and taller than his specialized metal suit. You saw the man’s fist move in several sharp, foreign motion, sending blow after blow, and puncturing the man’s metal suit with a sickening crack.
You tilted your head, your lips parting. Neteyam. A Mangkwan ran toward him but he spun fast, his wrist twisting to use the longer blade his weapon to wound the man with a hard jab before kicking him away, returning to the metal suit. Once he’s ruined it all, he pushed it to the ground, not killing the tawtute.
Your gaze traced up from the muscles on his arm up to his angled jaw. His presence here, during a Mangkwan raid, was a familiar insult. Two years ago, on a similar night, you grappled with him in a combat, failing to truly hurt him which you think he deserves for sabotaging your clan’s raid. You remembered the clash of your blade against the blade of his knife at his forearm. He’s extremely strong and hss surprising speed for a warrior of his size, so you learned not to underestimate him.
A low hiss escaped your lips at the sight of him and you lunged without thinking. He turned to you, his eyes widening a little before reacting to meet you halfway, his dual blade fist knife at the ready. You spinned your staff, hurling the blades closer to him. He was taller, a wall of muscle even before, but you were more agile, your quickness a match for his brute strength. The blade that extended to his forearm parried a thrust of your blade. You danced around him, seeking an opening, and smiling like a predator eyeing its meal.
His sharp eyes tracked your every move before shifting, a fluid grace that belied his size, blocking your strikes instinctively. You faked a high strike, then dropped low, sweeping your staff in a wide arc. He jumped, agile as a viperwolf, but you were already twisting, bringing the staff up, the curved hook of the blade catching his shoulder. He grunted, pulling back, but not before the jagged edge bit deep. A line of crimson bloomed on his shoulder.
“Still too slow,” you murmured, a triumphant glint in your eyes.
He huffed, his eyes glowing with playful mischief. You narrowed your eyes, annoyed, so you pressed your advantage, a flurry of strikes to force him back and back until his heel caught on a fallen branch. He stumbled, off balance but he immediately found his footing. You pushed him, hard, your hand pressing againg his chest when you heard Vakrep’s roar cut through the air as he called your name. You glanced over your shoulder, then back at Neteyam. His eyes were fixed on you, a strange intensity in their depths.
You pushed him again. “Go!” you hissed, your voice low and urgent.
He didn't move, just watching you, his breathing ragged. You turned, sprinting towards your party, leaving him standing there in the middle of the burning village. You risked a glance back and saw that he was still there, a lone, blue figure, watching you disappear into the smoke and fire. You remembered years ago... That same moment when you looked back and he was just standing there, watching you run away.
A few moons later, the training grounds was filled with the sounds of blades clashing. You moved among the young Mangkwan, correcting stances, demonstrating blocks, your double-bladed staff a natural extension of your arm. The red blades flashed as you carried it with controlled precision, sparring with a young Mangkwan, barely a man, his eyes wide with concentration. He lunged, a predictable move, and you flowed around him, the flat of your staff tapping his side.
“Dead,” you said in a bored tone. “You’ll die quick if you’re too eager.”
He nodded and you continued, ensuring to fulfill your role of honing their skills, keeping in mind the philosophy that pulsed in every Mangkwan’s vein: only the strong survive. Those who are too weak to hunt, those who are too injured to recover, are left to death for the taking, left to rot as lessons to others.
You remembered Säyim’s frail hand, her hunting days long behind her. Kekihe, her granddaughter, was no more than a foal. They were what this clan sees as disposable, marked for abandonment. Your heart silently rebelled to your own people’s words. Säyim and Kekihe are your life. A family you found in the chaos.
Your eyes caught Vakrep standing on the sidelines. His eyes, as always were on you, the possessive glint in his eyes making your skin crawl. He raised a hand by the time your current trainee wws done.
“I’ll spar with you next,” you heard him say, the sound followed by the snickering of his foolish crew behind him. “I miss... touching you.”
You gritted your teeth, your hand itching to wound him for the disgusting meaning behind his words, reinforcing the talks he spread about having bedded you which held no truth in them. “You talk too much,” you spat, your hand gripping your staff.
His lips curled into a sickening smile, stepping closer to you. “Just a friendly bout, yerik. Do not embarrass me or else—”
You didn’t wait for him to finish. You lunged, spinning your staff, until one of its blades cut an arc across his chest. He jerked back, the tip of your blade catching only the thick woven strap of his knife sheath. His crew’s laughter died down instantly.
“Careful,” he gasped, his smirk faltering as he scrambled to draw his own knife. “You’ll ruin the fun before we’ve even started.”
“The fun starts when you stop breathing,” you hissed, circling him but he moved fast, too.
His low growl rumbled behind you, making you spin, sending a wide, sweeping kick that he evaded. He grinned at you, a predator’s flash of teeth, his eyes hungry. “The yerik fights like a nantang... Always so compelling,“ he sneered, lunging.
You ignored him as you twisted, his grip only grazing your shoulder. You delivered a sharp jab to his ribs, and he grunted, stumbling back, but only for a moment. He came at you again, faster, stronger. He aimed for your head, but you blocked, the jarring impact travelling up your arm. You saw an opening, and you swept his legs out from under him, sending him butt first in the dust. Before he could recover, your staff was already descending on him, the tip of the red blade pressing against his throat while your foot kicked his chest. He looked up at you, his eyes burning with renewed obsession, not anger nor defeat.
“One day, yerik,” he rasped, his voice dark with promise, “You will be mine.”
You hissed at him. “In your dreams, you disgusting dust.”
You were planning to push your blade further on his throat if only a young Mangkwan didn’t arrive, calling you. “Varang calls for you. At the ops center.”
The ops center. You had been there only once since the last year when Varang joined forces with the sky people, finding the alien smell and cold metals really unsettling. You can’t tolerate sky people either with the way they look at your people as though they were tools to use when necessary or mere animals to be tolerated.
The place was filled with machinery and the glare of foreign light that could take the form of anything. Quaritch stood before one, his face etched with grim determination. Varang, her regal posture unwavering, stood beside him, her eyes holding a glint of something you couldn't quite decipher. Meanwhile, General Ardmore stood in the middle.
Quaritch gestured to the shimmering hologram. It showed a desolate landscape, a half-built RDA outpost, then a sudden, explosive eruption. Dust and debris filled the air, and through it, a flash of blue, an ikran flying through the chaos. Its rider, impossibly precise, was disabling machinery and killing sky people. The footage zoomed in, revealing a face, grim and focused. Neteyam.
You watched, a strange awe blooming in your chest for his sheer audacity. He was a force of nature, a single warrior dismantling an entire armed installation. He was everything the Mangkwan revered in a fighter. Too bad, he’s the enemy.
“You looked as if you’re impressed...” Varang’s voice cut through the hum of the machines. Her eyes, narrowed, watched you from across the room.
You turned to her, shrugging, a deliberate nonchalance you didn't actually feel. “He’s not one to be underestimated.”
General Ardmore snickered, a humorless sound. “She’s right. Sully’s boy is one hell of a man. Who among us here will happily march into a hell pit as easily as his boy has?”
Quaritch huffed, a gust of irritation. “He underestimates and embarrasses us, Ardmore. He will continue to think we are assailable if we just let him be—”
“But we are, Quaritch.” Ardmore cut him off, her voice sharp. “If he could come riding that banshee and disable an entire armed outpost with his primitive weapons, then we are assailable, and that is embarrassing. We will put an end to this, once and for all. And I hear he is also a concern for the Mangkwan?” She turned her gaze to Varang.
“He is. He has sabotaged many of my people’s raids in the past years.” Varang’s voice was laced with venom. She strode towards you, her movements deliberate, her eyes never leaving yours. She reached out, her fingers cupping your face, tilting your chin up, presenting you to the sky people as if you were a prize. “This is who I’m talking about… my most beautiful warrior and the most skilled in combat.”
“She is beautiful,” Ardmore agreed, her eyes sweeping over you. “We will send her, at your approval.”
Your eyes snapped back to Varang, a knot tightening in your stomach. Send you? To what? Varang offered them a sly smile, a chilling curve of her lips. “I approve.”
Your breath hitched. “What’s going on?” The words were a strained whisper.
Varang’s hand, surprisingly gentle, moved to your braids, her fingers tracing the simple headdress you wore, a lone red stone framed by two viperwolf teeth, marking your high rank intl the clan. “We will send you to that damned son of Toruk Makto, daughter. You will kill him… Avenge your brothers and sisters that fell in his hands... Think you could do that for me... For us?” Her smile remained, but now it held an uncanny quality that sent a shiver down your spine.
Fear, cold and sharp, pricked at your resolve. You swallowed, trying to steady your voice. “And what if he kills me instead?” The question hung in the air, a challenge Varang rarely tolerated. Her people followed without question, without doubt. To hesitate was to border on betrayal. You saw the impatience flicker in her eyes as she eyed you darkly.
“Then you die.” she declared nonchalantly. “It is something you must do for the people.” Her voice hardened, leaving no room for argument.
Quaritch then stepped forward, his voice a rumble, outlining the details. They told you about the annual convention of the clans which you already know about, a gathering of all the chieftains, discussing peace and trade among each other. They introduced you to a Li’onan man named Taryu who you were told is an RDA mole, infiltrating events such as that to learn the movements of the clans.
He would accompany you along with Trojan, a recombinant soldier under Quaritch, to ensure your entry in the convention. Taryu, a traitor to his own kind, explained that Neteyam would be there this season, to accompany his father, Jake Sully, as next-in-line to the Omatikaya leadership.
You listened to everything they were saying, registering nothing because your mind is reeling. You have to kill Neteyam. At the convention. You pictured the bustling gathering, the chieftains, their heirs, the throng of people. You couldn't just attack him there. You’d be dead before your blade even found him. Or perhaps, you would succeed, only to be cut down moments later. A cold dread settled in your gut. You couldn't die. Not now. Not when you have Säyim and Kekihe depending on you.
You walked back to the yurt you share with Säyim and Kekihe, the familiar scent of leaves burning greeting you as you entered. Kekihe, barely eight seasons old, played with grass, pretending to weave them together, her forehead furrowed in concentration but as you entered, her head snapped up.
“Sister!” she grinned, her happy face looking up at you as if you hung the stars yourselves.
Säyim sat by the low fire, roasting yerik meat wrapped in leaves. She smiled up at you, her eyes filled with adoration making you finally smile. Her eyes betrayed her true feelings though, reflecting her worry for you as she signed. You understand the familiar movement of her hands, remembering what you had to do.
You moved to the fire, warming your hands and staring at the embers. “Varang wants me to go to the convention,” you said, your voice flat. “I will be gone... Maybe a few days. I’ve checked our provisions. You two should be alright until I’m back.” You smiled.
Säyim’s hands, gnarled but strong, flew to your arms, gripping them tightly. Her eyes pleaded, her mouth unable to form the words. She shook her head, signing with frantic gestures, a language only you could understand, yet sometimes don’t. Right now, you're refusing to understand. She understands without you telling her what your mission will be. What will a Mangkwan do at the convention anyway? She drew a line across her throat, then pointed to you, then to Kekihe. A shudder ran through you. She was warning you.
“I will be alright,” you tried to reassure her. “I’ll be back.”
But she wouldn't let go, her grip tightening, her signs growing more desperate. Her hands signed the sign for Varang, then a knife, then your neck. She was furious, her distress visibke. You had to calm her, murmuring reassurances you didn't believe yourself. You understood her fear: Varang is sending you to your death. But the deeper meaning of her signs, the truth she tried to convey about your parents, remained just out of reach, a truth you weren’t able to grasp.
You left the yurt before the sun even rose, the weight of Säyim’s unspoken words and Kekihe’s innocence pressing down on you. You had always known Varang’s ruthlessness. You had seen Mangkwan warriors, out of their blind fanaticism of her, sacrifice themselves for her and... Now, she is asking for your life. The thought of Neteyam, the warrior you secretly respected, the one you were now commanded to kill, twisted in your gut. It is not always that you admit fear... But right now, you are scared.
The journey to the convention was a blur of discomfort. Trojan, a hulking figure wearing your skin with the dead eyes of a sky person, accompanied you and Taryu who led the way. He didn’t only ensure your entry in the covention, he also secured your place among the female performers, a group of young women from various clans, their faces painted with bright, intricate designs.
You stood among them, your own face free of your clan’s ash and paint. Taryu explained that it was part of the disguise, to appear harmless, a simple girl among many young women. You watched them prepare, their laughter light and unrestrained, and a pang of something akin to longing pierced you. You wondered what it would be like, to be one of them, a normal girl, unburdened by the weight of Varang’s ambition, of your clan’s harsh creed. You were twenty, past the age when most women mated, yet no man in the Mangkwan had ever stirred your heart, nor even truly captured your attention. You imagined a simpler life with Säyim and Kekihe, a different path, away from the hardness of your own people. The thought felt traitorous, but in that moment, anger at Varang overshadowed all else.
The performance began. The drums pulsing, vibrating through the ground. You moved with the other dancers, your body flowing, your limbs graceful as you danced, a mask of serenity plastered over your face, belying the turmoil inside you. You tried to lose yourself in the movement, to forget the knife strapped to your thigh, the mission.
As you spun, your eyes, almost instinctively, drifted towards the dais where the clan chieftains and their heirs sat. And then you saw him. Neteyam. You stopped breathing as your heart gave a lurch, a frantic drum against your ribs. From where you are, you can feel his eyes in your direction but you couldn’t be so sure. You are confident he won’t recognize you without your paint, after all, he’s only ever seen you clad in it.
Yet, your stomach clenched, tearing your gaze away, focusing on the dance, on the rhythm, on anything but him. But every time you stole a glance, his eyes were still fixed on your direction. Even when he turned to speak to those beside him, his eyes seemed to return to you, a silent, unwavering focus.
The performance ended. The dancers dispersed, mingling with the crowd and you found yourself wandering, inspecting the stalls that belong to each clan, displaying their unique crafts and delicacies. You accepted every offer of fermented fruit juice, the potent liquid a welcome distraction that helps numb your nerves. You moved through the throngs of people, your senses overwhelmed by the sights, sounds, and smells of a world so different from the ash lands of the Mangkwan or the metallic and asphalt of Bridgehead.
A young man, his face painted with the markings of the Tayrangi clan, began to speak to you, offering another bowl of juice. “That is the sweetest I’ve ever tasted. I saw you trying the juices, you might like that,” he said.
You took it before he even finished talking, nodding performatively, barely listening, your eyes still flicking towards the dais. Neteyam was still there, engaged in conversation. He hadn’t approached. A strange mix of relief and disappointment washed over you.
You lifted the bowl to your lips, the sweet liquid a comfort. The young man rambled on, his voice a pleasant tone that you conveniently tuned out, you didn’t even notice when he abruptly fell silent. In your peripheral vision though, you saw a towering form approach.
“Neteyam,” the young man greeted, touching his forehead. “Oel ngati kameie.”
A deep voice, resonant and familiar, cut through the din as he returned the greeting. You remained focused on your bowl, pretending not to notice the imposing presence even when you felt his eyes on you, a warmth that prickled your skin. You are so nervous.
“What is there to enjoy?” you heard Neteyam ask the young man. You stepped back a little, giving them space. You peered up, and your eyes met his. He touched his forehead, a formal greeting, then his gaze dropped to the bowl in your hand. “What are you drinking?” The casual question was directed at you, his eyes, dark and intense, never leaving yours.
“Swoa…” you answered, a slight tilt of your head, a carefully practiced innocence. You lifted the bowl slightly so he’d look at it instead of you.
His lips parted in a small smile before reaching out, his large hand covering yours as he gently grabbed the bowl. He didn’t take it fully from your grasp, but rather brought it to his lips while you're stil holding it, his eyes still locked with yours as he sipped.
“Sweet,” he said, his voice a low murmur.
The young man from earlier, sensing the shift in attention, had quietly slipped away, unwilling to challenge Neteyam’s obvious interest. You tilted your head. “And if it’s poisoned?”
A small smile sliced across his lips, revealing a flash of white teeth. “Is it?”
You narrowed your eyes. “It could be, and you drank straight from it.” Your usual biting tone slipped before you finished the remaining liquid in your bowl. Your gaze snagging on the white scar on his shoulder, a stark line against his blue skin. Your scar. Your handiwork. A smirk touched your lips before meeting his eyes again, seeing him still watching you, a knowing glint in their depths.
“It would be worth it then,” he retorted, his voice playful, a challenge. “For a man to stare at a woman as beautiful as you as he dies?” He received his own bowl of fermented juice from a passing server, his eyes never leaving yours.
You huffed, a small, disbelieving sound. “You are stupid.” You hadn’t expected this. The serious, formidable warrior you had fought was replaced by this charming, stupidly reckless man. “Do we know each other?” you pretended to ask, your eyes searching his face.
A boyish smile broke across his face, transforming his features. “My name’s Neteyam,” he said, his voice a warm rumble. “Yours?” His question was breathless, as if he hung on your answer.
You considered lying, inventing a name, a clan, a false identity. But a strange impulse, a sudden defiance against Varang’s machinations, pushed your real name from your lips.
He repeated it, testing the sound on his tongue, a soft reverence in his voice. He smiled, a genuine, open smile. “I think I could have imagined that you have a name very fitting.”
You rolled your eyes, a small, genuine laugh escaping you. He was a smooth talker and undeniably charming that you found yourself amused despite the gravity of your mission. You wandered with him through the bustling convention, moving from stall to stall, exploring the various clans’ offerings. He pointed out different customs, shared observations, his voice steady and pleasant, as if he’s used to talk about nearly everything, a true diplomat. Meanwhile, you accepted every offer of fermented juice as though they were bowls of courage sent your way. By the sixth bowl, he caught your hand before you could even lift it to your lips.
“Planning to get drunk?” he asked, his grip firm but gentle.
You looked at him, shaking your head. “Just trying to relax.”
“You don’t like festivities?” he asked, his hand hovering at your waist as you navigated the crowd.
You shook your head again. Mangkwan gatherings were rarely joyous affairs, more often rituals or raucous snuff parties orchestrated by Varang. You found little pleasure in the addicting fumes. You had experienced how it dulled the senses and twisted the mind, and Varang herself rarely indulged in it. You prefer having your wits about you every hour of the day.
“Would you like to explore the woods instead?” he asked, his voice casual, as though there was no meaning in there at all, but perhaps, there was truly none. Neteyam loved festivities, but he also loved peace and quiet which he often found in the woods back home.
You, however, snapped up like syíl hearing a movement. This is it. The opportunity you had been seeking. Get him alone. Render him vulnerable. You fought the urge to narrow your eyes, to let your true intentions show. Instead, you offered him a small, shy smile. “If you want.”
You walked into the forest, the sounds of the convention fading behind you. Bioluminescent flora illuminated your path, casting a glow on the towering trees. You reached out, your fingers tracing the glowing leaves as you two walked. The air here was clean, damp, and alive with the scent of growing things, very different to the metallic smell of Bridgehead and the choking ash of your homeland. You breathed deeply, trying to calm the frantic beating of your heart. You were about to do something you had never done before, something that felt both terrifying and exhilarating.
You stopped by a large pitcher plant, its leaves shaped like a goblet. You pulled it down gently, arching your head back before catching the cool, pure water that trickled from it. Some droplets rolled down your chin as you swallowed, rolling down your neck as you faced Neteyam, offering him another shy, innocent smile, part of the act, part of the lure, which proved to be effective because his eyes, dark and dilated, watched you, captivated. He lifted a hand, his thumb brushing away a drop of water from the corner of your mouth.
You stepped forward, boldly, emboldened by all the fermented juice you drank. You rose onto your toes, your lips brushing his, a light touch. You watched his face, saw his eyes drop to your lips, then lock with yours.
“Yeah?“ his deep voice grumbled.
He watched the playful glint in your golden orbs before moving. His arm snaked around your waist, pulling you close, molding your body against his. His other hand cupped your neck and jaw, his thumb stroking your cheek. His lips descended on yours, hard and searching, a fierce hunger that stole your breath. You staggered back, until your back met a tree. You pulled him closer, your fingers tangling in the braids at the nape of his neck, your other hand pressing against the solid wall of his chest. The sweetness of the fermented juice, the taste of him, filled your mouth. He kissed you with a desperate intensity, as if the world would end with the next breath.
His hand slid down your back, a warm caress. You tensed, a fleeting worry that he would feel the scarifications that marked your skin. But he didn’t pause, his fingers trailing lower, past your waist, cupping your ass to lift you.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, your arms tightening around his neck, pulling him deeper. He broke away, only for a moment, his breath ragged, his eyes scanning the surrounding forest probably to look for a place. He kissed your neck, the sensation sending shivers through you, as he walked a little deep away from the main path, finding a private clearing.
The soft moss yielded beneath your weight as he lowered you down. The bioluminescent plants cast a dim glow around you, treating you to a view of his sculpted body as he loomed over you, a mountain of muscle and intent. His eyes held yours as he lowered himself, his lips claiming yours once more.
You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, while his calloused hand found your breast, giving it a possessive squeeze that made you breathily sigh. He pulled back, his gaze lingering on your face before dropping to the pink feathers adorning your chest. A deft movement, and the top was tossed carelessly to the side, leaving you exposed to the cool night air.
You gritted your teeth, watching his face carefully, trying to see if you’ll see change in them. Three parallel lines of scarification bumps formed a V-shape across your shoulder blades, meeting at your cleavage. They connected to the same patterns on your upper back, the unmistakable tradition of the Mangkwan. You waited and yet he didn't flinch, didn't question, only dipping his head low before you felt his warm lips trace the line of your neck, down to the raised bumps of the scarifications on your shoulders. He kissed them, then licked, a slow, deliberate exploration that made your breath hitch. His eyes, dark and hungry, flickered up to yours as he captured an engorged nipple. You moaned at the foreign, exhilarating sensation, cradling his head as he suckled on them.
He moved further down, his lips tracing another series of vertical lines of scarification on your abdomen, leading to the delicate V-shape of your lower belly. He kissed and licked, a low hum rumbling in his chest, as if it all made it feel better for him. His fingers, gentle yet firm, found your tail, a soft caress that made you arch your back. Then, his lips brushed against the long scar on your inner thigh, a tender kiss as he untied the simple knot of your loincloth. More loving kisses followed the length of the scar as the fabric fell away.
You felt yourself pooling between your legs, a hot flush of embarrassment rising in you. You had touched yourself countless of times before, even explored with your wooden phallics, but this… this was different. His eyes met yours, a silent question in their depths. You groaned, a guttural sound, and he laughed, a deep, rich rumble.
“Relax...“ he kissed your inner thigh before dipping his head, his tongue lashing out. Consecutive hard sucks followed and you couldn't help but moan louder, your hips bucking instinctively. Your imagination, it seemed, had been utterly inadequate. It hadn’t prepared you for the possibility of this.
Weak from his ministrations, your body thrummed, your mind barely conscious as your eyes focused on him. He was untying his own loincloth, his eyes darkly caressing your naked form. You bit your lip, pressing your feet against his lower abdomen, a silent command. He allowed it, smirking at you as he fully freed himself. Your gaze dropped, your breath hitching. He was long and thick, humbling your wooden toys by a mile. Daunted, you couldn't hide the apprehension in your eyes. He saw it, and a primal glint ignited in his own.
He grabbed your ankle, his large hand caressing your leg, tracing your calf, up to the underside of your knee. Then, with a firm clasp, he spread you wider. You couldn't even fake bravery as he lined his cock against the tight opening of your pussy, a soft nudge. You bit your lip and he lowered his head, capturing your mouth in a soft kiss, a good distraction. You moaned into his mouth as the wide head of him slipped inside you. It was uncomfortable at first, a stretching fullness you’d never known and when he eased more of himself in, the feeling intensified, making you feel so full.
He groaned, burying his face in your neck. You cradled his head, your fingers tangling in the strands of his braids. He pressed a hard kiss against your neck, and a scream tore at your throat when he plunged the rest of his length into you, burying himself balls deep.
You clutched his shoulders, your fingernails digging into his skin. He lifted his head, his eyes scanning your face, concern etched into their depths.
“Hurt?” he rasped.
It did, but it thrilled you. You shook your head. “Continue,” you ordered, squeezing his shoulder. His eyes caressed your face, lingering. You watched for a flicker of recognition again, for his gaze to fall on the vertical lines of small scarifications that lined your nose.
“You are so beautiful...” he mumbled instead, his voice thick with desire. He kissed you, then began to move, slow and deliberate at first, then building in rhythm. “So fucking tight.”
You cupped his jaw, gently holding his face, willing him to stare into your eyes as he moved inside you. He did. Both of you were in a trance, the clearing filled with your moans and his groans. A guttural sound ripped from his chest when you kissed him softly, your lips brushing his as he drove into you.
“Fuck,” he weakly breathed, a low chuckle rumbling from deep within him.
He moved with relentless rhythm, pushing you higher and higher until both of you shattered in an explosive climax. He kissed you as you came down, his thrusts shallow now, a gentle rocking. Then, he rolled on his back, pulling you with him, so you wouldn't bear his full weight. His hand, warm and heavy, caressed your back. After a while, you propped a hand on his chest, pushing yourself up. He watched you with dark, dilated eyes, his hand falling to rest on your waist.
“Again?” he asked.
You bit your lip, then slowly, began to move on top of him. A moan escaped you as your clit repeatedly grazed against his pelvis. You quickened your pace, your hand reaching out, searching. Your fingers closed around the familiar hilt of your knife, lying discarded on the moss next to your loincloth.
In a snap, you brought the blade to his throat. His expression didn’t change. His eyes, still dilated with raw desire, locked onto yours. His thumb, resting on your waist, continued its slow caress.
“Do it,” he whispered, his voice a low rasp.
You stared down at him, fear gripping your heart. This was never truly in you. Killing never brought you pleasure, nor was hurting people and animals. You do your duty for the clan but you don’t hurt people if you can help it, but you know that doesn’t make you a good person because at the end of it all, you still brought unimaginable horror to many people. Varang. She had forced your hand, given you no choice, treating you as a tool to use. Your whole life, you had always acted on her behalf, but this… this you couldn't do.
You have always considered this a weakness. You carried something most Mangkwan lacked: mercy. Why couldn't you just kill him? Prove your loyalty to Varang, to the people. But also, why should you? Why prove yourself to the leader who had sent you to your death?
You blinked, your hand, still holding the knife, loosening its grip on his neck. He felt it. So, without breaking eye contact, he slowly, carefully, moved his hand up, covering yours. He gently unclenched your fingers from the knife. When you released your hold, he took it, tossing it away with a soft thud. His hand, now free, hooked around your nape, pulling you down into a searing kiss. Shame and relief washed over you. Shame that he kissed you despite your attempt, and relief that he did. It was strange.
Both his arms now wrapped around you as he kissed you, his hips adjusting between your thighs. A broken cry tore from your throat as he began to thrust from below, his hips slapping against yours with desperate speed. You could barely form a complete string of moans. You didn't know you could be so turned on by the act of being caged in his strong arms, used for his pleasure that you climaxed again, a helpless, shattering release, while Neteyam chased his own, continuously slamming into you. By the time he finished, you were limp in his arms, breathing heavily, unable to move.
At some point, you drifted into a brief, light sleep, but then a jolt brought you back, finding him cleaning you up with a soft leaf. You scrambled away, your eyes hard and sharp, a stark contrast to the softness in his. You grabbed your loincloth and top, dressing quickly. He did the same, rising to his feet as you did.
“You okay?” he asked, watching you carefully as though you were a wild viperwolf he’s trying to calm down.
You hissed at him. “What do you want to hear?“
He tilted his head. “Reviews?” he asked, his voice playful and full of meaning.
Your eyes narrowed. “You are stupid,” you said, continuing to tie your loincloth on your tail.
He chuckled, stupidly amused with your words. “I know you, you know,” he said, his gaze lingering on your face. “You gave me this.” He pointed to the white scar on his shoulder. You glanced at it, a faint line on his dark skin. He felt a little foolish for pointing it out. It was shallow, shamed by the scars you bore, the ones he had just kissed. He couldn't even imagine the wounds they used to be.
You stared at him. “And yet you came up to me, you idiotic man.”
His eyes swept over your body, gaze so full of meaning you felt an urge to slap him. His eyes lit up though, a flicker of realization. “Were you supposed to be in disguise?” he whispered, genuinely curious.
Dumbfounded, you tilted your head. The answer was plain on your face and he scrambled for words. “I am Mangkwan.” you said, slowly, to get it into his thick head.
“I know. I just told you I know you,” he said as a matter of fact. You realized now. Why he hadn't been bothered by your scars because he knew you, he knew what you are. And still went there with you.
You huffed a frustrated breath. “You are one stupid man. You are an idiot.” You hissed at him. You imagined the corpse he would have been now if Varang had sent a different Mangkwan.
He stared at you, his eyes still dazed. He didn't seem to care what you said. He held out your knife, the blade facing him.
Another groan tore from your throat. You snatched the knife from him. “You ought to be careful next time. You were really easy,” you said, narrowing your eyes to mock him. “If I had wanted to kill you, I would have done it already.”
He tilted his head, his eyes darkening, hot on you. “I have no doubt,” he said, a note of pride in his voice. “And there is no next time, neither was there a last time. I’m not that easy.”
You couldn't help but laugh, a sharp, disbelieving sound. He seemed to realize what he had just said, because he smoothly looked away, his hand lifting, as if to rub his nape, before awkwardly dropping it. “Saving face, Sully? I got you there in record time.” You savored the newfound power, a delicious, unexpected sensation.
He stared at you, silent, but you could almost hear the gears grinding in his mind.
“What?” you snapped, confused by his unwavering gaze.
“Just... So this is how you look without your paint,” he said, his voice soft.
Your face crumpled in annoyance. He didn't take you seriously, and it was your own fault. You hissed at him, turning to walk away, feeling his hot gaze follow you and then the thud of his footsteps. Before you reached the edge of the woods, his hand caught your elbow. You tried to shake it off, but he pulled you back, a spring toy snapping into him. Your palms pressed against his broad chest as your body almost slammed against his.
“I want to see you again,” he said, his voice deep.
Your nose almost flared. “I have no reason to see you again,” you hissed, freeing yourself from his grasp. “Be thankful to your goddess that I showed you mercy.”
He watched you walk away this time, his eyes still glinting with a strange mix of amazement and amusement. You returned to the convention, searching for Taryu when a sharp clap was heard. Trojan stepped into view, a sneer twisting his features. You gritted your teeth at the sight of him.
“Impeccable performance,” he drawled, his voice laced with mock admiration. “You didn’t waste time, huh? Varang didn’t tell us we had a hustler on our side.”
You stood impassive, giving him nothing.
“I wasn’t even needed here. You did everything on your own. Got yourself out there and lured that damned demon effortlessly,” he continued, shaking his head. “You must be really hot by Na’vi standards. I mean, you look delectable to me as it is, and I’m a human.” His eyes raked over you.
You chuckled with disdain, the sound mocking his words, especially because he wore a Na’vi body. “I don’t expect anything from you anyway. Now, are you going to patronize me for doing all the work, or will you shut up soon?”
He laughed, a harsh, grating sound. He bowed his head mockingly. “Shutting up soon, but I need to know what happened. Where is the demon’s corpse?“
Demon. You wanted to roll your eyes. “I did not kill him. It’s not a job for me to do,” you said, nonchalantly.
“What?” He said, stepping toward you. You stood your ground, watching him with dark eyes, daring him to come closer. “You had the chance, and you did not?”
“How many chances did the RDA have to kill that man? Probably uncountable, and yet he remains breathing. Is there really no honor in you sky people that you had to resort to underhanded tactics to kill a single man?”
“You are in no position to talk about honor, Mangkwan,” he retorted, his voice sharp. “You know nothing about politics and strategies. The RDA won’t waste resources and soldiers just for the life of one man.”
“Then the RDA must bear the losses that one man brings them,” you countered.
“I saw you disappear into the forest with him. Ah, I know,” a snicker escaped him. “He fucked you. And you decided you won’t kill him—”
You hissed, unsheathing your knife, and before he could even blink an eye, you had the blade pressed against his throat. His eyes widened, primal fear flashing in their depths.
“Do not test me, demon,” you threatened, your voice a low hiss.
He took a short, sharp breath, afraid to move his head, lest you dig the blade deeper. He raised both hands, stepping back slowly, watching you as if you were a wild animal. “I’ll relay what happened to Quaritch. Await your punishment from your deranged leader.”
The travel back to Bridgehead City was surprisingly calmer than your travel to the convention. You didn’t know why, but you couldn’t find your anxiety yet, even as you know that Varang will surely deal with you. The sterile air of Bridgehead that welcomd you made you wince. It scraped at your nostrils, it was a stark contrast to the humid forest you had just left.
Quaritch and Varang waited in the ops center, the room humming with the low thrum of machinery, banks of glowing screens casting an eerie blue light on their faces. Varang’s eyes, bright and predatory, settled on you as you entered. A wicked smile stretched her lips. You braced yourself, each step a march toward an inevitable punishment.
“It is swift. Just as I expected from you, daughter.” Pride laced her voice, a sickening sweetness that made your gut clench.
Trojan snickered, the sound grating. “She didn’t kill that devil incarnate, Quaritch. She had the chance though, he got lured right into her trap without her trying but still, that ingrate didn’t kill him.”
Varang’s smile vanished, her eyes snapping to you. “Is this true?”
You met her gaze, a chilling fear crawling up your spine, but you refused to shrink. “Yes.”
Her hand clamped onto your forearm. “And you didn’t kill him, why?”
Trojan snickered again. “Good question—”
You hissed at him, cutting him off mid-sentence. Quaritch, a flicker of amusement in his eyes, raised a hand, silencing Trojan with a glance. You turned back to Varang, your voice low, controlled. “He would kill me if I tried to. And truthfully, I do not want to die.” You lied. “If the sky people want him dead, then they should come for him.” You shifted your gaze to Quaritch, a challenge in your eyes. “Or do you fear him, Colonel?”
Varang’s grip on your forearm tightened, her nails digging into your flesh. “How dare you question Quaritch?” Her voice cracked like a whip. You clamped your mouth shut and she turned to Quaritch, a placating smile returning, though it didn't reach her eyes. “I will deal with her.”
She dragged you out, her grip like iron as you walked past the many machineries and tanks until you reached the place allotted for the Mangkwan. A few children played near the entrance to the living quarters, their laughter a contrast to the dread building within you. Kekihe called your name, her voice filled with innocent joy but Varang’s angry hiss silenced her, and worry morphed her face before her small features twisted in fear. Your forehead furrowed, a pang of hurt piercing through you as you watched how scared she was. You forced a smile, happily waving a hand, a silent assurance to soothe her.
Varang shoved you into her yurt. You stumbled, landing hard on the ground. You knew better than to rise, remaining kneeling, your head bowed, as her fury descended on you.
“You brought me shame. You embarrass me to our allies!” Her eyes, wide and furious, burned into you. “Why did you not kill him?” she bit out, each word sharp.
“Olo’eykte, I already said—”
“I do not care about what you do not want or whether you do not want to die,” she cut you off. “My order was for you to kill the son of Toruk Makto.” Every word was emphasized, punctuated by the deceptive touch of her hand on the thick plait of braided hair behind your head. Your breath hitched, closing your eyes, knowing what would come. “And yet you failed me.”
A beat of silence and then a pained scream tore at your throat as she forcibly connected her kuru to yours. Your back arched, muscles spasming as you threw your head back, a primal shriek echoing in the yurt. White-hot pain seared through your mind, a thousand needles piercing your consciousness. The memories, long buried, erupted. Varang’s voice, cold and sharp, echoed in your head. You were much smaller, being punished for something you can't even remember anymore.
Your body felt like it was burning, every nerve ending aflame. You couldn’t even see her clearly, your vision marred with streaks of white as desperation clawed at you, a desperate need to be freed from this torment.
She grabbed your jaw hard, her fingers digging into your cheek. “I would kill you right now for this misdeed. Tell me why I shouldn’t.”
Your body convulsed, gasping for air, the world spinning. You forced words past your burning throat. “I have been loyal to you, Olo’eykte, my whole life.” That was the truth. You realized now how it was only ever driven by fear and never respect and devotion for her. You wished you could say more, explain the impossible choice she had forced upon you, but your mind was reeling.
She groaned, a sound of frustration, before pulling her kuru violently. You stumbled on the floor, chasing your breath, jolts of pulsing pain attacking your body. “You do not want to kill him… but you are not scared of him.” She said, her voice laced with a strange realization, interpreting what she had read from your raw emotions. She narrowed her eyes at you, then pushed you away. “Get out of here!”
You crawled out of her yurt, gasping, your limbs trembling. Kekihe waited in the distance, her small frame hunched, tears streaming down her face. She ran to you, throwing her arms around your waist, burying her face in your hip, her sobs muffled against your skin. Anguish seized your heart as you kneeled. The physical and mental pain inflicted on you barely made you cry, but as Kekihe cries for you, only then did your tears fall.
You stroke her hair, assuring her you were okay, your voice rough with unspoken pain. “Do not cry loudly,” you whispered, your eyes darting back to Varang’s yurt, “She might hear you.”
You returned to the yurt you shared with Säyim and Kekihe. Säyim sat by the low fire, her eyes fixed on the entrance. Kekihe, still sniffling, recounted what she witnessed. Säyim’s face contorted, groans of rage tearing at her throat. You assured both of them you were fine, though your body throbbed and your spirit felt raw.
From that day forward, you had fallen from Varang’s favor. In turn, you had lost your last shred of respect for her. You didn’t even know if you had ever truly respected her at all, or if you had simply done what you thought necessary to keep yourself, Säyim and Kekihe, safe from her wrath.
You continued your duties, a silent rebel within her ranks. You trained young warriors. You hunted, venturing further from Bridgehead, seeking the clean scents of the forest. You hunted for Säyim and Kekihe, for the vulnerable. If the hunt yielded more than enough, you shared with others, another act of defiance against the selfishness Varang has ingrained in her people.
A moon had waxed and waned since your encounter with Neteyam. And now, you hunted in a forest an hour’s flight from Bridgehead. You had washed away the ash and paint, leaving your skin bare, a conscious choice for a safer hunt. You knew the risks; others had paid with their lives for being Mangkwan in these territories.
You were stalking a small yerik when you heard a sudden, rhythmic thudding on the ground, followed by heavier ones. A blur of blue followed by the monstrous, hulking form of a palulukan, its massive mouth opened, snapping inches away from the person’s head. Without any hesitation, without even a thought, you released your arrow. It whistled through the air, but the palulukan, a creature of pure instinct managed to evade it. The arrow flew past its head, embedding itself harmlessly in a tree trunk further back.
You missed it, but your shot had done a different job. The palulukan, its momentum still carrying it forward, halted mid-stride, its massive head swiveling until its eyes fixed on you. Your breathing hitched at the same time an enraged bellow ripped from its throat. It coiled and then it launched itself, a terrifying, unstoppable force, directly at you. You stepped backward, nocking another arrow, and sending it flying. The forest, so peaceful moments before, now screamed with danger.
“Run!” A deep, resonant bellow, full of urgency and power, cut through the din.
But you didn’t run. You aimed another arrow, holding your breath, scared but still defiant. The palulukan closed the distance between you two in terrifying strides. You released the arrow. It struck the beast’s shoulder, but it merely enraged it further. There was no more time. The palulukan was almost upon you. You turned, finally, to flee, running as fast as you could but your foot caught on a gnarled root, sending you stumbling. You cried out and fell hard on the ground. You felt a jolt of agony splintering up your foot. You sat there, watching in sickening slow motion as the massive palulukan zoomed forward. You fumbled for one of the separated blades of your double-bladed staff, preparing for a desperate, final stand.
This was it. You’re going to die. But at least, it would be in the mouth of a palulukan.
But you heard a whistling sound, and then a thud. The palulukan’s charge faltered. It staggered, a guttural roar tearing from its throat, then it collapsed. An arrow, fletched with large green leaves, jutted from its chest, buried deep. The beast’s momentum carried it forward, its massive body plowing through the soft ground, sending a cloud of dust and leaves flying in the air until its snout came to rest mere inches from your outstretched foot.
Silence descended, broken only by your ragged breathing. You sat there, heart hammering, disoriented, the scent of dust thick in your nostrils as you heard heavy footsteps thud closer, purposeful and swift, followed by an angry, “What were you thinking?!”
You snapped your head up, indignation burning through the pain. How dare he yell at you after you had just saved him, and gotten yourself injured in the process? A tall, broad figure emerged from the tree line. Your lips parted, a huff of disbelief escaping you. Neteyam. His face, initially contorted with anger, softened, a quick wave of concern washing over his features as his eyes landed on you. You would laugh at the swift change if you weren’t so thoroughly enraged.
You hissed at him. “How dare you get mad? I saved you!” You gestured wildly to your throbbing foot. “And now, I’m hurt!”
His eyes widened a fraction, traveling from your face to your ankle. “You’re hurt?” he repeated, already scrambling to your side. He knelt, his large hands gently assessing your now swelling foot. “Fuck, you sprained it.”
You raised a brow at the foreign word. You tried to move your foot, to pull yourself up, but a jolt of excruciating pain shot through your leg. He groaned and gathered you into his arms, lifting you easily as thought you weigh nothing, and set you down on a nearby rock, kneeling in front of you once more.
He carefully pressed down on your ankle, and you hissed. He looked up, his eyes filled with concern. “Hurt?”
You bit your lip. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
He sighed, a deep, rumbling sound. “I won’t allow you to strain your foot further if that’s what you’re planning to do.” His eyes dared you to challenge him. “I’ve got you. Don’t worry.” He opened his satchel, pulling out a flat, intricately carved container.
“As you should, that happened because of you,” you said, watching him open the container, dismissing the fact that it was your decision to intervene.
He held your foot gently, applying a dollop of thick, minty balm to your ankle. “I’m sorry,” he looked up again, his expression earnest. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
A prickle of guilt pierced your thick shell. You had blamed him, but he had saved you too. You pushed your lips forward. “I know,” you said in a small voice. “Sorry.” A word you rarely utter.
He lifted his head, a small smile gracing his lips. When your eyes met, he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You stared at him as a strange, ticklish warmth spread through your chest. You forced a cough, looking away.
“What’s that balm made of? It’s cool,” you asked, changing the subject.
“Dapophet and spice bell, mixed with the nectar of a hatchet bee,” he told you, still smiling softly. “We need to be somewhere safe before it darkens.” He easily gathered you into his arms again.
He walked and you looked around, taking in the unfamiliar forest. “Do you know these woods?” you asked.
“Not much, but I saw a falls over there. That’s where I was planning to jump to escape the palulukan,” he said.
You remembered his calm demeanor earlier, the absence of panic. He had a plan. He wasn’t even fazed by having killed a palulukan, as though it were a small achievement among many. He found a small grotto near the falls, a hidden alcove veiled by hanging vines. He gently placed you down on a soft, mossy stone bed.
“I’ll go get more herbs and food,” he said, leaving his satchel beside you.
When he returned, he already has a string of iridescent fish, a bundle of fresh herbs, and an armload of wood for fire.
“I’ll help you start it,” you said, carefully trying to slide off the stone bed. But he intercepted you, his hands firm on your waist, settling you back down. You almost hissed at him, but bit back. “In my clan, I am a priestess of fire,” you told him in a biting tone.
He smiled, a genuine, easy smile. “Relax, spitfire, I believe you.” He smirked. “But I have to wrap your ankle with poultice. We’ll start the fire later.”
You pushed your lips forward, watching him work. He crushed the herbs with a smooth stone, his movements precise and practiced. You thought of your clan, how no man, not even most of the women, knew anything about tending to injuries. They left the weak to die. And here was this man, a fearsome warrior, yet so gentle, and knowledgeable in the matters of healing. No one had ever cared for you so tenderly and you felt something tug at your heart. No one had ever let you be the weak one.
He meticulously wrapped your ankle with a woven fabric, securing the poultice in place. Then, he helped you down. “Now we can start the fire,” he said, scaling the fish with practiced ease.
You struck a spark, coaxing a flame from the dry tinder. He watched, fascinated, as the fire caught, growing quickly under your ministrations. “How did you do that?” he asked, genuine wonder in his voice.
“We worship the fire,” you said, your tone clipped, a hint of pride in your voice. “We call to it as you call to your Eywa.”
He stared at you, his expression thoughtful and then he nodded. “I understand.” he said with no hint of prejudice and judgment that you held his gaze for a long moment, a strange warmth spreading through you.
You ate the roasted fish together, the silence comfortable, punctuated only by the crackle of the fire and the murmur of the waterfall outside your grotto.
When it was time to sleep, he sat on the ground, sharpening his arrows on a smooth stone, despite the ample space on the stone bed beside you. “Don’t you want to lie beside me?” you asked, your voice softer than you intended. His head snapped up, his eyes wide as they met yours.
“I want to, of course,“ he answered quickly, like a yerik being offered food. “I mean, if you want me to… then…” he stammered, so unlike the fierce warrior in the battlefield.
You raised a brow, stifling a laugh at his unexpected decency. “Well, I feel sorry that you have to sleep on the cold ground… when there’s plenty of space beside me… here, on the mossy bed.” You yawned, stretching as you turned to your side, your tail moving lasciviously.
He stifled a smile, his eyes watching your tail. You watched him stand, biting your lip, a small, private smile blooming on your face as he lay down beside you, filling your back with warmth. You fell asleep so quick it was almost record-breaking and when you woke up, sunlight is already filtering through the vines that serve as a curtain for your grotto. You were cuddled to Neteyam, his arm wrapped around you and your cheek pillowed on his chest.
You were so surprised that you jolted awake, moving back faster than you could think. Neteyam’s eyes flew opened, panic already flashing in them watching you fall off the stone bed. His arm shot up immediately though, catching you mid-fall and pulling you back to him.
“Shit,” he breathed and you frowned at the foreign word. “Eywa, she’s a little disaster.”
Your frown deepened. “I was surprised! I didn’t allow you to hug me!” you pushed him away.
He chuckled, sitting up and gently grabbing your leg, you’d kick his hand away if only it wasn’t your injured foot that he was cradling. “I’ll unwrap it, let’s check how your foot is doing,” he said, his voice still thick with sleep.
You’d retort with something smart but you were distracted with his gravelly deep voice, ended up just watching him unwrap it. There was a vibrant bruise of purple and green, but the swelling was already receding. You tried to rotate it but there was still pain, making you wince.
“Stop straining yourself,” he groaned, fixing you with his best stern look, but when you didn’t hiss or bite back, his finger lifted to boop your nose. “We’ll rewrap your sprain with poultice and I’ll get us some food,“ he said, already moving as if he’s being timed.
Days bled into one another and surprisingly, you were never bored except when you’re alone because he’s out to hunt. One afternoon, he came back with a variety of fruits, some of them you never even knew existed. The sight of them alone excited you, but when he presented a small, intricately woven cord, your attention was snagged immediately. You felt like a kid being presented with many, many gifts. Dangling from it, polished to a dull sheen, were several palulukan teeth.
“This is beautiful,” you said, peering up at him, “I like it.”
He tilted his head, smiling. “It’s yours.” He parted both ends of the woven cords and you leaned forward to offer your neck.
You touched the centerpiece. A fang, much longer and more curved than the others that surround it. Your eyes caught the leaf that cradled more palulukan teeth and your hand reached for it. “Can I have this?” you asked, your voice softer than you intended.
He nodded, his finger brushing the fang sitting on your sternum. “Sure. I have nothing to do with it anyway.”
You raised a brow, a flicker of amusement dancing in your eyes. “How about bringing it back to your clan as proof of your might?” Even among the Mangkwan, felling a palulukan was a feat. Such a kill warranted celebration, proof of a warrior’s prowess.
He blinked, genuinely perplexed. “Why would I need proof?”
You pushed your lips forward. Of course. The warrior who dismantles entire armed outposts with only his bow and arrows required no tangible evidence of his strength. You simply shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips.
Mornings often found you curled against his side, just like your first morning together. In your defense, the chill of the forest is not to be underestimated. Whenever you cuddled closer, he would stir, a low hum in his chest, and without a word, his arm would wrap around you, pulling you deeper into his warmth. A quiet triumph blooms in his chest each time you woke entangled, your body not recoiling, no sharp hiss escaping your lips. One time, you even snuggled closer into him even when you're already awake.
By the fire at night, you spoke of nothing else but your own people. He spoke of his family, his voice soft with affection as he told you stories about his siblings, while you listened, painting mental pictures of what they might look like.
“How old is your brother Lo’ak?” you asked again, thinking you missed a part because he mentioned a little sister around Kekihe's age.
His eyes snapped at you. “He's mated,” he answered.
You frowned. “And? That’s not what I asked,” you rolled you eyes, biting into a juicy fruit.
“He’s a year younger... But mated already,” he said as if he really needed to add that fact. “He beat me to it.” he added smoothly.
You raised a brow, both understanding and not understanding what he’s trying to say. Yes, he is unmated, but you don’t know how that is any of your business.
“You hunt on your own?” he asked, his fingers absently weaving through your hair. The question came after you mentioned your various solo journeys before this one.
“Everyone in my clan must sustain themselves on their own. Most of them hunt only for themselves,” you told him.
He tilted his head. “What of the old and the young? Who feeds them?”
“The young depend on their parents,” you replied. You remembered scrambling for scraps, foraging for berries in the ashen woods an hour’s walk from the village when you were young. No one hunted for you so you learned to hunt young.
“What about orphaned children? Surely, there are some of them, with how frequently adults in your clan die…” His voice held a gentle probe, a curiosity that bordered on concern.
You pushed your lips forward, in awe of how he hit the nail right on the head. When you were young, you couldn't understand the fact that adults could watch you starve and do nothing... And here he is, perhaps years late, thinking about children like you were.
You sighed. “They either get adopted or die… I have one, her name’s Kekihe.” A soft smile touched your lips at the memory of the bright-eyed child.
“You have an adopted child?” he asked, his voice laced with an almost boyish curiosity.
“Not adopted, not really… I live with her and her grandmother, Säyim,” you clarified. They are your family now. Their presence is a balm in your hard existence.
He nodded, a thoughtful expression settling on his face. “And now, you cannot hunt because of your foot,” he mused, a flicker of worry in his eyes. “I will hunt for you. You can’t go home to them with nothing.” He said, determined.
While he’s out hunting every day, you worked on weaving a choker for him. You used your red dye, stringing small, polished beads onto a fine sinew. The palulukan fang, black and sharp, is its centerpiece. The days continued to melt, and with each passing one, your ankle gained strength. A dull ache with every step remained but the sharp pain had receded. One afternoon, after you were finally done with the choker you were creating, you let the pull of the water outside your grotto win you over.
You were on the upstream of the waterfall, surrounded by large rocks before the actual fall and you felt relief that yiu were not tempted to jump over. You shed your top and loincloth, the cool water making you shiver as you submerge yourself further in the icy water. You floated on your back, watching the sky filtered by the canopy above
Neteyam arrived then, a huge yerik slung effortlessly over his shoulder. You maneuvered to stand, the water swirling around your hips, looking up at him. “My foot doesn’t hurt that much anymore,” you told him and you were surprised at how sad you sounded. “The water’s cold and it helps.”
He nodded, his gaze sweeping over you, and you felt a strange triumph when you see the subtle downturn of his lips, mirroring your sadness. He lowered the yerik to the ground, its bulk settling with a soft thud. Your eyes followed him as he walked towards the stream, his movements fluid. He untied his loincloth, the simple act sending a jolt through you. Your breath hitched, watching the fabric fall away, revealing his cock, already hard and thick.
He submerged himself, the water rippling around him, and swam under the surface, emerging a few feet away. A sly smile curved your lips as you moved towards him. His eyes, dark and dangerous, watched your every move. You scooped water onto your hand, casually reaching for his shoulder to wash away the remnants of blood from his hunt. You caressed the scar you’d given him, your fingers tracing the raised skin before leaning in, pressing your lips to it. A deep rumble escaped his chest and you smiled, your own desire mirrors the heat in his eyes as you continued to wash the blood from his arms, appreciating the taut lines of his form.
“Did you wander far? Where did you catch the yerik?” you asked, your voice a low murmur.
His hands found the curve of your waist, settling there, his grip firm. “Not that far. It was alone near the river where I fish,” he answered, his voice a low growl.
You peered up at him, finding his eyes dilated, fixed on your face. “It was huge.” One of your hands drifted down to his abdomen, tracing the hard planes of his muscles, your gaze never leaving his.
You rose onto your tiptoes, and he eagerly lowered his head, meeting your lips. He groaned as your mouths finally met, his hand cupping your jaw, tilting your head back to plunder your lips, demanding and possessive. Your hands caressed up, hooking your forearms around his nape. One of his hands slid up, kneading your breast, as his lips traced a path down your jaw, along your neck, and onto your shoulder. You cradled his head, your own head thrown back as he kissed your scarification bumps reverently.
His other hand scooped you by the ass and you wrapped your legs around his waist, your hips instinctively arching. He laid you down on a smooth, moss-covered rock by the stream, the cool stone a contrast to the heat of his body. He loomed over you, kissing your lips again before his mouth trailed down your neck, across your shoulder, over your chest, and finally to your belly, his lips pressing soft kisses to each scarification. You spread your legs wider, a silent invitation as he made his intent clear, he kissed the long scar on your thugh tenderly before his mouth found your pussy.
Your breath hitched and your hips bucked involuntarily, grabbing a handful of his braids, pushing him down further, gaining a deep groan from him. He kissed and licked, a relentless assault on your softness, until you were writhing, stimulated to the brink. He rose then, your body trembling as you weakly watch him, one hand grabbing your breast, squeezing.
He watched you, his eyes dark with raw desire, propping a hand on the rock beside you. He kissed you softly, a tender brush of lips, before pressing his forehead against yours. “Do you want me, my fire?” he asked, his voice low and thick with arousal.
You moaned, a soft sound in his ears. “Yes…”
He pressed a hard kiss against your lips, then gently took your hand, guiding it to his cock. “Put me in you then…”
You whined, a frustrated sound, lifting your head to kiss him, but he pulled back an inch, evading your lips. You groaned, glaring at him as you circled your fingers around his thick cock, the smooth, hot skin making you moan. You spread your thighs wider, lifting your hips slightly, your hand moving up and down his length in a slow caress.
He watched you, biting his lip, a raw, animalistic expression. You breathed shakily, guiding the wide head of his cock into your softness, whining as you move your hips, swallowing him slowly, inch by agonizing inch. He claimed your lips, kissing you deep and hungry, his tongue tangling with yours. Your scream was muffled by his kisses as he plunged the rest of his length into you in one swift, desperate motion, holding your hips in place. You clutched at his shoulders, your fingers digging into his flesh, your other hand leaving angry red scratches on his back. Like the first time, a sharp ache blossomed, but it was quickly overridden by a profound, delicious stretch.
“Hurt?” he asked, his tongue tracing the curve of your lip.
“No. So good…” you mumbled, kissing him again, losing yourself in the sensation.
You made love, there by the stream, and when he carried you back to your grotto, he didn’t let go of you. Later, as you lay tangled on the stone bed, the cool air caressing your heated skin, you felt him kiss your hair, inhaling your scent, a deep, contented sigh rumbling in his chest. You nuzzled deeper into his neck, the scent of him filling your senses.
“I made something for you,” you mumbled, your hand idly caressing his chest.
He kissed your temple. “Yeah?” He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours.
You smiled softly, and his heart lurched, a warmth spreading through his chest as if you were the very source of fire, a true fire priestess. He couldn’t resist, his lips finding yours again. You chuckled, untangling yourself to reach for the choker you’d made.
“I only have red dye with me… so the beads are red,” you said, lifting the choker into the air, a small frown on your face. “Sorry.”
He sat up, his large hands covering yours as he touched the choker. “Do not say sorry,” he said, his voice firm, his eyes reprimanding you. “This is beautiful, baby.” His fingers traced the smooth black fang centerpiece. “Red is beautiful.”
“It is the color of Mangkwan…” you pointed out, as if that alone were reason enough for him to dislike it.
“It is your color,” he corrected, his earnest eyes fixed on yours. He remembered the fierce beauty that had captivated him years ago, the first time he ever saw you in an ambush of a Mangkwan raid. Truthfully, he’d sabotaged the Mangkwan raids that followed that just to see you again. He hadn’t, until months ago, when you’d wounded him, leaving him with a scar that he now wore with pride.
He removed the choker he was already wearing before leaning in toward you. You understood, kneeling to reach behind him to tie the choker around his nape. His hands settled on your waist, and his lips found your chest, pressing a kiss to your scarifications. You sat back on your heels, your fingers touching the beads at his neck.
He stared at you, his eyes soulful. “We will see each other again,” he said, his voice low.
You gave him a haughty look, a playful glint in your eyes. “That sounds more like an order than an entreaty.”
His eyes widened, humor dancing in their depths. “Well, baby, I am not above begging.” He took your hands, his earnest gaze locking with yours. “I beg of you, my fire, say you will see me again and save this warrior from his misery of constantly missing you…” He brought your hand to his chest, pressing it over his beating heart.
A sly smile cut through your lips. You pushed gently against his chest. You’d thought about it countless times in the past days, the desire to see him again, the quiet hope that he would want the same. “You’re being dramatic,” you rolled your eyes. “I will see you.”
He smiled then, a triumphant flash, bringing your hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to your palm. “Always so merciful.”
“Will we see each other here?” you asked, slowly lying back down on the stone bed.
He watched you, his eyes darkening, his hand pressing against your lower abdomen, a slow caress. “I’d go to you, my fire, if you wish.”
You rolled your eyes again. “Sure, if you can make it to Bridgehead,” you smirked, raising your hands above your head, your round breasts offered to his gaze.
His eyes darted down, his hand travelling up, covering one of your breasts, massaging gently. “Is that a challenge, baby?” he asked cockily.
You turned serious, the playful facade dropping. “Don’t even try, Sully. You would never step in a place where every single person wants your head.” Your teeth gritted, the warning sharp.
He tilted his head, a thoughtful hum escaping him. “Someone doesn’t want me to die,” he mused, pinching your nipple, a jolt of pleasure making you moan.
You kicked him lightly with your uninjured foot. “You just said you want to meet me again. What else will we do but fuck? Who will fuck me if you’re dead?”
He laughed then, a boisterous, manly sound that filled the grotto. His smile, deceptively handsome and lopsided, held a glint of mischief as he looked at you. “Only I get to make you feel like this, baby. Only me.” His hand clamped around your inner thigh, spreading your legs apart.
You raised a brow, watching him rise onto his knees, positioning himself between your spread legs. He lowered himself, his mouth claiming yours in a hard, demanding kiss. You closed your eyes, your arms wrapping around his nape, pulling him down to you.
Having to leave that little pocket of forest you two carved out as your own held a surprising reluctance in you. You felt like you didn’t want to leave, but your foot, though still a little tender when you give it your full weight, was mostly healed. Besides, Säyim is definitely worrying. He watched you with silent intensity as you lathered your skin with ash, then applied the black and red paints to your face and forearm, transforming yourself back into the Mangkwan you are. To an outsider, his devotion would be glaringly obvious. He’s a man completely ensnared. Yet, you still thought him foolish for being here, being with you.
You looked at up at him when he leaned forward, dipping his thumb into your red dye, then, with a careful touch, painted the horizontal line from beneath your nose, down to your lips and chin, as if telling you he knew exactly what your signature face paint looked like. When you’re ready, he helped you tie the yerik he’d caught onto your ikran, adding many fruits and strings of fresh fish with it. One would think you were sent out to get food for a whole village.
“That is a lot,” you said, patting your ikran’s head.
“You can do what you wish with it,” he said, pulling you close by the waist and inhaling your scent, making you feel conscious about the ash but he didn’t seem to care at all. “I want to give you everything you need.”
You peered up at him, your eyes glinting with promise that you’ll return the favor... someway else. Varang, the Mangkwan, and the RDA, they all seemed distant, fading in the background. You had never felt this way before, this intoxicating mix of joy and warmth. You had never truly rebelled, not like this, and for the first time in your life, you wanted to chase this feeling Neteyam ignited within you. For once, you wanted to choose yourself.
You flew back to Bridgehead, your heart still alight with joy, a warmth that had settled deep within. But the warmth quickly dissipated, replaced by a cold dread, when you heard Vakrep’s voice behind you as you were discharging the yerik from your ikran’s back, the heavy carcass thudding to the ground.
“Where were you?” he asked, his voice a low sneer.
You snapped a sharp glance at him, your eyes narrowed. “Hunting. What is it to you?”
His eyes, creepy and always invasive, swept over your body. “You killed a palulukan?” he asked, a curious glint in his gaze as he noticed the necklace around your neck.
“Again, what is it to you?” you retorted, dragging the yerik further, then lifting the strings of fruit.
He stepped forward, closing the distance. “It is my business to know where you are going. One day, Varang will give you to me,” he said, his fangs on display, a predatory smile stretching his lips. “So you better watch your actions… and keep yourself untainted. For me.”
You winced, a visceral wave of disgust washing over you. You hissed, a low, guttural sound. “I would kill you before that happens.”
He snickered, a harsh, grating sound. “I’d like to see you try, but you have no choice. You know that. You are a strong warrior, as am I… Varang will ensure the future of the Mangkwan through us.”
You gritted your teeth, watching him turn and retreat.
Meanwhile, at the Omatikaya hometree, Neteyam was enveloped in his mother’s embrace. He had been gone for weeks, but her initial worry, softened into relief as she scanned his uninjured form. Her eyes, however, caught on the choker at his neck.
“Palulukan… you killed a palulukan?” A smile of fierce pride broke across her face. “Where?”
“Western rainforest… it chased me,” he said, a flicker of a smile playing on his lips, and for a moment, Neytiri was reminded of the boy he once was.
“Red beads? Beautiful… It is a strong color,” she mused, her fingers tracing the beads. “It suits you, son.”
Neteyam looked at his mother, his eyes alight with an emotion that surprised even Neytiri. “Does it?” he asked, his voice soft, almost vulnerable.
She chuckled, her hand reaching up to rest on his head, a gesture of affection despite his towering height. “It does.”
The happiness radiating from him, a palpable aura, did not escape Neytiri. Nor did the sight of his thumb, faintly reddened with dye. She watched her son move through the winding ramps of Hometree, a lightness in his steps, as though he floated on air, buoyed by an invisible joy.
The forest, just as it stood witness to thousands of Neteyam’s ancestors, seems to hold the secret of your clandestine meetings, too; hearing the sounds of shared laughter that mingles with the whisper of the waterfall, saw how the mask of the perfect son slips from Neteyam’s face, replaced by vulnerability he only ever allowed you to see. It was a stark contrast to the one he shows when you two were in a spar though. He is a competent fighter and you’ve known that in the two times you faced him in a ground combat, but you had a hunch that he’s holding back which you take as insult.
“Mawey, baby. This is just a game,” he said, sidestepping you, his hand catching your wrist with ease.
“Scared?” you shot back, twisting out of his grip, a kick sent at his side, but he blocked it, a surprised grunt escaping him.
“Fuck, you kick like a direhorse,“ he said, chuckling as he flicked his hand to shake off the faint pain that blocking your kick brought. You circled him, eyes narrowed, a predatory glint in their depths. “Respectfully.” he added with a boyish smile.
You raised a brow. “Don’t hold back on me, Sully,” you said, smirking.
He tilted his head and you could tell he’s accepted your challenge because you felt the full force of his strength. He was faster, stronger, and his reach longer but you were able to find gaps. You were smaller, sure, but you were more agile and ferocious, your skills honed by countless unrestrained fights.
“You fight as if you want to kill me,” he said after the spar, pinning you against a tree, his chest heaving, a sheen of sweat on it. Your own chest rose and fell rapidly, your eyes locked with his as your lips curved into a smirk. He groaned, cupping your chin and tilting your head up to kiss you hard.
You hummed against his lips, kissing him back. “What if I am?” you mumured against his lips before giving him consecutive pecks.
He laughed, a genuine, booming sound that echoed through the trees, angling his head to kiss you softly. “Will die happily, baby,” he whispered, kissing you again, this time, deeper.
You allowed yourself to melt into his kiss, hooking your arms around his nape at the same time his large hands spanned your waist, both your hearts beating against your ribcages in sync, both seeking release and desiring to tangle around each other, just as you two later were. As your meetings continued and occured as frequently, Neteyam’s absences did not go unnoticed by his clan. In the great communal space of Hometree, the elders and warriors often glanced at the empty place beside Jake Sully. Jake, who had already had a hunch about what Neteyam is doing, remained silent.
The clan had pushed his son to mate, to choose a woman from among them the moment he’d come to adulthood, but Jake had never seen Neteyam show interest in any Omatikaya woman, but these frequent disappearances and slipping back into Hometree late into the night, with that stupid smile on and a lightness in his steps, Jake could only assume.
He shook his head to himself, his lips curling in a private smile. Let the boy find his own path. For this, he often covered for his eldest son, a silent acknowledgement of how Neteyam, who had carried most of the clan’s burdens against their enemies for years, deserves this, more than ever.
“I sent him on patrol,” Jake would state, his voice carrying an authority no one dared question.
One night, Neteyam returned late from a meeting with you, having been away for over a day. He stepped into the Hometree just as the council meeting was concluding.
“You are not in attendance again!” Neytiri’s voice was sharp with concern and annoyance as she reprimanded her son. Her eyes held a steely glint. “Your father covered for you, but this cannot continue.”
Neteyam stood straighter. He had just parted ways with you, your scent still lingering on his skin, the memory of your laugh a warm ember in his chest. His head bowed a little, offering no argument. “My apologies, Mother. It will not happen again.”
“You are late for the council meeting! Late for your duties! What is so important that it pulls you from your responsibilities?” she continued and Jake could almost imagine her breathing fire.
Neteyam’s head remained bowed and Jake knew his son won’t talk back, unless he’s in a position that allows him to defend himself. Jake, taking initiative, put both his hands on his mate’s shoulders, gently pulling her back.
“Mawey, baby, mawey. Give the boy some slack, he’s always working hard,” he nod his head toward his son before pressing on Neytiri’s shoulders. “He is still just a young man.”
Neytiri’s shoulders slumped, realizing that Jake is saying nothing but the truth. No one works harder than Neteyam, and it made her feel guily that she’s expecting so much from him. “I’m sorry, son. You may go and rest now.” she said, reaching up to put a palm over her son’s head.
Neteyam nodded, excusing himself to both of them and walking away. Jake watched his son, seeing the faint smile that touched his lips. The heavy burden Neteyam carried for this clan seemed to lift from his shoulders when he returned from these secret rendezvous. Jake once again smiled to himself, a silent understanding passing between father and son.
You dodged Neteyam’s weapon, spinning as you bring your own twin-bladed staff around in a wide arc. He blocked, his blade thudding against yours. You pressed the advantage, sending a flurry of strikes, each aimed at each opening you can see. He parried, his brow furrowed in concentration, a smile playing at the corner of his lips.
“Too slow, Sully,” you hissed, feinting left, then dropping low, sweeping your staff at his legs. He hopped, a grunt escaping him, but you were already up, disarming him with a swift flick of your wrist. His knife fell to the ground. You pressed the tip of your own to his throat.
He laughed, a deep, rumbling sound. “Always a cheat, my fire.” He didn’t move, eyes glinting with admiration.
“Always a fool for falling for it,” you countered, pulling your staff back. You offered him his weapon.
He took it, his fingers brushing yours, his fingers lingering. “You make it too easy to be a fool.”
You narrowed your eyes. “I’m starting to think I only managed to wound you because you allowed me.”
A smirk appeared on his handsome face. “I didn’t, but I was definitely distracted.”
You explored the forest, with him pointing out plants, describing their properties, their uses in medicine or sustenance, and you find it funny that he knows so much.
“This one, its sap can soothe burns,” he explained, his finger tracing the broad petal of a healing rose. “And this, its berries, when crushed, make a potent pain reliever.”
“Are you sure you’re not your people’s tsakarem?” you asked, chuckling.
He grinned. “My grandmother knows a lot about healing. Healers, under her supervision, teach the kids the basics. Just in case a situation calls for it,” he said.
You tilted your head, remembering what an expert he was at tending to your injured ankle, seemingly knowing exactly what to do. You smiled, thinking of a people making it a norm to teach the children how to care for one another.
You held his weapon, examining its weight and its design. You’ve never seen a weapon like it before. The handle was beautiful, fashioned after the sloping head of a direhorse. You adjusted your grip around it, remembering how he held it in a perpendicular angle, his hand fisting around the hilt. A short, pointed blade jut forward, it’s the blade he used to puncture that sky person’s metal suit by delivering punches.
On the other side, a longer blade extended down, covering your forearm. This is what he used to wound your fellow Mangkwan with a twist of his hand, slashing at the chest. It has dual blades, customized especially for him, and extremely deadly. “This is a beautiful weapon,” you commented.
He smirked. “It was my Uncle Tsu’tey’s. He was the Olo’eyktan before my father... He fought with my parents in the battle of the Ayram Alusing.”
You smiled at the thought. Every battle he’s fighting is guided with the weapon of an Olo’eyktan and warrior who fought for their people. You wondered about your parents. Mangkwan warriors like yourself... who both died before you could even remember them.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
You leaned against a tree, your top askewed and your breathing ragged as streaks of white marred your vision from the mind-blowing orgasm he just gave you. You felt his mouth on one of your nipples and your fingers tightened around his cock. “Shit...”
He chuckled at the word you used, sending delicious vibrations on your breast as he sucked on it, his fingers caressing your still-sensitive pussy. Your hand trembled as it continued moving up and down his length and when his lips traced up, you lowered your head to catch his lips and kissed him. You can feel him smiling against your kiss and you reared your head back to look at him.
You bit your lip before dipping your head to press an open-mouthed kiss on his neck, gaining a breathy chuckle from him. A renewed flame burned within you as your lips traced a path down his chest and to his abdomen, your hand still pumping his cock. You peered up at him, meeting his eyes as your lips hovered near his hard length. He raised a brow, his eyes dilated and hot on you.
“I want to kiss you here...“ you whispered and you felt him physically tremble as his hand grabbed you shoulder firmly.
Many moons unfolded this way. The days you met were punctuated by him teaching you how to hunt better in the forest, by both of you challenging and pushing at each othe’s limits in combat, and by that one activity inside your grotto that you unanimously decided was best for leaving the two of you breathless. It was clear to him where this is going, he knew the odds he needed to beat to get there, and his body was already vibrating with energy when he thinks about what he is capable of doing, for you.
You, on the other hand, found yourself more and more learned about the nuances of his smile, the way his eyes crinkled when genuinely happy or amused. Unaware, you mirror his gestures—a hand on his arm, a soft brush of your shoulder against his, and your fingers always finding his skin. The sound of his laughter seemed to have carved itself in your heart, reminding you of warmth when you’re back at the concrete and metallic labyrinth that was Bridgehead where a different kind of tension has settled over your people.
The children had been sick. It doesn’t take one to be so smart to conclude that the nearest river that had been the Mangkwan’s source of water had been polluted with the RDA’s hazards. The last time you went there to collect water, you observed its waters shimmering with an unnatural sheen. You are still Varang’s unofficial tsakarem, having been taught about the various toxins and hallucinogens, but the very little you know about actual healing, you learned from Neteyam.
He knows the basic benefits of each flora you see in the forest and he’s helped you gather herbs for the sick when you told him what has been going on. If only the situation wasn’t so dire, you would find it comical how quickly he acted when you asked, as if it wasn’t in his mind that it was the Mangkwan you were talking about.
You moved between the sick in a makeshift infirmary made of whatever fabrics the Mangkwan has gotten from previous raidings. The children, usually so vibrant, lay listless with eyes glazed and breaths shallow.
“His fever burns all day long,” a mother pleaded, her child writhing on a mat.
You pressed a cool, damp cloth to the child’s forehead, offering a sip of boiled water mixed with crushed bark. “Keep him warm. He needs rest.” You showed her how to mix the herbs, how to make the poultice. You taught the other women, too, their faces grim at first but then began to help, their hands clumsy but willing.
The river, Varang had declared, was merely a form of cleansing when she graced the makeshift infirmary with her presence. “No, this is not natural. The river is contaminated, Olo’eykte—”
“It is weakness,” she told you, her head snapping at the growing number of sick wth disdain. “Here... Only the strong survive.”
“They are children, Olo’eykte. Some are women. They are the future of our clan—“
“I do not wish for the future of this clan to be on the shoulders of children who fall sick over river water,” she said. “My people have endured worst.“
You kept your mouth clamped then, nodding, knowing that you cannot change her mind. She saw the plague not as a threat, but as a culling, a way to purge the clan of its lesser members. But you saw the fear in the eyes of the mothers, the desperation of the fathers, in the children’s small bodies being wracked with sickness.
Each of your hunt became even more desperate. You distributed food among the sick, among the families whose hunters were too weak to stalk game. But it was never enough. The sickness continued to spread, some children had died and though deep ache tug at your heart at the sound of their mothers wailing, you stayed behind to offer whatever comfort you could give.
You were walking with the bowl of fresh herbs you gathered in the nearest forest when you saw young raiders running to the roost. You grabbed one by the arm and saw him visibly catch his breath. “Are you raiding?“
“Vakrep is leading us to Zeswa. Said we need their medicine—”
“You are raiding the Zeswa?“ you asked in a hard tone, and when he nodded, you let go of his arm and rushed to the infirmary.
You set the bowl down and quickly instructed the women on what to do before making your own way to the roost. You felt ashamed at what you’re feeling, the urgency to stop them from doing what you have done, and even led, for years. Were you as beyond saving as Vakrep? Have you done so much evil already that it voids your right to call out the wrongdoing of your own people?
You launched your ikran into the sky, the wind whipping at your face as you flew over quickly changjng landscape until you reached the clouded forest, seeing the Mangkwan raid party right away despite the thick fog. You dove without thinking, intending to intercept and to reason.
But then there were others there, too. Omatikaya warriors had gotten here faster than you did. You jumped off your ikran before it even fully landed on the ground but an arrow flew, and you felt a searing pain in your calf, a gasp tearing from your throat. You staggered, almost landing hard on the nearest tree, the breath knocked from your lungs.
“No!” a familiar voice bellowed. Neteyam.
A dark shape moved over you. Not Neteyam, but Vakrep, scooping you up in his arms, pulling you away from the chaos.
“My leg!” you hissed, struggling against him, but the pain flared.
You heard the clash of weapons fading behind you as he carried you to where the ikran are waiting, slumping you on the back of his ikran before launching into the sky. Back in Bridgehead, the outrage simmered. Warriors, their faces grim, gathered before Varang’s yurt. Their families, gaunt and trembling, stood behind them.
“Our children are dying, Olo’eykte!” a warrior cried, his voice raw with grief. “The sky people poison our waters! What will we do? What will you do?”
Varang emerged, her eyes already cold. “You whine like pups. This is much like the fire that burned our people years ago... Nothing can stop it, but only the strong endure.”
“The strong die in their sleep from fever!” another shouted. “Their bodies swell! This is not like the fire that burned our people, this is the sky people’s poison!”
She waved a dismissive hand. “Weakness. Your bodies are simply not fit for this land. It is your own failings, and if this weakness among you continues, I will have to deal with all of you.”
A collective silence. The warriors exchanged glances. The respect, once absolute is now flattering, replaced by resentment. You watched from the edge of the crowd, your bandaged leg aching. This was not the Varang you had known, the fierce leader who commanded loyalty. This was a tyrant, blinded by her own twisted belief.
A day later, you walked toward your grotto despite the ache in your leg. Your pride simply cannot take the limping. Neteyam was already there, restless as he paced the clearing, but the moment his eyes landed on you, he ran, pulling you into a crushing embrace. His breath hitched against your hair, ragged.
“Fuck, I’m so sorry, baby,” his voice thick with stress, with anger. He lowered himself, his large hand gently touching the wrapped wound on your leg.
“Do not worry,” you murmured, squeezing his arm and pulling him up. “That was just a near-miss. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
He rose, his eyes blazing, a raw anguish on his face. “Stop saying that.” His voice was a low growl. “Stop saying you can handle everything, especially when I’m here. I’m here for you. You should have told me what you needed, what your people needed, and I would have handled it.”
You smirked, but it was a genuine curve of your lips. You cupped his jaw, your thumb tracing the sharp line of his cheekbone, then rose on your toes to kiss him softly. “I know,” you murmured against his lips. “I know.”
He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing for a moment, then opening to devour you. His hand found the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. He lifted you, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist, and carried you into the grotto, laying you gently on the soft stone bed.
He moved over you, his body a familiar weight, a comforting pressure. His lips found yours, a deep, hungry kiss that stole your breath, erasing the pain, the anger, the fear. You surrendered, as you always did with him, your body yielding to his, trusting him implicitly. He stripped away your loincloth, his eyes dark with desire, tracing the lines of your body with reverent hands. His mouth followed, a trail of fire from your lips, down your neck, across your shoulders, lingering on the scarifications etched into your skin. You arched into him, your hips rising to meet his, a low moan escaping your throat.
His fingers danced between your thighs, teasing, swirling, until you were slick and ready, your core aching for him. He entered you slowly, a deep, satisfying stretch that made you gasp, then moan as you wrapped around him, pulling him deeper still. He moved, driving into you, his hips pounding against yours, and you met him, thrust for thrust. You felt his control slipping, and you held him tighter, meeting his thrusts until he cried out your name, his body shuddering against yours as he spilled himself into you.
You lay tangled, the warmth of his body a shield against the cool air of the grotto. Your fingers traced the lines of his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart.
“What causes the sickness?” he asked, his voice a low rumble against your hair.
You sighed, your suppressed anger bubbling to the surface. “The sky people. Their waste poisons our waters.” You paused, then continued, the words tumbling out, raw and bitter. “Varang won't believe us. She calls it weakness. She says they are a drain, that they will only drag the clan down.” Your voice cracked, a tremor running through you. “She has dictated my life. My whole life. She sent me to my death, sending me to you.”
He pulled you closer, his lips pressing against your forehead. “I couldn’t have killed you, baby.”
“You were so stupid,” you whispered, a soft laugh escaping you. “If it had been a different Mangkwan, you would have been dead.”
“If it had been a different Mangkwan, I wouldn’t have been there with her,” he said, his voice firm. “I wouldn’t even come up to her.”
“You say that now...”
“I’m saying it because it is the truth. I told you I know you, didn’t I? It was an easy conquer because I have wanted you for so long.” he said, his voice raw.
You stifled a smile, propping yourself up on an elbow, looking down at him. “Is that what happens when anyone wounds you? Then I am the only one allowed to wound you.” Your eyes darkened, a possessive glint in them.
“It wasn’t because you wounded me,” he said, his voice a little resigned. “It was… years ago.”
Your forehead furrowed. “That was a long time ago.”
“Yeah.” He croaked, as if he’s accepting the fact that he’s been devoted for years, even without any assurance. And then he remembered... “Who was that man? The one who… carried you away?”
You blinked, confused for a moment. “Vakrep.”
“Who is he to you?” he asked, his voice tight.
“He is a nuisance,” you said in a biting tone.
“He likes you.”
A wave of disgust washed over you. “He does not. He is fucked in the head, as you say. He doesn’t like. He thinks he owns everyone.”
“And does he think he owns you?”
Your eyes darkened further. “I don’t care what he thinks. Do not worry yourself about him.” You pressed your palm against his chest, a silent reassurance. “I am here with you, Neteyam.”
He caught your hand, holding it, bringing your fingers to his lips, kissing them softly. His eyes searched yours, and your heart ache when you saw the silent question and desperate plea for something in them.
At Bridgehead, the whispers grew louder. The Mangkwan, once united under Varang’s cruel rule, now questioned. You sat beside Kiren’s child, applying a fresh poultice to his swollen glands. Kiren, a seasoned warrior, sat beside you, his face etched with worry.
“Our people sicken,” Kiren said, his voice low, almost a whisper. “Varang turns her back, just as Eywa had. She sees only weakness.” He looked at you, his eyes holding a fierce, desperate hope. “You heal them. You hunt for them. Many warriors… they follow you. Would you lead us, warrior? Against her?”
You looked at the child, then at Kiren. A new life. A better life for Kekihe, for Säyim, for all of them. The thought sparked, a tiny flame in the darkness. “I... I will think on it,” you said, your voice trembling. “I will get back to you.”
But you never got the chance.
The next morning, a guttural scream, filled with horror, tore through the camp. You ran outside, your heart seizing in your chest. Kiren. His body, mangled, twisted, tied to a post. As they would an animal regularly tortured during rituals. His face, frozen in terror.
Your people’s faces were impassive, blank masks. None showed what they truly felt, save for Kiren’s mate, who knelt in front of his body, her wails tearing through air. Some, you noticed with a sickening lurch, even celebrated, their smiles cruel. Across from you, Vakrep stood, a smug smile on his face. He bowed his head, his eyes meeting yours, as if he knows that you know why Kiren is dead.
A hush fell over the crowd and you saw Varang, strutting into the circle, her head held high. Her eyes, predatory and sickeningly filled with pleasure, swept over Kiren’s broken form.
“Let Kiren serve as a cautionary tale among you, my beloved people.” Her voice was gentle, silken with lie, yet her smile was evil. “Do any of you know what he did to deserve this?” She paused, letting the silence stretch. “He was treasonous. He was planning to oust me. Would you like that? Would you like the leader that rose above Eywa’s misdeeds against us and built this clan from the ashes it was reduced to, to be cast out?”
The crowd shook their heads, the face of subservience. No one was brave enough to challenge her, not now, not after this.
“I thought so, too.” Her smile widened, a cold, sharp thing. Her head swept across the crowd, her gaze lingering, searching. Then her eyes found yours. A sudden sharp dread washed over you. She smiled. And you know it was not a good thing at all.
By midday, the children Kekihe often played with ran toward the makeshift infirmary, their small voices shrill with panic. “Varang took Kekihe!”
Fear, raw and primal, seized you again. You ran, despite your still healing leg, toward Varang’s yurt, but you were stopped by Säyim, her face streaked with blood, her worldless cries tearing at your heart. You pulled her into a desperate embrace, but she was signing frantically, a whirlwind of frantic gestures you couldn’t fully understand. You saw Vakrep behind her, his smile sick and smug.
You unsheathed your knife and walked toward him. Säyim held you back, her grip surprisingly strong, her eyes wide with terror as she continued to sign, her body trembling. “What did you do to her?!” you screamed at Vakrep, your knife held tightly, ready to strike.
“Varang’s orders,” he said, his voice smooth, unconcerned. “I told you, yerik. The day would come. I was counting.” He smirked.
You gritted your teeth, a growl rumbling in your chest, and lunged. But before you reached him, warriors, much stronger and bigger, held you back. You thrashed, your rage roaring within you. Vakrep turned his head to an emerging figure, silently ordering his warriors to let go of you when he saw Varang. The warriors pushed you toward Varang, and when you saw her serene face, your anger flared anew.
“We must come to an agreement, daughter,” she said, her voice soft, smiling. She turned her back, entering her yurt.
You followed, your breath heavy, expecting to see Kekihe, but the yurt was empty. “Where is Kekihe?” You hissed.
“She is somewhere… safe.” Varang smiled, achillingly calm expression, not minding your tone. “She will train under me. Just as you had, daughter.” Her meaning was clear.
“Do not hurt her,” you begged, your voice breaking, a desperate plea. You remembered the pain of your own childhood, the brutal training, the constant fear, the torture. Kekihe could not go through that. You refused to let it happen.
“Of course,” Varang said, her face twisting into a pretense of worry. “I would never. But of course, this is all on you, sweetling. If you are good to me, I am good to her. Do you understand?”
You took a sharp breath, your chest tight with dread. You nodded.
“You will mate Vakrep.” She threw the curveball, and you felt like a knife was twisted in your gut. “You agree?” Your eyes snapped to hers, disagreement blazing in them. She saw it, her smile faltering for a moment. “Säyim and Kekihe… I see you care for them deeply.” Her fingers, played with your kuru, a subtle threat as she repeated, “You agree?”
You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “I… I will think about it—”
She tugged, a sharp pull on your kuru. “Do. You. Agree?”
You took in another sharp breath, the air burning in your lungs. “Yes,” you breathed out, tasting ash in your mouth.
She grinned, an uncanny sight. “Just as I thought you would.” She nodded, dismissing you.
You slipped out of Bridgehead the next day, a ghost in the pre-dawn gloom. The forest, once a sanctuary, now felt like a trap. You wanted to run, to flee this place, this fate. But Säyim and Kekihe were constantly on your mind. They depended on you. What would Varang do if you didn’t come back? Besides, you and Neteyam… it wasn’t like that. You couldn’t burden him with your woes, your twisted life. He deserved someone free, someone who wasn’t the enemy of his people. Perhaps, who you were better off with, was Vakrep. Someone who had done things as unimaginable as you had done.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
The fire cracked in the grotto, its flame mirroring the tremor in your hand as you traced the cracks of his chest. The words clawed at your throat and every breath tasted like ash, watching him with his eyes closed, a ghost of a smile lingering on his lips, both sated and sleepy. It made your coming betrayal feel like a physical blow against your chest.
“We need to stop this.” You whispered.
His eyes, though heavy with sleepiness, snapped open. A frown touched his brow. “What?”
“This. Us.” You gestured vaguely between your bodies, still entwined. “It has to end.”
He pushed himself up fully, sitting upright, the glow of the bioluminescent moss in the grotto allowed you to see his raw, vulnerable look. “Why?”
You sat up, too. “Things always end, Neteyam.” You wrapped your arms around your naked from, creating a wall between you. “Nothing lasts.”
He reached for you, his hand warm against your bare shoulder. “This doesn’t. Not us.” His voice was low, edged with a tremor of its own. “Where is this this coming from?”
You flinched away from his touch. “Neteyam, this isn't serious. You know that, don’t you? We are two young people who find pleasure in each other’s company. There are no strings. That’s all we are.”
He snatched his hand back as if burned. His jaw tightened. “Bullshit,” he said in a growl. “What if I want to be tethered to you? What if I want to be your mate?”
You laughed, a harsh, brittle sound that cracked in the quiet. “Then you are stupid.” Your voice rose, losing its calm. “I am Mangkwan, Neteyam. I am your people’s enemy. How many times must I remind you?”
“I do not care about any of that.” He grabbed your hand, his eyes burning into yours. “I never cared. Not about your clan. Not about your name. Only you.”
An exasperated sigh hissed between your teeth. “Do not make this hard, Neteyam.” Your voice broke, a plea escaping. “You will forget me, trust. This will be a distant memory in the future and yu’ll thank yourself for not taking this seriously.”
He cut you off with an anguished groan, a sound ripped from deep within him. “If I could forget you, I would have done it years ago!” His voice cracked, raw with emotion. “Baby, I am in love with you...”
Tears, hot and sudden, pooled in your eyes at his tone. You loved him. A love so fierce it threatened to consume you. But this was a love you could not allow. You were poison. You would burn him to ash.
“I am to mate Vakrep.” The words echoed in the small space.
His head reared back, as if you had struck him, clawed his face. The fire in his eyes died, replaced by a chilling void. “You can’t possibly do that.” The word was barely audible.
“It is not my choice.” Your voice was thin. “Varang… she decides.” The name was a curse.
“She cannot keep decidinh your life for you!” He gripped your arms, his touch firm. “You must fight. I will fight with you.”
You shook your head, the tears finally spilling down your cheeks. “I cannot. And you must not.” Your breath hitched. “She will hurt Säyim and Kekihe. She has Kekihe now. We haven’t seen her for days.” Your voice rose, a desperate cry. “Neteyam, I know she will hurt her. She’s hurting her. She did it to me when I was small. She hurt me.” Your breathing grew ragged, quick, panicked gasps.
Neteyam watched your face crumple in pain, and then fear, your glassy eyes seem to see nothing but the horror of your childhood flashing before them. His face mirrored the anguish in yours, pulling you into his arms, a tight embrace that stole your breath. Your head burrowed into his shoulder, tears soaking his skin.
“I cannot allow her to hurt Kekihe. This is the only way.”
His hand tangled in your hair, stroking your head. “This isn’t the only way, my love.” His voice was a low rumble against your ear.
You shook your head slowly, a desperate denial. “I am not for you, Neteyam. I am the fire that will burn you to ashes if you don’t let go...”
He tilted his head back, pulling you away just enough to look into your eyes. His gaze was soulful, filled with an unwavering devotion that broke your heart further. “I will burn happily, baby.”
You hugged him then, tighter than you had ever embraced anyone. You clung to him, desperate to stop him from slipping away, to prevent the best thing that had ever happened to you from fleeting, leaving you alone in your dark world. Leaving the rendezvous place, the sacred space that had witnessed moons of your life with Neteyam, was the hardest thing you had ever done.
And now, a different fire crackled before you, its flames mocking your despair. You stared into it, your tears falling, unheard, and swallowed by what you must do. Tonight, you were to mate Vakrep. Tonight, you will lose whatever freedom you thought you have. You wished the fire would consume you, turn you to ash before you could endure such a fate.
Säyim sat beside you, her anguish palpable. Her eyes, red-rimmed and swollen, mirrored your own. The female attendants, their faces impassive, finished arranging your headdress, an elaborate cage of red and sharp fibers.
Säyim tugged at your hand when they left, her touch insistent. Her hands began to sign. You watched her, a knot forming in your gut.
“Kekihe?” you asked, a desperate hope in your voice. She nodded eagerly, her hands moving again, a frantic dance. “I know, Säyim,” you said, squeezing her hands. “That’s why I’m doing this. I will not let Varang hurt her.”
She shook her head, a violent motion, and pointed at you, her signing more urgent now.
“No, she will not be like me.” You tried to reassure her, your voice thick. “I promise you. Varang will not kill me. I will fight. My priority is to protect you and Kekihe, always.”
She shook her head again, frustration twisting her features. Her hands flew, pointing at you, then at herself, then making the sign for death. You watched her, a chill creeping up your spine. You’d seen the sign for death before, but the context…
“My parents?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper. She nodded, tears pooling in her eyes, before making the sign again, insistent. You felt a her fear. “No, Säyim, I will not be like my parents. And Kekihe will not be like me. I will protect her. I promised you.”
She shook her head again, her face contorted in a silent scream. She signed once more, her movements sharp, desperate. You watched carefully, your head tilting as the meaning slowly, chillingly, solidified. When she finished, she stared at you, her eyes pleading, willing you to understand.
You blinked, the world momentarily blurring. “My parents were killed?” She nodded eagerly, her hands signing, a torrent of unspoken words. “Varang?”
She nodded, tears streaming down her face, then she opened her mouth, revealing the raw, jagged scar where her tongue had once been. Your face twisted in horror. The realization and the sheer, brutal truth of it all struck you like a physical blow. You pulled her into a fierce hug, her frail body trembling against yours.
Anger, cold and swift, enveloped you, making you grit your teeth. It surged through your veins, eclipsing all else. You stood, a sudden, fierce resolve hardening your features. You walked to the corner of the yurt, grabbing your double-bladed staff from where it hung against the woven wall. Säyim watched you, fear widening her eyes, but she did not stop you. Not this time.
You burst from the yurt, intent on finding Varang, on tearing her apart. But then, a deafening explosion ripped through the air, shaking the ground beneath your feet. It came from the RDA’s industrial site. You staggered, your fury momentarily forgotten, replaced by alarm. Screams, distant and terrified, echoed. Fire bloomed from the other side of Bridgehead, a hungry orange maw. You were watching in shock when another explosion, closer this time, erupted. You looked up, your eyes scanning the smoke-choked sky. A lone ikran was soaring above the flames.
“Sully’s boy! Sully’s boy!” You heard the shrill of panic from sky peoplw. You saw them, small figures, scrambling, dispatching soldiers on the ground.
Neteyam.
From where you stood, away from the quickly growing fire, your heart drummed hard against your chest as you watched him nock another arrow in a swift, practiced motion. It flew, striking a huge RDA tank, making it erupt in a huge flame, an explosion that rocked the ground. Then, the ikran, with its defiant rider, banked sharply and flew away.
A hand clamped on your forearm. You spun, your eyes locking with Taw’tan, one of the Mangkwan warriors who had shown discontent with Varang’s rule. His face was grim, his eyes wide with urgency.
He tugged at your arm. “Let’s go! Get Säyim!”
Your eyes widened, a breath of horror escaping your lips. Another explosion sent a shower of sparks into the night. The RDA was panicking, soldiers running on foot, fighter jets screaming into the sky.
“No.” You shook your head, pulling your arm free. “You get Säyim! Get her to safety! Get everyone who will come with you to safety.” You met his gaze, your voice firm, absolute. “Kekihe. I will find her.”
He tugged at your forearm again, his grip tight. “We got her. Come with us now!”
You looked at him, surprised. Kekihe was safe? A wave of relief, potent and dizzying, washed over you. But there was no time for questions. Another young warrior, his face streaked with ash, emerged from your yurt, half-carrying Säyim, who was signing frantically, her eyes wide with terror.
“Get them to safety, Taw’tan.” You ordered, your voice sharp, authoritative.
You didn’t wait for his answer. You ran back into your yurt, grabbing your longbow and quiver of arrows. Your divided staff slung across your back. You burst out again, running toward where your ikran waited, agitated by the explosions.
You called to your ikran, a piercing whistle that cut through the din. It flew toward you immediately, a magnificent shadow. You jumped onto its back, making tsaheylu before you beckoned it upward.
The ikran launched into the air, its powerful wings beating against the smoke that managed to hide Neteyam from the sight of RDA pilots. You nocked an arrow, aiming for the closest fighter jet, a monstrous metal bird firing at Neteyam. The arrow flew, finding its mark in its open underbelly. It shuddered, black smoke erupting from its side, then plummeted, ensuring an explosion.
You saw Neteyam then, nocking another arrow toward an industrial site. A fighter jet, its engines roaring, pursued him relentlessly. You nocked another arrow sending it toward the jet. It struck one of its rotors, causing it to spiral into an explosive death. Several Mangkwan warriors on their ikran flew then, too. For a terrifying moment, you thought they were after you. But then, they swooped, targeting RDA tanks. They were on your side.
“Neteyam!” You bellowed, your voice carrying across the wind. You flew closer, noting the ash and red dye streaking his skin, just like yours. You motioned your head toward the dense canopies of the forest below. To cover. To ground.
You flew there, reaching the intricate labyrinth of trees in record time. But a hoard of Mangkwan warriors, their war cries echoing, immediately followed. You and Neteyam dove, flying under the thick canopies, knowing you wouldn’t be able to fight the overwhelming numbers overhead.
“What were you thinking?!” You shouted at him, the wind whipping your words away. You weaved through the giant branches and twisting vines, the forest a blur of green.
Mangkwan warriors, their ikrans screaming, followed, their arrows slicing through the air, forcing you to duck and swerve. Then, you heard another set of war cries, different this time.
“Omatikaya!” Neteyam shouted, his ikran surging, attempting to fly upwards, to meet his kin.
You flew upward, too, but then you heard it. Vakrep’s sick, smug voice, calling your name. Instead of following Neteyam, you maneuvered your ikran, pulling it down, choosing to face him. But Neteyam, seeing your choice, also maneuvered his ikran, circling back down, placing himself between you and Vakrep.
Vakrep’s eyes, filled with a predatory gleam, landed on Neteyam. Surprise, a fleeting flicker, crossed his face. Then rage, when he spotted the choker adorning his neck along with an IFF tag you don’t even know where Neteyam got.
“Neteyam te Suli…” His voice was thick with fury, a guttural snarl. His gaze flicked to you, then back to Neteyam, as if he had just pieced together a grotesque puzzle.
Vakrep lunged on his ikran and Neteyam welcomed his assertion. Their ikran grappled in a swirling dance of fury. But Neteyam managed to unseat Vakrep, pulling him down to the forest floor. Neteyam was taller and bigger in built, his movements stronger. But you knew Vakrep. He was a cheat. Neteyam overpowered him, landing heavy punches on his face. Then, a flash of movement from above alerted you of the coming of a Mangkwan warrior loyal to Vakrep. You saw his arrow aim for Neteyam’s back and you unsheathed your knife, sending it his way, and it flew, burying itself deep in the man’s chest. He crumpled, his longbow falling harmlessly, but the arrow that’s already loosed found its mark in Neteyam’s arm.
He groaned, an animalistic sound of pain and rage. Vakrep found his chance, pushing Neteyam off him and unsheathing his knife to send a blow on Neteyam but you moved, grabbing one of your blades behind you before tackling Vakrep off Neteyam who had just splintered the wood of the arrow lodged in his arm. You held Vakrep by his kuru, wrapping the thick plait around your hand and wrist. Meanwhile, Neteyam was quick to grab a random longbow and arrow, pointing it at Vakrep.
“Put your knife down, Vakrep,” you said, your tone biting. “We will finish this here...”
He put his knife down, spitting blood down at your feet with disdain. “You lay with the enemy, you disgusting whore—”
You kicked the back of his knee, sending him down on his knee, before putting your blade in his throat. “Yes, uncountable times. And it was great,” you snickered, making him thrash against your hold but you tugged at his kuru hard, while Neteyam renewed his hold on the arrow pointed at Vakrep. “Enjoy a warrior’s death.”
You slashed Vakrep’s neck in a clean, brutal cut, hearing him gurgle, a sickening sound, as blood gushed from his throat. You let out a sigh of relief, one that was short-lived because you heard familiar war cries descending from above. You looked at Neteyam, seeing a grimace of pain twisting his features, but he stood straighter, grabbing his weapon at the same time you fixed your blades into a double-bladed staff.
Vakrep, dead at your feet, was the first thing they saw. “Traitor!” One of them said before lunging.
You sifted your hold on the center of your staff, holding it tight before spinning it into a brutal arc to catch the spear of a Mangkwan who charged at you. One of your blades caught the shaft of his spear, knocking it before you spun the other blade to slit at his throat. Before his body even hit the ground, you saw Neteyam moving behind you, dropping low to a avoid a swinging club.
With a sharp thrust of his fist, he delivered a punch-stab to a Mangkwan’s chest, and before pulling the short blade out, he twisted his wrist, ripping his arm outward. The longer blade delivered a sweeping slash to another Mangkwan close to him. It was to your advantage that you know how the Mangkwan fight, some of them even trained under you, and now, when a warrior swung low at Neteyam's legs, you vaulted over the attacker’s crouching form, driving a blade into his shoulder and slicing upward.
Your flank was left exposed, but Neteyam stepped right in, his blade catching the strike meant for your ribs, deflecting it harshly before sinking his weapon into the enemy's side. You moved as one until the Mangkwan warriors fell, one by one, reduced to a heap of corpses.
You stood there, unable to process the carnage, when another hoard of Mangkwan warriors landed. But among them, you saw the familiar faces of those who had sided with you, Taw’tan among them. He eyed Neteyam, his fingers brushing his forehead in polite greeting, something you’ve never seen your people do. He then glanced at Vakrep’s corpse among the heap of Mangkwan corpses before looking at you.
“Säyim and Kekihe are with the women, they are accompanied by Faykir’s crew,“ he told you.
Neteyam beside you spoke for the first time, his voice deep and almost breathless. “Think you can you send a man to their location? I’ll have men get the women and children, take them to safety.”
Taw’tan nodded, turning to Säron. “This is our quickest rider.”
Neteyam nodded, removing an arm band, handing it to Säron. “I’ll send men to the location. Show this to a man named Tormak.”
Säron nodded and walked away, while Neteyam touched something in his neck, speaking to someone in his comms to give his orders. He wasn’t even finish yet when several Mangkwan landed again. You closed your eyes and sighed. When you opened it, you saw Riku, looking at his nephew’s corpse on the ground before his face contorted, a mask of pure, unadulterated rage. Then, Varang appeared, her eyes sweeping over the scene, landing on Neteyam with a chilling curiosity.
“The famed son of Toruk Makto.” Her voice was a silken whisper. She smiled, a predatory curve of her lips, her eyes flicking to you. “You came to take this woman.” She concluded, her gaze settling on you, cold and dissecting. “I wonder what you’ve seen in her. She is weak. She failed her people.”
“I failed no one, Varang.” you spat her name out. “It is you who failed us. Many Mangkwan died because of the RDA, and yet you refused to see. You have been so blinded by ambition and hatred that you’ve lost sight of us! Among us, you are the weak one, refusing to budge and get over a single tragedy, allowing it to control your whole life and dictate what happens to your people!”
She snickered, a rasping sound. “Why would they listen to you? You are a traitor. Just like your parents.” She smiled, a cruel, triumphant twist of her lips.
You watched her, pain piercing your heart. “You killed them.” The words were a whisper.
“Yes, I did.” Her eyes gleamed with cruel satisfaction. “They betrayed me. They were traitors who aided the damned Toruk Makto against my orders!”
“And what is the punishment for an Olo’eykte who betrays her people?” You met her gaze, your voice rising, gaining strength. “Who leaves them to themselves in times of great despair?”
She hissed and her warriors nocked their arrows, aiming at you. But then, the Mangkwan who sided with you, their faces grim, raised their bows. Varang’s eyes snapped up when she heard unfamiliar war cries descending from the air. The Omatikaya, among them Jake and Neytiri, landed behind you. The Mangkwan were outnumbered, and she knew it.
“Leave, or this will end here. And it will not be good for you, Varang,” you said her name in a biting tone. “For everything you did to me and my family, I shall be righteous if I tear you apart.”
Varang watched you, her eyes sharp and full of resigned rage. She hissed and you hissed back. It must have taken so much of her pride to turn away, along with her warriors, and the fear that was overpowered by your anger swam to the surface, sending a tremor in your body. You staggered, the adrenaline draining. Neteyam immediately caught you, pulling you into his uninjured arm, his grip firm and comforting.
“Oh, baby,” he whispered, breathless, hugging you.
“Neteyam, thank you. We owe Y/N the lives of our families. And now, we owe it to you, too.” He looked behind him, at the warriors you had helped in the past, their faces etched with gratitude. “If it’s not too much… we’d ask uturu… only until we could stand on our own. If… if you’ll have us.”
Neteyam seemed to look beyond you, his gaze sweeping over the Mangkwan warriors who had chosen to stand with you. He nodded once, his arm reaching out, gripping forearms with Taw’tan. Taw’tan let out an anguished sound, his arm finding your arm, his head bowing. The other Mangkwan warriors, laying down their weapons, knelt on one knee, bowing to your feet. Taw’tan thanked Neteyam, too, his voice thick with emotion and Neteyam told them to stand, his voice firm but kind.
“Neteyam.” A woman’s voice cut through the air. You looked behind you and saw a slightly older woman, her features striking and resembling Neteyam unmistakably.
“Mother.” He said, his voice softening. You moved away, allowing his mother to embrace him. A slightly older man, tall and broad, walked toward them, too, placing a large hand on Neteyam’s head. He had five fingers, much like Quaritch’s, and you remembered him from the convention.
“We all need to go home. You are wounded.” She told him, her eyes tracing the blood on his arm.
Neteyam nodded, his arm still around your waist, his grip firm, leaving no confusion about why this battle had been fought, or who he had fought it for.
Neteyam, despite his wound, made sure to accompany you to where Säyim and Kekihe are when you all arrived at Hometree. You weren’t expecting the Omatikaya to immediately warm up to you and your people, or expect them to accept your presence here, but you were thankful enough that they were not hostile. Save from some curious looks, and some children getting scared, there were really no violent reactions that you know of.
As you two walk, you saw a little girl approach, jumpy on her toes, her short braids flying in the air. “Neteyam!” Her jolly voice sounded, and when her eyes landed on you, you almost expected the girl's smile to falter but it didn’t. “Some of the Mangkwan are sick, so grandmother had them all receive treatment at her tent. Tsanu is setting up a very large tent, he said it’s temporary but it's where they will sleep!”
Neteyam smiled, putting a hand over the girl’s head. “This is Tuk, my little sister,“ he told you.
You smiled. “Hi, Tuk...” you said and her eyes widened a little before she smile shyly.
“Are you Y/N?” she asked curiously and when you nodded, she practically jumped over to your side and held your hand. “I know where your family is!”
She pulled you up a winding ramp, and honestly, you aren’t really that used to climb trees and you almost lost your footing if only Neteyam weren’t able to catch you. Tuk gestured to a small kelku like it was a gift and when you walked inside, you saw Kekihe and Säyim huddled together. You let out a breathe of relief, especially at the sight of Kekihe.
“Oh, Kekihe,” you ran inside, kneeling to hug the girl who hugged you back tightly, her hand clutching at your arm like she's afraid you’ll disappear. Säyim wrapped her around you two and you sobbed in her arms.
“Aww...” you heard Tuk’s small voice behind you.
A deep, unfamiliar wave of relief washed over you as you hugged them both, meanwhile, Nteyam still stands outside the kelku, still unbothered about his wound that his unyielding figure there catching Säyim’s eyes. She signed. Is he your lover? She meant to say and you chuckled, despite your tears. You nodded silently.
“And I love him, Säyim...” you mumbled, your tears falling.
It is a good thing, to love, she signed. He is a good man, I can tell. Her soulful eyes stared in yours, a reassurance.
You smiled and nodded, knowing that already. After talking with her for more, you walked outside, seeing Neteyam standing there. “Neteyam,” you said in a soft voice, your hand grabbing his forearm. “You are wounded, you should have had this treated already.”
“Yes, right now...” he mumbled. “They are okay?” he asked.
You nodded, tears pooling in your eyes again. You feel like crying all day, just cry all the tears you haven’t cried your whole life. “Neteyam. Thank you.”
He raised a hand, cupping your neck and jaw. “We’ll talk about this once I’m treated,” he said and you nodded.
Later, as candles burned inside the Tsahik’s tent, Neytiri stood outside, her gaze fixed on the quiet form of her son inside. Mo’at, her face etched with a calm wisdom, placed a hand on her daughter’s shoulder.
“Are you certain, Mother?” Neytiri’s voice was a low murmur, still watching her son.
Mo’at’s smile was soft, a knowing curve of her lips. “I have dreamed of it for years, daughter. And you have never seen your son as happy as he has been in these past moons. Eywa could never be wrong.” Her grip on Neytiri’s shoulder pressed, a silent reassurance. “Do you worry, daughter?”
Neytiri let out a sigh, the sound heavy with unspoken thoughts. “It’s just… this isn’t what I imagined.”
Mo’at tilted her head, her eyes twinkling. “And you think Jake Sully is who I imagined for you?”
A small, surprised huff of laughter escaped Neytiri. “That is different, Mother.”
“Is it?” Mo’at questioned, her gaze unwavering. Neytiri met her mother’s eyes, a quiet understanding passing between them.
Days bled quickly. You watched your people shed their old lives by washing away the ash and paint, the symbols of their Mangkwan identity, revealing skin that had not seen the sun in years. Säyim, her hands never idle, joined the Omatikaya weavers, meanwhile, Kekihe quickly found a friend in Tuk. The other Mangkwan found their place. Some hunters joined the Omatikaya hunting parties. While those who wished to be warriors will have to go through the Omatikaya iknimaya.
Kiri, her movements graceful, often sought you out. “Lo’ak, my brother, already found his mate,” she told you one afternoon, as Kekihe and Tuk splashed in a shallow stream nearby. “He lives at Awa’atlu, in the eastern sea.”
You nodded, a faint smile touching your lips. Neteyam had already told you about it. He spoke to you of Awa’atlu, of the Metkayina, and their wise tulkuns.
Kiri smiled as she observed Kekihe’s joyous shrieks as Tuk splashed her. “Tuk took to her quickly. She doesn’t have many children her age to play with here. Now, there are many new children. I’m pretty sure her friend Popiti will love Kekihe, too.”
Your gaze lingered on Kekihe, a warmth spreading through your chest. You should feel content, you thought. Your people were safe, cared for. Kekihe was happy. Yet, a restlessness stirred within you. Neteyam was healing, you knew, but why had he not sought you out? Days had passed. Perhaps, the novelty of the forbidden has worn off. You are afraid it was the case.
The Omatikaya also threw a celebratory feast. The air filled with the rich aroma of roasted meat and sweet fruits. You watched, a lump forming in your throat, as your people danced, their faces alight with genuine joy. Tears pricked at your eyes. This was true happiness, a gift you had never truly known.
Kiri appeared beside you, her voice gentle. “Pey’ra told me you were Tsakarem of your former clan.”
You turned to her. “I hardly am. I just did what I needed to do.”
“But you were their healer. You gave them hope when there was none. And they said they are alive because of you.” She offered you a vibrant forest flower, its petals unfurling like a tiny, colorful fan. “I think you ought to prepare yourself for Mo’at. My grandmother. She is Tsahik of Omatikaya. You will have many meetings with her.”
Your brow furrowed slightly. “What for?” you asked softly, the words barely a whisper.
Kiri’s eyes shifted past your shoulder, a faint smile playing on her lips. She didn’t answer, instead melting away into the throng, heading towards where Tuk and Kekihe now giggled, chasing glowing insects.
A sudden stillness enveloped you and your heart began a slow, heavy thud against your ribs. You didn’t need to turn to know because the air around you had shifted, became more charged. You turned, slowly, and saw Neteyam, his arm bandage wrapped neatly. His eyes, dark and intense, were fixed on you. A lump formed in your throat again.
“Hi,” you croaked, your voice thin. “How are you?”
“Fine,” he said, his voice deeper than you remembered, a touch rough. “Wasn’t so bad.”
You nodded, looking away, suddenly finding the intricate patterns of the Hometree floor fascinating. “Good. That’s good to hear.” You bit your lip, fighting the tremor that threatened to overtake it. Why the distance? Why the delay?
“You?” he asked, his voice softer now. “How are you settling in? Säyim and Kekihe?”
You swallowed, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “Säyim is learning with the weavers. She’s always loved to weave. And Kekihe has found a friend in Tuk.” You glanced at your hands, twisting your fingers together. “My people… some of them are no longer used to a Hometree. Ours was burned by the fire long before some of us were born. But they are learning.”
“That’s great to hear,” he replied.
You looked down at the dancing figures, the vibrant colors blurring. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. You didn’t know what else to say. The awkwardness was a physical weight. The thought, cold and sharp, pierced through you: the novelty has worn off. This is how it ends. After everything.
“I’ll go,” you said, your voice barely audible. “Check on Säyim.”
“Are you avoiding me?” His voice, sharp and accusatory, stopped you mid-turn.
You snapped your head back, indignation flaring. “Why would I avoid you?” you asked, your eyes almost narrowing at his audacity. He’s the one avoiding you!
“I just got here.” His eyes narrowed.
“Yeah. Well, it’s awkward. I don’t think we have anything more to talk about.” Your voice was tight, strained.
He tilted his head, his expression hardening. Now that you truly looked, you saw not detachment, but a simmering anger in his gaze. “You think so?” he asked, his voice low, dangerous. “I think we have so much to discuss.”
Your nose flared. “Oh. You weren’t really acting like it. You have avoided me for days,” you hissed, the words tumbling out. “And don’t tell me you were healing. You are a man too virile to be knocked down by a single arrow on the arm for days. Just tell me if we should start acting like we don’t know each other.”
He took a step forward, his immense height suddenly towering over you. His hand, surprisingly gentle despite the anger vibrating in his body, closed around your forearm. “I was angry with you, baby. Hell, I still am.” His voice was thick with frustration as he pulled you closer.
“Why? I didn’t do anything wrong. In fact, I should be mad at you. You are very stupid, you could have been killed!” you retorted, your teeth gritted.
A giggle drifted from nearby. You glanced over to see a group of teenagers, eyes wide with curiosity, whispering amongst themselves, their gazes flitting between you and Neteyam. He tightened his grip on your hand, pulling you away from the feast, deeper into the Hometree’s winding ramps, until he found a secluded alcove glowing faintly with hanging firepots. He stopped, then turned to face you.
“Then what do you suggest I do, baby? Stay back and let you mate that scoundrel? You truly don’t believe I’d let that happen, do you? I would rather die—”
“Don’t say that!” you hissed, your shoulders slumping. The weight of your past, the chains of Varang’s manipulation, are long behind you. You were free. “I had to do it, Neteyam. My problems are not yours and I mean it when I said you shouldn’t waste your life with me.”
He groaned, his grip on your hand tightening further as he pulled you fully into his embrace. “A life without you is the only one I’ll consider a life wasted.” His voice was a raw whisper against your hair. “I am so in love with you. And to know that you would rather carry your problems and burdens alone instead of sharing it with me is a heavier burden for me. I am here now, do you understand? Your problems and burdens are mine. You are mine.”
Tears welled, hot and stinging. The urge to weep, to collapse into his arms, was overwhelming. To be protected, loved, to have your burdens carried by someone who cherished you so deeply. This was a feeling utterly new, completely foreign. Säyim and Kekihe loved you, yes, but you carried them, protected them. This, this kind of love that allowed you to rest, to simply be… it undid you.
You cupped his jaw, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his cheekbone. You gave him a weak, open-mouthed kiss, and he groaned, a deep, guttural sound. You sniffled, tasting salt on your lips. “I love you, Neteyam.”
His arms tightened around you, crushing you against his chest. His head dipped, finding your forehead, then your lips. “I love you so much, baby. And I see you. I have always seen you.”
You smiled through the hot tears, a genuine, radiant smile. You knew the truth of his words. “I see you, Neteyam.” You pulled back slightly, your gaze locking with his. “And I love you so much.” You rose onto your toes, kissing him again, your arms hooking around his nape, your chest pressing against his. Both your hearts hammered, a frantic, joyous rhythm against your ribs. “Where is your hut?” you mumbled against his lips.
His eyes darkened, but a low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “So we can talk more in private?” He raised a brow, a teasing glint in his gaze.
You pursed your lips, peering up at him with feigned innocence. “Didn’t you say we have lots to discuss? It’s a little loud out here.” You pursed your lips.
He grinned. “Well, since you asked…” He took your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours, and led you up the winding ramps of the Hometree.
In the quiet sanctuary of his hut, he kissed you, softly, lovingly. There was no rush, only the deep connection that hummed between you. His hand cupped your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheek, his eyes soulful as they searched yours. “I want to be your mate, my love. And… I want you to be mine.” His whisper was raw, full of yearning.
You blinked, a fresh wave of tears blurring your vision. Mating in your clan had been a nothing but a means of reproduction or domination. Theirs, you knew, was a sacred bond, witnessed by Eywa herself. And you had known his body, known his touch, the way he made love, the way he pleasured you like a man cherishing his beloved woman.
His hand cradled your face. “I will not force you to worship who I worship. It will take time for you to believe, I know that. But… I want to be truly yours, and you to be truly mine. So please, have me...” The yearning in his voice was palpable, a tangible thing that wrapped around your heart.
Tears pooled in your eyes, brimming, then spilling. “I am yours, Neteyam. You have me.”
He kissed you, your head pillowed on the soft, woven mat. He made love to you, slowly, the connection of your kurus pulsing, enhancing the experience. His mouth muffled your moans, silencing the sounds that threatened to escape. “Shh, baby. People might hear,” he whispered, a chuckle rumbling against your lips.
“But it’s so good,” you whined, pulling him back for another kiss.
The next times were rougher. You felt his earlier anger and frustration, in every thrust, every hard squeeze on your breasts. You bit down on your loincloth, muffling your cries as you lay facedown, his body pressing into yours from behind. You lost count of how many times he claimed you, how many times you surrendered. Even as you drifted to sleep, he was still moving inside you, his lips pressed to your neck.
You woke to the cheerful sound of children’s laughter. A soft smile touched your lips. You heard Kekihe’s voice among them, clear and bright. It felt like a dream, a fragile, beautiful illusion. You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the smooth skin of Neteyam’s shoulder. He stirred, a low groan escaping him, and pulled you closer, his arm tightening around your waist.
“I think they’ll call for breakfast soon,” you murmured, your voice thick with sleep.
“Let’s skip it,” he mumbled, his hand on your shoulder sliding down to knead your round breast, rolling and pinching the pebbled tip.
“I’m hungry,” you complained playfully, a soft gasp escaping you.
He chuckled, his lips pressing against your ear. “I’ll fill your belly up, don’t worry.”
You groaned, the soreness between your legs is not a joking matter. “No thanks,” you said, pushing against his chest. You were still recovering from being pounded on literally just an hour ago, both of you waking up just to fuck and then going to back to sleep again.
Neteyam caught your waist as you tried to roll off the mat, pulling you back, your back slamming against his chest, his lips finding your neck. You shrieked, and then clamped your mouth shut, remembering the children just outside the hut. You bit your lip as you found yourself beneath him again, peering up as his hand hooked under your knees, lifting them, spreading your legs wider.
Suddenly, Tuk’s voice, echoed nearby and you sat up and pulled a blanket over you in record time. Thankfully, she didn't burst inside. “You two should really see this! This is the coolest thing you’ll ever see!”
Neteyam groaned, his head falling back. “She says that all the time.”
You chuckled, kissing his cheek. “We should really get up now.” You moved quickly, dressing yourself, trying to smooth your hair as best you could. He followed you out of the small alcove and into the receiving area of his kelku.
There, you stopped, breathless. Hundreds of atokirina, glowing with an ethereal light, floated in the air, swirling and dancing. Thousands, perhaps, some even drifting gently inside the kelku. From below, you could hear the soft murmurs of the people, watching from the branches, while children chased the glowing spirits with joyous shouts.
You felt Neteyam’s warmth behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you close. He held out a hand, catching an atokirina in his palm, its gentle glow illuminating his face. You watched in awe, never having witnessed such a breathtaking display.
“We have been blessed, my love,” he whispered, his lips pressing a soft kiss below your ear.
You reached out, catching one in your own palm, its tiny light pulsing softly. You smiled, a deep, profound sense of peace settling over you. A promise of a new beginning.
Below, Neytiri, Mo’at, and Jake watched the spectacle unfold.
“They have been blessed, Jake,” Neytiri said, a radiant smile on her face.
Jake blinked, looking at his mate, then back at the floating lights. “What? Did they mate… there?”
Neytiri smacked his arm, her eyes widening in mock outrage. “You don’t say that! To anyone, at all!”
Jake rubbed his arm where Neytiri smacked him. “I didn’t know the atokirina could float this high...” he said innocently.
“Nothing is impossible in Eywa’s grace, children,” Mo’at said, her smile serene, her gaze fixed on the two figures silhouetted against the glowing spirits.
I got so insanely carried away, but again, I just cannot write a short story. I also never write smut so stfu (ᵕ≀ ̠ᵕ ). There will absolutely be mistakes, this isn't entirely proofread, and I cba rn so I'll do it later.
Summary: Duty weighs heavy when the clan expects you to stand shoulder to shoulder with the one you’ve spent years convincing everyone you loathe. Your father is the clan’s greatest warrior, closest friend to the Olo’eyktan, and their bond sealed your fates together long before you could draw a bow. You grew up running wild with the Sully children but the flawless eldest son always seemed to shadow your every step and you’ve perfected the scowl reserved only for him. The clan believes it and they accept your envy. Everyone except the parents who watch with quiet amusement, because they see what you both still refuse to name.
Or in which; you’re the warrior’s daughter, bound by expectation to the perfect future leader you claim to hate. You insist it’s true and everyone believes you. Except, parents always know their children best.
enemies to lovers, holy slowburn, slight soulmates (but not really?), childhood rivals, forced proximity, aged up Neteyem, so much smut!!! as always, my terrible gramma
Your composure is a facade. He knows it.
He knows it because he sees it.
In the way your scowl falters just a fraction as you swirl colorful insults through velvet words and he finally bites back. In the way you push against him when he even tries to offer his help – because the basket you’re lugging looks absurdly full, and yet you still let him walk you the rest of the way to the village.
You snarl at him when he even attempts to correct your bow arm, and it used to make him flush with something sharp and ugly – envy, maybe? – because you didn’t have a problem with authority, he knows because you seem to take his fathers criticism’s just fine. When anyone else rectified you, you adjusted.
It was only ever a him problem.
Because when he corrected you, you hissed at him like his correcting hand was tipped with arrowheads and poisonous herbs.
You had a problem with Nateyam.
As a teenager, it used to irk him to no end. Because as the firstborn son of the Olo’eyktan, he was meant to carry himself like the leader he would one day become, like an authority the clan respected without question and trusted to guide them through storm and calm alike. Yet the one thing expected of him above all else, the one duty his father never let him forget, was simpler and far more aggravating.
He was supposed to get along with you.
You – the daughter to the clan's most formidable warrior, his fathers right hand man.
You – who did not listen. Who did not trust him. Who always – always – questioned him.
It may as well have been written in the stars by Eywa herself that the two of you were fated to fold neatly into the same position as your father’s. And yet you resisted with every breath possible.
You rebelled, and scowled, and cursed at the mere mention of his name. You made it clear you wanted nothing to do with the Olo'eyktan's first born despite your role, and that made it so exceedingly hard to get along with you. It left his skin flushing that embarrassingly dark purple colour which made his mother chuckle whenever he spoke of you.
He tried to make sense of it. Of the way you rolled your eyes at his advice, or scowled when the two of you were paired in training once again and he couldn’t recall doing anything wrong. Not really.
You fought as normal children had, argued and competed as two eldest children to high-ranking parents would, but never with anything sharp enough to leave a lasting wound.. Nothing that should have haunted him like this.
However, he wasn’t a young boy anymore and time had an ironic way of sanding things down. He noticed what once felt like a raw hatred you wore like a book written in some foreign sky-language, suddenly became much more legible as his years grew to start with a two, almost as if he learned how to annotate his memories of you with the clarity he lacked as a teen.
One in particular he remembers most vividly. That evening by the central fire, where you were seated opposite him, and the air still carried the echo of that afternoon’s argument. He sat closest to the basket of ripe utumauti fruits, something he always recalled being your favourite through the years of shared meals, and he remembers the way it sat just beyond your reach on the woven mat.
When you asked for it low and casual, he didn’t think twice. Of course he picked it up and of course he leaned forward to pass it, because why would he not? He sat the closest, and both your siblings and his own had been too occupied in animated conversations with each other to notice.
He also remembers the way you had slapped his hand away with a guttural scoff, almost as if he was utterly ridiculous for even offering. The sting on both his knuckles and his pride had his brows furrowing instantly and that familiar anger, the kind only you could kindle so effortlessly, surged hot beneath his skin once more.
But it was only when the soft snickers rose from nearby – his mother and yours, seated side by side and watching the exchange with far too much interest –that he noticed.
You had still taken the basket.
“Hey!” He remembers the way your fathers voice cut from just to the left, “Play nice.”
And he’d assumed, as always, that your father was less than impressed at his daughter’s rude manners toward the Olo’eyktan’s son. But the reprimand softened almost immediately, chased by a low chuckle that started only after Jake failed to hide a snort of his own beside him.
The two men were already leaning into one another, shoulders touching, Jake’s head tipped low as one hand, holding a piece of half bitten meat hung limply by his mouth, trying and failing to hide his laughs through a mouthful of food.
The nudges of your sister's elbow into your side was the last thing he remembered noticing, sharp and mocking but quickly followed by the look you shot her. It was a silent warning in that strange language he’d never understood as a boy – the one you did with your eyes alone, but one he was now, uncomfortably, starting to. Because you ate your fruit without ceremony, eyes trained forward and stubbornly refusing to drift his way, yet the basket sat firmly in your hands all the same.
That was when Neteyam stopped letting it irk him. When he realised why everyone else around him seemed to find that mean spirit you reserved only for him so humorous, despite his distress. You were composed, yes, but he finally understood why.
Your composure was a lie.
And once it stopped irking him, once it settled into something he thought he understood, all the memories of you persistently adorning that scowl that seemed to exist only for him suddenly lost their bite. For a moment he felt like he had maybe started to figure you out.
But recently, something had changed, subtly at first, then all at once. What was once harmless irritation had suddenly sharpened into something more volatile. You didn't just brush him off anymore, you snapped before he'd even opened his mouth, and flinched away the moment he so much as reached to steady the basket. It was as if every breath he took was a disruption, and his presence had become something you could no longer tolerate in silence.
That mean spirit wasn't funny anymore, because now it was relentless.
Which was why, standing across from you now, he didn’t brace for your signature fang baring scowl. He expected it in a way that made him sigh with knowing fatigue, and yet a little bit of smugness all the same.
“Why must you always be so difficult?” The words surfaced in that defeated tone he reserved only for you and your impertinence for him.
Your body shifted back and you leaned against your heels to glance over your shoulder at where he stood behind you. You were still kneeling over the stump of braided vines you had been meticulously shredding into winding fibres with your knife.
“I am not.” And there it was – that scowl he expected. It twisted your face into that familiar snarl, upper lip curling to flash the set of fangs he saw more than his own. “You just insist on hovering.”
“We were sent out here to collect fibre together. You ‘insist’ on making it a one man job.”
You didn’t look at him again, instead, turning back to the vines where your blade already resumed its steady work, as if his presence were nothing more than a distraction.
“I do not need a partner to cut fibre,” Your response was flat as if it were such an obvious observation, and then you sighed, a long drawn out exhale to yourself. “So ridiculous.”
The scoff that followed was harsh and hidden under your breath.
Despite its low delivery, the sound didn't slip Neteyam’s ear, and he raised an unassertive brow at what he thought he heard, the corner of his mouth tipping low in confusion. “What is?”
His confusion hit you like a sudden gust of wind, and with a growl that spoke as if you couldn't believe he dared asking, you quickly shot up with a whirl, tail whipping fast with a force Neteyam had to step back to avoid. You were facing him completely, now.
“That our fathers insist on sending us out here together like we are still little children. I do not need a partner and I certainly do not need any partner of mine to be you.”
The words landed harsher than the scowl ever could. For a moment he only stared at you, really observing your features twisted with perplexed anger, yet comically softened by what he could only describe as a pout in your lip. He took in the way your stance squared and the way your grip curled around the knife with agitated force.
You may not think you acted like one, but great mother, you looked like a child right now.
“Right, you are not a child.” He said at last, voice level. “But maybe our fathers would not feel the need to treat you like one if you stopped acting as one.”
“Excuse me?”
The grip on your knife tightened, handle creaking under the pressure of your grasp that almost splintered the wood. The corner of your mouth twitched up once again in that scowl that bared the top of your right fang to his watchful eyes, and your tone was so even it almost made him falter.
Neteyam held his ground, though. And instead, he replied carefully in an attempt to diffuse that constantly building tension just a little.
“You make an enemy of me in everything we do, as if we haven’t been paired together since we were barely old enough to hold a blade. If you wish to be met as an adult, you cannot bare your teeth at every word spoken to you, Fang.”
That age old nickname rolled like honey off his tongue but struck your ears and curdled into venom. Your fists curled so tight your claws bit crescent marks into your palms, and the muscles along your jaw tightened until you felt the throb of it.
Fang. You despised when he called you that. The way he reduced you to nothing but the sneer he so often deserved.
With a slow drawn out breath that carried no warmth, you bared the edge of a laugh that held no humour, letting your mocking reply land bitter and sour on your tongue.
“Perfect Olo'eyktan's son, always so composed and responsible. Maybe I would enjoy my time with you more if Eywa hadn’t shaped you so stiff in the tail you forgot how to bend, Tawtute.”
For a heartbeat, the words hung between you like a knocked bowstring waiting to snap with release. Then Neteyam’s jaw tightened, because he always hated when you commented on the human in him, as if it made him less Navi. Less than you.
A Tawtute, a sky-person, as if it were an insult. Spoken like a curse, when all he’d ever done was try to prove it wasn’t.
He let the silence stretch a moment longer, before taking one deliberate breath to regulate his reeling thoughts, choosing to ignore your bait. Low hanging fruit as his father would call it.
“You forget how many times that stiffness kept you from getting hurt.”
You turned back toward the vines with a scoff, knife biting down harder than before. The fibres split unevenly, curling away beneath the force of your hands. “I do not need to be helped by someone who can barely hold their bow arm high enough to knock an arrow. I do not listen to you.”
“Yes,” Neteyam scoffed a humorless laugh, “you never do.”
He sank down into a squat then as well, finally turning his attention to the pile of finished fibres you had shoved aside. His hands were quick to gather a few filaments between his pointer and thumb, testing the strands between the fingers as he twisted the two together, before giving them a short, sharp tug. They held for one, and held for another as he stretched them further, then finally faltered with a snap as he pulled them taught enough.
His mouth twitched down.
“You cut angry,” He observed with a growl. “Uneven. Wasteful.”
You spun once more, this time in your squatted position to meet him at eye level, the knife still gripped between your four fingers almost as a threat. “You waste them with your stupidity! Of course they break when you only weave two fibres!”
“They need to be thick enough for bowstrings, to hold knocked arrows in new bows.” He countered.
You sneered with a slight hiss, leaning further into him. “Then don’t use them.”
“Oh no, I will.” He smirked, as he finally began his job, looping the fibres together, securing them with practiced ease. “Someone has to make sure we don’t come back empty-handed.”
You shot him a glare. “I said I do not need your-”
“You do not need my help,” He finished for you, clearly way too amused now. “I know. You have said it at least five times since we left the clearing.”
He leant closer as he spoke, not directly into your space, but just enough that you had to shift your stance to keep working without him intruding. His looming shadow falling over the stump you worked on, over your hands and the blade that suddenly seemed to falter under a different kind of pressure now.
“And yet,” he continued, eyes never leaving the strands as he calmly coiled the fibres, “you keep cutting while I bind. Funny how that works.”
You stopped your movements, sending him a glare out the side of your eye, one that had your lashes feeling heavy and jaw slightly agape.
“Get out of my way.” You spat, but it was as if you couldn’t convey the weight of anger you meant to land. Your tone was weak and almost a little desperate.
“You always rush when you are angry,” he ignored your demand - if it could even be called that - with a tone that was almost conversational. “Your tail gives you away.”
Your eyes flashed with the realisation that he had even been looking long enough to notice your tells, and your cheeks suddenly flared with something warm and hot that turned you purple.
“Stop watching me, Tawtute.” This time your voice really did sound desperate.
“I can’t. You make it difficult.”
You were close enough to see the faint curve of that infuriating smile he loved to wear, and to feel the heat of him radiating that smug confidence he wore like a headpiece.
Years of success at keeping him as far away as one could be from someone they worked with on a near daily basis, you felt had suddenly dwindled into an endless array of interactions where he always managed to dominate the conversation. Reduced to this. To the way he always stood too close now, and spoke too smugly, as if he had suddenly decided that he finally had you all figured out.
Despite your lack of response, he broke the silence, voice dipping just enough to grate, “You know, for someone who insists she doesn’t listen to me, you react an awful lot when I speak.”
“Because you are provoking me!” You snapped in a low growl.
“You glare like you are about to strike me." He replied, entirely too amused.
“Lucky I am working, because you would deserve it if I did.” The words landed like a pathetic cry, and suddenly it felt like you were deficient of every insult you had ever known, reduced to the same childish fury you’d sworn you’d outgrown.
“Oh are you? Would not have guessed, with the way you are looking at me like a Yerik in the firelight.”
Eywa, if you didn’t look angry before.
“Neteyam!”
This time, you hissed it like a venomous mantra, fangs bared and legs snapping up to your full height as you leaned into his space, close enough to let the words bite the air. Your ears pinned sharp against your braids, and his jaw set as he met your glare without yielding, tension pulling tight between you like that drawn bowstring–
“Oh good, you’re fighting again.”
A sudden unexpected third voice had both your heads spinning towards the break in the clearing just a few yards East, where a very unimpressed Lo’ak tread carelessly down the path with a barely-contained giggling Kiri besides him. Kiri moved with a balled fist pressed against her pursed mouth, supported by an arm crossed along her chest in an attempt to hide her amusement.
“It’s more like flirting again.” The words Kiri muttered were small and meek but Eywa, if they didn’t hit large.
Both you and Neteyam froze at the intrusion, then stilled at the implication, a beat passing before you each stepped back in the same beat of time. He rose to his feet far too quickly besides you, your eyes blown wide in something too closely resembling horror, while Neteyam merely rolled his, tired and resigned, straightening back into the perfect son like it was second nature once more.
“Stop being a skxawng, Lo’ak–.”
“–We are not flirting, Kiri.”
The words collided in the air, yours to Kiri a hiss and his to Lo’ak a sigh, overlapping with a defensive tilt that had the other two chuckling harder.
Lo’ak’s mouth twitched. “Wow." He stated. “Touched a sensitive nerve.”
And Neteyam, the all mighty responsible son he is, didn’t reach for the bait Lo'ak hung so low for him, instead, he crossed his arms with a sigh at his unexpected presence. “What are you doing here?”
The answer came before either of them could speak, as a sudden fifth voice came echoing from the brush of leaves. A small, blurred figure soon came dashing out of the tree scape, making a b-line straight to the centre of the clearing in a full stumbling sprint. She was headed directly towards where you stood in a pout next to Neteyam.
“Dad said to come get you two because you’re taking too long!”
Kiri and Lo’ak's eyes grew wide. And with a quick exchanged glance of horror, at the same time they barked. “Tuk!”
But she ran right past them, as if their voices fell silent to the wind.
Lo’ak lunged forward, catching her by the arm just before she could skid to a stop at your feet. The glare he sent her sharp and immediate enough to make her shrink in on herself, ears drooping as she braced for the scolding she knew was soon to come.
“Dad told us to come get them,” He corrected, gesturing between himself and Kiri. “That wasn’t an invitation to follow.”
Tuk's round eyes glint up with that innocent reasoning you just couldn't deny, her pupils glossing over as she pouted heavy in protest and twisted her head to look at you and Neteyam.
“But Dad said you’ve been out here alone long enough!”
Tuk protested, twisting free of Lo’ak’s grip with a determined wriggle and darting straight to you. The moment she was within your range, she grabbed your forearm with both of hers, tugging urgently as she looked up with those wide, worried eyes.
“He told mom that if you and Neteyam keep fighting like this, you’ll probably end up at the Tree of Souls by tonight!” She paused, then her voice pitched higher with pure betrayal. “But you can’t! You promised you’d help me braid my new beads tonight!”
For a heartbeat, the clearing went unnervingly still. You stared still as stone down at Tuk, mortification burning hot beneath your skin at the implication that flew right over her head but knocked you right up yours instead. And besides you, Neteyam fared no better, looking as if the world had briefly knocked him off balance too, His eyes widening just enough to betray him before he could pull himself back together.
In stark contrast just a ways away, Lo’ak let out a sharp bark of laughter, doubling over with his grip on Kiri's arm, just as she finally outright lost the battle she’d been silently fighting, turning away from the set of two dazed and angered eyes with a hand clamped over her mouth.
She shook with quiet, uncontrollable cackles, restraint entirely gone, fed by the matching looks of mortification plastered across both your faces. The two of you looked ridiculous.
And Tuk, sweet innocent Tuk, oblivious to the chaos her words had detonated in the once silent clearing, glared up at Neteyam's shell-shocked face with furrowed brows and that pouty sneer.
“Stupid Neteyam.” She declared, voice ringing with righteous indignation. “You can’t take Y/N anywhere tonight. Eywa heard it - she’s with me today!”
She punctuated the proclamation with the scrunch of her nose and a quick, defiant flick of her tongue, poked in his direction.
For a split second, Neteyam only stared at her, still caught somewhere between the weight of what had just been said and the very real presence of his little sister. Then he blinked, jaw tightening as the annoyingly-older brother instinct finally won out over shock. With a sharp, almost automatic motion, he reached out and pinched her tongue between his fingers. An act that had Tuk squealing and flailing in protest.
“Oi!” Tuk yelped, recoiling instantly, clutching her tongue with a gasp.
Neteyam let the sound settle before he spoke. He shot you a brief, weary glance, as if checking whether you’d reacted at all, then turned back to his sister, composure sliding firmly back into place. His voice level and measured with a delicate care he reserved specifically for her.
“That is entirely enough out of you. Someone needs to give you a lesson about eavesdropping." He glanced back at his brother and sister, motioning a hand to the two still giggling. "Time to take you home before we all get scolded.”
Tuk’s ears drooped immediately, shoulders curling inward as she shifted her weight from foot to foot, fingers still hovering protectively near her mouth. She opened her lips as if to argue, then thought better of it, gaze flicking between Neteyam and the ground with exaggerated remorse.
That was when Kiri scoffed, the tension finally cracking as ahe straightened, still grinning as she shouted. “He's right, you’ve caused enough trouble. Come on, teylupil.”
She didn’t wait for her to comply, instead walking to grab her, planting two steady hand on each of her shoulders, then began steering her away with decisive finality, already turning her toward the path before she could wriggle free.
“But I didn’t do anything!” Tuk protested.
“Tell it to dad.” Kiri laughed.
Tuk craned her neck back toward you one last time as Kiri dragged her away, voice pitching higher with urgency. “Y/n, don’t forget my hair-!”
“I know,” you cut in quickly, the words tossed over your shoulder like a promise already made as the two disappeared down the winding path in a lingering bicker.
Lo’ak remained a heartbeat longer. His gaze flicking between you and Neteyam, something quiet and knowing glinting behind his eyes as his mouth twitched with barely restrained amusement.
You caught it quickly, and shut it down even quicker, face smoothing into neutrality as you turned away, dropping back into a crouch before the stump as if nothing had been disturbed in you.
“We will collect the threads and follow.” Your voice came out flat and deliberately ungiving, spoken without the fault or fracture he was clearly waiting to see. Whatever reaction they had hoped to draw out of you never came, instead, your expression smoothed into something unreadable, as if nothing at all had happened in the last few minutes.
When he didn't get it from you, Lo’ak redirected his attention to Neteyam with a long, assessing look. He was waiting for the reaction you refused to give, and when he found nothing but the faint quirk of Neteyam’s mouth, he huffed a quiet laugh and finally began his own descent toward the start of the winding path back to the village.
“Dad’s pissed.” He called over his shoulder. “Try not to be too long.”
The brush swallowed him soon after as well, laughter and murmured whispers dissolving into the low hum of the forest. And then the clearing fell still again.
You let out a slow breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, shoulders rolling as the tension finally bled off. Remembering yourself, you turned back to the stump, your hands moved quickly now, rough and efficient, gruffly snatching clumps full of fibre from the scattered pile. You stuffed them into the woven basket Neteyam had brought, as if keeping busy might quiet everything still coiled tight beneath your skin.
For a moment, Netayem watched. It almost seemed like that armored composure of yours was taut as rigid as usual, as if nothing in the last five minutes had made you falter for even a moment. To anyone else, maybe, it did appear as so, but he knew you well enough to see the way your jaw clenched so tight he’d envisioned you cracking a molar, and the harsher than necessary grip in your fingers as you haphazardly tossed the fibre around. Not to mention the stutter in your tail’s path, the tell he’d learned long ago as the one that always surfaced when you were lying.
It left him releasing a chuckle he couldn't contain, a deep, rumbling sound which made your ears twitch sideways in annoyance. You paused in your frantic movements, head snapping to the side in a motion which left your glowing amber eyes glaring daggers at his towering form.
“What?” You spat, tired, irritated and painfully obvious to him – embarrassed.
“Still upset about what Kiri said?"
Your jaw clenched, fangs peeking as you whipped fully around to face him, rising to your full height at the implication. The basket thumped forgotten at your feet as the tension tipped to a peak beyond your capacity, and you stalked towards him with an almost predatory sway.
"I am not angry about that ridiculous–” You cut yourself off, taking a moment to collect the basket off the ground, along with a breath of humid air, allowing it to sit in your lungs before releasing in a desperate attempt to somewhat self-regulate. “Do not flatter yourself, Tawtute. Flirting? With you? I'd sooner make Tsaheylu with a thanator."
His eyes gleamed with mischief, but it wasn’t the boyish, innocent kind he wore when messing with his siblings. This one was the kind he wore only where you were involved, deliberate and cocky, slipping neatly beneath the cracks in your composure because he knew where to press.
The careful, responsible mask he wore all the time loosened just enough to reveal the tease underneath, a glimpse of something warmer and far more dangerous than his jabs at you ever were. He didn’t crowd you with his body so much as he crowded you with his unyielding certainty, leaning in just the smallest amount, voice dropping into something that felt like it belonged in the a dark room rather than under the open light of tree canopies.
“Funny,” He murmured, and Eywa, the way he said it made your spine want to curl. “Your tail is flicking like it does when you lie. And you react so much when I get close, almost as if... as if you enjoy it.”
Heat hit you so fast it was humiliating, up your neck, across your cheeks, down your chest - anger and something you refused to name twisting together until you couldn’t tell which was which. Your hand shoved into his chest on instinct, a firm press meant to reassert space, meant to remind him you were not something to be read and teased apart like the vines beneath your knife.
But his skin under your palm was solid and warm, his breath even, his posture maddeningly steady. You hated that he didn’t move. You hated that the push didn’t become a shove, that your body betrayed you with restraint and a split-second hesitation that had nothing to do with strength. Your pulse seemed to jump when he watched you like this.
“Back off,” You snapped instead, aiming for venom and getting something too light, too strained. You lifted your chin as if height alone could restore your pride. “I do not enjoy anything about you hovering like a skxawng who thinks he is Eywa’s gift to the clan.”
You couldn’t handle it anymore, the way his eyes bore into yours like they read every thought, so you moved to leave the clearing, to be as far away from him as can be.
Neteyam didn’t move. His eyes stayed locked on yours, unblinking, the gold in them catching the filtered light until they looked almost feral. The smirk was gone and in its place was something colder as he took one slow step forward, crowding you until the basket handle dug into your hip and the scent of him, warm skin, crushed leaves, the faint sweat from the summer heat, filled every breath.
“Gift?” He repeated, voice quiet and flat, the kind of quiet that made your spine prickle. “I am the one stuck dragging your half-finished work back to the village every time you storm off. That sound like a gift to you?”
Something in his words snapped the tension in a way that almost had a stifled laugh escaping you. The image of perfect Neteyam, future Olo’eyktan, the ever-responsible son, trudging behind you with a basket full of your messy fibers and a everpresent moping frown to match struck you as absurdly funny considering he was the one who always offered to do it anyways. That short, sharp laugh escaped before you could stop it, low and mocking, cutting through the thick air between you.
“Poor you.” You sang, voice dripping with false sympathy as the anger flipped into something crueler and entirely more enjoyable. “All that dragging must be so exhausting for such meek shoulders to carry.”
His eyes narrowed, the feral glint sharpening into irritation, but you were already moving. You jerked the basket from where it pressed against your hip and shoved it hard into his front, the woven edge leaving him doubling slightly from the sudden jab to his ribs, a smack that landed with a satisfying thud.
A few loose fibers fluttered to the ground as he stumbled back a few steps and caught the basket on reflex, fingers curling tight around the rim. The motion finally giving you the space you longed to breathe once again.
“Except, you came here knowing you were going to do it anyways. So, there,” You said, stepping back with a grin that showed too many teeth. “Problem solved. You can carry it all the way home anyways, like the dutiful son you are. Try not to strain yourself complaining about it later.”
Neteyam’s jaw clenched hard enough that you could see the muscle jump beneath his skin, his ears pinning back flat against his skull. The feral edge in his eyes flared hotter, and for a second you thought he might actually snap, toss the basket aside and give you the fight you both pretended you didn’t want.
Instead, he gripped the handle tighter, knuckles paling and barked, “Fnawe’tu skxawng!”
The insult landed far too humorously for you to care, Instead you tilted your head back with an overly delighted smirk, very amused by his irate slurs and the way his facade cracked. “You call me the stubborn idiot? But you carry the basket anyway. Funny how that works?”
He exhaled through his nose, blood boiling at the way you managed to throw his earlier words back at him. The sound was almost a growl, and he took one deliberate step onto the path after you. “Start walking, Fang. The sooner we get back, the sooner I am rid of you for the day.”
“Perfect!" You grinned, but the grin quickly dropped. "Twelve whole hours before you find another excuse to follow me around tomorrow.”
You barely glanced back to see if he was following when you took off towards the village, because you already knew he was.
The clearing was loud with voices and laughter, bodies packed close as food and weapons were passed around in uneven circles, and it felt like the whole village had decided to breathe in the same place at once.
Someone had dragged a fresh kill in not long ago and the smell still hung in the air, mingling with roasted meat, crushed herbs, and the faint sting of smoke from the fire that kept getting fed as if it might swallow the night. Nets of fruit were being unknotted and handed off, cups passed between hands, blades checked and re-sheathed in the same idle rhythm people used when they were safe enough to relax but still too wound up to sit still.
You were wedged between a few of your friends near the edge of one of the many circles, packed close enough that their shoulders kept bumping yours when someone laughed too hard or shifted in their seat. Ki’tiri had been retelling an exaggerated recall of her day on patrol, her eyes gleaming with irate exasperation as she animatedly spoke of the moment Lo’ak decided to start throwing stones out of boredom, nearly nailing Mo’at on the head from the overhang.
Tuk sat too. She had found you the moment you settled onto the woven mat, darting straight to your side to claim her usual spot and spend her evening meal with you instead of her siblings or friends. It's something that had become so common during communal mealtimes that your friends had come to expect the young Sully girl attaching herself to your side like a second tail. It was as if the decision had been made somewhere in her head and the rest of the world simply had to accept it, and now she perched happily at your side like she belonged there.
Her small hand gripped your wrist with the possessive certainty only children had, and she fidgeted with the jewels decorated across your fingers, twisting the woven strands carefully as if she were inspecting treasure. The beads you’d braided fresh not even a few weeks before clinked softly each time she moved, and every now and then she would lean her head against your arm and sigh, pleased with herself like she’d taken down a Thanator.
“Will you make these for me too?” She asked – more like stated – for what had to be the third time tonight, thumb brushing the tiny knotwork with awe.
“When you stop trying to steal mine..” You murmured back, and she grinned, utterly unbothered by the threat.
You let yourself settle into it for a moment, letting the noise wash over you because it was easier than thinking after long days training, because nights like this were meant to feel simple and unwinding. You were halfway through listening to your friend complain about yet another act of stupidity Lo’ak had attempted on their patrol together, when Tuk’s fingers suddenly stilled on your ring, halting and tightening hard enough that the movement forced you to glance down at the girl with a concerned furrow of your brow.
“What?” You muttered, eyeing her of an answer before she spoke it.
Tuk’s eyes flicked past you toward the centre of the clearing, eyeing something in the distance that left you searching the vicinity in hopes of catching the focus of her gaze. Her mouth fell slightly, an almost angered look settling across her face before she scoffed, turning back to you in a huff that had her drawing closer.
“Neteyam is with that noisy woman again. An’aya.”
She spat the name in that high-pitched mocking tone children did, and at first, you didn’t react. Not outwardly, at least. But something in your chest tightened all the same, small and sadistic, as if it even mattered at all.
You followed Tuk’s gaze without meaning to, your eyes slipping past the firelight and moving bodies until they found him almost instinctively. Neteyam sat just beyond the centre of the clearing, leaned back against a stack of supply crates, relaxed in the way you only ever saw when he was amongst people he trusted, his shoulders were loose and his attention tilted toward the woman beside him.
An’aya was speaking animatedly, hands moving as she spoke and laughed so easily, and Neteyam had angled himself toward her without thinking, one knee bent beside his chest, head dipped slightly so he could hear her better over the noise.
It irked you. And it irked you more that it even irked you in the first place. Because you hated him. You told yourself it irked you because you hated that he was enjoying himself. Right. Of course.
But the irritation still sat heavy and ugly in your chest, coiling tighter the longer you watched, and you hated that too, hated that your attention wouldn’t let it go, and that your mood had soured so fast despite being so fine just a moment ago.
There was no reason for it. None that made sense. You hated that stuck up tawtute more than anyone else and you argued with him so much you made a sport out of it. So why did your chest tighten when he didn't brush away the hand she put on his shoulder?
Tuk noticed the shift in your mood right away. Her nose wrinkled as her grip tightened again and she leaned in closer, glaring openly now.
“I don’t like her,” she muttered, voice fierce and final. “She talks too much. And she sits too close to Neteyam. And she laughs at his jokes even when they’re not funny.”
You attempted for even a minuscule moment to draw yourself back, to brush it away and forget it ever made you feel anything by resorting to your usual self regulation habits – insulting the man.
“Nothing Neteyam says is funny.” But not even that seemed to work to calm you because that irrationally confusing feeling still clawed at your chest.
“That’s not true,” Tuk called out immediately, tilting her small face up at you with those wide eyes. “You laugh at him all the time! Just not when he’s looking.”
She leaned in closer, voice dropping into something hurt and almost bordering a whine. “He’s supposed to sit with us.”
“That is not how this works.” You snapped the reply too quick, eyes diverting from the scene to pick up another piece of utumauti fruit as if it never bothered you.
Tuk’s eyes rolled at the response she should have predicted. She never understood why you acted so weird about it, when it was obvious to her that you liked her brother - because that was just what people did when they liked someone. They got weird and sharp and pretended they didn’t. She didn't see it elswhere often, but she knew it because that was what you and Neteyam did.
Your friends had gone quiet at the sudden stir occurring just beside them. Ki’tiri quickly noticed the shift in your mood and tilted her head, studying you now with open curiosity.
“Why are you angry?” She cut in plainly. “Did he do something again?”
“No." You replied stark. “How could he? Neteyam is all the way over there.”
Ki’tiri exchanged a quick, knowing glance with the friends beside you. “I didn't even mention his name." And the corner of her mouth lifted as a chorus of light giggles sung around the circle.
You answered with a quick, harsh warning glare, a motion that had the laughs slowly dying but the smiles still lingering in a knowing gleam. Ki’tiri leaned in again, allowing you the dignity of ending her teasing, feeling almost a little bad at how astoundingly purple you looked.
"You’re getting upset,” She stated simply and not unkindly. “You do that only where Neteyam is involved.”
“I am not upset.” But you were too far maddened for that to be convincing. “And he is not involved. I have been sat here, and he has been there this entire time.”
The lie hung heavy and brittle as you clicked your tongue. Tsk.
"Yeah, sat with that healer girl." Mikatxi interjected low and humoured.
Your chest tightened, sharp and sudden, like the threads Neteyam pulled too taut in the woods and before you could bite it back, the denial tore out of you, louder than intended and edged with fury.
“I do NOT care who he sits with!” You hissed, voice cracking on the volume. “He can sit in her lap for all the stars in the sky care! I would not notice if Eywa herself told me!”
“Seems like you do…”
“—What is going on!?”
The voice carried across the fire, calm but accusatory, and edged with something that made the fine hairs along your arms rise. In your bladed fury, you let your voice spike too high and missed the one pair of eyes that had locked onto you from beyond the fire.
Neteyam hadn’t stood, he hadn’t even moved from his spot. But he had leaned forward with a watchful, almost concerned eye, braids swinging low and hand hanging off his elevated knee as he observed with what you knew was that stupidly disingenuous concern.
The way he intervened like he was already rehearsing for Olo’eyktan burned you, as if he believed he could snuff out any simmering flame with his big, proud words simply because his blood said so.
And that wasn’t even half your problem. The problem was that An’aya followed his gaze immediately, curiosity sparking as she turned to see what had drawn his attention, blinking and glancing between the two of you, clearly lost by why he interrupted her mid sentence.
That alone was enough to make your teeth grind. Because what was your relationship with that skxawng any of her business?
“We’re fine.” You called back, sharper than necessary, your eyes not even bothering to glance his way once. “Try having your own conversations instead of monitoring everyone else, tawtute.”
Neteyam’s mouth tightened just slightly at the insult, a breath leaving him slow and measured as if he were counting to three in his head. He didn’t rise, not yet. Only tipped his chin and let a quick “Eywa help me,” fall to the air before pushing himself to his feet at last.
He crossed the space between you in a way that had your fist tightening in anticipation for yet another argument, only fueled by the image of An’aya hot on his heels like a second tail of his own, close enough to the boy that it felt intentional whether it was or not. Tuk sat up, planting herself more firmly at your side like a guard animal half her size.
“I said we are fine,” you warned as he stopped in front of you.
Your friends ogled at the two of you, already bracing for the next round of your endless bickering.
“And I said I was just asking.” His voice was calm but firm, and his eyes began searching your face for something, as if he could find whatever it was if he looked hard enough. “You are upset.”
You sputtered a short sudden laugh but your tone held no humour. “Right, I forgot I am only allowed to feel some way once you have approved of it first. I forgot I need my warden to tail me through the village and make sure I am behaving. Shall you go report my mood back to our fathers now?”
Neteyam’s jaw flexed, his calm finally straining at the edges.
“That is not what I am doing. You know I do not–”
“You do!" Your outburst came hard against his sentence, not having the patience nor heart to hear his excuses. “My tail flicks too harshly, and it is enough to call council with our fathers! Tell them to rest easy, golden son. I am not about to reign war over one evening meal.”
Neteyam sighed, rubbing a hand over his face like he was bracing himself. “Well, you don’t have to turn everything I say into a fight.”
“And you don’t have to turn everything I do into your problem to solve. The mantle still sits on your fathers head, you are allowed to have a personality until then.”
An overdramatically long groan suddenly sounded to the left of you, and both your eyes snapped over to Tuks exaggeratingly agitated from, as she sighed in that childish way she did.
“Stop fighting!” She begged, voice whiny with pure childish exasperation. “You guys always pretend like you don't want to talk, and then Neteyam comes and you fight forever because he won’t leave you alone, but then you don't tell him to go away, and it's annoying!"
“Tuk!” Both you and Neteyam barked simultaneously, horror gleaming in both of your eyes because that was so obviously not true!
“That is what happens." She insisted stubbornly. "You do it all the time.”
"No!" You rejected. "We argue because he hovers!"
An’aya, from the shadow of Neteyam’s shoulder, suddenly appeared forward, finally establishing her presence with a smile that was not wide nor warm, but enough to show she was not very fond of the girl her friend had been talking to.
"Maybe, if we did not worry about what you might do next, Neteyam would not be expected to hover and act like Olo’eyktan already."
Your head turned slowly toward her, blood finally boiling beyond that point that only Neteyam’s presence could push it to. Because who was she to imply you were a burden he had to shoulder, a mess he had to trail behind and fix every time you existed too loudly for her liking?
And especially who did she think she was inserting herself into Neteyam’s problems as if they were her own. ‘If we did not worry’ — as if she had any right to speak for the frustration he supposedly felt?
You let your eyes trail to her far too self-satisfied form, sneering with the scowl you usually only reserved for that gawking fool besides her. But if she insisted on acting as his equal, she could be handled like him too.
“Oh, is that your healer’s wisdom speaking, or are you only borrowing the golden son’s voice while he is too busy ogling to use it himself?”
Her smile faltered and her chin lifted a fraction as her eyes narrowed in something mimicking offence. And then your gaze snapped to Neteyam, fury bright and uncontained now that the girl he had dragged to your circle had suddenly felt all too comfortable insulting you in front of all your friends.
“Maybe our fathers should stick her as your new training partner since she is already so good at handling me."
"Fang—" Neteyam's voice was eerily low.
"—Now that my guard dog has a guard dog.”
And then he stiffened. “Enough.”
But you didn't stop. “Is this what you tell people about me?”
Neteyam opened his mouth to speak, visibly caught off guard by the sudden accusation.
“That is not–” He started for the umpteenth time but again you didn’t let him finish.
“I would think you respected me even a little, enough, considering all my father has done for you and your family. Enough considering you always like to remind me that 'we are partners.' But you let your women speak to me like I am beneath you.” You scoffed softly, the sound carrying just far enough to be heard.
“A leader, they say you will be.” You continued, words mocking. “Tell me how this is keeping the peace. Seems your peace is built on my silence. Both your peace and our fathers.”
You rose without haste, the motion deliberate enough that the space around you seemed to shift with it. The ground felt steady beneath your feet, solid in a way your chest had not been for the last several breaths, and for the first time that night you welcomed the clarity that came with deciding to leave rather than be dismissed.
“Y/n, no– please don’t be mad,” Tuk whined, the plea tumbling out of her in a rush as she reached for you, fingers brushing the edge of your wrist but failing to catch hold. Her face pinched with genuine worry. "I didn't mean to make it worse."
“You did not.” You said shortly. “This is not on you, Tuk.”
And then you turned and left without a word, the sudden absence of your presence cutting through the clearing sharper than any insult you had ever sent him, and for the first time Neteyam did not know whether you were just angry or actually hurt by what had happened.
It was confusing because you had never let any interaction between the two of you get to you like this, yet now that you had chosen distance in place of where you would usually just choose name calling, he couldn’t help the feeling like he’d missed something far too important while it was happening.
The noise resumed all too quickly behind you, laughter reclaiming the air as if nothing had shifted at all, but he stayed where he was, unease settling low in his chest as he watched your retreating form saunter away, hips swaying with jolting anger and body tempting his eyes to never shift.
He didn’t know when he started noticing things like that. The way your hips rolled as you walked, the flex of the muscles along your thighs with each step, and the way the line of your back shifted as you moved.
It sat wrong that he noticed these things about you, because he didn’t notice them on anyone else. More than anything else, the fact that you hadn’t looked back sat even worse. And the fact that he felt that hollow pull, tight and wrenching in his chest because of it, sat the worst of all.
“At least you don't have to worry about watching her anymore." An’aya’s voice cut in beside him, light and coaxing, like she was trying to pull him back by the wrist.
Neteyam nodded absently, already half elsewhere, the hollow feeling in his chest refusing to settle. Even as he turned back toward the fire, his attention lagged behind, tethered not to the laughter or the conversation resuming around him, but to the quiet space you’d left behind. To the quiet, unwelcome understanding that this time, you hadn’t walked away to cool off – you had walked away because he had apparently crossed a line he didn’t even realise he was dancing.
One delicate, purposeful step after the other. Neteyam watched your sultry hips as they worked against the motion of your legs, swaying against the gracefully deliberate rhythm of your strut. Every step was intentional, not a single wasted motion and certainly no hesitation, each one drawing a slow, tightening circle around him. You eyed him like prey and circled him like a predator.
He, too, circled your figure. Less graceful in his approach, his steps heavier and more grounded, but just as analytical with his eyes all the same. He told himself he tracked your figure because he had to, that he noticed how dangerously alluring you looked in your stride because he was being tactical, certainly not because he found it mesmerising.
Partnered again. You almost rolled your eyes had it not been for the undivided attention you locked onto his solid figure.
You suspected that they were doing it on purpose now, because whenever given the opportunities, your fathers paired the two of you as if it was something written into the roots of the forest itself. As if Eywa refused to separate you.
Jake’s voice cut through the air before either of you could make a move.
“Enough posturing,” he barked from the edge of the ring, arms crossed, gaze sharp and unimpressed. “This isn’t a mating dance. Someone's going to have to make a move soon enough. Engage.”
The command barely left Jake’s mouth before you jolted.
You didn’t rush him all at once because that was never your style. You shifted your weight and pivoted to your right instead, just as your tail came down with a sharp snap to the left, a deliberate ploy to feint him around you with sound.
Neteyam stuttered for a moment, nearly diving left and falling for the bait, but caught himself immediately, because of course he did. His jaw tightened as he corrected, blocking you by widening his stance, shoulders settling into a space much larger than you had accounted for.
You collided with his chest, steadying yourself with a tight hand clamped around his forearm that flexed under your grip. It was a successful motion that kept you upright, but your proximity to Neteyam left you vulnerable to an open hand palm against your shoulder, knocking you a step back. It was a warning shot, not meant to land hard, but it angered you all the same.
“Good feint, Y/n. Nice recovery, Neteyam.” Jake called out.
Your eyes never pivoted from Neteyam, but Jake's words riled you further, knowing he got praise for the first hit.
"Is that all you have?" You taunted, circling again, your breath steady despite the fire igniting in your veins. "Afraid to hit me for real, golden boy?"
Neteyam’s ears flicked at your taunt, but his expression stayed infuriatingly calm. He rolled the shoulder you’d nearly landed on earlier, circling with you, mirroring your steps like he’d memorized every rhythm you’d ever moved to.
“Well, would not want to mess up that pretty face.”
You flared your teeth in a hiss at his words, fangs bared and all, as the implication of them did not evade you. The idea that you were too feminine to fight. Bullshit.
It was bait, you knew it deep within, and yet you lunged for it all the same.
You dropped low, striking dirty with a sweeping leg that made contact with his ankles while your hands aimed for his torso. He leaped back to counter, but you were faster, leaping with a twist and raking your manicured claws down his ribs just to watch him hiss.
You landed in a crouch behind him, tail lashing with triumph at the hit but he countered instantly, arm hooking yours, using your momentum to flip you over his hip, but you held tightly, and this time you both went down. You snapped right to the ground, landing with a splat and a breathy groan, which he followed taut behind with, and soon you were caged beneath him as his braids fell around your face like a curtain.
“Careful,” he murmured, voice rough, eyes dropping to your mouth, “keep rubbing up on me like that and people may talk.”
Damn his Sully tongue and their dirty human minds. Only they – only he, were rash enough to say such vulgar words.
Heat flared in your face, nothing else but pure rage, and you answered with a growl, driving your knee up sharp between his legs. Not hard enough to hurt, you think, but just enough to make him block instinctively and give you room to twist.
You both rolled again, a tangle of limbs and snarls across the dirt, kicking up dust around you until you came out to a stop, this time you were on top, straddling his waist, thighs clamped tight, hands slamming his wrists into the dirt beside his head.
“I will kill you!”
Neteyam’s eyes blazed up at you, all traces of amusement gone. His ears pinned flat against his skull, jaw clenched so tight you saw the muscle jump. He bucked hard beneath you, trying to throw your weight, muscles straining as he fought your hold.
“Get. off. of. me.” He snarled, voice low and dangerous through his squirms against you, wrists twisting against your grip. “Why must you always turn it into this?”
You dug your nails in deeper, refusing to budge, chest heaving with anger. “You started it with your filthy mouth. Think you can say whatever you want and I will just take it?”
He arched again, harder this time, nearly unseating you from his lap and you slid to settle on his chest. His breath came in harsh pants now, struggling under the weight of you on his lungs, but his eyes still burned up at you with pure defiance.
The shift gave him a perfect view of you, sweaty and furious as you loomed above him, your braids wild, chest heaving and skin gleaming with a sheen of sweat. A deep flush crept up his neck and face at the sight, dark purple blooming across his cheeks and he prayed to Eywa it looked like it was from a lack of air to everyone watching.
“I am trying to win a damn spar, not handle your tantrum.” He said through short breaths. “Yield!”
“Force me, Tawtute,” you hissed, grinding your knees harder into his sides.,“or keep dancing for your sempul like the skxawng you are.”
His face darkened at that, a fresh wave of fury rolling off of him. He surged up with a grunt, flipping you both violently in a cloud of dust that kicked as you grappled. It was a flurry of elbows and knees jabbing at whatever body parts they could reach, claws scratching, fangs baring, and hisses sounding out like a tussle of five years olds.
He landed a sharp elbow to your ribs and you responded by snatching at his long swinging kuru braid and tugging at it, pinning him for a split second before you broke free with a snarl.
The spar had turned ugly so fast, no one had time to register what it was until it already had become it. There was no technique or poise left, just primitive fighting and petty aggression mixed with ragged breaths and dirt covered bodies, every strike fuelled by years of building resentment.
And Jake was done watching it.
"That's enough!" he barked again, the sound cracking through the clearing like a whip. He dragged a tired hand down his face, exhaling through his nose before turning on you both with an outstretched arm that sliced downward in a sharp, commanding arc. "Get off!"
His voice was so demanding and final, it had you cowering in your skin and scampering clumsily off and away from Neteyams heaving figure mirroring your own. You subtly brushed the dirt clinging to your arms in an attempt to salvage even an ounces worth of dignity, but it wasn't working, because your hands still shook and beneath it all, that ugly vulnerability lingered heavy as Jakes eyes beat down on you.
Jake continued.
"It was funny at first, cute even, when you two were teens and it didn't matter. But by Eywa, you're adults now. You have responsibilities and the clan is going to depend on you."
The authority in his voice pinned you both in place.
"I'm sorry, sir," Neteyam spoke with a breathy compliance, eyes trained downwards in a way that almost left you scoffing at how pathetic he looked - at how quickly he folded under the pressure of his father despite talking so big against you moments ago. It took everything in you not to roll your eyes while being lectured by his father about acting mature.
So, you muttered through gritted teeth, "Yes, sir," forcing the words out while fighting every instinct that screamed at you to glare at Neteyam instead of Jake.
Jake’s gaze flicked between you. “You two are going to be the leaders of this clan some day.”
As he spoke the words, there was a pause as he immediately noticed the sudden way the two of you began shifting apart, blue faces crawling into flushed purple ones. It only took him another moment to realise the implication of his words, and he saw it. Of course he saw it. Eywa, the two of you couldn’t even look at each other at an implication he didn’t even mean!
Realization dawned on his face, and he let out a long, exasperated sigh. "And this – this right here – is exactly what I mean. Every little thing between you turns into a problem. You don’t know how to keep things contained when it’s the two of you.”
He jabbed a finger toward Neteyam, ready to correct your misunderstanding.
"You will be Olo'eyktan one day." Then the finger swung to you. "And you will be the clan's head warrior. His right hand. His most trusted." Jake pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sooner or later, you have got to get along. The People need to see unity, not... whatever the hell this is."
He said the line so defeatedly, as if his two greatest proteges had become his two biggest failures in that moment, and it left you deflating in embarrassment at the notion that your rivalry with his son had turned into something beyond comprehensive words. Instead, reduced to “hell” - to some weird sky people word.
Shameful.
The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on. You stared at the ground, heat crawling up your neck, wishing the woven walkway would just open and swallow you whole because it was almost like your own father had just admitted that you were acting a fool.
As Jake Sully, the man who raised you almost as his own in the proximity of your father and their strict training regimes, was sighing down at you and his idiot son with weary frustration.
You knew he didn’t mean it cruelly. This was that strange sky-people thing he did, where he slipped into what was described as the “military” tone, meant to correct rather than offend. That didn’t make the cut sting less deep, though.
You were mid deliberation when you suddenly heard it, the tiniest huff of breath from Neteyam’s direction. Not quite a laugh, but close enough, and it had you glancing up at him with the scowl you reserved only for him.
Neteyam wasn’t looking at his father anymore. Now he was looking right at you, glaring through the corner of his limp braids, head still hung low as one side of his mouth twitched upward in that infuriating half-smirk he saved just for you too.
His amber eyes glinted with something resembling a shocked amusement, almost as if he couldn’t quite believe you were actually compliant. Like your mortification was the funniest thing he’d seen all day.
You knew you shouldn’t. You knew this was a horrible time. But in that moment it was like something inside you finally snapped with finality for the first time ever.
Where you usually would have met him with snark, now you were meeting him with red vision and a complete lack of respect.
Your ears flicked back, pinned taught to your hair like an animal on its prey only moments away from pouncing. Tail lashing once almost like a whip.
“What?” you hissed, so low it was almost swallowed by the breeze, meant only for him, but almost so quiet that Neteyam nearly missed the fact that you had spoken entirely. “Something funny, Tawtute?”
He caught your words all the same, the perfect, golden son act completely slipping away, traded for a smirk that widened a fraction larger at your beyond irked facial expression. “A child, Fang.” He taunted, hitting right where he knew you hurt most. “You look like a child scolded by her elder. It is quite damn funny.”
That was all it took.
You stepped forward, voice rising despite yourself, despite the voice telling you that only awful consequences would come from acting out right now. The worst part of you could not have cared less that his father wasn’t even through with lecturing the two of you yet, the bigger part of you so enraged, so encompassed by Neteyam and his stupidity, his audacity, that you just-
Did. Not. Care.
Your figure snapped upright, tall and menacing, body twisting to face him fully as your large blearing eyes glossed over, unblinking and fear-provockingly wide.
“Open your mouth again, Tawtute, and I swear to Eywa and everything she deems sacred, I will slam you down and make you swallow every sorry sound you choke in front of the whole clan.”
Neteyam’s smirk froze, then vanished almost as quickly as it came. His ears were the ones to flick forward now, sharp at the ends and persistently alert. His golden eyes that had been mocking you a heartbeat ago had darkened into molten amber pits, pupils narrowing to slits. The perfect son was gone entirely.
His tail lashed once, hard enough to slap the air as he twisted his body entirely to tower over yours. It was the first time in all your years of knowing him where he had ever intimidated you, because it was the first time in all the years you’d known him that his size truly registered. Tall, and broad, and built like the future leader he was meant to be.
Your gaze dropped before you could stop it, tracing the sharp lines of his frame all the way down until they stopped to linger on the bold stripes that curved low around his hipbones and disappeared beneath the edge of his loincloth. They had always stood out more than anyone else’s, as darker, thicker, more prominent than the others. The Tawtute genes, you told yourself, that’s why they were like that, no other reason, certainly. A flush crawled up your neck, hot and confusing, and what would have been disguised as pure rage to any onlooker.
It pressed in on you though, close enough that the heat of him brushed your skin. Because, it didn’t feel like pure rage alone. Your mind could try to convince you, but your body would do otherwise, betraying your thoughts with that persistent betraying flicker of your tail.
And Neteyam noticed. Of course he noticed.
“Keep staring like that, Fang,” he said, leaning in until his breath stirred the loose strands of hair at your temple, “and I will give you something to actually choke on.”
The words hit low and vicious, a promise wrapped in threat and before you even processed which arm had lifted first, your hand, with pre-curled fingers was already moving toward his chest to shove him back as hard as you possibly could. A hiss so guttural and sharp tearing from your gaping mouth, decorated by the furiously purple hue that painted your face like a white canvas.
His own shot up just as yours had, catching your wrist mid-air in a grip like the metal on the ships the sky people flew. Not painful, but almost entirely unbreakable.
For one suspended heartbeat you were locked there, with his fingers around your wrist and bodies inches apart, both of you breathing hard, tails thrashing in mirrored fury. The space between you felt suddenly too small, the air too thick.
Then Jake’s voice cracked through it like a whip.
“I said enough!”
He was on you in two strides, one massive hand clamping the back of Neteyam’s neck, the other seizing your upper arm and hauling you both apart with force that made your feet skid on the woven mat.
Jake’s eyes were wild, ears pinned flat, chest heaving.
“You two are done,” he growled, voice shaking with barely-leashed anger. “Done acting like feral animals that can’t control their emotions. Grown adults and I’m still treating you two like I did when you were twelve.”
He exhaled sharply, making the decision at that moment.
"You're going out to the eastern watchpost. Tonight. Just the two of you." He held up a hand when you both opened your mouths to protest. "No arguments, not a goddamn word. It's an hour ride so that's plenty of time to cool off and you'll spend the entire night there.”
Jake was not having it. “I want the supplies inventoried, the platforms repaired, and I want every corner of every ridge scouted for any signs of human activity, and you're going to do every moment of it together. You'll eat together, sleep in the same goddamn hammock if you have to, and you'll come back tomorrow morning acting like the future leaders you're supposed to be."
He released you with a shove toward the rookery.
“Go saddle your Ikran’s.”
When the two of you hesitated, Jake snarled “Now! And if I hear one more word out of either of you before you’re out of my sight, I swear to Eywa I’ll tie you both to the same tree instead.”
Jake's voice sounded so tired and the clearing had gone deathly quiet. Neteyam’s jaw flexed, but he said nothing and he was the first to turn without even so much as a glance in your direction, stalking toward the rookery with rigid shoulders, his braids swaying with each step, and every taut line of him vibrating with a restraint he almost lacked.
You stood frozen for half a breath longer, heart hammering against your ribs, wrist still burning where his grip had been. Then you turned too, spine straight with the kind of discipline that fooled everyone but the Sullys, because Neteyam and Jake could both see the bruise that adorned your ego, they just both knew better than to comment on it this far in.
The young warriors scattered around the training grounds let their conversations die and bows lower as you both strode past. Your ikran sensed the rage rolling off you and answered your call with shrieks and flared wings, and an agitation that mimicked your own. And you mounted without glancing at Neteyam once, attaching your queues to the end of your Ikrans with what was probably a little more force than necessary. He did the same and Jake watched it all with a tired stare as Neteyam banked east first, cutting through the darkness like a blade, before you followed silently behind him without a glance back.
Jake finally let out the breath he’d been holding, dragging a tired hand down his face. The forest answered him with the soft rustle of leaves and distant night calls of your fleeting Ikrans, nature utterly unconcerned with the problem he’d just sent walking into it. He had broken up enough sparring matches to know the difference between anger and whatever that had been.
Eywa help them, he thought. Because I am officially out of patience.
Behind him, the rustle leaves and heavy approaching footsteps had his ears perking up, expecting the presence before the sound of a low chuckle could startle him. The sound of a man who had already arrived at the same conclusion and was simply waiting to see if Jake would catch up.
Jake turned to find your father standing there, arms crossed, tail swaying lazily behind him as his eyes tracked the two figures disappearing into the trees. There was concern there, yes, but there was also something else that Jake had seen displayed on his face every time your families met and you and his son fought. Something almost… entertained.
Your father watched the treeline a moment longer before he spoke, his expression thoughtful rather than amused, though the hint of it lingered all the same.
“You finally snapped.” He said, eyes not glancing at Jake, but to the sway of trees that shielded your retreating forms in the distance. “Only took till the moment they stopped trying to fight clean.”
Jake let out a slow breath and rubbed at the back of his neck, because that had been the exact moment his stomach had dropped, when the spar had stopped looking like training and started looking like something feral. “I told myself it was just their temper getting the best of them,” he admitted. “That they’d settle once one of them landed a solid hit, but I’ve never seen them go at it like that.”
Your father hummed softly in agreement. “Even anger has rules.” He said. “What I just saw forgot them. No form. No distance. Just hands… wherever they could reach.” Your fathers eyes finally glanced over to Jake, a knowing smirk leaving him chuckling at the revelation.
Jake snorted quietly, humour slipping through despite himself and soon they were laughing low in unison. “My son knows better than that.”
“As does my daughter,” He replied, and there it was, that note of worried pride that always crept in when he spoke of her. “Which is how I know they have reached a point where the body starts answering questions the mind refuses to ask.”
“You’re worried.” Jake observed.
“I am a father,” he simply replied, and then after a beat added, “And I have eyes. I know Neteyam is fond of her.”
“He wont–,” Jake moved to start comforting his friend, shifting to place a hand on his shoulder when your father let a short snort leave him.
“I do not worry about Neteyam, I worry about her,” he said, with no effort to soften the curve of his mouth. “Neteyam has always known where the line is even when he pretends not to, and I have watched him choose restraint around her provoking comments time and time again. When it would have been easier not to.” A pause, then quieter, “That matters to me. It is her who has no restraint.” He ended with a chuckle.
Jake’s smirk lingered, but it softened at the edges, tempered by something more careful in tone. “Yeah, well, they have both been very good at lying to themselves.” He let a beat pass before he chuckled. “Well, maybe not your daughter, she can’t lie to save her life.”
“It really is her we should worry about.” Your father laughed. “If I were foolish enough to wager,” he suddenly turned, clapping a hand to Jake’s shoulder, “I would bet they return insisting the night was torture, then flinch every time their queues touch because they finally know what they’re used for.”
This time, the laugh Jake let out was almost too loud for his liking, glancing around in hopes that no one had heard the less than tasteful wording.
“I’m not taking that bet,” he said, then hesitated, the amusement fading just enough to let the doubt through. “I expected you to be angrier with me for sending them off together.”
Your father snorted. “You did the same with Neytiri,” he replied. “And you didn’t exactly handle it with grace.”
Jake grimaced. “That was different.”
“No, It was not,” he said lightly, his gaze flicking back toward the trees, “and Neteyam’s trying too hard not to cross the same line. My daughter has never been good at pretending there isn’t one.”
Jake exhaled through his nose, shaking his head, rubbing yet another exhaustedly stressed hand down his face at the implication of his words. “I’m not gonna sleep tonight.”
“Good,” Your father said quietly. “Someone should keep watch. In case they burn the forest down. Let us just hope we do not share the name Grandfather and time soon either.”
Your feet hit the platform before his did, heavy with a careless thump that transitioned quickly into long strides against the creaking wood, riddled with the intention of getting as far away from Neteyam as possible, who was landing close behind you. There wasn’t anywhere far to run off too, especially in the dark of night on a foreign base you had visited not even twice before, so you settled towards the end of the platform on a pile of large crates that rattled against your weight.
Neteyam dismounted much slower than you had, gently detaching his queue, before petting his Ikran three times, signalling its dismissal to perch elsewhere. It left with a shriek, chasing your own which had scattered the moment you landed.
Moonlight filtered through the canopy above, adorning everything in a bleary silver and deep shadows illuminated by bioluminescent blues. The base was rickety and barely large enough to accommodate a few people with all the supplies stolen and housed from the sky-people around. The wooden branches sagged and the leather tarp frayed, neglected and unkept for what seemed to be decades. But it was going to have to work considering you were banished here for the night.
Neteyam didn’t look at you right away. He took the first few moments to busy himself checking over the boxes, silently counting the stock in the typical Neteyam way that forced him to be a stickler for the rules, to listen to every authoritative voice, to be the most stuck up Na’vi to ever grace Pandora's blue planet.
It took him a second of a forced and uncomfortable silence before he finally broke the tension, his voice low and failing to hide the tinge of irritation behind it despite his attempts to at least try and get something done. “We should start with inventory. Get it over with.”
You didn’t move from your position on the crate farthest south. And you almost laughed at how pathetically authoritative he attempted to sound, because you knew his blood still seared hot with boiling anger at being scolded not even an hour ago. Instead, you tugged at the string of the bow you had picked up from beside you, slowly swaying the one foot you left dangling as you fidgeted with the fraying thread.
“Do it yourself.”
Your voice – so dismissive and blunt in tone – had Neteyam’s pointy ears pinning back and deep amber eyes snapping at you in a quick, sharp warning.
“Do not start.”
You took the first moment since he entered to direct your attention away from the flimsy bow, finally looking up at him with an all too unimpressed glare. “Too late.” You sneered, your typical fang glaring snare on full display. “You started it the second you opened your skxawng mouth back at the training camp. Even children know to be silent when Toruk Makto speaks, yet somehow you can not manage to get that through your thick skull?”
“My thick skull?” Neteyam’s big eyes bore straight through your own, blown wide and non-blinking almost as if trying to read you for an answer he wasn’t going to find. He looked absolutely exasperated and a breathy laugh that held no humor escaped his lips as he shook his head. “Thats rich coming from the one who is sat on a crate of knives, doing absolutely nothing.”
“We are only here because perfect son could not bite his golden tongue long enough to remember his father was still speaking. You listen to him when we're here but not when it counts back home. I thought you were supposed to be the smart and disciplined one.”
“Kind of difficult to concentrate on a lecture when the woman threatening to make me choke is attempting to swing her claws into my chest.”
“I only reacted because you–!”
The words stuttered in your throat, dying in your mouth as heat flooded your face in a violent wave, remembering what led to your outburst in the first place. Remembering the explicit words he let slip from soft yet smug lips like he had any right saying it in the first place.
–Because you speak lewd words that should only be muttered between the most established of mates.
“–Because I what?” Neteyam’s voice was softer now, but the smirk that followed was anything but gentle. It spread slow and lethally arrogant across his face, eyes glinting with a new light that felt almost predatory, as if he’d just found the one loose thread that would unravel you completely.
“Because–” Your face was so flushed, you could hardly bring the words to the surface. “–Because you- you have a vulgar mouth! Y-You speak filth just to provoke me.”
“Vulgar?” Neteyam's eyes glinted with something completely different from the irate exasperation from earlier, it was like his entire demeanor had calmed, replaced completely by that arrogant smirk, like he was the only one able to translate the book the two of you had been trying to read your whole lives. “Me? I think I recall you mentioning something about slamming me down on my back.”
A sharp gasp tore from your throat. The words hit like a physical blow, twisting your earlier threat into something raw and unmistakable. Your face burned hotter, if that was even possible, violet spreading across your cheeks as you instinctively looked him up and down.
“That is not what I speak! Why must you keep bringing up those words?” The words tumbled out too fast and breathless to be convincing, and you almost kicked yourself for the delivery.
“Because you are the one who said them, you just don’t like what they mean.”
He began stepping closer. His strides were so deliberate, as if planned in advance, and unhurried, as if you were not another moment away from clawing out his eyes.
“They meant nothing,” you shot back, chin lifting in defiance. “You twist everything.”
The sound of Neteyam’s footsteps drew your eyes to lock on his figure, tall and looming as he strutted one slow step at a time closer, and you found your eyes doing that traitorous thing they did a lot now, wander. Wander down. And down.
It started with his face, as you watched the sway of his braids while he strode with that infuriating arrogance, brushing the sharp lines of his jaw with a clatter of his beads. Then it was his impossibly round eyes fixed right on you – which they always seemed to be when you were around – unblinking and heated through a downwards gaze. They were eyes that masked what you knew to be such a conceited personality as so deceivingly innocent.
Soon your gaze fell to the wide frame of his shoulders and the firmness of his chest, and it dawned on you that you’d only just noticed how much broader they had become over the years spent together, carved from tireless hours of drawing bowstrings and traversing the harsh landscape of Omatikiya forest, lean with muscle that shifted under blue skin with every stride he took closer.
Your eyes wandered again until they finally fell right to where they seemed to stop at a lot now; his lower body, narrow hips marked by the most vibrant stripe pattern you’d ever seen on any man – on any Na’vi you’d laid eyes on. They were darker and thicker, more pronounced and unlike any others, they trailed off and disappeared so low into his loin cloth it almost felt purposeful in the way they pulled your eyes. Like they were specifically made to draw your eyes and your eyes only, and hold them there by design.
Those lines were unnatural in their perfection and it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that they made your face so hot and your heartbeat feel as if it could move to places it should not be, and it especially wasn’t fair that it wasn’t a you thing, it was a him thing. You only liked it on him.
You told yourself for the hundredth time – that it was the Tawtute genes making everything about him just a little too defined, a little larger. Not that you were staring, of course, just studying. Because he was different and you were always curious, you told yourself. But your tail flicked once, another betrayal that told you that was a lie, and you prayed the shadows hid it..
The shadows did not hide it. And of course he noticed.
Neteyam slowed, stopping just close enough that the space between you felt inconsequential. He wasn’t touching you, at least not yet and somehow it still felt as if he had pressed his entire body against yours. As if you were suffocating beneath him.
His gaze dipped and it wasn’t hurried, but it wasn’t subtle either, following the same path yours had just taken; down the line of his chest, over the sharp cut of his hips, to the stripes adorning his body next to the band of his loincloth before lifting again, eyes glinting with the most unbearably smug sense of amusement you’d imagine possible from a single man at the realisation he had just made.
It was silent for a beat, air heavy with tension before Neteyam spoke.
“You must really like my loincloth.”
Your ears shot straight up and outwards, standing tall and perky as if alerted by a lingering predator, eyes blowing wide as you shot your head up to meet his gaze head on.
“Shut up–!”
“–You know, my mother makes them–”
“ –I don’t care–!”
“ –Shall I ask her to make another? She does adore you–”
“–You do not know anything–!”
“–I know exactly when you lie.”
The words were being sputtered so fast, they crashed into each other in an overlapping, frantic mess. To any onlooker, it would have almost sounded as if you were talking in unison.
Your tone was desperately sharp, doused in mortification and hidden in anger. And his was flooded with pure, unadulterated tease, knowing very well how every word he spoke rolled down your ears and crawled beneath your skin. You blushed so often around him he could almost mistake you as a purple Na’vi now.
The overlap fell apart as abruptly as it had started. You glared at him, chest tight, ears still rigid with embarrassment and fury, daring him to say one more thing. He didn’t…
At least, not right away.
His gaze dipped instead, unashamed and bashfully amused, tracking back down to where yours had been just moments ago. His mouth curved like he’d found something amusing he was excited to explain. But you knew he was only rubbing the fact that he caught you staring in.
“My mother uses five beads on each knot,” he said smugly, and you followed his fingers as they brushed against the small carved beads on the loincloth’s cords. “She says it is the number of balance. Five for the senses and all.”
Then he suddenly looked up at you, those overly round, innocent eyes portraying that innocence all too well. “Seems it is not working, you do not look very balanced right now.”
If you were in half a mind with any common sense, you would have scolded him once again and shoved him as far back as your arms would allow in hopes for a little space and clarity. Unfortunately for you, however, that sense was ripped directly out of your already fumbling grasp the moment your eyes followed his hands to where he gripped that damned loincloth you really couldn’t escape.
They were larger and longer than others, scarred from weaponry and cliff climbing, and calloused in places where the overuse was notable. His fingers grasped the thread of the cloth, and as his grip tightened, the purple veins littering the surface of his skin protruded along with it.
Watching the way his fingers curled, and the way his veins pulsed, it sent heat crawling up your throat and pooling behind your ears. Every flex of a tendon, every faint flicker of those tiny freckled lights, felt like a private taunt aimed straight at whatever composure you had left.
You swallowed hard, forcing your voice steady even as it came out breathier than you wanted. “Five is a greedy number anyway.” You muttered, eyes still traitorously fixed on his hands.
His gaze followed yours until it landed on his hands – on the way your eyes lingered there too long, and the way your breath had betrayed you before your mouth ever could. A slow smile curved across his lips, smug and knowing.
“Greedy?” He echoed softly. Without haste, he lifted those hands, the ones you couldn’t stop staring at, toward your face. “Is that what you think this is?”
His long fingers spread deliberately to parade all five fingers to your wide, helpless eyes, and began wriggling them in slow, teasing beats as if he, too, were suddenly fascinated by the anatomy you’d just mocked.
“Tawtute.” He uttered, his voice dipped low with smug delight. “That is what you call me.”
He let his hands hover close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his palms, close enough that if you stuck your tongue out just slightly, you’d be able to taste the skin. Close enough, that the fact you had even entertained that thought made you sick to your stomach with dizzying confusion.
“Txampay tawtute.” He purred, eyes half-lidded and glinting as he drank in the flush climbing your neck.
Then, unhurried and impossibly sure of himself, he leaned in. His body now crowding every inch of air yours occupied, chest nearly brushing yours, until he reached past your shoulder and caught your wrist in one smooth motion. He brought your hand up between you to display the four fingers you always had, and his golden eyes gleamed as if it was the first time he had seen it. Slowly, he lifted his own hand to mirror yours, five fingers spread to contrast the four of your own just across from his, hovering directly opposite it.
“Demon blood.” He muttered, though he wasn’t offended. It was more a statement, or amused even, awaiting a reaction.
You watched, breath caught, as he hesitated for a single heartbeat, watched in your peripheral as his eyes bore into your face, searching for any flicker of protest or resistance. A sign that never came.
And once he realized that, he dipped one long finger down between the gaps of yours. Then another, and another until he slid each one of his fingers between your own, interlocking your hands like he was claiming every unoccupied space he could find.
“Do you call me tawtute so often because you think about how my hands would feel on you?”
Then he guided your joined hands, fully intertwined, up and back, lifting them slowly until your knuckles brushed the rough-woven wall behind you. He pressed them there and the motion brought him so much closer, it was as if he had taken up all the air, because why were you suddenly finding it so much more difficult to draw a breath?
“Neteyam.” The name came out like an unsure whine, nothing like the sharp hiss you’d wielded against him a thousand times before. Because the last place you had ever imagined yourself being was here, pinned beneath the steady weight of his gaze, his body, his five greedy fingers laced so perfectly through your four and it confused you that no fiber of your being was begging to reject it.
You watched with greedy eyes as his face twisted from out of your view, head shifting down towards the crook of your neck and the frantic rate of your breath betrayed every last pretense of calm. His mouth stopped just on the cusp of your left ear, and you felt the warm, velvet skin of his lips brushing the sensitive shell of it, tied with the cherry on top by the soft sway of his braid against your cheek and the smell of him. That intoxicating scent which smelt of eclipse leaves and sweet hearth vines.
They had been your favourite scents for as long as you could remember, and it was only just dawning why that is now.
He took a beat, his breath warm on your skin before he spoke. “I know you hate me.”
You did. You hated him, the Olo'eyktan perfect first born. The boy that followed you like a shadow through the winding roots of Hometree. The child you had been measured against since the first time a blade had been pressed into your palms.
“Neteyam learns quicker,”
“Neteyam already wields a bow,”
“Neteyam never loses his temper.”
You had heard it from your father your entire life and you hated him for being the excellence you couldn’t be. You hated that he wore it so smug. And more than anything, you hated that he actually tried to soften it and make space for you beside him instead of behind. He was so good to you, and you hated that he never got mad when it counted.
And now – now – you couldn’t reconcile that boy with the man standing close enough to steal your breath, hands steady where your resolve should have been. You couldn’t fathom how you were letting him do this. How the same Neteyam you’d spent years resisting, spitting at, and training like Eywa herself had told you to do so in order to best him, had slipped past your defenses without even raising his voice. All it took was him invading your space closer than he ever tried before and your resolve dwindled.
“I know you think you hate me.” He repeated, but this time you could hear the smirk that crept up his irritatingly gorgeous face. “But you never look at me like this when you say it. And this–” his free hand drifted down, fingertips ghosting along the tense line of your hip until they found the base of your tail, “--this is the most still your tail has been all night.”
The gentle, knowing stroke along the sensitive underside made your spine arch involuntarily before you could stop it, so far into him you could feel the press of everything below his loincloth against your lower belly and it made you whine. A guttural, involuntary sound you didn’t mean to make, nor had you realised escaped you until Neteyam’s glowing amber eyes widened alongside his smile.
You struggled to find your voice, with the overwhelming feeling of Neteyam all around you, touching every inch of your skin, all consuming and intoxicating but when you did, it was breathy and weak.
“Do not–” you stuttered, pausing your words to find breath.
Then your voice came again, interrupting his thoughts in a moment where his grip faltered slightly around your fingers and tail. You sounded so primitive and defeated, it was like the entire forest in a ten-mile radius had stilled.
“–stop.”
Neteyam stilled, mind reeling and eyes searching every inch of your face in desperate search of an answer to an unspoken question you sparked within him. Do not? Stop?
Do not stop?
He gawked at you, ogling at every inch of your face in hopes of an answer. Your eyes, droopy and half-shut, turned sideways as if too ashamed to look him in the eyes. Mouth just a touch open, drawing long and heavy breaths, and your beautiful blue skin, flushed that purple colour he was becoming so fond of seeing, gleaming with a layer of warm, sleek sweat.
You looked absolutely ruined. And he absolutely detested the idea that you might have been telling him to stop – truly stop – his advances because now that he had a glimpse of such a sight, he cursed the idea that he may never see it again knowing exactly what you looked like underneath him. So he waited with baited breaths, a wait you did not make him stand long for, and then you delivered.
“Do.. not.. stop.” You spoke between heavy breaths. “Neteyam, please.”
And then he saw it. The way you had been pressing up against his right thigh, locked between both your own thighs and rubbing against your core, just close enough to create friction. The sight and the plea shattered whatever thin thread of control he’d been clinging to as he finally realised what you meant.
A low, guttural sound rumbled from deep in his chest, a half growl, half reverent thanks to Eywa herself, as he surged forward, releasing your tail momentarily, only for the hand to sweep through the air, landing right on the back of your neck as he pulled you towards him with a roughness he rarely displayed.
And that's when it finally happened. His mouth crashed against yours, hungry and possessive, swallowing the next broken gasp that spilled from your lips. His fingers curled into the sensitive skin just below your hairline in a way that made your knees weaken, and had you not still been sitting on this crate, you were sure you would have faltered and folded to the ground.
His tongue pushed at the seam of your lips, coaxing them apart with a devastating hunger, as if he had been waiting far too long to claim this moment, only clarified with the roll his body made to press into your own. The muscles of his abdomen elongated and protruded against the skin, screaming at you to touch them, to feel them, as he pushed your intertwined hands further back into the wall.
That was when his hand around your neck finally began its descent downwards. It started at your shoulders, brushing against your collarbone and lingering just a moment around your breasts. He swirled against the curve underneath the soft fat and the trail left hot tingles in its wake, sending blood rushing to every nerve the pinpoint of his fingertips lined.
It continued on, searing down the arc of your waist, against the curve of your hips and drew a curl to stop just a few paces below your belly button, and yet not even a breath above from the band of your loincloth.
Your breath hitched as those fingers paused there, so achingly close, tracing lazy, maddening patterns just above the thin strip of woven fabric – the only thing left between you and completely surrendering to the man who haunted your every waking moment. Neteyam pulled back from the kiss, only far enough to watch your contorting face, the molten amber of his eyes now nearly non-existent, replaced almost entirely by his pupils, blown wide with lust and a restraint that was seconds from snapping.
He could feel the heat radiating from you, and could tell you were trying to resist whatever thoughts were happening in your head, unsuccessfully so. He could see it in the way your thighs tremored ever so subtly, and in the way your hips shifted restlessly against him, as if seeking friction but hating who the friction you seeked came from. A low, approving, yet humoured growl rumbled in his throat as he pressed his forehead to yours, breath ragged.
“You are always so responsive.” He murmured, voice gravelly, lips brushing yours as he spoke and fingers still working their patterns at the lowest part of your belly. “Every touch… you light up for me.”
“You always think you know what I feel.” The words spat harsh but breathless, trying desperately to deny him the satisfaction of winning.
But Neteyam just laughed, stating flatly. “Your freckles glow, fang.”
And your flush deepened knowing your body was betraying your mind.
“Stop talking. I still despise you.”
Neteyam took the opportunity to lean back, making enough room to have a full view of your body without disconnecting your lower bodies. Finally his hand strayed from your belly, sliding to the left of it before stopping right at the rope that knotted your loincloth into place. He glanced down at it expectantly, then up to meet your eyes, his own glinting with mischief.
“Funny way of showing it.” He commented.
Then his fingers pulled at the string, and all you did was let your head fall back against the wall in response.
The knot gave with a soft tug, the woven cord loosening until the loincloth sagged against your hips, and you felt the cool air kissing at your newly exposed skin. It left your sighing, and Neteyam actually laughed at the sight of you.
His next move was to grab at your right leg, lifting it high until it settled on top of his right shoulder. The motion had you shifting forward slightly, nearly hanging off the edge of the crate now. Once it was placed, he leaned down, meeting the slant of your body against the crate until his face met just above yours.
“No fangs now, huh?” He taunted, voice dripping with smug triumph, his breath hot against your lips as his free hand slid up the thigh draped over him with the most reverently possessive grip.
Your eyes narrowed, a spark of fury cutting through the haze of pleasure. “I’ll silence you.”
Before he could fire back another cocky word, you flexed the leg hooked over his shoulder and shoved hard. Your heel dug into the muscle of his back as you pushed, using every bit of leverage to force him downward and surprise flashed across his face for a split second before he dropped to his knees in front of you, left hand disconnecting from yours and instinctively reaching to grip your hips as a means to steady himself.
There he was – all mighty Neteyam, son of Toruk Makto, future Olo’eyktan – kneeling between your thighs, directly in front of your exposed core, with amber eyes flicking a mix of shock, defeat and drooling hunger.
You let your head rest back against the wall again, eyeing him through the brush of your lower lashes and fingers threading roughly into his braids to hold him exactly where you wanted him.
“I told you I would make you swallow your sorry sounds.” And with a sharp tug forward, the control had been shifted to your hands. “Now swallow.”
The low, involuntary groan that vibrated through his chest and into your core was the only answer he managed before his mouth obeyed. His head moved first then his tongue dragged slow and deliberate, tasting you like he’d been starving for years and refused to rush the meal. But the grip you kept in his braids, tight and unforgiving, told him exactly who set the pace.
Heat slammed through you, ugly and mixed with the pure rage of having him under you. You hated him for making your body clench like this, hated the way your thighs shook because his tongue felt so damn good, but hated it more that you questioned if the reason he felt so good was because he had done this before. Hated that the idea made you jealous.
You were a mix of pleasure and shame – that Neteyam was on his knees, eating you out like he had no choice and that he was disgustingly good at it. And when you rolled your hips forward, demanding more, he gave it without hesitation, lips sealing around you, tongue curling deep and relentless, then it dawned on you that he was worshipping your clit like he was singing a prayer.
Your thighs trembled around his shoulders, the leg still hooked there locked tighter, heel pressing between his shoulder blades to keep him exactly where you wanted him – on his knees, serving the woman who’d sworn to hate him forever. And he did it so well you had been reduced to a moaning, whining and squirming mess beneath his hands that were holding you down.
“Eywa, shit– Y/n– ” The name slipped out raw and whiny, and the vibration of his voice had you absolutely feral, snapping in an instant. But not to your end. No.
Because the only thing you could think about was why he felt so good. Why he was so talented at everything. The idea of him having experience with this, of him doing this to someone else, made something vicious twist in your chest.
So your hand in his hair tugged hard, snapping his head back and away from your core to glance up at you with daze in his eyes and your slick dripping down his chin.
He blinked up at you, lips swollen and shining, breath coming in rough pants. For once, the smugness was gone, replaced by raw, hazy want and a flicker of confusion at the sudden stop.
You stared down at him, chest heaving, jealousy burning hotter than the aftershocks still pulsing between your legs, and the words came sharp, cutting through the air like an arrow.
“Who else?” You spat, voice accusatory and ugly with envy, fingers tightening in his braids in a visceral way you couldn’t help.
“What?” He sounded so breathless, and so confused, eyes still foggy from being buried between your thighs.
“You move like this is not new to you.” You snapped, the words spilling out jagged. “People do not learn that by accident.”
“Fang, what are you–”
Then your mouth spat the words like the answer was so obvious, like you had been just waiting for the name to be mentioned. “ –It is An’aya, isn’t it?”
“An’aya!?” He said it like the name didn’t belong here at all. Because it didn’t. Because twenty seconds ago he was face-deep drowning in what he deemed to be his new favourite flavour, and now he’s thinking of a girl he’s barely spent more than 10 minutes alone with.
“You lie with her too!” The accusation came out sharp enough to feel final, as if it wasn’t something to be debated and you had already made up the answer.
Neteyam stared up at you for a beat, eyes wide, mouth still wet and open like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or groan. Then the laugh won, short and completely disbelieving as the weight of your words settled into him. He searched your eyes, stern and glazed, angry with something he knew you barely understood and it dawned on him. Holy shit.
“You are jealous.” He said it so incredulously, like it was the best revelation he made all week. A rough laugh tore out of him, head tipping back in your grip, the sound raw and disbelieving. And it was like you couldn’t even deny it, all you could do was sneer your usual fang baring scowl and snap your head away with a tsk of your tongue.
“An’aya?” he rasped, grin sharp and crooked, chin still dripping with you. “Eywa fang, you think I have ever touched her? Ever wanted to?”
He shifted forward on his knees, hands sliding up your thighs as he finally raised to his feet off his knees to meet you at eye level. His face was inches from yours, grip firm but not pushing and you watched as that aggravating amusement melted into the softest look you think he had ever sent you. His smugness fell, the cocky edge dulling into something so honest.
“I do not lie with An’aya. Just you, fang.” He spoke so slowly, voice low and steady, and almost gentle despite the filth of the moment. “I only ever think about you.”
The words hit harder than they should have. Heat flooded your face, your chest, mixing between the jealousy and the flattery until you couldn’t tell which burned more. You didn’t know if you believed him – or more so didn’t know if you wanted to believe him. So you picked your arm up to pinch the side of his ear, using it to drag his face impossibly closer. Your gaze flickered between both his eyes, searching for something, an answer to a question you weren’t even sure you knew what.
For a split second, something in your grip faltered. The idea that he might be telling the truth was somehow worse than the lie. So you tightened your fingers on his ear for a beat before yanking his head back with a force meant to hurt.
“Prove it,” you snarled.
Neteyam’s breath hissed through his teeth at the sting, but the look he gave you was pure lust, not a single trace of softness left. In one brutal motion he tucked one hand under your ass, and the other around the curve of your waist, before spinning you around so fast the world tilted for a fraction of a second. Your chest slammed against the crate, palms scraping metal as he kicked your legs wider and pressed his full weight into your back.
You heard him before you felt him, the quick tug and rustle as he worked the knot of his loincloth free behind you. Something involuntary dragged your head back, forcing you to peek over your shoulder. The fabric fell, and it was like every silent inkling you’d ever felt bite at you, every reflexive moment that told you to study his stripes despite never knowing why, finally dawned on you why it had always been so urging.
Those large, vibrant stripes were only a preview into what the loincloth hid. They tapered lower and thicker up the base of his cock, before finally crawling into a thinning stretch that ended just beyond the tip of his head, which was slick with precum and the most angry, swollen shade of red. Red. Like a Tawtute.
And it was in that moment you realised that all those little characteristics that made him slightly different – the broader shoulders, the extra finger, the sheer size of him below the cloth and the way his tip skin flushed pinker than any Na’vi you’d ever seen – weren’t the flaws or accidents you convinced yourself was the reason you fixated on them. They were proof that he had Toruk Makto’s blood running through him, the son of a leader, born to be a leader. And right now that blood had him hard and leaking for you, the girl who’d spent years calling him sky-demon scum.
The realisation twisted hot and ugly in your gut, hate and want braided so tight you couldn’t pull them apart but that was so swiftly disrupted by the feeling of him pushing forward, the tip of his achingly large cock making contact with your swelteringly wet entrance, and it had you absolutely unraveling at the mere contact of it.
You couldn’t help the moan that slipped out of you at both the stretch he gave with just the top of him, barely even a quarter full, and at the sight of him ogling down at the space between you, at the way the tip of his cock looked barely swallowed inside of your warm hole, his fist gripping at the base.
Neteyam caught the sound, eyes snapping up just in time to see you bury your face in your arm and he laughed that irritatingly smug laugh that vibrated through his chest and into your back.
“Already moaning for me, Fang?” He murmured, voice thick with satisfaction and lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke. “You can’t even pretend to hate me anymore.”
“Do not…,” you hissed with a breathy sigh, the words cracking despite your best effort to sound venomous, “…dare assume you know what I feel.”
He hummed, amused, like your denial was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard.
“I do not think I'll have too.”
Goosebumps rose in its wake, your hips stuttering back despite yourself before you could correct it. His hand tightened on your hip, holding you steady, while the other slid up your spine in a slow, deliberate path until his fingers closed gently but firmly around the thick base of your kuru, the long, sacred braid that cascaded down your back.
The feeling of his hand around your kuru had your entire body jolting, a sharp, electrifying shock racing through every nerve in its wake. You spun in his grip with a surprise he’d never seen on you before, eyes blown wide, breath caught, and all that sharp defiance from before suddenly fractured by something he had never seen painted so vulnerably on you.
You looked so unsure, so confused, so conflicted, staring at his hand like it was both a threat and a gateway to something new.
At your face, Neteyam’s expression softened too, the smugness fading completely as he brought the end of your braid up between the two of you, turning it so the the wispy ends of your braid went limp to expose the pink tendrils beneath. They snaked in the air, searching the air as if awaiting what was yet to come.
His own kuru hung over his shoulder, and he used his other hand to grab at it, settling it so close to yours that the tendrils already began reaching for each other, drawn like magnets, but far enough that they did not touch.
“I will not force this, and I will not continue with this if you say no. I honestly don’t think I can.” he said, voice low, rough with restraint but steady. “Tsaheylu with me… or we stop right here. Your choice, Fang. Always your choice.”
The words hung heavy. You hated him for giving you the out. Hated him for making it feel safe to say yes even though you really thought you would have said no. Hated how much you wanted him, and wanted to know what it felt like to be bound to the one person you’d spent your whole life trying to push away.
Your chest rose and fell fast. The tendrils of your kuru twitched, brushing the air toward his and you didn’t speak as you watched them try to connect. Slowly, deliberately, you reached your hand up to wrap around his forearm, watched as the hand that held his kuru faltered at the intrusion and met his eyes as he searched yours for answer.
It didn’t come as a verbal one, but your mind had been made the moment you tugged his arm forward to allow his kuru to connect to yours. And in an instant the tendrils met, wrapping and fusing, snapping the bond into place.
A gasp tore from both of you at once, backs arching, eyes fluttering as raw sensation flooded through. The pleasure was intense and overwhelming, but more than that: every buried feeling, every unspoken want, every flash of anger and longing and need crashed together in a single, shared current that left you both moaning messes.
He groaned your name like it hurt and you whined his so helplessly, fingers digging into his shoulders and the world narrowed to just the two of you.
Neteyam moved first, hands sliding under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he spun you both around and sank to his knees. He laid you gently on the cool floor beneath him, settling between your legs, face-to-face now with his forehead pressed to yours, kuru still joined, the bond pulsing with every heartbeat.
He slid back into you slowly, eyes never leaving yours, letting you feel everything – his awe, his hunger, the years of wanting you he’d hidden behind every smirk and fight. And you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him deeper, and for the first time with there being no crate, no wall, no anger between you, nothing but the bond, neither of you could deny the truth that lingered between you for years anymore.
The bond made it unbearable in the best way because you could feel everything.
You could feel every slow drag of him inside you echoed back through the link. You felt his pleasure at how tight and wet you were, your helpless clench around him, and the ache that flared harder with every inch he gave. You felt the way your body gripped him like it never wanted to let go, and he felt it too, a low, broken groan rumbling from his chest as his hips finally seated flush against yours.
“Fuck–” he breathed, voice ragged, forehead still pressed to yours. His eyes were half-lidded, pupils blown wide, the golden amber almost gone. “You feel… I can feel you everywhere.”
You couldn’t answer with words. The bond carried it for you: the rush of heat, the ache, the impossible fullness of him stretching you open while his emotions poured into you
He started to move, slow at first, deep rolls of his hips that dragged the thick length of him along every sensitive spot inside you. Each thrust sent a wave through the bond, pleasure looping between you until it built on itself, amplifying, stealing your breath. Your nails raked down his back, leaving red lines over his stripes; he hissed and answered by snapping his hips harder, driving a sharp cry from your throat.
Through the link you felt how much he loved that sound, how it made him throb inside you, how close he already was to losing control and you responded by sticking your mouth to his neck, and sucking hard in an attempt to quiet yourself.
“Tell me,” he rasped, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head, keeping your faces close, noses brushing, “tell me you feel it too.”
You did. Eywa, you did. The anger was still there, flickering at the edges, but it only made the pleasure sharper, almost as if the bond was burning it clean and turning years of hate into something so much more overwhelming.
“I feel you,” you finally gasped as your mouth left his neck with a slimy pop, and you noticed the angry purple mark that sat in its wake. Your voice cracked, legs tightening around his waist to pull him impossibly deeper. “All of you. Don’t stop–!”
The next thrust ended with another broken sound from you, a half-moan, half-word that slurred through your tongue almost incomprehensibly.
“Mmm– ’tayem–”
Neteyam’s rhythm faltered for a heartbeat, then picked up again, faster now with a cocky triumph you felt flooding the bond like heat. A low, smug chuckle vibrated against your neck as he nipped the skin, sucking and pinching at it with pride.
“I got you that good, huh?” He murmured, voice rough but dripping with satisfaction, hips rolling deep and deliberate. “Got the stubborn Fang stuttering my name?”
You tried again, desperate, the pleasure coiling so tight you could barely think.
“Ma– tayem–”
He laughed again, breathlessly arrogant and loving every moment of this – loving that you, always so sharp-tongued and composed, always throwing insults at him and trying to embarrass him in front of your families, was reduced to this, such a moaning, whiny mess you couldn’t even get his name correct.
“Ca not even get your words right,” he teased, smirking against your lips, eyes gleaming down at you with such amusement. “If only everyone could see you now.”
“Ma ‘teyam.” You managed it this time, much clearer and insistent of every syllable that trembled out of you on the next thrust. And he froze.
Not completely, his hips still rocked shallow and instinctively, but the rhythm stuttered hard, like someone had yanked his hips backwards and held them still. His eyes widened, searching yours through the haze, the cocky smirk smacked off his face in an instant as the meaning finally slammed into him.
Ma ‘teyam.
Your Neteyam
The bond flared hot with it, your claim, raw and unfiltered, pouring straight into him. A ragged groan tore out of his chest, half between shock and something much, much deeper, like a stirring pot of pleasure and disbelief and possession all tangled together into two bodies merged as one. His forehead dropped to yours again, losing every trace of that smug control because the words were echoing through the link like a vow, and it broke him.
A low, guttural groan ripped from his throat, deep and wrecked and his whole body shuddered as the realization hit him harder than any phrase ever uttered to him. His hips jerked forward once, hard and uncontrolled, completely unlike his usual poise, as he buried himself to the hilt inside you, and that was it. He came with a broken cry of your name, voice cracking on the syllables as he spilled hot and deep, pulse after thick pulse flooding you.
The bond amplified everything and you felt every throb of his release as if it were your own and that made yours follow soon after, the overwhelming rush of his pleasure crashing into yours, the way his heart slammed against his ribs, the dizzying mix of disbelief and euphoria that Neteyam was now claimed by you in the most intimate way possible, solidified by the way your attached kuru still hung besides you, your deep purple marks decorated his neck, and your bodies lay against each other, sleek and fucked out.
His forehead pressed hard to yours, eyes squeezed shut, breath coming in harsh, uneven pants against your lips. His arms trembled as he held himself above you, hips still twitching with aftershocks, grinding slow and shallow as if he couldn’t bear to pull out.
“Fuck… fuck–” he gasped, voice hoarse and trembling, nothing left of the smug warrior who’d been teasing you since you got to this forsaken watchpost. “You… you said…”
“That I despise you?” You murmured, eyes fluttering closed as you breathed him in, beyond exhausted, tail finally curling loose and lazy behind you. “I do.”
A broken laugh tore out of him, warm and disbelieving, his nose brushing yours as his breathing slowly began to steady. “I don’t even need to see your tail to know you lie.”
And as if to prove his point, he brought his hand around to the place where your kurus joined, stroking the exposed, sensitive nerves gently with his thumb. The bond hummed softly at the touch, sending a lazy ripple of warmth through you both and your tail flicked once, then curled deliberately around his thigh, holding him close.
He felt it, of course and a quiet, satisfied hum left his chest.
“See?” He whispered, lips brushing the corner of your mouth. “Even your tail is done fighting me.”
You opened one eye, glaring weakly up at him. “Do not get used to it, skxawng. The second we are back with the clan, I am telling everyone you cried after your father yelled at you.”
Neteyam snorted, shifting his weight so he could prop himself on an elbow and look down at you properly. His braids fell forward, framing his face, and the bond carried the soft glow of affection he was trying, and miserably failing to hide behind his usual smirk.
“Then I will have to tell them how the almighty daughter of our clan head warrior begged for me to–”
You slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes narrowing. “Finish that sentence and I will bite you again.” His eyes crinkled at the corners, laughter muffled against your palm and you narrowed your eyes as you spoke once more. “I could still push you off this ledge. No one would find the body till morning.”
“Maybe so.” He conceded easily. His hand slid up to cup the back of your neck, thumb brushing the base of your kuru in a way that made your spine shiver despite your best effort to stay at least a little defiant. “But then who would keep you company on patrol anymore? You would miss arguing with me.”
You huffed, shoving at his chest. “I would finally earn peace.”
“Peace is boring.” He countered, catching your wrist and pressing a kiss to the inside of it, soft and infuriatingly gentle. “And you would miss my family interrupting us every five minutes, thinking they will catch you slipping in the act. My dad likes messing with us too much to let you go.”
You snorted, but the sound lacked real venom. “Your father likes me because I am not afraid to yell at you when you are being an arrogant teylupil. That is not the same as liking me.”
Neteyam’s grin turned softer, eyes crinkling at the corners. “He likes you because you are strong. And because you force me to be stronger. Even when you are threatening to skin me alive.”
You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt, but your tail betrayed you again, curling tighter around his leg like it had decided it wasn’t letting go anytime soon.
“Flattery will not save you,” you muttered, dropping your head back to his chest so you didn’t have to look at that stupid, fond expression on his face. “When we get back at dawn, we say nothing. We walked the perimeter. Inventoried the stock. End of story.”
Neteyam arched a brow, amusement flickering through the bond as his eyes flickered around at the area even messier then it was before you two had arrived. “You think they will believe that? Nothing has been done here. And you look…” He brushed a thumb over your neck, tracing where his mouth had been earlier. “…thoroughly ruined.”
You swatted his hand away, but there was no real heat in it, not like before. “You look worse, Tawtute. Like you lost a fight with an Ikran.”
He laughed, full and unguarded this time “Then let them think what they want, I already won.” he whispered when you parted.
You rolled your eyes, but your tail tightened around his leg again, betraying you.
“I still despise you,” you muttered into his neck.
Thunderbolts!Bucky x Reader • Canon • A Baby Mama Drama Fic
A one-night stand with a stranger named James should have stayed anonymous. Until two little pink lines ruined that plan. When you see him on the news and realize your baby daddy is a congressman, avenger, and super-soldier, you have no idea what kind of chaos is in store.
This is a Baby Mama Drama reader-insert fic, featuring Valentina the Devil, pregnancy cravings, angst, hilarity through Thunderbolts team interactions, and, of course, a happy ending. Spicy chapters will have clean and spicy versions for inclusivity.
Trigger Warnings: Reader Insert Series ("you"); Drinking (NOT while pregnant); One Night Stand; P-in-V sex (Protected!); Failed Birth Control (duh); Accidental Pregnancy; Paternity Test; Pregnancy Cravings; Baby Shopping; Feeling Kicks; Labor (not graphic).
Author's Note: This series was a request from @nefarious-prat, that I had actually already outlined in series form! Thus, the series got moved up the to-do list. Also, she requested reader-insert, which saved me from having to name a character. Yay!
Main Masterlist
Prologue: One Night (18+; MDNI Version)
Prologue: One Night (Clean Version)
Chapter 1: Discovery
Chapter 2: The Results
Chapter 3: Unwelcome Eyes
Chapter 4:
Chapter 5:
Chapter 6:
Chapter 7:
Epilogue:
Chapters will be released when they become available. There may be more time between chapters than you’re used to, because I have some *events* coming up November and December!!
Message me if you want to be added to the tag list! (or removed, of course)
summary: you officially meet rafe’s new girlfriend after your break up
pairing: ex!rafe cameron x reader
1.9k words
a.n: this was sitting in my drafts for five whole months im sorry…
You’d always imagined meeting her differently.
Evelyn had these impossibly blue eyes, crystal-clear. Blonde hair that looked like it belonged on the cover of some old-fashioned magazine. A soft, glowing complexion, it made her look completely out of place among the crowd of tanned, rowdy teenagers. Like a relic from another world, something carved by the gods and accidentally dropped into a house party in Figure Eight.
You lingered by the makeshift bar, hidden by the crowd of people and red cups. You had to go there, talk to her at some point. She was sitting with your friends, and Rafe. Well he was still technically your friend too. But they wouldn’t notice if you stayed a bit longer in this side of the room. Room that became your own personal hell. The distance felt safer anyway.
"Hey what’s taking you so long ?" Kelce’s voice startled you. He slid beside you already mid eye rolling. "Its boring. We’ve been waiting for you for like an hour."
You arched a brow. "I highly doubt that."
Kelce gave you a knowing look. Of course he knew. Everyone knew. Your break up with Rafe had been messy. Not in the explosive way, but more painful, unfinished. The kind of ending that left a train of questions. You and Rafe didn’t hate each other. That would’ve been easier. Instead, it was the love that couldn’t survive in between your friendship. Things got awkward between everyone. So you ended it before it could rot.
And now, when you had finally begun to feel okay, he showed up holding the hand of an angel in human form. Laughing with her like she was the greatest thing to ever exist. And maybe she was. Evelyn was unreal. Hell she was the prettiest woman you’d ever laid eyes on. Rafe had really outdone himself this time.
"Come on. You’ll like her." Kelce said.
Oh you were sure you would.
He grabbed your hand leading you through the crowed of people, and you didn’t protest.
Your harboured a smile, convincing enough. You were happy to see your friends. You were. And in another life, maybe you’d be thrilled to meet her.
"Look at that. Dear angel decided to grace us with her presence." Topper slurred, he was barely standing upright as he got up to kiss your cheek.
You laughed slightly, pulling away when you felt his drool on your cheek. "What the hell Top?"
He plopped down on the couch next to a girl, slinging his arm around her shoulders. He shrugged and you rolled your eyes. You recognise the girl, Amy she was from your year, you smiled greeting her.
Then you turned to Rafe. He was already looking at you, a sheepish smile playing on his lips. He sat beside Evelyn on a loveseat, his hand wrapped around hers, resting on her thigh. You smiled politely when you realized Evelyn was looking at you too.
"Hi, you must be Evelyn." You introduced your name and offered your hand. "It’s lovely to finally put a face to your name."
She smiled genuinely, taking your hand in hers. "It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much things about you from the boys."
"All good things I hope ?" You joked slightly, though you hoped they didn’t say anything awful behind your back. And especially not in front of her.
"I told her you were a total bitch." Topper piped up. "Supermassive ego but sexy, cute butt. Don’t know if this counts." Topper had no filter when drunk. You and him would always banter but when he was drunk he was definitely an asshole. His comment felt slightly humiliating in front of her.
You rolled your eyes opening your mouth to shoot back but Evelyn beat you to it.
"That was highly unnecessary." She gave him a look, that made the whole group burst into laughter. She turned to you smiling sheepishly. "He didn’t say that. Only good things I promise."
You smiled at her because why wouldn’t you ?
You hated that she was this sweet. It didn’t feel like politeness when she said it, just genuine.
You hated noticing how although Rafe and her weren’t holding hands anymore, he gave her thigh a reassuring squeeze. You wanted to say that you didn’t care.
But you did. You really cared.
You hadn’t spoken to him since you arrived, not once in the past three hours you’d been sitting next to Kelce. You didn’t know how to. It was easier this way.
Part of you still hated how easy she was to like. You hated the way her eyes met yours without hesitation. Like she already wanted to know you.
Because you already knew. She would be easy to talk to. She wasn’t trying too hard. She wasn’t acting territorial. She wasn’t smug or suspicious. She was better than you in that matter.
And it made you wonder what he’d said about you, when she asked.
Evelyn stared at you walking towards the group with a sheepish smile. You were the girl friend, that everyone was talking about, Rafe’s ex.
She met you a few times before. Not officially. But she recognised you, multiple times when you were out downtown. The island was pretty small, contrary to popular belief and she hated that she instantly knew it was you when she saw Sarah, Rafe’s sister, chatting with a girl at some local diner. You looked exactly like how they described you, and even if they didn’t it was kind of obvious that someone like Rafe would’ve dated you. You were dazzling.
You didn’t seem to notice her at first, once you were finally standing in front of everyone.
She noticed the pretty purple ribbon in your hair. It wasn’t big just a delicate, careful detail in your hairband. Elegant. It suited you.
She noticed how everyone’s attention shifted the moment you arrived. How Topper leapt off the couch to kiss you. How your laugh made her look at you more closely.
"Look at that. Dear angel decided to grace us with her presence."
They all called you angel. It suited you.
She noticed how Rafe stiffened the moment he saw you. How his eyes never really left you, even while he was still holding her hand.
And when you turned toward them, he dropped her hand. She told herself it was nothing, that he just let go so she could shake your hand. But still he didn’t hold it back afterwards.
You looked beautiful, she noticed. She wondered why both of you broke up.
"I’ve heard so much things about you." She said, and it was true.
Kelce and Topper constantly talked about you, how you were their best friend and how she didn’t need to worry because you and Rafe were over and that you respected boundaries. That both of you could really get along.
At first, Evelyn wished you had been the mean, obsessed ex. That would’ve been easier. But you weren’t. And somehow, realising this, that hurt more.
Because why the hell would Rafe even leave you for ?
"Only good things I hope ?"
Topper cut in before she could respond. "I told her you were a total bitch. Supermassive ego but sexy cute butt. Don’t know if this counts."
She gaped, frowning slightly. He wasn’t serious… was he?
She felt Rafe shifting beside her.
"That was highly unnecessary." She didn’t want things to feel awkward or for you to think she believed what he said.
Everyone started laughing. Evelyn realized, too late, that this must have been some kind of inside joke. Just some sort of banter. Were they laughing at her not getting it?
Rafe squeezed her thigh, a gesture made to reassure her but it did quite the opposite.
She turned sheepishly towards you.
"He didn’t say such a thing. Only good things I promise."
Evelyn tried to look away, but her eyes kept flicking back to you.
You weren’t what she expected. You weren’t cold. You weren’t desperate. You weren’t trying to reclaim anything that wasn’t yours anymore. But you were still… there.
You didn’t even need to speak to Rafe. You didn’t need to do anything. The tension between you both was enough to suffocate. And everyone seemed to notice.
She was smart enough to see it.
You didn’t look at Rafe, but he looked at you. Too often. Like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.
Evelyn tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear and glanced at Rafe’s hand on her leg.
It was warm. Steady.
But it wasn’t enough. She wondered if you realised that she wasn’t’ doing well.
You glanced down at your drink, swirling the half-melted ice. You knew what this looked like. You knew how it probably felt for Evelyn. God, you’d been her before. The girl hopelessly in love with Rafe, watching him interact with his exes.
You sighed quietly.
"I like your ribbon." Evelyn said suddenly, her voice cutting through the hum of music and chatter.
You looked up, surprised.
"Oh." you said, fingers brushing self-consciously over the knot on your hairband. "Thanks. It’s old."
"It’s pretty." she said simply, then looked down, like maybe she hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
You couldn’t help the smile that appeared on your lips. And you were sure that her compliments hurt even more than any mean words she could’ve told you.
"Yours too." you replied, motioning vaguely at her dress. "I mean, your whole thing. You look like you walked out of a 1950s Vogue spread."
Evelyn laughed softly. "That’s exactly the look I was going for."
You both laughed. And for the briefest moment, something unspoken passed between you two, quiet realisation that got along.
But then Rafe’s voice cut in. Casual, just typically him. "She used to tie ribbons on everything." He said, nodding at your hair. "Not just her hair. Bags, shoes, water bottles, on her damn cat once. Like a kid."
You glanced at him, and to your own surprise, you laughed. "You know I still do that. Oggy loves the vibe."
"Oh that poor cat." Kelce sighed. "That’s probably the reason why he’s a grumpy asshole. You’re torturing him."
"You’re just saying this because he hates you." You rolled your eyes.
"He hates everyone." Kelce snorted.
"Except Rafe." You say automatically, a little bitter and amused.
Rafe shrugs like it’s no big deal. "She knows I respect her boundaries."
And in that brief exchange, there’s something too smooth, too comfortable. Not flirty, not romantic, but familiar.
Evelyn noticed.
She watched the way your eyes meet, just for a moment and how you both smiled like a memory just passed between you. She felt it land in her chest like a soft bruise.
She didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. She wanted to act like it didn’t affect her.
But she cared. She really cared.
It wasn’t nothing to see her boyfriend interact with his ex. And she tried to rationalise it, telling herself that you were only best friends. But when she saw how his eyes flickered toward you, not in a calculated way she noticed, but out of habit and when they seemed to soften at the sight of you, it was enough to make her feel a twinge of something sharp.
At that moment she loathed you as much as she worshiped you.
summary: It happened with two ties, one red and gold and the other green and silver. It only took one mistake for all of Hogwarts to find out.
pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Gryff!fem!reader
0.5 k words
an: i got inspired by one of the 2020 dracotok trend, im sure y’all remember
The door creaked open and in strolled Mattheo Riddle, late as usual. He doesn’t bother to apologise, he just carelessly strode towards his place.
"As usual, Mr. Riddle, when you come in late I would—"
Professor McGonagall stopped mid-word.
The entire classroom fell silent.
Mattheo frowned. Glares, sure. A lecture, obviously. But this? Theodore was staring like he’d seen a ghost. Enzo and Blaise both wore half-hidden smirks, jaws slack with amusement. But the worse was Draco. He looked like he might actually combust, the scowl on his face twisted deep enough to carve stone.
Mattheo muttered, "What?"under his breath.
Then he saw it.
The red-and-gold tie draped loose around his neck. Not his. Yours.
He huffed a breath and before he could properly process what was happening, the door opened again.
You rushed in, a little breathless, freezing instantly when every pair of eyes snapped to you. Gasps rippled across the room. Enzo outright snickered now, Blaise bit down on a laugh. Draco’s disgust was loud enough to fill the silence.
"This is unbelievable." he muttered.
"Bloody hell." Ron breathed.
Confusion rolled thick. Sure, you weren’t normally late, you were actually one of the best students. But this reaction? It didn’t make sense. Until your eyes landed on Mattheo.
Your tie. On. His. Neck.
The world narrowed. For a second, neither of you moved. The silence was suffocating. Then, wordlessly, you crossed the room. He tugged the tie free at the same moment you reached for it, a lazy smirk flickering at his lips. No explanations. No excuses. Just a quick, fumbling swap. His Slytherin green for your Gryffindor red.
You knotted yours back in place, he draped his loosely over his collar, and without another glance, you both retreated to your seats.
The silence lingered like smoke. Professor McGonagall finally shook her head in disappointment and forced the lesson on, but the air buzzed with whispers and suspicion, the entire class trying to process what they’d just witnessed.
"Nice move you pulled out there." Blaise was the first to bring up the subject at dinner, smirk tugging at his lips as he demolished his plate of food.
"A total disgrace." Draco snapped, cutting across him. His voice was sharp enough to slice. "If you want to… slum it with Gryffindors, that’s your business. But walking in there draped in their colours?" His lip curled. "That’s pathetic. A disgrace to Slytherin."
Mattheo’s jaw tightened. He didn’t bite immediately. He let the silence draw out, gaze steady on his cousin until the air felt heavy. Then his voice cut through.
"Don’t talk about her like that."
Draco’s eyes narrowed. "I wasn’t talking about her, I was talking about you. Do you even realize how that looked?"
Mattheo leaned back, his facial expression softening slightly.
"Yeah. I do." A smirk curled at his mouth. "Looked like I just stumbled in after a long night with my girlfriend."
Blaise and Enzo burst into laughter, half the table gasped, and even a few Gryffindors craned their necks to see what the commotion was.
Mattheo just raised his goblet, utterly unbothered, like he, THE Mattheo Riddle, heir of Slytherin hadn’t just admitted to be dating a Gryffindor. Much to Draco’s pure horror
"It’s not that deep Malfoy."
Draco could’ve nearly had a syncope hearing these words.
Rumours that you are hooking up with Mattheo Riddle are all over the Hogwarts Gossip. You’ve transferred at hogwarts not even a month ago and you’re- wait are you even supposed to know who he his ? The whole thing is ridiculous. And you’re pissed.
Switching ties
It happened with two ties, one red and gold and the other green and silver. It only took one mistake for all of Hogwarts to find out.
summary: Rumours that you are hooking up with Mattheo Riddle are all over the Hogwarts Gossip. You’ve transferred at hogwarts not even a month ago and you’re- wait are you even supposed to know who he his ? The whole thing is ridiculous. And you’re pissed.
pairing: MattheoRiddle x fem!ravenclaw!reader
cw: angst, fluff, cursing, mention of drinking, slight mamma mia reference (iykyk)
4k words
inspo: obsessed by mariah carey
"No way he really did all that ?" Your 15 year old daughter gasped at your revelation.
"Yeah!" you laughed, shaking your head. "Then he started throwing out all these shitty excuses men come up with when they’re desperate."
She blinked, leaning in. "I bet he was."
You smirked.
"Oh he truly was, so I just stared at him and I was like ‘why are you so obsessed with me?’"
20 years ago.
The Hogwarts Whisper
Okay, guys, grab your wands because this tea is SPILLING ! Our sources have definitely spotted Mattheo Riddle, yes THE Mattheo Riddle, son of Voldemort and the absolute HOTTEST guy at Hogwarts (Professor McGonagall, we know you’re not exactly a fan, but we see you), with none other than the new girl in the three broomsticks. Is this the start of a new Hogwarts couple? We’re not saying they’re a thing... but it’s looking suspiciously like it.
But wait, things are getting spicy ! Another source of ours claims she saw them in the restricted section of the library, right next to the Dark Arts aisle, sharing a kiss that was so passionate, even Ron Weasley would have dropped his Chocolate Frog. Now, we have to ask, is Riddle trying to tip her over to the Dark Side? He didn’t exactly confirm or deny it, but what we do know is that he definitely tipped her over to his bed… No, we don’t mean in a metaphorical sense–
Your heart dropped.
What the fuck ?
You turned to your new friend, Luna Lovegood, who sat next to you in the Ravenclaw table. The paper was still in your hand and you gestured to it.
"I’m going to have a panic attack Luna. What is that ?"
It was supposed to be a quiet morning.
You had just sat down at breakfast, half-asleep, your toast untouched, when the shriek came from the other end of the Ravenclaw table.
"Oh. My. God. You’re on the cover."
You blinked. "Huh?"
Before you could even react, a copy of The Hogwarts Whisper was slammed onto the table in front of you. The glossy, overly dramatic headline screamed back at you:
“Mattheo Riddle Caught Locking Lips With Mysterious New Girl in Restricted Section.”
Your face went up in flames. It couldn’t be you right ? But your name was clearly mentioned in the paper.
"No. This is insane. I didn’t—I’ve never—"
But no one was listening. Everyone had turned to look at you. Eyes widened.
Whispers buzzed across the hall louder than enchanted howlers. You could see girls glaring, a few Ravenclaws snickering, and somewhere down the table, someone gasped. Dramatically.
"Merlin’s beard," you muttered, flipping the page. It got worse.
One source claims they heard moaning next to the Dark Arts aisle. Another says she’s been under a Love Potion. Which, let’s be honest, is very on-brand for someone who wears last season’s robes.
You slammed the magazine shut and turned to your friends. "Who wrote this? Who let this get published?"
Cho mumbled, "It’s anonymous. Probably that nosy third year Hufflepuff-"
"I wasn’t in the library yesterday ! I wasn’t even near the restricted section! I was in the common room, writing a stupid essay on wand theory!"
Your voice cracked, slightly hysterical now. Your hands came to rest on top of your eyes. You breathing was shallow as you tried to keep your calm, trying to think about what could’ve gone wrong.
You’ve transferred from Ilvermony a month ago. Hogwarts was supposed to be a new start for you after what happened there. You were bullied, relentlessly. Whispers behind your back that turned into cruel jokes in the hallways. Spells cast when professors weren’t looking. Your wand yanked from your hand mid-duel, your belongings hexed to humiliate you, your name always twisted into something meaner.
No one ever really stepped in. Not the teachers, not your so called friends. By the end, you stopped trying to defend yourself. You stopped speaking in class. You stopped looking people in the eye.
So when your parents offered the transfer to Hogwarts, you didn’t hesitate.
"Well actually, it could be Riddle." Luna interrupted your thoughts. You stared at her in question and she continued. "It says here that he confirmed that you guys slept together. It’s quite explicit."
"How could he do this ?" You wondered out loud. "Why would he say things like that ?"
"Tell that to them." Cho hummed towards the Slytherin table where a group–including Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Malfoy and Lorenzo Berkshire– was sat. They were also checking the journal, although they seemed amused by what was written. Obviously they would be.
Riddle was part of their friend group. It made them laugh to hear about another one of his conquest being publicly outed. You looked back at the journal. The guy even had the nerve to give a personal interview. You felt outraged.
When Mattheo Riddle arrived in the Great Hall, he was oblivious to the commotion happening. He sat next to his friends, thinking about his next potion class.
"Long night ?" Theodore questioned, a smirk on his face. He just rolled his eyes in response.
"Bugger off." He grabbed a spoonful of scrambled eggs and poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice. Something felt weird. When he raised his head, he saw all his friends staring at him expectantly, a big smile on their face. "Okay are you gonna tell what’s happening now ?" He dropped his spoon on the table, folding his arms against his chest.
"Aren’t you gonna read the news ?" Pansy smirked handing his a piece of journal. He stared at it confused, dread forming in his chest. What did his father do again ? At this point he was expecting a handful of things.
But what he truly was not expecting, it was to see his name on the paper. He read the headline once, twice. He frowned.
His eyes scanned the paper, widening each time he read the most blatant bullshit ever written on a paper. He quickly slammed it on the table, eyes wide open in horror as if traumatised.
"What was that ?" He looked around at his friends, who seemed to have witnessed the best entertainment of this year so far. "I’ve never seen this much bullshit written about me and trust me, I’ve read a lot of shit by the Rita Skeatcher."
"Come on, don’t act oblivious. You wrote this."
"I did not." He felt offended that people, let alone his friends would think he would engage in something as irrelevant as gossiping. Mattheo did not have the time for this. People already knew he could pull, why brag about it through a paper ? "This is an obvious piss-take. I would never say this." He gestured to the paper.
"Good point." Blaise nodded.
His thoughts seemed to clear a bit and that’s when he realised. His head snapped up, and he looked around scanning the Hall, looking for you. You were sat with your friends, furious he noticed. Obviously you would be.
When you felt eyes on you, you automatically turned your head toward his table, locking eyes. Your frown immediately deepened and you flipped him off, with both your hands. Childish, he pointed out.
You then stood up, aggressively and walked out of the Hall. Draco, who was the only one who noticed this interaction snorted on his food. Yes, Draco Malfoy snorting.
"Good job cousin."
Mattheo rolled his eyes. Standing up walking towards the entrance. After having done four strides, he immediately turned, walking back to his friends.
"Please find who wrote this and delete that shit." And without waiting for an answer he turned back, speeding to catch up with you.
"Hum… who’s gonna break it to him?" Pansy muttered.
"It was your idea. You assume the consequences." Blaise huffed.
"What ?" Lorenzo, Draco and Theodore stared at the two of them, confused.
"Pansy had this great idea to ruin Mattheo’s reputation after he pranked her. You know when he turned her hair yellow neon."
"You actually helped me write this, you hypocrite !" Pansy defended herself. Blaise simply shrugged at that.
"I don’t think it’s even possible to ruin his reputation at this point there is nothing to ruin." Enzo deadpanned.
"Hey I was desperate. We each have our own reasons to hold a grudge against Riddle…" Pansy muttered. "But I didn’t think he would get this." She paused, searching for the correct word. "Agitated ?"
"Well about that…"
You were strolling to your dorm. You needed to get your books before the first period started, that is if you even considered going. Your feet met the concrete floor with a loud thud, each step a confirmation of how furious you were.
You heard from behind quick paces. You curiously turned your head and to your own displeasure you saw the person you last wanted to talk to. Mattheo Riddle, with his hair all disheveled was trying to catch up with you. And he definitely seemed out of breath. Probably his smoking, you thought.
You rolled your eyes quickening your pace.
"Hey please." You heard him call out. Still you ignored him. You were nearly running now, running away from him as he chased you. The situation was dramatic, a bit comical from an external point of vue. But you really wanted to get away from him. You were nearly there. You could see the Ravenclaw’s common room’s door right in front of you.
It’s when you felt his hand on your shoulder that you suddenly flinched and stopped right on your track.
"Don’t touch me you dirty ass rag." He looked taken aback by your sudden outburst.
"I-"
"No you don’t get to fucking talk. You fucking humiliated me. And for what ? A good laugh ? Why would you sqy shit like and lie about us having sex ?"
"I never said this. Please just listen to me-" He nearly begged but you cut him off.
You did not care about him. You definitely did not sign up for this bullshit when you arrived. Having to deal with a guy was one of the last things you wanted to do.
"No I won’t. I know how men like you are. Pathetic. I’ll leave you to your miserable life. Continue bragging about getting me in your bed, it’ll make you look obsessed if it didn’t already."
You walk towards the door of your common room, thankful for the suspiciously great timing of the first year opening door at this right moment. You definitely didn’t feel like solving a riddle while trying to get away from Mattheo Riddle (pun not intended). The student awkwardly smiled at you, not meeting your gaze and you guessed that he probably heard your conversation.
Oh well. Something new to gossip about.
"I’ll fix this !" You heard his muffled voice, after closing the common room door.
Asshole.
Once you were settled on your bed, you decided that skipping your morning classes wouldn’t be that bad of an idea. You had advanced potions and you were prepared enough for your NEWT’s that skipping that one class wouldn’t hurt. You glanced at the paper on top of your roommate’s night table, The Hogwarts Whisper. On the front page, a very realistic picture of Mattheo Riddle kissing someone (that looked very similar to you) against a bookshelf. You did not take the time to properly look at it this morning, but watching it more carefully you realise that it’s not even you on the moving picture .
You crumble the piece of paper between your hands before igniting it with your wand. This was humiliating. You would never admit it but you truly fell for his charms. Back on the first day.
"Hi." You walked reluctantly towards the boy sitting alone in the Hallway. You were lost. Again. It was the third time and it was only the first hour of your first day at Hogwarts. The boy raised his head, his cigarette not moving from his mouth and he just waited for you to continue talking. "Do you know where the potions classroom is ? It’s my next class and I don’t really know my way around here. I would have tried looking for it myself but I’m a bit late. And well I have this map but it’s hard to–"
"It’s just here." He cut you off pointing to the door behind you.
"Oh." You mumbled embarrassed, looking at the ground. You felt your face flushing. "Mmh…Thank you, I guess ?"
You quickly turned around knocking once on the door. Without waiting for an answer you opened the door, too embarrassed to be one more second around the boy. You apologised to the professor and found a place in the back of the room.
As if the universe was against you, the classroom door opened to reveal the same boy who had been sitting smoking just a few minutes ago.
"I’m sorry Professor Slughorn. I woke up a bit late."
"Come come, m’boy." The professor waved him off, returning to his lecture.
Misfortunately for you, the boy obviously sat next to you. Out of all the empty places around you. You turned to him and saw that he didn’t even pay you attention.
"You did not."
"Excuse me ?"
"Wake up late– I mean that’s not the reason why you’re late."
"Wow you truly are clever." He answered sarcasm dripping from his voice. "I bet you’re in Ravenclaw right ?" He smirked.
"You see my tie colour." You deadpanned.
"I’m colour blind."
"No you’re not."
"How would you know. Do you know me ?" He asked challenging you.
"No, but colour blinding is a condition that affects only 4.5 per cent of the population, population that is, may I add, muggle. It does not affect wizards whatsoever."
"So Ravenclaw ?" His smirk was still present or his face, although it softened a little bit.
"What’s your name ?"
"Mattheo."
"Mattheo what ?" He frowned at that. Did you really not know who he was ?
"Riddle ?" He said but it sounded more like a question.
"No, no riddle just tell me."
"It’s Mattheo Riddle." He huffed exasperatedly.
"Oh okay, sorry."
After this, he volunteered to show you around the castle. You both hit it off pretty well. He spent three hours explaining every thing you needed to know to be able to guide your way around. He made a few jokes here and there making you laugh, and you always wittily retorted back which, as hard as he tried to conceal it, made him laugh too. Eventually, you both started talking about your personal life, sharing deep thoughts you’ve each never told anyone before. You’ve known each other for just a few hours really but it felt like you could both trust each other. It had been just a few days. But in the span of them you felt like he was your first friend, and somehow you were also the first person he truly appreciated.
Until that stupid paper.
"You should come to the party." Cho cut your thoughts.
You didn’t bother going for lunch nor for dinner. Your roommates have been kind enough to bring you something to eat, just a piece of bread with cheese and two blueberry tarts. This small gesture warmed your hearts and you thanked them although you weren’t very hungry.
They were now dressing up for the Hufflepuff quidditch victory party against Gryffindor. You were told Hufflepuff threw the best parties and although you wanted to figure it out for yourself, you did not feel like showing up your face ever again.
"Arghh… No I’m never setting feet out of this room." You retorted, your face deep in your pillow.
"This will be so much fun, you have to come please." Padma, another one of your roommates, tried convincing you.
You smiled apologetically at them. You truly appreciated how they wanted you to feel included but you genuinely didn’t want to party. They understood and after a few minutes they left the room leaving you alone. Or that’s what you thought.
"Your head is surrounded by nargles." You flinched at the sound of her voice. She took off the originally shaped glasses she was wearing, and stared at you. "Is something bothering you ?"
"I mean other than what happened this morning…"
"Oh yes right." She muttered. After a few minutes of silence she broke it. "You should go. To the party. You shouldn’t let Riddle hold this much power over you."
"I know but…" You had no explanation.
"In other circumstances would you have gone ?" She asked. You thought for a few seconds then you simply nodded your head. "Then you should go. Don’t let Riddle have that much power over you." You nodded thinking about it. She was right you shouldn’t let him affect you this much.
"Luna, I don’t know anyone."
"It’s okay I’ll come with you."
"You would ?"
"Yes I mean I don’t like parties but I guess if this could help you, why not ?" You warmly smiled at her.
Then you both started getting dressed. You wore a simple black laced top with a short black skirt and black boots. Luna suggested you wore a dark red lipstick, and you were against it until she reassured you it would really compliment your facial features. She herself wore a lighter version of your outfit, a long white skirt with a white top and light pink ballerinas. It complimented her fair skin and light hair.
The Hufflepuff common room was buzzing with music, you heard the sound of it even before entering the common room. Once you were inside, it was the smell of booze that entered you nostrils, making you shudder a little bit. You turned towards the makeshift bar in the end of the room.
"I’m getting myself a drink." You turned to Luna and she nodded, although she followed there.
You wouldn’t admit it but you lost count of the number of Firewhisky shots you drank after the second one. You weren’t used to drinking, a simple drop of it was enough to make you tipsy. But now you were absolutely wasted. Cho and Padma joined you when they saw you did in fact make it to the party. And quickly enough, you started swaying to the music amongst the crowd of students.
You were the first person Mattheo Riddle noticed when he entered the common room. It was hard not too. When you were in the middle of the dance floor, the sound of your laugh distinctive amongst the chatter, as you were swaying with the Hufflepuff’s quidditch team’s captain behind you. You looked beautiful that’s also one of the first thing he noticed but he couldn’t help feeling bitter about the position you were in with that other boy.
"Hey mate, we’re going–"
"Don’t fucking talk to me." He cut Blaise off.
His friends eventually told him they were the ones behind the article. And well…let’s say that Pansy couldn’t make it to the party because she unexpectedly grew a snake tongue in her mouth. Blaise was still there, although his hair was not.
They didn’t mean any harm. For them it was just a simple joke. But Mattheo seemed to have taken it that badly that he also refused to speak to any of them (and he probably will for at least a month even if you talk to him again). And that meant even his brother and cousin.
He headed towards the middle of the dance floor right towards you. He physically couldn’t bear watching you dancing this close to another man. It was also his chance to explain himself.
"Please can we talk ?" He said once he was close enough to you.
You turned your head and your joyful expression started to turn grim at the sight of him.
"You’re delusional if you think we have anything to talk about." You went back to dancing against the guy you were with. His hands going suspiciously lower and that was the last straw for him. How dare he touch you like this ? Let alone while he was clearly talking to you.
He ripped his hands off your body, nearly breaking them as you gasped. The guy cursed him loudly, but Mattheo didn’t care as he grabbed your hand. With a flick of his hand, the guys mouth was zipped shut. Satisfied, he guided you towards the exit of the common room, although you tried fighting back but your drunken body couldn’t do much against him. Once you were both in a quiet corner, he decided to let go of your hand.
"What is wrong with you ?" You frowned trying to stabilise your body. You were feeling extremely dizzy and Mattheo noticed, putting a hand on your hip so you wouldn’t fall.
"I hope you’ll listen to me now." he said, though his voice was softer than you'd expected.
You nodded slowly, barely holding yourself together. You really shouldn’t have drunk this much.
"Tell me." You mumbled trying to compose your thoughts. "Why are you so obsessed with me ?" It was meant to come off as biting. Dismissive. But Mattheo didn’t take it that way. He didn’t even flinch.
He sighed.
"Because you’re the first person that doesn’t make me feel like I’m completely fucked."
You flinched at his honesty, blinking hard as your slow brain tried to catch up with the weight of his words. But he kept going.
"And I can’t fucking help thinking about you." His voice was strained now. Like it hurt to speak. "You’re constantly on my mind to the point I just can’t help but crave having you near me. All the time. And it’s driving me crazy. It’s scary as hell and I know it sounds insane but I need you. You don’t even realize how much. You make it look so easy. So right. Like whatever I’ve done, whatever I’ve been, I’m not being judged. Not by you."
He took a shaky breath and pursed his lips, like he was trying to stop himself from saying too much. Then, quieter.
"I wouldn’t fuck it up. Not this. It would never be worth it."
There were still so many things he didn’t say. How you made him feel safe in a way no one ever had. How you listened without flinching. How just existing near you felt like healing.
And maybe someday, he’d find the words for all of that. But for now, this was everything.
"You’re pathetic." You huffed, but there was no bite in your voice. If anything, his words had sobered you up. Slowed your heartbeat in that dangerous, terrifying way.
"I know," he murmured. "Just for you."
You rolled your eyes but your lips twitched.
"You better deal with the paper."
"Yes." He was already shifting. "I’ll do it right now if you want."
You leaned in, your fingers brushing against his jaw, tilting his face toward yours.
"I’m thinking about doing other things." You muttered.
And then…
Dot dot dot.
"Fucking disgusting!" Your daughter gasped.
"Don’t tell me you told her about The Hogwarts gossip thing." Mattheo appeared in the living room, still in his robe from work
"Of course I did. She had to know the real truth about how her parents started dating."
"You didn’t need to say the WHOLE thing." She yelled.
"I didn’t. The ending is kept open for free interpretation." You shrugged, an amused smile on your face.
She huffed getting up. "This is so going to the group chat. Uncle Draco’s definitely going to hear about this. You two need help."
Mattheo glanced at you with a smirk.
"Do you think we should ask Draco for that therapist he talked about ? Maybe our dear daughter might need it."
"I don’t think it’s necessary. She’s just jealous she’s not as fun as us." You answer teasingly.
"You’re both insane!" Your daughter yelled from the hallway.
Mattheo chuckled and dropped onto the couch beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you into him. You went without resistance, head resting against his chest.
"You shouldn’t have told her." He muttered. "It’s an embarrassing story."
"It’s a cute story." you countered, lips curving into a smirk.
He paused. Then sighed.
"Yeah well. Still awfully cheesy."
You just laughed, knowing damn well it was his favorite memory too.
a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts for three months. still not satisfied with the content but it took me a lot of time to edit.
Ok, trying to understand why I love the idea of Yelena and Bob as a couple. Well, because it's different. They are both not the typical characters you see in Hollywood blockbusters, there's a certain vulnerability to them that it's unique and they both are allowed to look like a mess. Bob is not hyper masculine, despite being basically... Superman. Yelena is not a femme fatale despite being an assassin. It's something new to these super-hero films. It's something young.
I think this is why it's catching people's attention.
summary: You’ve always had a soft spot for Bucky Barnes. Shamelessly flirted just to see that annoyed look that made him look so good. He never gave you more than those quiet stares, jaw tight like he was holding something back. Fine by you. You had better things to do than wait around for a man stuck in the 40s. At least, that’s what you told yourself.
pairing: tfatws!bucky x fem!reader
cw: angst (i love writing that lol), post endgame, mentally unstable reader, grumpy bucky, flirting, cocky reader, reader has no filter, sexual jokes, implied canon deaths, implied canon violence, several times
3k words
inspo: busy woman by sabrina carpenter
It started of with occasional flirting. You’ve been told that James—Bucky as people called him—Barnes was an ex assassin, a super soldier with a body count larger than you would’ve suspected, a guy that had the power to literally crush you if you annoyed him too much. But you didn’t care.
You’ve always been too bold and shameless for your own being. Life is too short to worry about details as insignificant as his body count (his death toll—you didn’t care about his past experience with women, or men ?—the more the better…).
This being said, you did not ignore who he was. You obviously acknowledge what he had done before. But hey, you could still appreciate beauty for what it was. Because James Buchanan Barnes was truly a sight for sore eyes. You didn’t know where all this playful flirting started getting more real.
"You look good in black." You mentioned one day gesturing to his gear. You both were paired in a small check up mission, much to your delight and Bucky’s annoyance.
"I always wear black clothes." He huffed.
"Yeah, my point." You smiled.
Men look hot in black, that’s a universal law, so you didn’t think much when you gave that comment. You’ve always been like that, subtly flirting with anyone, giving genuine compliments, sometimes out of the blue. It came naturally, especially with Bucky. What you truly did not expect was seeing his face flushing. It was subtle, but your eyes noticed. And that’s how your one sided flirting with him truly began.
"Something’s off." Bucky muttered, looking at the tracking device in his hands.
"Probably my clothes." It took him a moment to grasp it. But when he did his eyes just widened, and he sighed, used to it already. "You have no sense of humour whatsoever it is alarming." You continued after observing his reaction.
"No because that is straight off the worst pick up line you could come up with. Is this what you call flirting ?"
"You’re so confident that Im flirting with you. That is also alarming."
You were in fact flirting with him, though subtly. But you still kept the upper hand, folding your arms across your chest in a way that was almost childish.
He matched your gesture, folding his arms against his chest, a playful smirk on his face. "Well I hope you’re not because rejecting you now would probably mess with our assignment discharge." It was subtle too. But it was his way of rejecting you, kind of. You didn’t flinch. You wouldn’t take it seriously until he said the words straight to your face.
"Oh…" you pouted, mock-hurt. "I didn’t want your old cranky ass anyway." The lie rolled off your tongue effortlessly. It wasn’t awkward—your smile stayed sharp, teasing, and his matched it. He probably thought you were joking. Maybe you were. "But hey although i’m busy, clothes are always optional if you ever need a favor."
He groaned. Yep, you absolutely loved teasing him.
Something resonated through him one day. It was right after Thanos erased half of the world population. To him the blip felt like just a second but to you, you aged five years. You were apart of the Time Heist mission. You saw your sister sacrifice herself, to save you and the world. And you felt awfully guilty.
Things had drastically changed, when people reappeared. Bucky found himself in a world that was once again moving on while he was freezing with time. But still he got pardoned for his former actions, he started seeing a therapist and right when he thought he would be able to get his life together, Steve left. But you, you were the same old person. Talking to him as if nothing changed, as if you didn’t age five years older while he still looked the same.
You were in his apartment on a random evening—the very same night he returned from a "date" with the girl from the sushi place. Not that he knew you’d stalked him. When Bucky noticed his door was unlocked, a sinking feeling settled in his chest. He was sure he’d locked it. The key turned too easily. Then he saw you. A sigh left his lips, probably exasperation or relief. Maybe a bit of both. Still he didn’t have the energy to make you leave at that moment. Great mistake.
"I mean a win is a win, it shrunk our age gap with five years." You shrugged to him when the subject of the blip came into the conversation. It was more you talking and him huffing and listening. Barely listening. "You know I missed you. It was kind of boring without you."
"I bet it was." He huffed. "Look why don’t you just–" he gestured to your figure laying on his couch a bag of crisps, that you stole from his pantry, in your hands. "Stop putting crumbs all around the apartment and just get out now."
"Woah, I see you’re still rude." You mumbled. "I just missed you during those five years you know ? And since all of my friends are either gone or dead I just feel… super, super lonely." You sighed, dramatically. Although it sounded like a joke, you meant everything you said.
Your life truly fell apart when half of the population disappeared, it was already crumbling before but now, it was much more worse. Things were different. If it wasn’t for Nat being with you before, you would’ve probably not made it past your twenties. But now that she died, sacrificing herself, you just felt like you were dying all over again.
"Don’t you feel lonely ?" You asked cutting the silence. He turned to you, a bit surprised by what you asked him. You were staring straight ahead without blinking and that’s when he noticed the flask in your hand.
"You’ve got to be kidding me…" He muttered under his breath, taking the flask away from you. "Have you seriously brought alcohol here ?"
"I told you I felt lonely." You tried to defend yourself, as if it was enough to justify your need to drink alcohol. "But you did not answer me."
He sighed slumping in the couch next to you. He stared at the bottle that he stole from you just seconds ago, and he brought it to his mouth before wincing.
"This thing is disgusting."
"Its just some cheap vodka. I don’t have money." You answered sadly, your eyes not leaving the point you were fixing on the ceiling. You were absolutely wasted, after just one sip. To be fair it was your first time drinking, your system was definitely not used to it, even with all the serum injected in your veins.
"Once you’re sober, you’re getting out of here."
"Why do you badly want me to go mmh ?" You asked turning your head towards him, a frown on your face. You were not about to cry. Yes definitely not in front of him. "I would’ve rather gone to Sam." You say bluntly, the alcohol loosening your thoughts. "But he’s visiting his family and I thought you would maybe appreciate some company."
"Well I clearly don’t so you have your answer now." He said more firmly. "I don’t want your company."
"You don’t want me ?" You pouted, although your face showed a hint of amusement. Your fingers lightly grazed his flesh arm, and Bucky flinched at the contact—until he noticed your gaze shift toward the flask in his left hand. With a reluctant sigh, he offered it to you. But you did not take it. Instead you reached for his metal wrist,guiding him until the rim of the flask touched your lips, forcing him to pour de drink in your mouth. He was too stunned to resist, his eyes widening as he let you. "What ?" You hiccuped, probably from the drinking. "It’s technically you making me drunk now so it gives me a reason to stay longer." You giggled. You genuinely though at that moment that it was the smartest thing you’ve ever done. And that’s something to say because you were an ex spy.
"Fine." He said standing up and pouring the rest of the alcohol in the sink. You quickly got up, trying to follow him. Your walk was wobbly.
"Do you even know how much this cost me ?" You rolled your eyes, trying your hardest to not completely crumble on the ground.
"Have you seen yourself right now ?"
"Do you care for me ?"
"Not even close."
"Okay fine if you don’t want me…" You feigned walking towards the door but before you reached the handle you turned toward him. "I’ll just deem you gay." You giggled so hard you lost your balance.
The sexual undertones were not unnoticed by Bucky and he simply decided to blame the alcohol for your behaviour– although you always acted this way, sober or not. He was empathetic enough to help you off the ground and lead you back to the couch. You arms were around his shoulders as he grabbed you from your waist. When he tried to pull away, you were still gripping him hard.
"I am so lonely James." you murmured, your voice barely audible against his chest. You felt the rapid thrum of his heart beneath your cheek. He must have great stamina, you thought unaware it was racing for an entirely different reason.
"I know me too." He admitted too. Knowing that you wouldn’t remember it the next day.
He left you sleeping on his couch, you were definitely not going back to your house in this state and he should do with it.
Bucky woke up the next morning to an unexpected sound: silence. No burning kitchen, no flooded bathroom. Everything was exactly as he’d left it. For a moment, he wondered if he’d imagined you being there at all—some kind of strange dream brought on by exhaustion and memory.
But then he saw the neatly folded plaid blanket on the couch. You’d been there. You just left before he woke up. No note, no text—just gone. And it was barely 7 a.m.
It’s fine, he told himself. Nothing happened. I asked her to leave.
Still, a faint, unwelcome flicker of disappointment crept in. You could’ve at least thanked him, right?
He did not have time to dwell on it anyway. He had a more important business to attend to.
…
Sam was glaring at Bucky from across the jet. The hum of the engines was the only sound between them, heavy silence stretching thin like thread ready to snap. After deciding to confront Sam about the shield this morning, Bucky found him heading to Munich for an operation and he decided to tag along. That is pretty much how they found themselves in this situation.
"So…who are we fighting ?" Your voice cut through the quinjet, and you appeared from the steering cabin. You wore a headset and a black gear, the one you usually wore when you went on missions.
Bucky’s head snapped toward you, his expression tightening the second his eyes landed on your face. He grumbled something under his breath—he was definitely cursing you. The corner of your mouth tugged upward despite yourself. You always did have that effect on him.
"Did you plan this ?" His question was raised towards Sam.
"Why would I plan this ? You were the one who forced yourself into this plane" Sam retorted, he then turned to you a bit surprised. "What are you doing here ?"
"I happen to be training to become a pilot here and well it also happens to be the exact plane you guys are in so…" you lingered a bit. "I guess we’re working together." You flashed a wide smile.
"We’re absolutely not." Bucky said.
"I did not ask." You shrugged going to sit right next to Sam, which gave you a great sight of Bucky in front of you. This man looks so good when he’s annoyed. "I think Sam would rather work with me than with your little bitch ass anyway."
"Couldn’t have said it better." Sam muttered, and you extended your hand high-fiving him.
"Do you have something with my ass ? ‘Cause you’ve been talking a lot about it lately ."
"Wouldn’t you want to know." You winked at him. You hunched forward, elbows on your knees and hands supporting your face. Without breaking the eye contact. You stayed like this for a full minute.
Bucky felt… off. Unsettled. You were talking to him like nothing had happened—as if just the night before, you hadn’t shown up at his apartment, drunk and messy and vulnerable. As if you hadn’t buried your face in his chest and confessed that you were lonely. As if you hadn’t fallen asleep right there against him.
And now? You were smirking, teasing him like it meant nothing. Like he meant nothing.
Maybe you didn’t remember. Maybe it had been one of those hazy, half-lost nights for you. Or maybe—maybe that kind of moment was just something you could toss aside without blinking.
But for Bucky, it lingered. It was etched into the quiet corners of his mind.
And now you were laughing at him. Flirting like the night hadn’t happened.
He clenched his jaw and broke the eye contact, not trusting himself to speak. Because the truth—the one he hadn’t said out loud—was that it hadn’t been nothing for him.
"Haha you lost !" You cheered, turning to Sam. "See that, I just fixed his staring problem."
Sam caught the brief exchange and couldn’t help the amused grin that spread across his face. This mission wouldn’t be that bad now with you joining them.
"I don’t think you fixed anything. You just made freeky magoo over there very flustered."
Bucky rolled his eyes in exasperation.
Before he could answer anything, Torres appeared from the cockpit.
"One minute till drop off, Sam."
"Y’all did not answer me." You huffed standing up and grabbing an earpiece of you own.
"Flag smashers." Sam briefly answered. "You probably heard of them."
"Thirty seconds !" You heard Torres yell.
"Enjoy your ride Buck." Sam
"Oh no you can’t call me that."
"Why not ? That’s what Steve called you."
"Steve knew me longer and Steve had a plan."
"I have a plan." Sam turned to you. "You coming ?"
"Yep." You got up and Sam extended his hand for you to take. The plane was extremely low so you couldn’t use a chute.
"Fifteen seconds."
Sam gripped your waist.
"Oh yeah, what’s your plan ? Her ?" Bucky called, but Sam ignored him and jumped out of the plane with you in his arms.
"How’s he coming down ?" You asked Sam once you both were in the air flying towards the the outbuilding where your targets were located.
"He’ll manage."
"I had all of that on camera you know that." Sam said from beside you. You were watching Bucky from Redwing’s camera. He was lying on the ground where he fell a few seconds earlier from the plane.
"The whining looks good on you Barnes."
"Get out of my face or you’ll experience what real whining sounds like."
"Kinky." You muttered
"That’s a fucking threat."
The mission had gone sideways—again.
Smoke still lingered in the air, the convoy you were meant to intercept now far gone in the horizon. The intel had been wrong. Again. Too many hostiles, too many surprises, and no backup. Well except for Captain American wannabe and his acolyte.
And somewhere in the brutal fight, Bucky had done what he thought was best.
He had tossed you out of the moving truck.
Literally.
You were still brushing gravel off your jacket as you stormed down the dirt path beside him, your hair wild, your boots stomping with each step. You were limping, pretty sure you had twisted your ankle.
"You threw me off of a fucking truck, Barnes!"
"I saved your life." Bucky snapped, not even looking at you.
Sam trailed just a few steps behind, looking like he was trying not to laugh. Or interfere. Or get involved in the very obvious mess brewing between you two.
You turned on Bucky, not even acknowledging your hobbling stride, walking backward just to glare at him properly. "You couldn’t have just said ‘jump’? But no? You had to manhandle me and yeet me into a ditch like a rag doll?"
"You weren’t listening!" Bucky growled. "You were about to get blown up, and I didn’t have time to argue!"
"So your solution was throwing me out of a moving vehicle?!"
"You’re fine, aren’t you?" he snapped back, finally meeting your glare. "Little bruised ego, that’s all."
Sam finally sighed, raising his hands. "Alright, alright. Can we not kill each other while we’re in the middle of nowhere? I don’t feel like dying because you two decided now was the time to have a full-blown breakup fight—without even dating."
You both turned to glare at him in perfect unison.
Sam just shrugged. "I’m just saying what we’re all thinking."
"She shouldn’t have come." He deadpanned, he wasn’t even addressing to you and this made your blood boil.
Your eyes narrowed dangerously. "You don’t get to decide what I can handle. I’m not some helpless bitch."
"Oh really ?" He let out a dry laugh. "Could’ve fooled me." he muttered under his breath.
"What was that?"
When Bucky stared at your eyes, there was no longer that usual warmth that you always had when you talked to him. Gone was the usual glint of mischief, that effortless warmth you always carried when you tossed a smirk his way or teased him like he didn’t terrify most people. Your gaze now was colder—steeled, unreadable. You weren’t joking anymore.
"Nothing," Bucky gritted out, his hands balled into fists at his sides. "I’m just done cleaning up after someone who treats everything like a joke and never thinks about anyone but herself."
The words hung in the air like a slap. You froze mid-step.
He wasn’t just talking about the mission anymore. You knew it.
You stared at him, stunned for a second, before your voice dropped, sharp and cold. “Say what you really want to say, Barnes. Stop dancing around it.”
He didn’t respond. He didn’t even look at you.
That silence? It cut deeper than his words.
You shook your head with a bitter smile. “Right. That’s what I thought.” You turned and kept walking.
And maybe for the first time, he realized you were genuinely hurt.
part 2
a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts for sooo long. There will be a part 2 I just need to edit it, although i’m highly contemplating turning this into a fanfic
summary: You’ve always had a soft spot for Bucky Barnes. Shamelessly flirted just to see that annoyed look that made him look so good. He never gave you more than those quiet stares, jaw tight like he was holding something back. Fine by you. You had better things to do than wait around for a man stuck in the 40s. At least, that’s what you told yourself.
pairing: tfatws!bucky x fem!reader
cw: angst (i love writing that lol), post endgame, mentally unstable reader, grumpy bucky, flirting, cocky reader, reader has no filter, sexual jokes, implied canon deaths, implied canon violence, several times
3k words
inspo: busy woman by sabrina carpenter
It started of with occasional flirting. You’ve been told that James—Bucky as people called him—Barnes was an ex assassin, a super soldier with a body count larger than you would’ve suspected, a guy that had the power to literally crush you if you annoyed him too much. But you didn’t care.
You’ve always been too bold and shameless for your own being. Life is too short to worry about details as insignificant as his body count (his death toll—you didn’t care about his past experience with women, or men ?—the more the better…).
This being said, you did not ignore who he was. You obviously acknowledge what he had done before. But hey, you could still appreciate beauty for what it was. Because James Buchanan Barnes was truly a sight for sore eyes. You didn’t know where all this playful flirting started getting more real.
"You look good in black." You mentioned one day gesturing to his gear. You both were paired in a small check up mission, much to your delight and Bucky’s annoyance.
"I always wear black clothes." He huffed.
"Yeah, my point." You smiled.
Men look hot in black, that’s a universal law, so you didn’t think much when you gave that comment. You’ve always been like that, subtly flirting with anyone, giving genuine compliments, sometimes out of the blue. It came naturally, especially with Bucky. What you truly did not expect was seeing his face flushing. It was subtle, but your eyes noticed. And that’s how your one sided flirting with him truly began.
"Something’s off." Bucky muttered, looking at the tracking device in his hands.
"Probably my clothes." It took him a moment to grasp it. But when he did his eyes just widened, and he sighed, used to it already. "You have no sense of humour whatsoever it is alarming." You continued after observing his reaction.
"No because that is straight off the worst pick up line you could come up with. Is this what you call flirting ?"
"You’re so confident that Im flirting with you. That is also alarming."
You were in fact flirting with him, though subtly. But you still kept the upper hand, folding your arms across your chest in a way that was almost childish.
He matched your gesture, folding his arms against his chest, a playful smirk on his face. "Well I hope you’re not because rejecting you now would probably mess with our assignment discharge." It was subtle too. But it was his way of rejecting you, kind of. You didn’t flinch. You wouldn’t take it seriously until he said the words straight to your face.
"Oh…" you pouted, mock-hurt. "I didn’t want your old cranky ass anyway." The lie rolled off your tongue effortlessly. It wasn’t awkward—your smile stayed sharp, teasing, and his matched it. He probably thought you were joking. Maybe you were. "But hey although i’m busy, clothes are always optional if you ever need a favor."
He groaned. Yep, you absolutely loved teasing him.
Something resonated through him one day. It was right after Thanos erased half of the world population. To him the blip felt like just a second but to you, you aged five years. You were apart of the Time Heist mission. You saw your sister sacrifice herself, to save you and the world. And you felt awfully guilty.
Things had drastically changed, when people reappeared. Bucky found himself in a world that was once again moving on while he was freezing with time. But still he got pardoned for his former actions, he started seeing a therapist and right when he thought he would be able to get his life together, Steve left. But you, you were the same old person. Talking to him as if nothing changed, as if you didn’t age five years older while he still looked the same.
You were in his apartment on a random evening—the very same night he returned from a "date" with the girl from the sushi place. Not that he knew you’d stalked him. When Bucky noticed his door was unlocked, a sinking feeling settled in his chest. He was sure he’d locked it. The key turned too easily. Then he saw you. A sigh left his lips, probably exasperation or relief. Maybe a bit of both. Still he didn’t have the energy to make you leave at that moment. Great mistake.
"I mean a win is a win, it shrunk our age gap with five years." You shrugged to him when the subject of the blip came into the conversation. It was more you talking and him huffing and listening. Barely listening. "You know I missed you. It was kind of boring without you."
"I bet it was." He huffed. "Look why don’t you just–" he gestured to your figure laying on his couch a bag of crisps, that you stole from his pantry, in your hands. "Stop putting crumbs all around the apartment and just get out now."
"Woah, I see you’re still rude." You mumbled. "I just missed you during those five years you know ? And since all of my friends are either gone or dead I just feel… super, super lonely." You sighed, dramatically. Although it sounded like a joke, you meant everything you said.
Your life truly fell apart when half of the population disappeared, it was already crumbling before but now, it was much more worse. Things were different. If it wasn’t for Nat being with you before, you would’ve probably not made it past your twenties. But now that she died, sacrificing herself, you just felt like you were dying all over again.
"Don’t you feel lonely ?" You asked cutting the silence. He turned to you, a bit surprised by what you asked him. You were staring straight ahead without blinking and that’s when he noticed the flask in your hand.
"You’ve got to be kidding me…" He muttered under his breath, taking the flask away from you. "Have you seriously brought alcohol here ?"
"I told you I felt lonely." You tried to defend yourself, as if it was enough to justify your need to drink alcohol. "But you did not answer me."
He sighed slumping in the couch next to you. He stared at the bottle that he stole from you just seconds ago, and he brought it to his mouth before wincing.
"This thing is disgusting."
"Its just some cheap vodka. I don’t have money." You answered sadly, your eyes not leaving the point you were fixing on the ceiling. You were absolutely wasted, after just one sip. To be fair it was your first time drinking, your system was definitely not used to it, even with all the serum injected in your veins.
"Once you’re sober, you’re getting out of here."
"Why do you badly want me to go mmh ?" You asked turning your head towards him, a frown on your face. You were not about to cry. Yes definitely not in front of him. "I would’ve rather gone to Sam." You say bluntly, the alcohol loosening your thoughts. "But he’s visiting his family and I thought you would maybe appreciate some company."
"Well I clearly don’t so you have your answer now." He said more firmly. "I don’t want your company."
"You don’t want me ?" You pouted, although your face showed a hint of amusement. Your fingers lightly grazed his flesh arm, and Bucky flinched at the contact—until he noticed your gaze shift toward the flask in his left hand. With a reluctant sigh, he offered it to you. But you did not take it. Instead you reached for his metal wrist,guiding him until the rim of the flask touched your lips, forcing him to pour de drink in your mouth. He was too stunned to resist, his eyes widening as he let you. "What ?" You hiccuped, probably from the drinking. "It’s technically you making me drunk now so it gives me a reason to stay longer." You giggled. You genuinely though at that moment that it was the smartest thing you’ve ever done. And that’s something to say because you were an ex spy.
"Fine." He said standing up and pouring the rest of the alcohol in the sink. You quickly got up, trying to follow him. Your walk was wobbly.
"Do you even know how much this cost me ?" You rolled your eyes, trying your hardest to not completely crumble on the ground.
"Have you seen yourself right now ?"
"Do you care for me ?"
"Not even close."
"Okay fine if you don’t want me…" You feigned walking towards the door but before you reached the handle you turned toward him. "I’ll just deem you gay." You giggled so hard you lost your balance.
The sexual undertones were not unnoticed by Bucky and he simply decided to blame the alcohol for your behaviour– although you always acted this way, sober or not. He was empathetic enough to help you off the ground and lead you back to the couch. You arms were around his shoulders as he grabbed you from your waist. When he tried to pull away, you were still gripping him hard.
"I am so lonely James." you murmured, your voice barely audible against his chest. You felt the rapid thrum of his heart beneath your cheek. He must have great stamina, you thought unaware it was racing for an entirely different reason.
"I know me too." He admitted too. Knowing that you wouldn’t remember it the next day.
He left you sleeping on his couch, you were definitely not going back to your house in this state and he should do with it.
Bucky woke up the next morning to an unexpected sound: silence. No burning kitchen, no flooded bathroom. Everything was exactly as he’d left it. For a moment, he wondered if he’d imagined you being there at all—some kind of strange dream brought on by exhaustion and memory.
But then he saw the neatly folded plaid blanket on the couch. You’d been there. You just left before he woke up. No note, no text—just gone. And it was barely 7 a.m.
It’s fine, he told himself. Nothing happened. I asked her to leave.
Still, a faint, unwelcome flicker of disappointment crept in. You could’ve at least thanked him, right?
He did not have time to dwell on it anyway. He had a more important business to attend to.
…
Sam was glaring at Bucky from across the jet. The hum of the engines was the only sound between them, heavy silence stretching thin like thread ready to snap. After deciding to confront Sam about the shield this morning, Bucky found him heading to Munich for an operation and he decided to tag along. That is pretty much how they found themselves in this situation.
"So…who are we fighting ?" Your voice cut through the quinjet, and you appeared from the steering cabin. You wore a headset and a black gear, the one you usually wore when you went on missions.
Bucky’s head snapped toward you, his expression tightening the second his eyes landed on your face. He grumbled something under his breath—he was definitely cursing you. The corner of your mouth tugged upward despite yourself. You always did have that effect on him.
"Did you plan this ?" His question was raised towards Sam.
"Why would I plan this ? You were the one who forced yourself into this plane" Sam retorted, he then turned to you a bit surprised. "What are you doing here ?"
"I happen to be training to become a pilot here and well it also happens to be the exact plane you guys are in so…" you lingered a bit. "I guess we’re working together." You flashed a wide smile.
"We’re absolutely not." Bucky said.
"I did not ask." You shrugged going to sit right next to Sam, which gave you a great sight of Bucky in front of you. This man looks so good when he’s annoyed. "I think Sam would rather work with me than with your little bitch ass anyway."
"Couldn’t have said it better." Sam muttered, and you extended your hand high-fiving him.
"Do you have something with my ass ? ‘Cause you’ve been talking a lot about it lately ."
"Wouldn’t you want to know." You winked at him. You hunched forward, elbows on your knees and hands supporting your face. Without breaking the eye contact. You stayed like this for a full minute.
Bucky felt… off. Unsettled. You were talking to him like nothing had happened—as if just the night before, you hadn’t shown up at his apartment, drunk and messy and vulnerable. As if you hadn’t buried your face in his chest and confessed that you were lonely. As if you hadn’t fallen asleep right there against him.
And now? You were smirking, teasing him like it meant nothing. Like he meant nothing.
Maybe you didn’t remember. Maybe it had been one of those hazy, half-lost nights for you. Or maybe—maybe that kind of moment was just something you could toss aside without blinking.
But for Bucky, it lingered. It was etched into the quiet corners of his mind.
And now you were laughing at him. Flirting like the night hadn’t happened.
He clenched his jaw and broke the eye contact, not trusting himself to speak. Because the truth—the one he hadn’t said out loud—was that it hadn’t been nothing for him.
"Haha you lost !" You cheered, turning to Sam. "See that, I just fixed his staring problem."
Sam caught the brief exchange and couldn’t help the amused grin that spread across his face. This mission wouldn’t be that bad now with you joining them.
"I don’t think you fixed anything. You just made freeky magoo over there very flustered."
Bucky rolled his eyes in exasperation.
Before he could answer anything, Torres appeared from the cockpit.
"One minute till drop off, Sam."
"Y’all did not answer me." You huffed standing up and grabbing an earpiece of you own.
"Flag smashers." Sam briefly answered. "You probably heard of them."
"Thirty seconds !" You heard Torres yell.
"Enjoy your ride Buck." Sam
"Oh no you can’t call me that."
"Why not ? That’s what Steve called you."
"Steve knew me longer and Steve had a plan."
"I have a plan." Sam turned to you. "You coming ?"
"Yep." You got up and Sam extended his hand for you to take. The plane was extremely low so you couldn’t use a chute.
"Fifteen seconds."
Sam gripped your waist.
"Oh yeah, what’s your plan ? Her ?" Bucky called, but Sam ignored him and jumped out of the plane with you in his arms.
"How’s he coming down ?" You asked Sam once you both were in the air flying towards the the outbuilding where your targets were located.
"He’ll manage."
"I had all of that on camera you know that." Sam said from beside you. You were watching Bucky from Redwing’s camera. He was lying on the ground where he fell a few seconds earlier from the plane.
"The whining looks good on you Barnes."
"Get out of my face or you’ll experience what real whining sounds like."
"Kinky." You muttered
"That’s a fucking threat."
The mission had gone sideways—again.
Smoke still lingered in the air, the convoy you were meant to intercept now far gone in the horizon. The intel had been wrong. Again. Too many hostiles, too many surprises, and no backup. Well except for Captain American wannabe and his acolyte.
And somewhere in the brutal fight, Bucky had done what he thought was best.
He had tossed you out of the moving truck.
Literally.
You were still brushing gravel off your jacket as you stormed down the dirt path beside him, your hair wild, your boots stomping with each step. You were limping, pretty sure you had twisted your ankle.
"You threw me off of a fucking truck, Barnes!"
"I saved your life." Bucky snapped, not even looking at you.
Sam trailed just a few steps behind, looking like he was trying not to laugh. Or interfere. Or get involved in the very obvious mess brewing between you two.
You turned on Bucky, not even acknowledging your hobbling stride, walking backward just to glare at him properly. "You couldn’t have just said ‘jump’? But no? You had to manhandle me and yeet me into a ditch like a rag doll?"
"You weren’t listening!" Bucky growled. "You were about to get blown up, and I didn’t have time to argue!"
"So your solution was throwing me out of a moving vehicle?!"
"You’re fine, aren’t you?" he snapped back, finally meeting your glare. "Little bruised ego, that’s all."
Sam finally sighed, raising his hands. "Alright, alright. Can we not kill each other while we’re in the middle of nowhere? I don’t feel like dying because you two decided now was the time to have a full-blown breakup fight—without even dating."
You both turned to glare at him in perfect unison.
Sam just shrugged. "I’m just saying what we’re all thinking."
"She shouldn’t have come." He deadpanned, he wasn’t even addressing to you and this made your blood boil.
Your eyes narrowed dangerously. "You don’t get to decide what I can handle. I’m not some helpless bitch."
"Oh really ?" He let out a dry laugh. "Could’ve fooled me." he muttered under his breath.
"What was that?"
When Bucky stared at your eyes, there was no longer that usual warmth that you always had when you talked to him. Gone was the usual glint of mischief, that effortless warmth you always carried when you tossed a smirk his way or teased him like he didn’t terrify most people. Your gaze now was colder—steeled, unreadable. You weren’t joking anymore.
"Nothing," Bucky gritted out, his hands balled into fists at his sides. "I’m just done cleaning up after someone who treats everything like a joke and never thinks about anyone but herself."
The words hung in the air like a slap. You froze mid-step.
He wasn’t just talking about the mission anymore. You knew it.
You stared at him, stunned for a second, before your voice dropped, sharp and cold. “Say what you really want to say, Barnes. Stop dancing around it.”
He didn’t respond. He didn’t even look at you.
That silence? It cut deeper than his words.
You shook your head with a bitter smile. “Right. That’s what I thought.” You turned and kept walking.
And maybe for the first time, he realized you were genuinely hurt.
part 2
a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts for sooo long. There will be a part 2 I just need to edit it, although i’m highly contemplating turning this into a fanfic
Thank you so much! I absolutely LOVE writing a nuanced romance such as this one I feel like it gives so much depth to their relationship. The ending was actually my favourite part to write it was SO much fun to write.
