courtesy or more than that?
Sinopsis: In this Human AU, Neteyam is no longer the untouchable âperfect sonâ but a 18âyearâold young man learning to balance responsibility with his own desires. Between his meticulous routines, quiet moments of selfâcare, and the warmth of family dinners, he finds himself increasingly drawn to Tsawke, Leonâs younger sister. What begins as subtle admirationâher noticing his carefully braided hair, her presence at the Sully householdâslowly unfolds into a tender, almost secret affection. Neteyamâs quiet victories, like receiving a single compliment from her, become monumental in his private world, revealing a side of him that is vulnerable, hopeful, and deeply human.
Warnings: lots of fluff, Human AU. In this universe Neteyam is 18. To understand this AU you need to read the blog that explains the dynamics between the characters:
Pairing: clueless reader (female OC) Ă Human!Neteyam
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Within the quiet sanctuary of his roomâfar from Jakeâs watchful eyes and Loâakâs restless anticsâNeteyam finally allowed himself to shed the mantle of the âperfect sonâ and simply exist as a young man of Eighteen. Rare were the moments when he could truly breathe, yet he cherished them. Often, he spent time with Leon, who had become more than a mentor, almost an elder brother. Leon had taught him much, lessons that now shaped Neteyamâs responsibilities within the Sully reserve. Still, beyond conversation, meals, or companionship, what Neteyam treasured most was solitude.
The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the window or the muted warmth of his bedside lamp. Here, he indulged in a ritual that felt like therapy: tending to his equipment. With meticulous care, he dismantled and polished his toolsâhis sporting bow, his knives, his mechanical instruments. Each piece restored to order gave him a sense of control, a fragile balance he often lacked in the chaos of social life. Music played softly in the background, never intrusiveâperhaps lo-fi, perhaps the acoustic melodies Neytiri favoredâsomething that allowed his thoughts to wander while his hands worked with precision.
Yet his social life carried its own quiet rituals. Neteyam had always cared about his appearance, but lately he had become almost obsessive. Night after night, he sat before the mirror, undoing and reweaving a braid ten times over until not a single strand dared rebel. The rhythm of his fingers was a meditation, a calming tide that stilled his mind.
And when he walked the compound, fulfilling his duties as always, there was a secret he carried with a hint of embarrassment: he longed for the praise of one particular voice. Tsawke. Leonâs younger sister, sharp-eyed and diligent, one of the finest workers in the reserve. For three years she had proven herself observant, analyticalâand she noticed everything. She always noticed Neteyamâs hair. Her words of admiration, marveling at his patience and skill, meant more to him than he dared admit. Especially when she confessed her own struggle with her wild curls, a contrast that made her compliments all the sweeter.
That night, the reserve breathed with freshness, the air scented by damp earth and alive with the chorus of nocturnal creatures. In the infirmary, Tsawke moved quietly, her calico-colored curls gathered into a messy bun, held by a golden clip that let orange and white strands spill free. A sleeveless shirt revealed the tattoos winding across her arms as she arranged gauze and antiseptics with practiced ease. She had taken the night shift so a colleague could celebrate her sonâs birthday. For Tsawke, the hush of the clinic, paired with the gentle calm after rain, was a peace she cherished.
The door opened with a familiar creak. It was Neteyam, he looked relentless: he wore a dark blue linen shirt that highlighted his brown skin tone and, most notably, he had freshly styled Fulani braids that fell with precision.
âAlmost didnât recognize you without mud on your face, Sully,â Tsawke joked without lifting her eyes from the inventory.
Neteyam leaned on the doorframe, with that smile she knew was her weakness. âMy mother insisted that today we all have dinner together. She says you work too much and doesnât want you to have dinner alone while Leon is away helping at the Mendoza reserve. She doesnât accept a no as an answer.â
Tsawke sighed, putting down the notebook. The idea of a homemade dinner cooked by Neytiri was much better than the vending machine sandwich or cold pizza she had planned. âAll right. But if an emergency comes up with one of the baby coatis, Iâm leaving.â
With that they walked toward the Sully house, which from the outside showed itself to be a cozy chaos. Jake, with his usual green reserve t-shirt and relaxed attitude, presided over the table while Neytiri and Moâat finished serving a stew that smelled glorious.
It was a typical dinner; Loâak and Spider (who came straight from the stables with their hair a mess) fought over the last piece of bread. Kiri spoke with Tsawke about some strange plants she had found near one of the rivers.
Meanwhile Neteyam couldnât stop looking at Tsawke sitting right across from him, trying to maintain his âolder sonâ composure while Tuk told everyone how Tsawke had taught her to identify the tracks of different animals in the reserve or how she let her carry one of the baby coatis earlier before the mud fight between Loâak, Spider, and Neteyam happened.
Tsawke fit in perfectly. Although her style was rougher and more adventurous, Neytiriâs warmth and Moâatâs wisdom made her feel she didnât need to be defensive.
Around eleven at night, Tsawke stood up and looked for the keys to her Jeep that she had left on the entry table when she arrived.
âItâs been an incredible dinner, but I have to go back to the infirmary just in case, and then to my cabin,â she said, already adjusting her jacket.
Neytiri, who was picking up the dishes, looked at her with her maternal authority that no one dared to question. âNo way, Tsawke. It has started raining again and the reserve roads are dangerous at night. Besides, the Jeep has one of the front lights failing, do you think I didnât notice?â
âI can handle it, Neytiri, really. I donât want to bother any moreââ Tsawke tried to protest.
âNo.â Neytiri said firmly with a steady smile. âYou will stay in the guest room. Neteyam or Kiri can lend you clean clothes. Tomorrow morning you can leave, but tonight you sleep under this roof.â
Tsawke looked at Jake who only said, âWe canât risk your Jeep slipping on one of the roads in this rain.â And the girl turned to look at Neteyam for help, but he simply shrugged with a triumphant smile. âSheâs right, the southern sector is very slippery. Stay, TsawkeâŚâ
And after a silence where Tsawke shifted between looking at an authoritative Neytiri, a relaxed Jake finishing clearing the table, and a Neteyam drying his hands after cleaning the dishes, she simply accepted her fate, sighing as she left her jacket and keys on the entry table again.
Minutes later, Neteyam guided Tsawke to the guest room. He handed her one of his gray cotton t-shirts, which was big on her and smelled of the citrus detergent he used, along with a pair of Kiriâs plaid pajama shorts.
âThanks, Sully,â she said, leaning on the doorway of the room already dressed, since Neteyam insisted on putting her clothes to wash so that in the morning she would have clean clothes (he knows she wonât go back to her cabin to change if she can save time). She looked strangely small without her work gear.
Neteyam stayed there a second longer, admiring how the few orange strands of her curly hair shone under the warm hallway light.
âYouâre welcome. Rest⌠scientist. See you at breakfast.â
He turned to walk toward the laundry, but Tsawke called him in a whisper before he went further. âHey⌠the new braids look good on you⌠good night, Teyam.â
Neteyam didnât respond, but Loâak, who was passing through the hallway on his way to the bathroom, saw how his older brother entered the laundry room with a noticeable blush and a smile that couldnât fit on his face.
Later that night, when Neteyam closed the door to his room and made sure the latch clicked, the mask of âperfect and sereneâ completely crumbled.
He leaned against the wooden door, closing his eyes and letting out a sigh he had been holding back ever since she told him about the braids.
He clenched his fists and released a whispered âYES!â in a near-shouted victory, while giving a small jump on the spot. He knew he probably looked a little ridiculous, but it wasnât just any compliment; it was THE compliment. He had spent almost two hours or more in front of the mirror that afternoon, his arms aching from braiding and tightening each strand, searching for that perfect symmetry he knew Tsawkeâs detail-oriented eyes would notice.
âShe noticed⌠oh, she definitely noticed,â he murmured to himself, with a grin so wide it made his cheeks hurt.
He began pacing back and forth across the room, unable to stay still. He looked at himself in the wardrobe mirror, patting his own shoulder. âGood job, Sully. The effort was worth it.â
But what really had him on the verge of emotional collapse was the mental image of Tsawke, just a few meters away in the hallway, wearing his shirt. That gray cotton garment he used for sleeping now wrapped around the woman who occupied at least 60% of his thoughts.
He threw himself onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the moment he handed it to her. He had imagined that scene so many timesâTsawke in his space, with his scent, under his roofâthat seeing it materialized felt like a dream.
ââItâs huge on her⌠and she looks incredible,â he thought, burying his face in the pillow to muffle a laugh of pure euphoria.
Suddenly, a rhythmic knock on the wall he shared with his brotherâs room interrupted his trance.
ââI CAN HEAR YOU CELEBRATING FROM HERE, FREAK!â Loâakâs voice shouted through the wall. âStop jumping on the bed, youâre going to knock down my posters!â
Neteyam froze, feeling the heat rise from his neck to his ears. ââShut up, Loâak! Iâm organizing my boots!â he shouted back, trying to recover his authoritative older-brother voice.
ââYeah, right! Your boots donât sigh like a lovesick girl!â Loâak replied, laughing.
Neteyam rolled his eyes, but couldnât wipe the smile off his face. He settled under the sheets, listening to the rain tapping against the window and knowing that, in the room next door, the âShadowâ was resting wrapped in his scent.
That night, the future director of the reserve didnât sleep much; he was too busy planning how to act âcasualâ at breakfast, while his heart kept celebrating that blessed extra 5% of attention he had just earned.
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The morning in the Sully house began with the usual aroma of strong coffee and the sound of residual rain dripping from the roof. Tsawke was already in the kitchen, but to the boysâ surprise, she no longer wore the gray shirt. She had gotten up early, taken a quick shower, and was already dressed in her cargo work pants and boots, her curly mane tied back in a practical braid.
She had breakfast with them quickly, sharing some toast with Jake while discussing the state of the roads after the storm.
ââThanks for the shelter, Neytiri,â said Tsawke, giving Neteyamâs mother an affectionate squeeze on the shoulder before leaving. âSully, see you at the north sector entrance in an hour. Donât be late.â
She threw a quick glance at Neteyam, who barely managed to mutter âIâll be thereâ while hiding his sleepy face behind a cup of coffee. As soon as Tsawkeâs Jeep roared and disappeared down the muddy path, Neteyam went upstairs with the excuse of collecting the bedding.
Upon entering the guest room, Neteyam stopped in his tracks. Everything was spotless. Tsawke, with her almost military discipline and respect for othersâ spaces, had stretched the sheets so that not a single wrinkle remained. The curtains were open, letting in the gray morning light.
At the foot of the bed, perfectly folded, were the shorts Kiri had lent her and, on top, his gray cotton shirt.
Neteyam exhaled a sigh of relief, finally feeling alone. He approached the bed and picked up the shirt with both hands. His intention was simply to take it to the laundry basket, but as soon as the fabric moved, a warm rush of air hit him directly in the face.
It wasnât a subtle fragrance; it was a sensory invasion. The shirt was completely infused with Tsawkeâs personal scent: an intoxicating blend of wild jasmine (the oil she used for her curls) and a sweet undertone of coconut, mixed with that clean smell of skin after rain.
Neteyam closed his eyes and, unable to resist, buried his face in the fabric, inhaling deeply.
It was as if she were still there. The scent was wild yet comforting, exactly like her. For a moment, the outside worldâthe reserve, his responsibilities as future leader, Loâakâs teasingâdisappeared. Only that trace of jasmine and coconut woven into the cotton fibers remained.
âAre you⌠are you smelling your own clothes, brother? Thatâs a new level of desperation, even for you.â
Neteyam stiffened like stone and slowly turned. Loâak was leaning against the doorframe, one eyebrow raised, his face full of brotherly judgment.
âI was⌠I was checking if⌠if it was clean enough to put away again,â Neteyam stammered, clutching the shirt to his chest as if trying to hide it.
âSure. Because we all know the way to check if somethingâs clean is to bury your face in it for thirty seconds with your eyes closed,â Loâak mocked, stepping into the room. âYou smell like jasmine from the hallway, âTeyam. Youâre lost. Completely lost.â
Neteyam pressed the shirt against his heart, regaining at least a shred of his older-brother dignity.
âGet out of here, Loâak. Youâve got stables to clean.â
As soon as his brother left, chuckling under his breath, Neteyam looked at the garment again. He didnât take it to the laundry basket. Instead, he folded it with almost religious care and stored it at the back of his own closet. He knew that that night, when he couldnât sleep thinking about Tsawkeâs next trip, that jasmine-and-coconut scent would be the only thing keeping his world in balance.
Maybe⌠he really was a little lostâŚ
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