Angie

North was a particular place to grow up, the reside in. It was a place made of darkness and cold, the kind of cold that seeps into the marrow of one’s bones, replacing the warmth and vitality with a kind of coldness and brutality. Blood once fast to spread through limbs while in the womb became sluggish and slow. Cold as the snow which falls from the sky. 

            North was a place where even when the sun shone, it shone in cold, white ways, rather than the rumoured warmth and honeyed light of the south. 

            The south was a place that Cregan had always wanted to see, to feel the tendrils of honeyed sun upon his skin, eyes closed with light still shining through the skin of his eyelids, inescapable warmth. 

            It was a place he would never see. 

            He was Warden of the North, he was the Stark heir set to hold power amongst his people, sit as Lord Stark in the Great Hall of Winterfell upon a frozen throne. The Warden does not leave the cold for he is formed of it. Snow in place of organs and ice in place of skin. Body made of cold; unbreakable and unremovable from the very architecture of North. 

            But oh, how Cregan wanted to see, just once, the southern sun. 

            “The delegation from Reach is on its way,” one of his advisors says, setting the parchment down before him on the table, the seal that of the Tyrell house, the overlords of Reach known for being delicate roses like that which grows in their palace’s gardens. 

            A rose does not survive in frozen soil; Tyrell’s do not belong in North. 

            “And?” Cregan asks, his voice deep and echoing through the room, the sound like that of annoyance, but in truth he is curious. It’s not often that anyone save for Targaryens with dragon blood in their veins ventures this far north, this far to the cold, the Wall. 

            “It is the Tyrell’s this time, my lord,” the advisor says and Cregan can feel his brows draw together, breath shifting in that way he has when he’s confused, the heavier breath, more a huff than true breath as he lifts the parchment, eyes scanning the wavering writing. Trade discussion…contract renewal…allies in coming war…discussion of sides…andeligible daughter. 

            “They’re bringing their daughter,” he says, brows still drawn together, still furrowed as he lifts his head, nostrils flaring just slightly. “Why?”

            “They’ve been parading her around to every noble house. They’re desperate to make a proper match for her and…I believe you are the last stop. The one they don’t want, but feel obligated to pursue anyway. After all,” the advisor lets out a small chuckle, one of self-deprecation and pain, the curse of Northern men, “what southern rose would marry a winter king?”

            Southern rose lingers in Cregan’s mind, those words turning and echoing, the image he holds in his mind from his mother’s descriptions of the South, the path she travelled only once. The path she said had roses blooming, petals gleaming in the light of a yellow sun. 

            He wonders if you, the Tyrell girl, are truly a Southern rose and if you’ll carry the Southern sun with you. 

            If perhaps, he’ll feel for the first time, the light of a yellow sun. 

            The wind is particularly biting, whipping against his face, his hair blowing back, the wind pulling at the strands like a child, angry and restless. Disturbed. 

            He wonders if North can feel your arrival, the Southern delegation, the warmth of summer breezes and the scent of delicate blooms. He wonders if it hates it, would rather the world remain cold and lifeless forever, a frozen landscape where only the hardiest seed takes root. 

            He understands if that were true. He understands because he would like that too, would prefer for your delegation to not be coming at all. He didn’t want a Southern bloom in soil not made for it; it was cruelty unnecessarily for a thing that would not come to pass for he could never love someone not formed of ice. Not made to exist in this cold place. 

            Or so he thought. 

            He can hear the carriage, the rumble of rickety wheels over frozen stone and earth, the shiver of horses in a weather that is far too harsh for those of Southern breed, but he can also hear a peal of laughter. One that sounds like heaven and earth and everything good and warm and strong. A sound he’s never heard before, but that he wants to hear forever. 

            “My lord!” calls out Lord Tyrell as he steps down from the opulent carriage, the one of white and gold, the image of roses climbing painted on the sides, roses twining in the seal of the House. “How good it is to see you again!”

            “And you as well, Lord Tyrell,” Cregan says, his voice deep and echoing, carrying on the winter breeze like it was made to, the wind preferring to amplify rather than smother as it does for the strange small man before him. 

            “May I introduce you to my wife, Lady Tyrell,” he says as an older woman dressed in bright gold, an elaborate gown well-suited the fanciful courts of the South, but strange and startling in the starkness of North. 

            “Pleasure,” Cregan says as the older woman smiles, nods and steps aside, the smile deepening into one of reality as she looks back into the carriage. 

            “And our daughter, Y/n,” Lord Tyrell continues as a boot covered foot, steps out of the carriage, a skirt of bright pink with gold roses along the hem draping over the leg. 

            Cregan doesn’t know how to breathe when he takes sight of you, your skin glowing, seemingly from within as if you carry the Southern sun within you and when you look at him, eyes glimmering, lips pulled back in the most beautiful smile he has ever seen, he comes undone.

            He comes undone because he now knows what it feels like to witness a Southern sunrise, the glow of the sun in your skin, your hair, your eyes. Just you. 

            And he wants you. He wants you like nothing else because you are the rose with sun on the petals, you are the world haloed by honeyed sun. You are the sun. 

            You are everything. 

            He wants you to be a southern bloom in northern soil. He knows you will survive for you carry the sun in yourself. In your own person. 

            What is stronger than that?

            “My lord,” you say, nodding your head at him, ducking your eyes and he can feel his heart skip a beat, his palms sweating as he watches you curtsy, lifting the folds of your skirt, smile soft upon your sunlit skin. 

            It’s like you’ve made the entire world brighten. 

            “My lady,” he breathes, the words spoken with their own kind of reverence, your eyes flitting up to him from your bowed position, lips pressing into a pleased sort of smile, as if his nervousness, need, is something that you want. “Would like to take a walk around the gardens? They may not be like yours but we are proud of them nonetheless.” He can see the irritation and anger flitting across your father’s face, the disgust and hatred on your mother’s and he feels a kind of churning in his gut, the kind that makes him want to take the dagger from his belt and slice your father’s neck open in a bloody smile and merely carve the strangely cold heart out of your mother’s chest. 

            Strangely violent, but for you, his southern sun, he will do anything. Because he knows that you are everything and he will not lose you. 

            “I would like that,” you say, lifting your head and holding out your arm for him to take, one eyebrow arched as if you’re daring him. Daring him, the Warden of the North, the man who must have been formed for you by the Gods?

            He quite likes that. 

            He steps forwards, slipping his arm through yours, his breath hitching at the touch of you against him and you fit to him as if you were made to, as if the Old Gods formed the two of you for the other, one soul split two ways. The Southern sun and the Northern moon. 

            Fate. 

            How can he ever let you leave, his Sunrise Queen?

            “I believe that is all we must discuss,” Lord Tyrell says, hands adjusting the sheets of paper in his hands, the contracts signed for the new year, the ones which align the Wardens, but Cregan can only truly think of you, of the way you laugh and danced in the gardens. The way you told him that you’d always dreamed of North like he dreamed of the south. The way you’d always wanted to see a Northern Moon. 

            The way you said that you never wanted to leave. 

            “It is not,” Cregan says, his voice booming through the room as it always does, but it causes the lord to freeze, breath hitching, documents askew in his hands. “Your daughter is being presented as eligible, after all. I want to marry her.”

            “I’m afraid that’s not possible, my lord,” your coward of a father says, his face twisting in both fear and superiority. Cregan is well aware that the southern lords view North as a necessary beast, a place full of savages, but that does not mean he likes it. “See, we’re organizing a match with the Baratheons.”

            “No,” Cregan says, his voice quiet, yet carrying through the room in just the way that gives power in the way prey has to lean forwards to hear clearly. “She will stay. She will be my wife.”

            “I already said—”

            “I heard you,” Cregan interrupts, pushing back from his chair, the large head seat, the legs scraping against the stone, a high-pitched squeal echoing through the room as he pulls a silver blade from his belt, the pommel that of a wolf’s head, teeth bared. “And I’m disregarding it. You see,” he muses, twirling the knife between his fingers, the sapphire eyes of the wolf’s head glimmering in the torchlight, “North is something necessary for all of you southern lords. We have things that you cannot get elsewhere, things you rely on. It would…be a shame if all that went away.”

            “What are you saying?” your father rasps, his attention trained on the dagger and Cregan sighs, the sigh more of a huff and he hurls the dagger, the blade embedding in the chair Lord Tyrell sits on, embedding just beside his head, the acrid smell of fear scenting the air. Wood chips lay on your father’s shoulders, in his hair. 

            “I’m not good with fancy words,” Cregan says, his voice growing deeper as his anger goes stronger, at the idea that anyone could take you, his Southern Sun from him. “I’ll kill you and cut off all trade with your kingdom and take your daughter regardless. That’s the hard way. Do you really want to do it that way? Do you want to wear a bloody smile for eternity, lord?”

            “How does in two moons sound for a wedding?” Lord Tyrell asks, his face folding in with even more fear at the smile that curls up on Cregan’s face. He nods his head, assenting. 

            “I’m sure you’ll find Winterfell comfortable for those months, goodfather.”

            The wind was cold, biting and harsh as it whipped against his face, bit into his skin as he waited, watching with bated breath for you to appear in the gown of white and gold, the cloak of the Tyrell colours upon your shoulders. The colours soon to be exchanged for white and grey, his colours, his wife in his colours. Forever his Sunrise Queen. 

            But nothing could have truly prepared him for the sight of you, in that precious gown, a wolf made of golden thread upon your bodice, a marking and claiming done by your own hand. He sucks in a breath that feels far too warm, the once cutting breeze not cutting enough, his gaze trained on you, his sun, his sunrise. The southern warmth in northern cold. 

            The wedding is a mix of the faiths, your request, the cloak being exchanged, but the two of you will kneel before the Weirwood, will swear to the Old Gods, the Faith of the North. 

            You walk to him, hands clasped before you, silver rings, the ones he gave you over the two moons you’ve been in Winterfell, upon your fingers, yet another mark of possession and has he ever wanted something so badly as he wants you now. As he wants to feel your body against his, to know what you taste like. To know how you feel against him and around him, how your lips fit to his and your tongue slides along his. 

            To know how to love you.

            “Hi,” you whisper, lips curving up in a smile as you reach him, your hands reaching for his, taking his, his heart racing at the contact, at the feel of your skin against his. Your touch is the one thing that can save him from whatever fate may befall him in a thousand lifetimes.

            “Hi,” he replies, his own lips curving, a mirror of yours because you are all he needs. All he’s ever needed, the one formed for him by the Old Gods, the one of his soul. The one he was fated to recognize. He kneels down upon the ground and you follow suit, the white and gold crushing down against the frozen earth, a sheen of frost slicking along the skirt, your eyes, those warm sunrise eyes on him, only him. 

            “I wish to marry you, to take you as my husband,” you say, your voice arching along the breeze, carrying along it like his does, like the Wardens voices always should. The North already bending to you. “I wish to be your Lady Stark, the one who assists you as the Warden. I wish to wear grey and white.” At that, he lets go of your hands, unclasping the foolish thin cloak made of Southern fabric, your skin pebbled underneath it, freezing in the sharpness of the cold as he replaces it with one of grey and white, a collar of fur along it, your body leaning into his touch, even as his palms to him feel like fire on your frozen skin. 

            “I marry you, take you as my wife. You shall be my Lady Stark, my fellow Warden, cloaked in grey and white,” he intones, his words an acceptance of your wishes, a granting before the witnesses, before the gods. 

            “So it is said, so mote it be,” the two of you chorus together, your hands once again joined, fingers twined together. And when you rise, you wear Stark grey and white, clothed in the colours of the house to which you have always belonged. He pulls you to him by your joined hands, his dropping yours to cup your cheeks, pulling you to him in a searing kiss, one long and slow and right in all the ways possible. 

            All the ways he dreamed, as if your lips were formed for him to kiss. Formed to mold to his. 

            Your hearts beating the same rhythm, one soul. 

            “Oh god!” he hears you cry out, your back arching up and against him, your walls clenching around him, drawing tight around him, attempting to force his release from him as well, but he’s not done with you. 

            It’s the first time he’s having you, your blood upon the sheet, upon his cock, that evidence that you are his eternal, always and forever. It’s the first time he’s having you and he’s not simply doing it once. 

            “Hold on, my sunrise,” he says, pulling back and out, watching as you clench around nothing before turning you, flipping you around, your blood and release upon your thighs. You’re on your stomach, hips up, ass in the air and he drives back into, slamming up and into you as you cry underneath him, your walls clenching, your body releasing for the second time, the clench and flutter of you around him almost too much to bear. 

            “Cre—gan,” you cry out and your voice moaning and crying out his name is everything to him. 

            “Shh, my love,” he whispers, slamming into you again, the sounds of his body slapping against yours echoing through the stone chambers. “You’re doing so good, my sweet.” And it’s true, you taste as sweet as he imagined, your body divine, clit perfect when he sucked it into his mouth, when his tongue drove in and out of you, your taste and smell all around him in something godly. Ambrosia, truly. 

            “Please,” you cry out and he holds your hip steady with one hand, the other sliding along your back and side, around to your chest, fingers finding your nipple, twisting it between two fingers, the pebbled skin pressing against the pads of his fingers, your wet, snug walls, clenching around him again, his release now close. So close. 

            “Just—one moment, my love,” he groans, slamming up and into you again. “Need to…need to give you a child. An heir, after all.”

            “Yes,” you cry out, your hips moving back against him as he teases your nipple again. “Give it to me.” It’s your words, accompanied by the clench of your walls that pushes him to his release, his seed coming out of him in thick spurts, cock twitching once, twice, thrice before falling still and he pulls out, placing his fingers against you, pushing his seed back in when it tries to dribble out. 

            “My sunrise queen,” he murmurs when he falls beside you, pulling you against him, his arms around you, your head upon his chest, arms around him as well. 

            “My moonrise king,” you reply, voice sleepy as you snuggle down against him, his heart catching at your words. 

            You love him as he loves you. 

            What could ever be more than that?

            “What is this?” you cry, stepping into the chambers, your beauty as precious as the day he saw you, more so, you more radiant in white and grey than you ever were in the foolish, stupid colours of that insipid house you were born to.

            “A gift, my lady,” he replies, his lips curving as you step into the room, attention on the small bundle of fluff growling and falling around in front of the fireplace. “For when I am away.”

            “Do you plan to be away often, my love?” you ask, crossing the room to him, where he sits, scanning documents and carving at the same time, being Warden and husband both. 

            “No,” he says as you sit down upon his lap, arms around his neck, his automatically going around your waist. “But when I have to, I want you well protected. The men of North seem all too fond of you.”

            “I am their Lady,” you remind him and his lip curls back, a small, low sound escaping from his throat. Perhaps he is not so far from the wolf the Southern lords believe he is. 

            “You are mine,” he growls and your lips curve into a smile as you lean in, pressing a deep and searing kiss against his lips that never fails to make speech and thought impossible. 

            “Yes, I am yours,” you whisper, pulling back from him, your eyes closing, head turning just slightly so that he cannot catch your lips no matter how he tries. “Always and forever.”

            “My sunrise queen,” he murmurs and you turn back to him, your precious eyes now pupil-blown as you nod, lips parting before you press your lips against his again and again, lips slanting and tongues sliding. 

            He begins to move his hips up and against you, but you pull back, slapping his chest lightly. 

            “We have an audience,” you whisper, scandalized as you gesture towards the direwolf pup, shredding one of his boots. 

            “Damn it,” he whispers, but he does not hold onto that irritation for long as you giggle arches through the air. 

            His love, his light. His sunrise queen. 

            Always and forever. 

            “My lady, you look well this morning,” Jace calls out, his voice high and light, arcing through the air to you, somehow bending along the winter wind like a Warden’s should and Cregan can feel his teeth grinding together, the vein in his forehead pulsing as it does when he grows angry. 

            When someone speaks to you. 

            “And you as well, my prince,” you say, stepping forwards, hands clasped before you, silver rings glimmering on fingers, dress made of dark grey, the collar lined with fur, the now grown direwolf just behind you, teeth bared at Jace. 

            “You look quite fair in this Northern sun, I quite wonder how you looked under the Southern sun all those years ago,” he continues, lips pulling back in a sweet, flirtatious smile, one that causes Cregan’s blood to boil, the need to unleash the wolves on the prince very powerful, threatening. 

            "You flatter me, my prince," you reply, your tone sardonic as your gaze strays to Cregan, sunlight eyes glimmering as you look at him, love in the depths. And that is why he refrains from calling the wolves, from ending the alliance with Rhaenyra here and now. Because no pretty words could tear you from him, not when the Gods made the two of you for one another. “But pretty words are not useful.”

            “No, b—” Cregan reaches forwards, pulling Jace to him by his ridiculous red cloak. 

            “If you continue to flirt to with my wife, you will soon find yourself facing the Winterfell wolves, a fate reserved for our criminals and I assure you, Prince, that that is a fate you do not want to meet.” Cregan’s tone is deadly serious and he releases Jace, to see the prince looking at him with confusion, gaze darting between you and Cregan, understanding dawning on him. 

            “You’re insane, my friend,” Jace says, reaching forwards, slapping Cregan on the back, “but very well. I have my own love at home, after all.”

            “How is Baela?” Cregan asks and Jace smiles, a true smile and Cregan can feel his blood return to its normal Northern pace, cold and sluggish but strong. Made of ice. 

            For you, his sunrise queen, is forever his. 

            No threats. 

            How dare Lord Baratheon show up here in Winterfell?! How dare he speak to you?! Even look at you! Breathe the very air you breathe! He has no right to be here in Winterfell and yet here he fucking stands!

            “What are you doing here, Lord Baratheon?” Cregan’s voice booms through the Great Hall, louder than ever, a steel edge that is never there, but this is the man that almost had you, his sunrise queen. 

            How can he let that stand? 

            “I thought I would visit my Northern brothers,” he calls out, voice loud and true. “Especially in these trying times.” His words carry that hint of teasing, that note that here is a man who is Team Green. 

            His enemy in times of war. 

            “Attempting to sway us from our position?” he replies, voice still brittle and dangerous. 

            “I would never,” Borros says, his voice cloying and sweet, lips curving into a smirk as he crosses his arms, thatstupid crown of antlers on his head glimmering in torchlight. 

            “Arrest him. He sides against us in the war,” Cregan commands and the Northmen move from the corners of the room, surrounding him, caging him in before one reaches forwards, shackling both of his hands. 

            “You have no cause!” Borros cries and Cregan rolls his eyes, irritation still swirling in his gut that he almost lost you to this sod. 

            “It’s war, my dear lord,” Cregan calls out, voice rigid and unmoving, the sound of your footsteps carrying through the room and he turns to see you, your eyes scanning the room, face drawn into a pensive expression. 

            “My dear lady!” Borros cries. “Dissuade your husband of this notion that I must be arrested.”

            “You side with the Greens, do you not?” you ask, head cocking to the side as you take in the scene, the pleading expression on his face. “We side with the Prince Jacaerys. You are our enemy. It is war, my lord. Your death is nothing personal.” Borros lets out a keening cry as you lift a hand, waving the guards away, the death by cold soon to occur, a sentence passed by you. By your hand. 

            And Cregan has never loved you more.

            It is why he has you bent over his desk in the solar, your skirts up as he thrusts into you, desire overcoming sense, the door locked and bolted against any annoying advisors or clingy direwolves. 

            “Fuck,” he groans, his hips moving against you over and over again as your nails dig into the surface of the desk, digging into grooves already there from your nails before. “Mine, all mine.”

            “Yours,” you cry exactly as he slams up and into you, his cock hitting your cervix, the words forming more of a scream than any word. A sound that drives him to speed up his movements, his one hand between your legs, applying pressure to your clit, circling and pressing. Teasing. 

            Driving you to the edge. 

            “Going to fuck a baby into you,” he groans, flattening his front against your back, rhythm never ceasing once. “Going to remind everyone exactly who you belong to.”

            “Do it,” you whisper and he slams into you one final time, pushing the two of you to the edge. Together. 

            As always. 

            “You are glorious,” he whispers, tucking the covers around the two of you, your stomach growing, the child kicking against it as you sigh, shifting so your body is pressed against his. “My sunrise queen.”

            “My moonrise king,” you whisper, his arms around you, one palm resting against your stomach, feeling the child, the wolf of roses kicking against him. 

You had believed her. Your life had been so perfect... So easy and so peaceful. You had spent your girlhood honing the skills required of a tsakarem, of a future Tsahik... Skills that will no longer be needed now. It is all useless. A sharp tug on your arm snapped you back to the present. Ka’lu leaned in, his breath smelling of fermented brew that made you stop breathing.

“Smile, child,” he hissed, his ugly voice contrast to the beautiful music. “Your future mate could look anytime. Show him the grace of a leader’s daughter, not the face of a cornered yerik.”

You looked across the fire. There he sat. The man who would soon claim you. He laughed with a boisterous, ugly sound, the very same hands that now held a cup of drink having once held the blade that ended your family’s lives. No one will come to save you. Ka’lu pretended to have saved you from that bloody night... But here he is, delivering you straight in the arms of your enemy.

You have long let go of your foolish hope in warriors. No one will come to save you. And it makes you feel even more disgusted with yourself knowing that if you ever got the strength and courage to escape Ka’lu, you know that it was still a warrior’s help you would enlist to make it happen. Honorable warriors... a cold, cynical weight settling in your chest. They do not exist.

The songs were lies. The poems were just pretty words meant to distract girls from the truth: that the world was run by greed, and honor was just a cloak men wore until it was no longer convenient. In your world, the gallant were the first to die, and the brave were those who knew how to betray their friends the fastest. Just like Ka’lu.

“I do not want to do it, uncle,” you whispered, your voice trembling but clear. “I will throw myself from the cliffs before I even think of mating him.”

Ka’lu’s grip tightened on your wrist until you winced. Ka’lu never yells... He used the weapon he knew hurts you the most. “And what of your father’s people, Y/N? The survivors? They toil in the mud of his camps. This union is the only thing that buys their food. Their lives are in your hands. Would you be so selfish as to let them starve for the sake of your pride?”

He was selling you to a murderer and convincing you it’s duty.

You stared at the flames and felt as though you were drifting. You tried to get a hold of yourself, digging your nails on the soft palms of your hands. Get a grip, you told yourself. Your eyes scanned the crowd to ground yourself, desperate and drowning, and saw a warrior coming. The man leaned forward and whispered something to your uncle, you watched how your uncle hung on every word the man said, nodding like an obedient follower.

Ka’lu didn’t even ask for your consent when he clamped a hand around your upper arm the moment the man had turned his back, hauling you toward a private pavilion. You weren’t expecting to see something great inside the confined space, but you were also so out of it that you staggered in horror at the sight of a familiar man standing there. The man, Mokri, the Olo’eyktan of the clan that had butchered yours, stood in the middle of the pavilion as if he were awaiting the arrival of a gift.

Or something to play with... might be the more appropriate term. His face was a map of poorly healed scars and his eyes were dark pits of greed. You were never one to judge people by their looks, but his outside appearance surely matched the inside. He is a monster in every sense of the word. He grinned at the sight of you, clapping his hand.

“Come, come,” Mokri croaked, beckoning you forward, and your uncle pushed you to him as gently as he could, as though you were a precious gem.

You fixed your eyes on the ground even though you kept your chin tilted high. In the periphery of your vision, you could tell that there are other men in the pavilion, each sitting on special chairs. The leaders who were gathering outside are now here, inside the pavilion, you concluded. You gritted your teeth when Mokri’s calloused fingers held your jaw to examine your face.

“Very beautiful,” he nodded at your uncle, before moving in a slow and predatory manner around you, like a viperwolf sizing up a yerik. “Take this off. Let us see your body.”

He reached out, catching the edge of your shawl. You shivered, the bile rising in your throat. You looked at Ka’lu, pleading with your eyes, but he only nodded eagerly, a sycophant’s grin plastered on his face. You reached for the clasp, your trembling fingers could barely grip the fabric.

“Is this necessary?”

The voice sounded like thunder in your ear even though it was calm. It cut through the tension, and without even looking, you could sense his authority in a room full of chieftains, as if he knows that his voice alone could command a room.

“This is only entertainment, Neteyam te Suli, don’t be so serious. Once you see her body, you’ll line up for it, too,” Mokri flashed the man a disgusting smile. “It’s for all of us.”

Your breathing hitched, trying not to heave.

“Entertainment?” The man’s voice dropped into a low chill instead of rising, the way most men’s voices do when they are angry. “Let me remind you that you were invited to this council because we believed your clan now seeks the path of peace. We are here to talk of trade and peace among our people, not to witness the harassment of a woman, which all of us here do not condone.”

You sensed the man walk closer until he is only a few paces away from the center of the pavilion.

“You are on probation. Surely, you remember, Mokri?” The man pressed; and you watched, with satisfaction, how Mokri couldn’t even speak. “Get her out of here.” You heard the man say, and he seemed to be talking to Ka’lu, because your uncle glanced at Mokri.

“Who are you to order a man who answers to me?” Mokri, havjng found his tongue, demanded. “You are not even Olo’eyktan! Your father just sent you!”

“I am still part of the council that gave you a chance to belong again, which you are now disrespecting with your behavior,” the man answered, and for some reason, you were feeling a surge of strength from hearing someone refuse to back down to a person like Mokri. “I speak on things I do not like, and I do not like what this situation is inferring. Do you traffic women, too, Mokri? Is this what you do?”

Your heart thrummed against your ribs. Mokri looked between you and the man behind you, his ego warring with the political weight of the man’s words. For a moment, you saw anxiety on his monstrous face and you wanted to rejoice.

“Take that woman to my yurt,” Mokri barked at Ka’lu, conceding the public battle but claiming the private one.

As Ka’lu began to drag you toward the exit, the stranger’s voice stopped you one last time. “Are you here of your own will, woman?”

For a heartbeat, you found the courage to look at him. Turning your head to the stranger who had so courageously stopped your humiliation. He looked young among the chieftains. He was taller than most men here, and broader, too. Your eyes caught the cummerbund he was wearing and knew he was Omatikaya, your childhood knowledge of the clans and their telltales serving you.

His golden eyes were intense on you, searching. No one had looked at you like that in so long. “No, help—”

“She is! I am her uncle, she is just overwhelmed by the honor!” Ka’lu barked in panic, shoving you out.

The moment Ka’lu had dragged you to the yurt, the world exploded into pain. The back of his palm cracked across your face, sending you sprawling into the dirt.

“You do not speak!” he hissed, his face contorted with rage. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Neteyam has made Mokri look like a fool in front of the entire Great Council! He will take that humiliation out on me, and on your people!”

“He was... he was going to strip me,” you whispered.

“And you should have let him!” Ka’lu barked, grabbing your hair to force you to look at him. “Now, Mokri is enraged. If he loses his seat on this council, who knows what he might do! He will kill you just like he killed your family!” He hauled you up and shoved you inside a dark yurt. “You will stay here. I will go back and try to mend this. If Mokri mounts you tonight, you will be silent. You will be obedient. You will give him whatever he asks for to make up for the shame you caused him.”

“Uncle, please—”

“I am not your uncle!” he spat, tying the flap shut from the outside. “I am the only reason you are still breathing. Don't make me regret it.”

You struggled to breathe. This yurt might just be the witness to the death of your honor. Or your death itself, if Mokri thinks it appropriate. Your breathing was jagged, hiccuping in your struggle to take in air as much as you can, collapsing against the fiber wall, hyperventilating. The songs of the festival outside sounded like they were mocking you.

You will never know the peace they sing of. You will never be free again. You will never feel the love they chanted about. You wished you would just die here. You prayed, that if you shall never know all those great things again, then the Great Mother should just take your breath altogether so that you may escape this fear, pain, and humiliation. You propped a hand on the ground, your fingers brushing against something sharp on the floor. Your brows furrowed.

A tool? You scrambled to get it. Feeling a small, jagged blade in your fingers. Your lips parted. Oh, Great Mother. Your grief finally curdled into a cold, desperate resolve. You felt the fiber. It was thick, but it was aged. With the knife in your trembling hand, you began to saw at the base of the wall. You worked until your fingers bled, until the hole was wide enough for your slender frame. You squeezed through, and then you were out, facing the dark, looming shadows of the forest.

You ran.

You didn't have a plan. You didn't have a home. But still, you ran until your lungs burned and until the thorns of the undergrowth shredded your feet. You were uncaring of everything. You wished only to get away, to live your life as you did before, to know what it’s like to be free once again. You rounded a massive, glowing root and collided with something solid, but you knew it was not a tree trunk.

The impact sent you reeling. You fell back, your strength finally spent, and let out a broken, jagged sob. You covered your face with your hands, waiting for Ka’lu’s voice, waiting for the blow to fall. They had caught up on you!

“Hey—whoa! Watch it!” The voice was young and startled, not the croak of your uncle.

“Please,” you gasped, crawling backward on your hands and knees, your voice thick with hysteria. “Please, don't take me back there. Kill me if you must, but don't take me back to him!”

The man stepped into the light of a glowing plant and you saw that his eyes were wide in genuine shock as he took in your appearance. The blood, the bruises, and the sheer, raw terror on your face. “Take you back?” He asked, his hands hovering near you, unsure where to touch without hurting you. “I’m not taking you anywhere you don’t want to go. Sister, what happened to you?”

At the word sister, a term of kin and respect, the last of your composure shattered. You reached out, grabbing his arms with a death grip. “Save me,” you choked out. “Please. Help me. Don’t let them kill me...”

The man looked back toward the camp, his jaw setting. “Sister, you are safe.”

A sob racked your body, your trembling hands finding purchase on his arms but the sheer exhaustion, the nonstop crying, and the pain forced your world to go black. You drifted into a dreamless sleep, but it was uncomfortable and hot, you were sweating, and when your eyes finally fluttered open, the first thing you felt was the suffocating heat and the scratchy texture of dried mats against your skin.

You were in a large, rectangular crate, buried beneath layers of woven mat. For a panicked second, you thought you were back in the yurt, but you felt too weak and dizzy that you couldn't even push the lid open even as you tried. You gasped for air, the crate was so crowded and hot that you felt as though you’re close to fainting. You heard muffled voices of men and you stopped breathing loudly.

“What are you talking about?” you heard a man’s voice. “Lo’ak, I have something more important to attend to. I told you, we need to find that woman before they do!”

“This is just as important. Like you said, there is probably a trafficking of women going on. I’m going to show you something,” another voice said. “And please, don’t get mad. I only did what I must.”

You heard the footsteps coming, and then silence. You held your breath until you heard a soft knock.

“Hey... You awake?” You heard a small voice. “Uh, you’re safe don’t worry... I was just— I’m with my brother. Don’t worry, he’s a good guy.” he assured you, still tapping on the lid. “Can I open this? Or maybe you should, if you feel safe.”

“What is this, Lo’ak?” You heard another voice, deep and gravelly.

“Shh! Can you shut up for a moment?” The first voice said. “Hey... I’ll open the lid. Tap it if you don’t want me to open it.”

You didn’t do as he asked, you cannot even do it. You are too dizzy and your limbs felt too heavy. The lid of your crate was wrenched open, and the sudden influx of bright light attacked you, making you squint, a weak moan escaping your lips as you tried to shield your eyes with a bruised arm.

“Here, I have water. Drink.”

You peeled your eyes open, your hands shaking so violently as you reached for the waterskin that you dropped it before you even opened it, making you groan weakly. You felt another presence loom and you made the effort you move your head, your blurry vision focusing on a familiar face. You saw him reach down, his large, calloused hand wrapping a hand on you your wrist, making you flinch despite your weakened state.

“She’s burning, Lo’ak,” he said, turning to the man beside him.

Your eyes followed the way his braids swayed when he moved, and when he turned to you again, his face was a mask of genuine worry, no longer the face of the stoic warrior who stood in the pavilion. You were curled inside the small crate, your bioluminescent freckles flickering weakly. The purple-black bruising on your face and arms stood out starkly against your pale blue skin. You looked less like a woman and more like a broken yerik discarded in the trash.

Neteyam felt as though the air had been kicked from his lungs. He recognized you. The woman from the pavilion, the woman Mokri is currently looking for. Neteyam’s mind raced back to the chaos after you exited the pavilion. He had confronted Ka’lu about the truth when he came back in minutes later, nearly beating the truth out of the coward. Ka’lu had stammered about you being his niece, and assured him you were safe and were not being sold, but when Neteyam forced him to the yurt to prove your safety, they found only the jagged hole in the woven wall.

That alone told him that Ka’lu was not telling the truth at all, and the fact that you forced your way out of the yurt meant you were not safe. He initially planned to leave last night, to lead the Omatikaya warriors back home, to refuse to continue attending the council Mokri had just disrespected. The other chieftains themselves agreed that no talks of peace and trade can be done after what just happened. But he also couldn't leave knowing that a woman was out there being pursued by Mokri. Who knows what he would have done with you once he catches you.

Now, seeing you crumpled in this crate, the guilt was a bitter taste. He should have gone all out in his intervention last night. He had already asked you, he shouldn’t have ordered Ka’lu to get you out of the pavilion. He reached out again, and your eyes fluttered, your brain too wired to the fact that a hand near your face would mean a slap or a punch, but his touch was soft as it traced the edge of the deep bruise on your cheek.

“Lo’ak, take charge of the warriors,” he commanded, his voice filled with a rare rage. “I am taking her ahead. She needs to get checked by Tsahik.“

He let out a sharp, piercing whistle, and within moments, the beating of massive wings spiraling down fanned the nearby plants, sending it dancing before the beast landed with a heavy thud. Neteyam didn't waste another second on words. He reached into the crate, sliding his arms beneath your knees and back. As he lifted you, he winced at how light you were, adjusting his hold when you let out a pained whimper, your head falling weakly against his chest.

Even through your delirium, you felt the steady, powerful thrum of his heartbeat, as if lulling you to sleep, but when he mounted the beast with practiced grace, and pulled you tightly against his chest, you can’t help but wrap a hand around his bicep, afraid you’ll fall.

“I got you,” he murmured against your temple, his grip strong yet impossibly careful.

With a powerful leap, the ikran took to the vast sky, and for the first time in years, your world was endless.

                                                         ₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

For days, you drifted in and out of sleep, your mind only registering the warm glow of a tent thick with the smell of familiar herbs and incense. Your fever was so high you no longer recognize what’s true and what was made up by your mind during the hours you were delirious.

When you finally awoke, it was to the steady glow of a hanging firepot. You felt lighter, your head and your body devoid of the aching that has been there for years. Your vision eventually cleared, and you noticed a young woman sitting nearby, humming a low melody. You tensed when she turned, but then you saw her eyes, kind and curious, and you calmed down.

“You are finally back with us,” she said, her voice gentle. She raised a hand and your eyes caught the five fingers, causing you to dip your body further to the mats. She has five fingers! She noticed your reaction and chuckled. “Oh, sorry. I’m just going to check if you still have fever. Can I?”

You bit your lip and stayed still. “Sorry...” you muttered.

She smiled, touching your forehead with the back of her hand. “Your fever has finally broken,” she said. “I’m Kiri, by the way...”

You smiled, telling her your name as you tried to sit up. You have lots of questions but when she offered you a piece of sweet fruit and a waterskin, you ate with a desperation that surprised you, the water reviving your parched throat. The drops they had given you while you were asleep did almost nothing, but it at least kept you alive.

Just as you finished, a small figure bursted into the tent, but she skidded to a halt when she saw you already sitting up. It was a young girl with wide golden eyes and large ears, her face full of wonder automatically makinh you smile.

“Hi!” she chirped, her eyes wide. “May I ask you a question?” she asked boldly, stepping closer.

You nodded curiously, watching her take a seat across from you.

“Well, you slept really long... And my friends and I wished to know... Uhm, did you die?”

“Tuk!” Kiri reprimanded but the child was hanging on your every word.

You chuckled. “No, little one. I was just very sick.”

“Oh,” she seemed disappointed. “I'm Tuk,” the girl said, before squinting at you. “Was your hair always that way?”

You were still smiling, but your head tilted. “That way?“

“It's not black like ours.”

You touched the dark auburn strands of your hair, a trait of your father's family. “Yes, it has always been this way.”

Tuk sighed dramatically, falling back on the floor. “I wish mine would change color once I’m grown... But I guess I have to love what Eywa has given me.”

You can’t help but smile, remembering how dramatic you were about your life as well. Her innocence was a balm to your wounded soul. You were about to respond when a tall shadow darkened the entrance, making you swivel your head to its direction.

Your heart stuttered. The warrior from the pavilion.

“Neteyam!” Tuk cried out. “She’s awake!”

“So I see,” he murmured, his eyes already on you. His gaze was intense, scanning you with a mixture of relief and something that made your skin tingle.

You tore your eyes away, but also remembered that you owe him. You are on his mercy. Besides, you have something to request! You forced yourself to stand, though your legs still feel shaky. He stepped forward instinctively, his hands twitching as if ready to catch you but you stood properly.

“Warrior,” you began, your voice trembling but determined. “I owe you my life. I thank you for the mercy you showed me at the council and for bringing me here.” You swallowed hard, your eyes pleading. “If I may, I want to ask for refuge. Please, do not send me back. I will work. I can work very hard, I promise. I know herbs and I know how to heal, I— I was trained as a healer. I can also take care of kids, I know many songs! I can weave, too, warrior. I will serve you and your people in any way I can, I promise. Just don’t send me back.”

You went on, your words tumbling out in a frantic procession of promises, desperate to prove your worth so you wouldn't be discarded. When you finally ran out of breath, silence stretched between you. Neteyam stood frozen, his golden eyes unblinking, his lips slightly parted. He looked entirely speechless, as if you had cast a spell over him.

“Warrior?” you whispered, wondering if you had said something wrong.

His head snapped back slightly, as though waking from a trance. Tuk giggled beside you. “You have no reason to fear,” he said, his voice regaining its steady depth as his kind eyes held yours. “You are safe here. My father and the Tsahik have granted you sanctuary. I will never send you back. You may stay as long as you wish.”

Relief washed over you so sharply you nearly wept. “Oh, thank you. I will make sure I am of use, I—”

“Focus on your recovery,” he interrupted gently, tilting his head. “In the Omatikaya, we do not weigh a person by what they can produce. You are not a servant here.”

Before you could insist, an older woman with an intimidating presence entered. The Tsahik of the Omatikaya. Mo’at. She looked at you with eyes that seemed to see through you. You have a vast knowledge of the clans, from what was taught when you were a child, but you supposed many things have changed since your family fell.

“You are awake, daughter of Rikahe,” she stated.

Your lips curled in a soft smile, watching her with misty eyes, moved by the mention of your father’s family name. “How did you know, Tsahik?” you asked softly.

She carefully touched your hair. “No one can see that hair and not think of your father’s line,“ she said, her hand hovering over your neck to feel your skin. “Your fever has broken... But you must rest and gain your energy before you work on what you bargain for with Neteyam,” she narrowed her eyes at you. “Although there is no need for you to overwork yourself to prove you are worthy to stay here.”

You bit your lip and nodded. You’ve done nothing but work hard in the past years that you know of nothing else but that.

“Neteyam, see to it that she is comfortable,” Mo’at commanded, her voice echoing with a finality that brooked no argument. “She is our guest, but soon, she will be one of the People. You shall be her guide in this journey.”

You looked at her. You will be one of them? Your lips parted as you tried not to show too much excitement. Meanwhile, Mo’at’s side glances at her grandson, remembering the fire in him just a few days prior, a side of Neteyam she had rarely seen. Usually the dutiful and obedient son who followed the word of his parents and the elders for as long as they make sense, he had shocked the council when the elders had whispered of “political complications” and the danger of harboring the daughter of a slaughtered clan, and Neteyam hadn't backed down.

He stood his ground when he challenged the elders, his face etched with a rare disappointment. “Is this who we are?” he had asked them, his eyes flashing with firmness. “Do we weigh the life of a person against our comfort? If we send her back to be killed or enslaved, we are no better than the ones who wielded the blade.” It was the first time he had ever truly defied the council, showing a conviction that even his father watched with quiet pride.

“Neteyam,” Mo’at said, snapping the warrior out of his silent observation of you. “She is under your care. Teach her our ways, and ensure she knows that under this canopy, she is protected.”

Neteyam bowed his head, his ears twitching slightly. “I will, Grandmother.”

As the Tsahik exited the tent, Tuk chased after her and Kiri smiled as she followed them out. You turned to Neteyam and smiled. “I’m sorry... I believe it is a particulatly heavy burden, but also, too small of a job for you. I think, I could talk to Tsahik and ask that one of your recommended warriors would do—”

“Do you not trust my expertise on this, lady?” he asked, his voice laced with humor, and yet it made you panic.

Your eyes widened, shaking your head. “I cannot possibly doubt your expertise, warrior—”

Neteyam stepped closer, and your foot stupidly stepped back, your body reacting as if it’s bracing for anything. Your chest deflated when you saw him stop, his eyes watching you carefully... And then you saw the moment realization dawned in them. It made you feel flayed.

“Sorry,” you said, stopping your face from crumpling in embarrassment.

“Sorry, what for?” he asked, and it made you feel even worse.

“I... I don’t know,” you said, visibly agitated in your fear that you might upset him.

“I told you that you were safe,” he said simply, his voice low and melodic. “No one can hurt you here. I will not allow it.”

You stared at him and nodded, your eyes heating up a little bit. You thought of your brothers. Your fierce, laughing brothers who had died defending the clan, and wondered if they would have grown to be as gallant as this man. If they had lived, perhaps they would have stood with the same quiet strength, shielding the weak not because they were ordered to, but because their hearts demanded it.

“Rest now,” Neteyam whispered. “I’ll show you around the Hometree once you’re okay.”

You spent one more day in the sanctuary of the Tsahik’s tent, just lying down and regaining your strength, eating the best fruits and food. Kiri returned often to change your bandages, her presence calm and grounding that you found yourself stalling her for conversation. You’d found that she was Neteyam’s sister, and Tuk, too.

She mentioned a brother named Lo’ak, and you are familiar with the name. He was the man who saved you that night. “Where is he? I haven’t seen him yet since I woke up,” you asked softly, your hands deft as you helped her with the herbs.

“Oh, he’s out! Again. Lo’ak is a free spirit. He volunteers for missions a lot. Dad sent him to the Metkayina this time,” she said. “You’ve met him?”

You nodded. “Yes. He saved me,” you said, your voice filled of gratitude.

Kiri smiled softly, and you could see the pride blooming on her face for her brothers. When the morning arrived, Neteyam appeared at the entrance of the Tsahik’s tent while you were busy helping Kiri with the herbs again.

“Hey,” he greeted, not fully entering the tent, just his head popping into the entrance, nodding at Kiri before his eyes snapped back to you.

“Hello,” you said, smiling a little, standing up and wiping your palms against your loincloth.

“I promised I’d show you around the Hometree, but your kelku was finished just in time. Would you like to see it?“ he asked, a small exciyed smile touching his lips.

Your lips parted in surprise. “My kelku?” you asked.

“Yeah. You’ll see,” he said. “Come.” he remained standing by the entrance, waiting for you to come.

You walked toward him, stepping out of the tent. He led you out of the platform, but only then did you realize where you are. You let out a sharp, jagged gasp, your knees buckling as you looked down. You were positive you were in the sky, you couldn’t even see the ground, only a vast view of vibrant greens and giant ferns. Instinct took over; you lunged toward the nearest solid thing, your fingers digging into the firm muscle of Neteyam’s arm.

“It’s... it’s too high,” you choked out, your heart hammering like a trapped creature.

Neteyam pursed his lips to stifle a chuckle, steadying you with a gentle hand on your waist. “Look at me,” he said and you peered up at him, biting your lower lip and gripping his arm so tightly your fingernails dug into his skin. “Have you not lived on a Hometree before?”

You shook your head. “We are river people... And when I was enslaved, we lived in the plains. I’ve never been on a tree this high before,” your brows furrowed, your eyes snagging on how tightly you were holding his arm. You let go, your eyes widening at the sight of the reddened marks on his arm. You gasped and caressed the spot softly. “I’m so sorry. I was being mindless! I’m sorry—”

“Don’t say sorry, it’s nothing,” he said, his hand catching yours. “Can you look down again? I mean, you can’t always be afraid of heights... Not when you’ll be living here. Aside from that, you’ll have to tame an ikran for yourself, too...” he murmured, his chest vibrating against your shoulder.

You bit your lip again, your hand dropping onto his forearm, while his hand still spanned your waist. You saw it as a good sign that you had not made a big deal of him being so close to you. You looked at the never-ending view of the greens below, feeding your eyes and letting yourself welcome the sensory stimulation of the misty breeze against your skin.

You are given a new life, you told yourself. You owe it to yourself to be brave again. You owe it to Neteyam not to give him a hard time as he helps you. You closed your eyes for a moment, forcing the air into your lungs and letting the scent of moss ground you. When you opened them again, you looked past the terrifying drop and focused on the way the sunlight filtered through the canopy.

“It is... beautiful,” you whispered, finally loosening your death grip on his arm. You turned to him with a shy, determined smile. “I will learn, I promise. I’ll walk these branches day and night so that I’ll get used to it. I really want to stay.”

Neteyam’s gaze caressed your determined features and his expression softened. “Take it slow—”

A sudden shout paces away made him stop and made you swivel your head, and your newfound bravery was short-lived. A shriek tore from your throat. Your survival instincts, honed by years of trauma, sent you leaping backward again, straight into Neteyam’s arms. You hiked a leg up instinctively, clinging to him as if he were the only solid thing left in the world. Neteyam caught you with practiced ease, his hand firm against your thigh to keep you steady while his other arm wrapped around your back, pulling you flush against his chest.

“Spider,” Neteyam greeted, his voice calm, though he made no move to put you down.

“Whoa! Didn't mean to scare the guest!” The lively voice called out.

You peered over Neteyam’s shoulder, your breath hitching. Standing on a nearby branch was a creature you had never seen. His skin was pale, you had nothing to compared it with, and he wore a strange transparent mask over his face. He moved with the agility you’ve seen from Tuk, but he looked... different.

You pressed yourself further into Neteyam, hiding your face on his shoulder.

“Calm down,” Neteyam hushed, his voice low against your ear. He gently cupped your jaw, tilting your face up so you were forced to meet his steady golden eyes. “He is a friend. A brother to me, Lo’ak, and Kiri.” He spoke slowly, as if soothing a frightened yerik. “He looks different because he is a human.”

“Human?” you repeated, the word tasting strange on your tongue.

“I will explain it all later,” he promised, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. “For now, just know that Spider is good. He is one of us.”

Reluctantly, you nodded. Spider offered a lopsided grin, his initial boisterousness softening into a quiet greeting. As the three of you walked toward your new home, Spider proved to be a chatterbox, telling you abouy how he was around when you were brought here. His energy was infectious, and by the time you reached your kelku, your earlier fear had faded into a buzzing curiosity.

Meanwhile, your kelku was a dream. It was small and intimate, nestled in a curve of the tree that offered a private view of the nearby river. You spent a long time just watching it, whispering and promising that you’d pay it a visit soon. For the first time in many years, you had a space that wasn't a cage. You saw soft furs and colorful tapestries piled on the side and when you kneeled to check it, your found various loinclothes and tops mixed there, too.

You looked back to Neteyam with an excited smile and he tilted his head, saying, “It’s a gift.”

“This is quite a lot...“ you said, “but thank you. I mean, I have nothing coming here.” You bit your lip and stood up, glancing at Spider climbing a nearby vine. “I wish to see the weavers...”

He nodded, offering a hand which you took and he led you through the winding pathways toward the looms, sharing with you the history of his family, telling you that his father used to be a human... like Spider.

Your brows furrowed. “This, I’ve heard of. My mother used to tell me the story... She said, my father fought with Toruk Makto in his war... And that he is different.”

Neteyam smiled. “Perhaps, he is. He chose to be one of us, chose to fight for my mother and our people...“ he said.

You smiled at the thought, but you were too curious. You asked many questions, and in the end, he told you about Avatars whose origins he perfectly explained that you understood despite never seeing what technology he was talking about, and the world suddenly felt much larger and kinder than the one you had escaped.

“I should bring you to where Spider lives sometime. You’ll see it there,” he said.

When you reached the weaving looms, the familiar click-clack of the shuttles brought a surge of nostalgia. You ran your fingers over the fibers, your eyes sparkling. “Is the river I can see outside my kelku easy to reach by foot?” you asked, smiling.

“Yes... Why?” he asked slowly.

You smiled shyly. “If I could, I want to go there and see if I find the same reeds we used to collect back home. It creates good fabric and I can make them here...” you said.

Neteyam leaned against a wooden pillar, watching you with an unreadable expression. “Tomorrow,” he promised. “I will take you to the water.”

You could barely sleep the entire night at the thought of seeing the river, and the moment the morning light shifted inside the walls of your kelku, your eyes fluttered open. You fixed your hair. It’s too long now, reaching almost to your hips, and a little wavy as opposed to your mother’s pin-straight hair.

The people of the Omatikaya were fond of braids, but you wanted to keep yours unbounded for now. Neteyam arrived not long after you’ve fixed yourself and you smiled at his genuine surprise upon seeing you ready for the day. “Sorry, I was too excited,“ you said in a shy murmur.

His brows furrowed, his eyes watching you carefully. “You have nothing to say sorry for,” he replied, his hand slowly rising in the air, palms up.

You stared at it and he tilted his head, as if waiting for you to put yours over his hand so you did. He smiled and gently squeezed it before he led you through the branches. The trek down the Hometree proved to be a challenge, and perhaps, if you hadn’t pushed yourself through several obstacles, you two wouldn't reach the ground in less than an hour.

But once you were on the ground, you moved with a quiet, frantic energy that Neteyam had to work to match. He couldn't help but huff a chuckle as you skipped through the foliage, only looking back once you realized he’s lagging behind. It wasn’t a long walk at all, and he said there was even a switchback leading to the river directly, making you even more excited at the prospect of going there alone.

And when you hear the distant roar of the falls and saw the morning light openly graze the waters, your breath hitched in your throat. The river stretched out before you, a winding ribbon of water shimmering as it reflected rhe morning light. It was home.

Neteyam stopped at the edge of the bank, but you kept going. You sank to your knees slowly, as if the ground were made of fragile fiber, and when your fingers finally broke the water’s surface, you sighed, letting the current glide over your palms, your touch light and reverent. You closed your eyes and tried to imagine your brothers’ laughter.

You have the river now. But there was no one to splash.

A broken sob escaped your throat. You were glad Neteyam didn’t walk closer, glad that no one would see you cry at something as simple as seeing a river. You let the tears fall, hot and fast, to be washed away by the cool stream. You sniffed and panicked a little when you heard him behind you, though, trying to quickly wipe the tears off your cheeks.

“It’s cold,” you whispered, your voice thick with years of grief. “My father used to say the river was the blood of the Great Mother, always moving, always washing away the old so the new could breathe.”

You lifted a handful of water, watching it spill back into the river like liquid gems. Neteyam stood behind you, his posture rigid. He had seen warriors weep after battle and children cry for their mothers, but he had never seen a soul look so fragile and so ancient all at once. He looked at the faint scars on your back, the fading bruises on your arms, and the healing wounds on your legs and feet, the way you clung to the water, perhaps the only thing that had not betrayed you that which reminds you of your home, sent a surge of raw, primal protectiveness through him.

It was a physical ache in his chest.

“If this were a dream, I should never want to wake up,” you chuckled heartily.

His breathing hitched, his foot stepping forward involuntarily. “You aren't dreaming, Y/N,” he said, finally stepping beside you, “The river is real. And it is yours again.”

                                                         ₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

Moons had passed since you had first stepped out onto the high branches of the Hometree. In that time, Neteyam had watched over you with a mixture of awe and concern. You were very determined to learn, and when you said you’d walk the branches day and night to force yourself to accept the dizzying height, you actually did it, that by the end of the first week, you had memorized the labyrinthine pathways of Hometree as if you had been born among them

He didn’t know whether to scold you, or to look at the elders in the council with pride, whenever he hears of a random Omatikaya speaking about how you were always the first to step at the looms, before the sun has even risen, your fingers flying through the fabrics that needed working, while also doing your own little projects with the reeds you had gathered from the river.

Which is another problem of his. You’d memorized your way to the river alone, and some days, that’s where he finds you after frantically looking for you all over the Hometree.

But the progress was deceptive.

There were fluctuations in your behavior that only he seems to notice. Kiri had told him to give you time and Spider had assured him you were simply finding your footing. But no, it keeps him awake at night. One moment, you were a determined and fierce trainee, unflinching and prepared to do what he says. The next, he would reach out to adjust your stance, and you would flinch so violently it was as if he held a knife instead of a guiding hand.

He had spoken to both Mo’at and Norm, trying to get the perspectives of different people if there was any way he could help you. “She is safe here. I would never hurt her, I thought she knows that, but then... Sometimes she looks at me like I am the enemy.”

"The body remembers what the mind tries to forget, Neteyam," Mo’at had told him. "You cannot outrun a shadow. You can only shine enough light to make it disappear."

Meanwhile, Norm had rambled about the mechanisms of trauma and how it makes the body’s memory clash with the thinking brain. You may intellectually know that you are safe, but your body braces for danger because it has been trained to. None of what he has heard helped ease the tightness in his chest, but at least now, he understands what’s going on. All he needed was more patience, more vigilance, especially now that you’re starting to make friends in the clan.

Norm has mentioned about triggers, so he always made sure to have his eyes on you. And this hyper-vigilance he practiced for your safety had, unintentionally, turned into a different kind of obsession. In his desire to look out for a flinch or a trigger, he had become an expert on the smallest, most intimate details of you.

He noticed the exact way your eyes lit up at the sight of utumauti, a fruit you’d grown to like, which he’d quietly ensured was always available to you, despite the arduous nature of getting it. He saw the rhythmic wag of your tail whenever Tuk made you laugh, a sound that he had begun to crave like a parched man craves the river.

Even your hair... That unique, dark auburn curtain... seemed to haunt him. He watched it sway behind you on the branches, or worse, how it would drape over your shoulder, the heavy strands occasionally molding over the curve of your breasts in a way that made him wrestle himself at night. He had never been the type of warrior to linger on the physical forms of the women in the clan. He was the dutiful son, the disciplined leader.

But now?

He was noticing how shapely your thighs were as you climbed and the mesmerizing swirl of the stripes on your face, and your freckles that seemed to glow just a little brighter when you were happy.

It was driving him absolutely insane.

He felt like a creep. He was supposed to be your protector, the one person you could trust completely without fear of being ‘looked at’ as a prize. Yet, here he was, ogling your legs and tracing the lines of your body with his eyes when he thought no one was looking.

The guilt was a heavy weight in his chest. To punish himself, he had placed himself under a strict, self-imposed vow of restraint. He refused to touch himself at all, terrified that the moment he closed his eyes in the dark, your face would be the only thing he saw. Just the fleeting thought of your hands on him was enough to make him brick up almost instantly. It was a physical ache.

He would spend his nights desperately trying to count the stems of the branches he could see to drown out the image of your auburn hair fanned out across his furs.

Fortunately, these thoughts do not follow him when he’s with you, or else, he’d have to beat himself up to straighten his act. He found that you were naturally gifted at throwing, and you’d told him it was a hobby your brothers had, so he focused on that. He watched as you arranged the small knives he got you, its small body shaped like an arrow’s tip, but its handle was wrapped with a wounding fiber like a tree vine, ending in a circular ring.

You seemed particularly vibrant today, your auburn hair tied back to reveal the graceful line of your neck. He tried to focus on your form as you picked a single knife, your body leaning back, muscles in your thighs tensing as you prepared to launch.

“Good form,” he managed to say, his voice sounding raspier than usual, when your knife hit the bull’s eye.

“I’ve been practicing the flick of the wrist like you showed me,” you said, turning to him with an easy, bright smile that made his heart do a somersault. “Was it good?”

You stepped closer to show him your grip, and the scent of you hit him like a physical blow. He stared down at your hand on the knife, then up at your eyes, which were lit with joy. You had such sad eyes when you first got here, that even when you smiled a lot then, it didn’t reach your eyes. Meanwhile, now, you looked like you were finally, truly happy.

“Yes,” he choked out, smiling at you. “You're doing fine.”

You nodded, still smiling, turning to your work.

A few days later, as the midday sun bathe the Hometree with shifting light, Neteyam made his way back from the forest patrol. Usually, his mind was occupied with the security of the borders or the reports for his father, but these days, his thoughts were a frantic tether leading straight back to you.

He found you not at the looms, nor at the Tsahik’s tent, but by the mossy banks of the river. And you were surrounded.

A toddler was currently attempting to climb your back while Tuk, ever the dedicated assistant in the matters of anything concerning fun, performed a dramatic mimicry of a palulukan to keep the child giggling. In your arms, you cradled a small boy, the mother of both children had fallen ill with a fever. You held the baby tenderly, your thumb tracing the small curve of the boy’s ear as you fed him a mash of softened fruit.

You have grown in the hearts of the people, that much is clear. They had taken to calling you sister without you having claimed your ikran yet. He didn’t know whether to be happy about that, or be worried about you overworking yourself. You help with the weavers every day and still find time to help Kiri at the Tsahik’s tent, and train with him. You often take care of kids when needed, and here you are now, occupied with them.

He called out your name, his voice tinged with a worry he couldn't mask, but you looked up at him, your auburn hair catching the light as you offered him an effortless smile.

“Neteyam!” Tuk greeted merrily, jumping and showing him the toddler by lifting the girl by her head.

“Tuk!” you softly called out, and Neteyam took the toddler from Tuk’s hands, both of you stopping yourselves from laughing.

He put the uncaring toddler down on the ground again, kneeling beside you, his eyes scanning your face for signs of exhaustion. “Kiri said you were at the looms since before the first light, and now this? When was the last time you ate? Or sat still without a child or a shuttle in your hands?”

You let out a melodic laugh, the sound warming his chest. “Oh, it’s alright, Neteyam, believe me. I am not hungry, and the children are no bother at all. They are a gift.”

“She’s been telling me stories about the river monsters!” Tuk piped up, finally collapsing onto the moss next to the toddler. “She says they have teeth the size of my head!”

Neteyam listened to his sister’s retelling of your tales, reaching into his pack and pulling out a wrap of dried meat and an utumauti fruit he’d spent his morning patrol getting. He simply began peeling the fruit with his hunting knife, his movements precise and quiet.

“Eat,” he commanded gently, holding a piece out to you.

You chuckled, trying to reach for it despite the baby’s surprisingly strong grip around your fingers. He paused, his golden eyes flickering down to your lips and then back to your eyes. The closeness was dangerous for him, but his concern for your health won out. With a hand that trembled only slightly, he held the fruit to your mouth.

You bit into the fruit, your eyes softening as the sweetness hit your tongue. For a moment, the world felt incredibly small, just the sound of the river, the babble of the children, and the steady, protective presence of the man who had promised you safety and delivered.

“Thank you. You are the kindest,” you teased after swallowing, your tail giving a slow, contented wag behind you.

“And you are the most stubborn,” he countered, a ghost of a smile touching his lips as he watched a stray drop of juice linger on your lower lip. He quickly looked away, handing a piece of fruit to a pleading Tuk to distract himself. But as long as you are safe and fed, I suppose I can live with it, he thought.

But the peace of the riverbank was a fragile thing.

Neteyam had known the moment he saw you that morning. The way you held your shoulders too high, the way your eyes darted toward every sudden shadow, that you sleep had been unkind. Even he was surprised with how attuned to you he is now that he could sense every talltale. You were back in the dark, and though you moved through the Hometree with your usual efficiency, you seemed like you were bracing for a blow.

​By the time you reached the training grounds, the air between you was brittle. During times like this, he’s learned not to speak or move too much, and if it were necessary at all, he’d speak softly and approach you when you’re looking. He watched you grab a cluster of your small knives, and silently began to hurl them.

The knives hit the target so well, he would have felt a heavy heat swirl in his guts, if only you weren’t so obviously troubled. Your rhythm broke. Your face contorted, your lips peeling back over your teeth in a snarl that looked more like a mask of fury than a determined expression. Your aims became wild, the knives thudding into the wood with a frantic, desperate violence.

“Hey…” he called out softly, sensing your anger. You didn't hear him, you reached for another cluster of knives, your breath coming in jagged, animalistic hitches. “Hey!” he said more firmly, stepping into your space.

As he reached out to catch your arms and still your frantic movements, you swiveled with a speed that startled him. You shoved him back, your hands slamming into his chest.

“I hate you! I hate you!” you shrieked, your voice a raw, agonizing sound he had never heard from you. “You killed my family! You killed them all! I hate you! May Eywa strike you down!”

You weren't seeing Neteyam. You were seeing Mokri’s scarred face; you were seeing Ka’lu’s. You rained blows against his chest, your face a fury of grief and hatred, tears rolling down your cheeks. Neteyam didn't stop your blows and shoves, allowing you to let it out, absorbing your pain and your rage, letting you strike him until your strength finally began to fail.

As your knees buckled, threatening to turn you into a puddle on the floor, he caught you. He hauled you against him, wrapping his massive arms around you in a crushingly tight embrace, shielding you from the images in your own head.

“I wanted to kill him, Neteyam…” you sobbed, the words muffled against his skin, your body shaking with the force of your heartbreak. “I want to kill him and I feel like I am as evil as he is… because I want to kill them all.”

Neteyam held you tighter, his own face crumpled in a reflection of your agony. He cradled your head against his chest, his cheek pressed against your hair, hoping his embrace could calm the terror in you.

“To kill him will not make you evil, Y/N,” he murmured. “It will only be justice. And until that day comes, you do not have to carry it alone. I am here.”

He pulled back just a little, his arm still wrapped around you as the other lifted so his large hand could cup your jaw. His golden eyes looked into yours, and you were left wondering how it could be possible for a pair of eyes to be so genuine, so kind, and so... full of adoration, to also hold hardness and a thirst for blood in it.

“Do you understand? I am with you. I will not only share your burden, I will carry it for you.”

Your breathing staggered. You couldn’t quite place the lightness you were feeling at the moment, having let go of at least half of the burden you had carried for a long time, and seeing that instead of recoiling from the darkness you had shown, Neteyam chose to stand with you where you are. And only then, you’d realized how long he had known where you were standing, and how long he had been standing with you.

You could hardly breathe with the relief you were feeling. You looked at him, your eyes red-rimmed and exhausted, but for the first time since you had woken up this morning, your heart felt light. You didn’t know what came over you, but he was so close that you cannot help but lean your forehead against his, a gesture you loved doing to any of your family.

“Thank you, Neteyam...” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He’s no longer breathing, not when it’s already taking so much of his strength not to shiver as your forehead softly pressed to his, your lips a breath away. It seemed too intimate a gesture, something he had always seen his parents do. Oh, Great Mother, he thought. He wants to kiss you. To feel how soft your lips are... And to wound his fingers into your soft hair.

“You make me wonder what would have happened if my brothers were still alive...” you said, smiling softly.

He didn’t understand what you said at first, he was too busy indulging himself looking at your face this close, but his head jerked a little when he realized what you just said. What the hell did you just say? You pulled away unwittingly, your hand on his arm squeezing to once again thank him, but for him, it was you comforting him because you just likened him to your brothers.

Your brothers!

                                                         ₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

Lo’ak’s booming laughter filled the secluded hut, his hand slapping his knee as he doubled over. Next to him, Spider was laughing so hard he had to lean against a wooden pillar just to stay upright. Meanwhile, Neteyam’s eyes fixed on the flickering light of the tallow lamp, and yet, even its dancing flames still seemed to mock him.

He didn’t want to look at either of them. Lo’ak had just returned from Awa’atlu yesterday, brimming with stories he’d shelved for the time being, his full curiosity being snagged by the very fact that his brother had seemed to found a match. He’d been gone too long, but at least Spider was there to fill him in with everything.

Neteyam’s cheeks burned slightly, the fermented fruit wine he had been aggressively downing for the past hour as the main culprit. He doesn’t usually drink, and now he knows he’d probably never do so again. It makes him loose-mouthed, on top of being too dramatic.

“Brothers?” Lo'ak gasped out, wiping a tear of sheer delight from his eye. “She looked you dead in the eyes, bro, with your faces that close to each other... and said you remind her of her brothers?”

“Shut up, Lo'ak,” Neteyam muttered, his voice gravelly as he took another long swig from the clay flask. “And for the record, she didn’t look me dead in the eyes. Y/N doesn’t look people dead in the eyes. She has the most beautiful, expressive eyes—”

“And that probably makes it much worse. She looked at you with loving eyes? Bro, she sees you as a brother!“ Spider chimed in.

Neteyam groaned, a sound that came from the absolute depths of his chest, and buried his face in his hands. It had been three days since your outburst at the training grounds. Three days of him completely overanalyzing every single breath and syllable you had uttered. He understood it intellectually. He did. It means you felt safe with him. You trusted him with all your heart. After everything you had endured, being likened to the family you loved and lost was supposed to be the highest honor.

But brothers?

Couldn't it have been a trusted friend? A best friend? Even an exceptionally reliable protector? Why did it have to be a brother? How was he ever supposed to make you look past that? If you genuinely categorized him as a sibling in your mind, he was doomed. He would never be a lover in your eyes.

He hadn't felt the urge to scream and throw a full-blown tantrum since he was ten years old, but right now, the frustrated man inside him wanted to kick over the firepot. He wanted to march right over to your kelku, wake you up, and demand to know exactly what you meant by that.

But he immediately slap himself back to reality. The meaning was already clear as day. Besides, he knows you wouldn’t appreciate a massive, brooding warrior showing up drunk at your hut in the dead of night. It was probably the absolute quickest way to trigger every single defense mechanism you had. You would be so scared, he was already recoiling at the thought of terrifying you.

And tomorrow was too important. Tomorrow, you were finally climbing the Hallelujah Mountains to tame your ikran alongside a handful of Omatikaya youths. You needed your rest. He wanted to be clear-headed, even though he wouldn’t be there to guide you because there are warriors assigned for that.

With a heavy sigh, Neteyam capped the flask and pushed it away, ignoring Lo’ak’s continued snickering. He would tuck these stupid, selfish thoughts into the darkest corner of his mind. For you, he would be exactly what you needed him to be. Even if it killed him.

By the morning, the heavy fog of the wine had been strictly dealt with. Neteyam had woken up before dawn, running a through the lower brush before plunging himself into the freezing currents of the river to scrub away the lingering stink of alcohol. By the time he walked up to your kelku, he was back to being the perfect soldier.

Except, apparently, you were as keen as a viperwolf.

The moment you stepped out of your pod, your auburn hair neatly bound and your eyes filled with nervous anticipation for the hunt, you stopped. You looked at him, your gaze sweeping over the slight tightness in his jaw and the faint shadow beneath his eyes.

Before he could even greet, you stepped into his space. Your hands lifted, cupping his jawline gently. “Did you sleep late?” you asked, tilting your head.

Neteyam’s breath caught instantly. His throat going completely dry, but he cleared his throat roughly, trying to ignore the way your thumbs lightly brushed his skin. “Not... too late. I was just drinking with Lo’ak and Spider last night. Celebrating his return.”

Your lips pushed forward into a thoughtful, slightly amused pout. Your eyes turned intensely curious, but there was a faint apprehension in them. “Fun... or girl problems?” you asked softly.

His heart actively leapt into his mouth, he literally nearly choked. Did you know? Did Spider happen to sleep walk and mouth off? “A little bit of both,” he lied quickly, his ears twitching. “Lo’ak’s girl problems... anyway.“

You let out a soft chuckle, dropping your hands from his face. “And you?” you asked lightly as you both turned and began walking down the massive, winding ramp of Hometree. “You don’t have one of your own?”

Neteyam kept his gaze fixed on the path ahead, his chest tightening. Oh, I do, he thought. I have a massive one. She’s currently walking right next to me, thinking I’m her brother.

“I do,” he said aloud.

His voice was quiet, but it hit you like an unexpected splash of cold river water. You froze for a fraction of a second before forcing your feet to keep moving, your lips parting in utter surprise. You didn't know how to react.

First, because the concept of Neteyam having a girlfriend or an intended had literally never crossed your mind. He was always with his family, with the patrols, or with you. You had never seen him speak to the other huntresses with anything more than polite, detached respect.

Second... a sudden, suffocating image bloomed in your mind. You imagined a beautiful, flawless huntress standing beside him. Someone with perfect blue skin who moves with the grace of a warrior. Someone who hadn't spent the last eight years weak and enslaved. Someone who wasn't broken.

For some reason, the mental image left a bitter taste in your mouth that your stomach twisted into a tight, uncomfortable knot. You hated it. You immediately hated yourself for feeling it. Neteyam has been nothing but good to you. He was kind, he was patient, he had held you while you screamed your lungs out into his chest. He deserved all the happiness the Great Mother could provide.

Why wouldn't you want him to be happy? Why did the thought of him belonging to someone else make you feel like you’d never see the river again?

You cleared your throat, smiling up at him. “I guess you’d been too busy with me in the past moons, huh?” you sighed, pursing your lips. “I’ll do my best today, I promise, so you’d have more time to pursue your interests again,” you said, reaching up to touch his forearm. “Neteyam, you’d been really kind to me... So, I hope you get whatever your heart desires because you deserve it. I’ll pray for it.” you told him, nodding with serious encouragement.

A horn blew and you grinned at him, turning your back to gather with those who would be claiming their ikran today, leaving Neteyam with his jaw literally slack. How had things come to that? He was careful not to let you misunderstand the reason for his drinking, lying about Lo’ak having girl problems, and it still ended up with you thinking he had girl problems because of two stupid words!

Later, in the Hallelujah Mountains, the high altitude had left your chest tight. You still had fear of heights, despite having stayed at Hometree for several moons now, but it was bearable, especially when the adrenaline pulsing through your veins was pure fire. The teenagers way younger than you had done it, so you saw no reason to be scared and hold back.

It was a beautiful purple ikran that faced you fiercely when you approached and you’d known she has chosen you. You only needed to prove yourself, so you fought her. The ikran was not the usual mount of your people, but you are with the Omatikaya now, and mounting one would prove your place, so you fought until you had done it. You faced the sheer drops, wrestled the wind, and fought the fierce purple ikran until she accepted your bond.

You shriek in pure joy as you flew in the air. The ikran seemed to pick up on your excitement and now, she’s twirling in the air, making you hold tight. Some of the younger claimants rushed to fly back next to you, all of you flying down to the instructed bank. The feeling was indescribable, though a small, quiet part of you had wished that Neteyam was there right beside you.

You landed on the bank, leading your ikran to drink from the stream. You thought you’d look for Neteyam, but before you could even go looking for him, you were intercepted at the lower platforms by Kiri, Spider, and Tuk who were apparently sneaking off to the human facility before the night’s festival began. Tuk practically tackled you in excitement and you were easily enticed to go. Neteyam had brought you there a few times to introduce you to the creatures like Spider, and you remembered being amazed at just how many Spiders live there.

But of course, you quickly understood that they were just like you. There are males and females. They just look different... No tail and no Kuru. And they can’t breathe your air. Neteyam showed you Kiri’s mother. And then showed you Norm, before explaining to you that his father was once just like it, a human driving an Avatar. You had grown remarkably used to the humans and their strange, metal world, even picking up a few things about their language.

At the facility, Kiri encouraged you to try the shower, she said it’s just like rain but from metal. “So, it's like metal rain,” Tuk said, nodding.

Your brows furrowed, looking at the weird thing. Spider went inside to show you how it works. He pressed on something and rain did come out of the thing! Your mouth formed an ‘o’, amazed by it. “That is amazing. You can call rain anytime you want!”

Kiri grinned. “Yes, something like that,” she nodded.

“Is there... A metal river?” you asked.

Spider pushed his lips forward. “A pool? That would be a pool, I think. But... There’s none here. The natural rivers are better anyway, don’t you think?”

You chuckled and nodded. “A lot better, I can imagine.”

“Wanna try this, sister?” Tuk asked, her eyes filled with mischief and excitement, gesturing to the metal rain.

“I guess...” you whispered.

So you tried, and it felt incredible. It did the same thing waterfalls did, only that a waterfall had more pressure, but it did wash away the mountain grime. As a celebration for passing your iknimaya, Kiri presented you with a stunning new loincloth and top made of ombre fibers that shifted from deep violet to soft lavender, coincidentally matching your new ikran. Tuk, determined to add her own touch, spent an hour braiding sections of your dark auburn hair, weaving patterns that sat like a waterfalls atop your head, designed with small, pristine feathers.

By the time the four of you made it back to Hometree, the sun had yielded to darkness, and the festival drums were already loud.

You stopped at the edge of the communal clearing, your eyes scanning the crowd, immediately catching Neteyam in his full warrior gear. His chest sheath and his warrior cummerbund gleamed under the firelight, his skin beautiful against the firelight. He looked every bit the future Olo’eyktan.

As if sensing your gaze, his head snapped in your direction, and his eyes locked onto yours as you offered him a bright, wide-eyed wave. It didn’t leave you even after you joined your usual circle, watching your every move, admiring how the fibers of your top seemed to mold over your peaks, and how the braids on your long, dark auburn hair looked like waters falling.

He was itching to go to you, but because it was a formal festival, he had to take his place on the high dais, eating with his family while the traditional ceremonies took place. But the moment the formalities concluded and the drums shifted to a lively, rhythmic beat for the dancing, Neteyam practically vanished from the dais.

He appeared in front of you, stopping a step away, just watching you look at him. His arms lifted just a fraction, a subtle gesture that looked as if he desperately wanted to hold you but was letting you choose to give it, so you didn't make him wait. You threw yourself forward, stepping up on your tiptoes as you wrapped your arms around his nape, pulling your body flush against his.

“I got a purple ikran!” you breathed excitedly against his ear. “Want to see her?”

“Sure...” he murmured, his voice sounding completely distracted, thick and low.

He didn't pull away, instead, his nose buried into the side of your hair, taking a deep, ragged breath. His large hands came up to wrap around your waist, his long fingers wounding through the soft, clean strands of your hair until they reached the tips at your lower back. He ran his thumbs over the intricate crown of braids Tuk had made.

“You smell like... shampoo,” he noted, the foreign word sounding heavy.

You chuckled, your hands shifting down to rest on his forearms, feeling the firm, warm muscle beneath your palms. “Yes, we took a bath at Spider’s place. They have different stuff for the hair and skin there.” You tilted your head back, looking up at him with a mischievous, happy glow. “They also have this liquid they spray on you that makes you smell like sweet flowers. Smell my neck!”

You bared the smooth line of your throat to him, completely unaware of the absolute war that immediately raged inside him. Neteyam’s breath hitched, angling his head as he leaned into the curve of your neck. He was so close that the tip of his nose grazed the soft skin of your throat, sending a sudden, sharp shiver down your spine that made you let out a breathless chuckle. A sound that made his knees feel momentarily weak.

When he finally pulled back, his golden eyes were dark, burning with a quiet intensity. “Let’s go see your ikran,” he mumbled.

You nodded excitedly, leading him through the winding pathways up to the high roosts. He admired the fierce, purple creature, offering her a respectful nod, before calling for his own ikran. Together, you launched into the cool night air, leaving the noise of the festival behind as you soared through rainforest, eventually settling on a high ledge beside the massive waterfalls where the river starts.

The roar of the water was a familiar soothing sound, but as you caressed the smooth snout of your resting ikran, a sudden wave of melancholy washed over you. Now that you have claimed her, you wouldn't be under his constant supervision anymore. You wouldn't have his mandatory company.

You turned to him, your heart full. “Neteyam...” you called softly, making him stand still. “On the night you saved me in the pavilion,” you began, “I had completely given up. I used to dream about the old songs... About honorable warriors who protect the innocent and the vulnerable... But after so many years, I thought those were just stupid lies told to children.”

You stepped closer to him, your eyes misty but entirely focused on his face.

“But you brought my faith back in them, Neteyam. You showed me that they do still exist. The gallant, chivalrous protectors. You are one of them.”

Neteyam stayed silent for a long moment, the bioluminescence under the water reflecting in his eyes. “But what if I am not so... chivalrous?” he asked quietly.

You swiveled fully toward him, your brows rising in confusion. “Hm?”

He took a deliberate step forward, waiting for that familiar flinch to freeze your features, but it didn't come. You just looked up at him, your expression entirely open and curious. So, he stepped even closer, completely closing the distance between you.

Your eyes involuntarily flickered down his body, being reminded about how you had always quietly admired it. He was built differently than the average male. He carried the broad, heavy shoulder structure and muscled body of his father, but Neteyam seemed even bigger and stood several inches taller than most.

“You spoke this morning about taking up too much of my time,” he said, his voice dropping into that deep register that made you feel flutters in your belly. “And you said that now that you have your ikran, I will have the freedom to pursue my own interests.” He tilted his head, his gaze intensely focused on your face. “But can I really do that? Will you... allow me?”

Your brows furrowed, a soft, puzzled chuckle escaping your lips. “Why shouldn't I? I don’t... own you, Neteyam. I’ve told you, it is my absolute wish for you to get whatever your heart desires because you deserve it.” You lifted your hand, gently resting it against his arm. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Neteyam reached down, his large hand sliding down your forearm to securely clasp your smaller fingers in his. He stared directly into your eyes, his chest rising and falling with a heavy breath.

“I mean... will you allow me... to pursue you?” he asked softly, the words hanging in the misty air between you. “You are my interest, Y/N. You are my heart’s desire.”

The words struck you. Your breath caught, your lips parting in sheer disbelief despite your heart soaring in a wild rhythm as if flutters in your chest. But the old, defensive ghosts in your mind instantly whispered that it couldn't possibly be true.

“Neteyam... no,” you whispered, looking down at your joined hands. “You are probably just... enticed by the novelty. I am new and uh... Well... broken. It will pass in time.”

“It will not,” he intercepted fiercely, his grip on your hand tightening just enough to ground you. He used his other hand to gently lift your jaw, forcing you to look at the raw, undisguised adoration swimming in his eyes. “You are not broken. You are beautiful, and I see you. Give me a chance to prove it to you. Let me show you that my feelings are true. I will court you, Y/N. I will court you according to our ways, according to your ways, until the day you decide I am worthy to be your mate.”

You stared at him. You had never, in your most desperate dreams during those eight years of darkness, ever imagined you would be standing on a mountain peak with a man looking at you like you were his entire world. You had never thought that the stupid dreams younger you had dreamed of would ever come to life. The tears broke free then, hot and wet, but they were entirely from relief.

You lunged forward, throwing your arms around his torso, and Neteyam caught you instantly, burying his face in the crook of your neck as his massive arms crushed you against him in an embrace as a low, contented purr vibrated deep within his chest.

Slowly, you pulled back just enough to frame his face, your hands cupping his strong jawline. You leaned forward and pressed your forehead firmly against his, the intimate gesture that should give him flashbacks, but now feels as intimate as the one his parents shared.

Your other hand slid down to his chest, your palm pressing flat against his skin, feeling the heavy, erratic thudding of his heart beneath his ribs.

“If your heart truly desires mine...” you whispered, your gaze dropping down to his lips, “then I will allow you to win it.”

Neteyam was practically floating when he stepped through the woven entrance of his home that night, the sweet floral scent of the human liquid you had sprayed on your neck seemed permanently bonded to his senses, yet it was nothing compared to the absolute fire burning in his chest.

He expected the receiving area to be empty, thinking most of his family would be asleep by now, but Jake and Neytiri were there, sitting by the dying embers of the hearth. Jake looked up and it took him less than a second to take in his eldest son’s dazed expression, the uncharacteristic swing of his arms, and the massive, helpless smile pulling at his lips. Jake had seen the two of you slip away from the festival earlier, and he knew that look. He had worn it himself under a different canopy, many years ago.

“So,“ Jake said, his voice laced with an amused, knowing rumble. “Did you ask the girl for her hand in courtship, or are you just planning to stare at the ceiling for many nights again?”

Neteyam choked on his own breath, his ears instantly pinning back as a dark violet flush rushed to his cheeks. “I... how did you—”

Neytiri’s head snapped toward her husband, her sharp eyes widening in surprise, though her shock was mostly directed at how straightforward Jake was being. “Ma Jake,” she murmured, a gentle warning in her tone, before her gaze shifted back to her son.

Mo’at had pulled Neytiri aside moons ago, whispering about the alignment the Great Mother had planned. Initially, Neytiri had harbored quiet reservations. Your lineage was good, but your spirit had been heavily burdened, your body kept in a cage for eight long years. She had worried your trauma would hold you back.

But as the moons progressed, Neytiri had seen how you wove yourself into the clan, and above all, she saw her son. She saw the way Neteyam’s eyes tracked your every movement, and how a simple, effortless glance from you would literally made him jump on the soles of his feet, eager to serve, eager to protect. Her son was entirely taken. He had been from the very start.

“And?” Neytiri asked softly, her eyes fixed on her son.

Neteyam cleared his throat, standing taller, though his ears still twitched with embarrassment. “Yes... I asked her. She... she is allowing me to win her heart. I will court her properly.”

Neytiri nodded, a profound sense of peace settling over her features. “She is strong, Neteyam... You will honor her."

Jake’s smile faded slightly, replaced by the heavy gravity of a father and a leader. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It’s a good path, son. But you need to keep your eyes open. Mokri hasn't forgotten about her. He isn't actively hunting for her, but he’s out there, and he knows she’s hiding.”

The mention of the man’s name caused the warmth in the hut to vanish instantly. Neytiri watched her son closely, noting the sudden, dangerous glint that flashed across Neteyam’s golden eyes. His jaw clenched into a hard, rigid line.

“Let him come,” Neteyam said, his voice dropping into a low, terrifying register that sounded exactly like his father’s war voice. “He will have to tear my heart from my chest before he ever puts a hand on her again.”

Two moons passed since then, and the forest breathed in a rhythm of heat and rain.

Neteyam had kept his word with a devotion that bordered on worship. He courted you openly under the watchful eyes of the clan. But to be honest, he had captured your heart long before the formal courtship ever began. You just hadn't been aware of its depth until now. Looking at him now, you fully understood what your heart wanted. You wanted him.

The sky was dark and peppered with stars when you both guided your ikrans down toward a secluded riverbank, deep within a part of the rainforest where the Omatikaya rarely patrolled. The water here was still, reflecting the bioluminescent moss that clung to it's grounds.

As you slipped off your purple mount, smoothing your hand down her snout, your tail flicked languidly behind you, brushing against Neteyam’s thigh, so with a quiet, playful smirk, his large hand reached out and caught the tip, tugging it teasingly.

You jolted from the intense, tingling sensation, a breathless laugh escaping your lips as you swiveled to face him. For a second, you both stood perfectly still, eyes locked, waiting to see who would launch the first tickle attack. But when Neteyam took a large, deliberate step forward, you shrieked with delight, turning on your heel and running down the mossy bank.

But you didn't get far because he caught you in three paces, his strong arm winding securely around your waist and pulling you up against his chest. You spun around within his hold, your palms slamming flat against his broad chest as he pulled your lower body flush against his. Your fingers traced a path up his warm skin, over his heavy shoulders, until you wrapped your hands securely around his nape. You rose up on your tiptoes, nuzzling your cheek affectionately against the soft skin of his neck. His hands tightened around your waist, squeezing you so hard your breath hitched.

“Neteyam...” you mumbled, pulling back just enough to look him in the eyes. The nervous, hesitant girl was long gone; your gaze was clear, filled with a, solid certainty. You smiled up at him, your hand lifting to gently cup his strong jawline. “I am accepting you. As my mate.”

Neteyam’s smile slowly dropped, and you know by now that it happens when he’s too happy to actually smile. He froze entirely, his breath catching in his throat. He looked down at you, his mind spinning so violently he didn't know whether to crush you in a hug or kiss you hard. He felt like he was floating, experiencing the sensation of flying without ever leaving the ground.

Seeing him completely paralyzed, you took the initiative. You leaned up and pressed your lips softly against his and feeling a violent shudder racked his entire frame at the contact. His hands tightened on your waist, his fingers digging into your hips as if to convince himself you were real. He didn't move his head, completely overwhelmed, allowing you to explore his mouth with little, innocent pecks and soft, testing presses, your head angling as your hands held his face.

But then you pulled away, your wide eyes peering up at him in slight confusion. "Don’t you... like to kiss me?”

And just like that, you seemed to have flipped a switch inside him.

A low, guttural growl tore from his throat. His hand came up, his long fingers tangling into the auburn hair at the back of your head, and he leaned down, crushing his mouth against yours thoroughly.

He was like a parched man who had finally found water after a lifetime in the desert, or a drowning man who had just broke the surface for air. He kissed you with a fierce hunger, his tongue sliding past your lips, claiming your mouth like he had wanted nothing else but do this.

You loved it. You loved witnessing the perfect, disciplined soldier completely come undone in your hands.

“Touch me...” you managed to gasp out against his lips, the words swallowed by another searing, wet kiss.

The command sent an electric shock straight through him. His hands abandoned your waist, moving down your body with a heavy, desperate heat. He touched and squeezed the places he had starved himself of looking at for months. His large palm cupped the curves of your breasts, slid down the dip of your waist, and gripped your firm thighs, pulling you so hard against his groin you could feel the rigid proof of his arousal.

You moaned loudly into his mouth, your head falling back as his kisses trailed down your jawline, burying into the sensitive hollow of your neck. You arched your spine, giving him total access, your hands cradling the back of his head as he licked and bit gently at your skin.

“Neteyam...” you whimpered, your body trembling with a sudden, beautiful fright.

“Stop?” he gasped out, his voice thick and rough with heavy arousal as he pulled back a fraction, his golden eyes wide and dark.

You shook your head frantically. “No. I don’t want you to stop. Please...”

You pulled his head back down, but instead of your mouth, his lips traveled lower, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your throat until they reached where the swell of your breasts started.

Your back arched instinctively, your breath hitching as you reached behind you, your trembling hands unclasping the fiber bindings. Neteyam’s hand on your waist tightened to a desperate grip, his eyes looking up at you in silent, burning question. You didn't say a word, you simply let the top fall, and the soft, woven fibers grazed his abdomen as they slid down between you.

His gaze fell on your bare breasts, the freckles on your skin glowing like stars. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his chest heaving.

You angled your face down, capturing his lips just once more, a soft, reassuring press. “It’s yours, Neteyam...” you whispered against his mouth. “I’m all yours.”

A ragged groan escaped him, and you chuckled softly as a massive shudder shook his frame. He leaned down, his mouth opening wide as he took one of your peaks between his lips, his tongue swirling tightly around the pebbled tip.

A sharp gasp tore from your throat, your fingers digging into the hard muscle of his arms as he began to suckle, his other hand moving to heavily fondle and squeeze your other breast. The sensation was overwhelming and a hot, liquid coil tightened deep in your belly as he indulged himself, suckling your breasts as if he could get sustenance from it.

Before your knees could completely give out, Neteyam stepped you backward. You pulled him down with you onto the mossy bank of the river, laying back so he'd follow, your long auburn hair fanning out around your face like a halo of dark fire against the glowing moss. Neteyam followed you down, hovering over you, his massive body casting a shadow that entirely shielded you. He looked down at you, watching you breathe heavily, your eyes dark with desire and completely free of fear, and his breath hitched.

This was the image that had haunted his every fantasy.

Your heart fluttered in your chest at the heated look in his eyes. You’ve spent the last years feeling disgusted over the way men would look at you, but now, your excitement was suffocating you, and as Neteyam looked down at the open, fearless surrender in your golden eyes, a sudden wave of fierce reverence slowed him down.

Your fingers slid from his shoulders to wrap around his nape, your fingers caressing the kuru at the base of his head. That is one difference he had. Yours start at the center top of your head, like the usual Na’vi. At your touch, his control fractured completely. He groaned your name, the sound vibrating deep in his chest as his lips came back down to yours. Your hand cupped his face as he kissed you deeply. It wasn’t gentle at all, it was wet and heavy with unspoken desperation. His tongue swept into your mouth, tasting the sweetness of your gasps, while his large hands slid down your sides.

He gripped your waist, his calloused palms bruisingly tight against your skin as he pulled your lower body up, pressing his rigid length firmly against your center through the thin barrier of both your loinclothes. You let out a broken moan into his mouth, tilting your pelvis instinctively to meet his weight.

Your move made him shudder violently, his hands moving to your back, his fingers untying the soft fibers around your tail and pulling the garment away, leaving you entirely bare beneath him. He shifted, his heavy thigh sliding between yours, forcing your legs wide apart and you bit your lip when the cool air hit your slick center, but it was immediately covered when he leaned down, his mouth abandoning your lips to bite gently at the junction where your neck met your shoulder, making your toes curl.

His hand slid down your abdomen and you caught your breath, your hands clutching at his back, your nails digging into the hard muscles of his spine as his fingers finally found you. He was gentle at first, his thumb finding the swollen nub of your desire, parting you to find the slick heat you were offering him. A loud whimper tore from your throat as he began to move his fingers, tracing your slit, coating his hand in your moisture.

“Neteyam... please,” you gasped, your hips lifting off the ground, seeking more of the agonizing friction. Your trembling hands reached behind him, frantically discarding his loincloth until there was nothing left between you but the heat of your skin.

“I got you,” he growled against your ear, his voice thick and low, completely unraveled by how wet and ready you were for him. “Look at me, baby.”

You forced your heavy eyelids open. Through the dark, his golden eyes were burning, completely fixed on your face. He wanted to see every expression, to know that every sensation you felt was because of him. He reached behind his back, bringing his kuru in front of you. Your eyes snapped up to him.

“Neteyam...” your hand came up to hold his.

His head tilted. “We won’t do it... Without this.”

You licked your lips wet, reaching behind you, and you saw the relief on his face. You brought it between you and his hand moved to press the pink tendrils of his kuru to yours, and you gasped from the jolt it gave you before the surge of his emotions rushed through the bond. You basked jn the warmth of it, the fierce love and protectiveness he holds for you, and the extreme attraction that brought heat to your cheeks.

“You like me...“ you smiled up at him, chuckling.

“Like?” He huffed. “Baby, I love you. Can you feel it?” he asked, his hand squeezing your waist.

You nodded. “I love you, Neteyam...” you whispered. “And I mean... You like me... Like this...”

He raised his brow, his eyes holding yours but you felt his hand on your breast, his thumb brushing the pebbled tip, making you squirm. “Yeah...” he mumbled, his gaze falling down on hand on your breast. “I’ve fantasized about this a lot... You under me,” his eyes snapped back up to yours. “Does that bother you?”

You bit your lip and shook your head, your body shivering with electric excitement. “No,” you mumbled, craning your head to kiss him. “It makes me... excited.“

He smiled, his hand squeezing your breast before he leaned down to kiss you. “Tell me if anything makes you uncomfortable,“ he whispered, pressing quick kisses on your lips. “Promise me?”

You nodded frantically. “I promise,” you said impatiently.

He chuckled, kissing you as he positioned himself against you. You forgot to look between you earlier, and now, you could only imagine what he looked like as the tip of his length pressing against your slick entrance. You watched Neteyam’s jaw lock so tight the muscles jumped, his entire body rigid as he held himself back, waiting for you to breathe.

“Yes?“ he rasped, his hips twitching slightly with the desperate urge to bury himself inside you.

“Now, Neteyam,” you whispered, your hands moving down to grip his hips, pulling him down.

He pushed into you, and you bit your lip as his sharp fullness stretched you open, a gasp escaping your lips. You could tell he was large, and although you were so wet, he was still stretching your walls to their absolute limit. Neteyam groaned, forcing himself to stop halfway when he felt your slight resistance. He buried his face in your neck, his chest heaving against your bare breasts as he waited for you to adjust to him.

You kissed the shell of his ear, wrapping your legs tightly around his waist, locking him in, and arched your back to pull him the rest of the way in, letting out a sharp moan as his cock filled you to the brim. Neteyam let out a groan of pure pleasure from being completely surrounded by your tight, throbbing heat. The sensation was so intense his vision blurred.

You clenched around him, finding the stretch so good. He began to move, pulling back slowly before driving deep into you, his large hands anchoring beneath your hips to lift you into his powerful thrusts. The pace was primal and heavy, and every time his hips slam against yours, a moan broke from your lips, echoing softly along with his grunts.

You lost yourself in the sensation, your brain zeroing in to the feel of his calloused hands gripping your waist, the weight of his chest pressing against your breasts, and the blinding friction of him filling you completely. You fingers tangled in his hair, pulling his face down to yours so you could drink his ragged breaths.

Neteyam was entirely possessed. He increased the pace, his thrusts becoming faster, harder, driven by the way your inner muscles were clamping down tightly around him with every thrust. He felt the tremors starting in your thighs, and the way your breaths were turning into short, frantic pants.

“Neteyam, I—I can't...” you cried out, your head tossing back against the moss as a sudden, intense wave of electricity coiled tight in your lower belly.

“A little more, baby,” he groaned, his thrusts becoming punishingly fast, driving deeper.

A loud cry tore from your throat as your core convulsed, clamping down around him in tight, violent ripples. Your pleasure was the final blow to his control, letting out a guttural groan, his hips driving all the way into you, spilling himself deep inside you, his entire body stiffening as he shook with the force of his own climax.

He collapsed forward, his heavy weight burying you into the moss, his nose digging into your neck. You both lay there for a long time, the only sound being your heavy, desperate gasps and the synchronized beating of your hearts. Slowly, Neteyam shifted, lifting his head to look at you. His golden eyes were soft now, the dangerous hunger gone, replaced by an overwhelming devotion. He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your swollen lips.

“I love you, baby,” he whispered against your lips, his hand gently smoothing the damp auburn hair away from your face.

You caressed his damp chest, nodding. “Why do you call me baby?” you asked, already too curious since earlier, you just didn’t want to ruin the moment.

He chuckled, his face falling against yours. “It’s just an endearmemt... In the human tongue. It means... you’re my baby. I will love you and protect you, and the children we will have. I will never let you get hurt again, I promise.” he said in a low voice, kissing your lips softly.

You smile widened, your eyes burning with hot tears. You were about to ponder on how far you have come, but then you got distracted by the thought of children. “Will this get me pregnant?” you asked.

He blinked, looking to the side. “I... Well, that I don’t know... I haven’t...”

You watched him as he scratched his temple, struggling to answer.

“Maybe, if we’re lucky. Do you want to?” he asked instead.

“I should like to enjoy with just us two... But if I do get pregnant, then I will be really happy,” you mused, kissing him.

“We will do what you want...” he mumbled, kissing your jaw softly. “And in truth, I want you to first enjoy not having to work yourself too much for a long while. I imagine babies would be a lot of work... and I want you to just rest and know yourself more before we get to that.”

Your smile widened at his words, the warmth of his promise soaking into your skin. You leaned up to give him one more gentle press of your lips, sealing the quiet pact of the life you were going to build together. Your lovemaking was followed by another, and another, another until you’ve fallen asleep with a soft, dreamy haze in your mind. Neteyam refused to untangle himself from you, wrapping his large, muscular frame around your body, warming you from the cold.

When the first light of dawn slipped through the canopy, Neteyam gently nudged you awake with soft kisses along your jawline, making you snuggle closer to him. You both washed in the cool water of the river, the playful touches never ceasing that you probably spent so much time there, just fooling around. After getting dressed, you called for your mounts and took flight into the morning sky, your purple ikran soaring alongside his. You caught Neteyam looking at you, his eyes burning with the proud, fierce light of a man who had finally claimed his match.

You angled your beasts toward the massive structure of Hometree, landing smoothly on the high, sweeping branches of the roost. But the moment your feet touched the platform, the sight of Lo’ak and Spider standing there, their expressions unusually grim, filled you with tension.

“What is it?“ Neteyam asked him.

“Uh... Well, we’ve got a situation downstairs. Her... Her uncle is at the clearing. I swear, I wanted to send him away, but Dad said we need to wait for what she has to say, so...”

Neteyam’s ears instantly flattened against his head, his posture shifting into that of a warrior ready to strike. You blinked, expecting that you’ll feel the usual fear that eats at you... But no. You felt only a fire that propelled you to walk down the winding ramps toward the lower levels.

“What does he want?” Neteyam demanded, his voice a low growl as he followed you.

“He's asking around,” Spider explained, his eyes darting down the ramp. “He was asking Lo'ak and the patrols if anyone had seen his niece. He claims you went missing during the great clan gathering many moons ago. Said he’s been looking for you ever since but couldn't find you.”

Lo'ak scoffed, crossing his arms. “He came here hoping Neteyam might have seen you since my brother was particularly concerned with you that night. If it were up to me, I would've kicked his lying ass straight out of the borders last night. But Dad wanted to wait. He said it’s your choice how to handle this. But don’t worry, we didn't tell him you were actually here.“

Neteyam looked down at you, his large hand sliding down to squeeze yours, offering a steady, unwavering anchor. “You do not have to see him if you do not want to,” he murmured gently. “I can make him leave. Right now.“

You looked into Neteyam’s golden eyes. You weren't that helpless girl who just lost her family and had no one anymore. “No,” you said firmly, your voice steadying. “I want to face him.”

You continued walking down into the wide, communal clearing, and saw Ka’lu standing near the center, visibly haggard, surrounded by warriors who hadn't let him out of their sight the entire time. Jake and Neytiri stood a few paces back, watching with detached expressions.

As you stepped into the firelight of the clearing, Ka’lu’s head snapped up. His eyes widened at the sight of you, his gaze immediately piercing behind you, locking onto Neteyam, who was walking a half-step behind you like an immovable shadow.

Ka’lu cried out your name, taking a frantic step forward before a warrior's spear dropped to bar his path. He threw his hands up, his face contorting into a mask of grand, dramatic relief. “Oh, thank the Great Mother! I have spent the past moons in absolute agony, dying of worry that something terrible had happened to you! If I had only known earlier that Neteyam had rescued you, I would have come to this clan much sooner—“

You stopped a few paces away, your expression cold. “To do what?“ you asked, your voice cutting through his performance. “Bring me to Mokri?”

Ka’lu froze, his mouth hanging open for a fraction of a second, completely speechless. He stammered, shaking his head rapidly. “No! No, of course not! How can you think that? I would have come to get you back, to protect you! I would not give you to him!”

Your eyes narrowed, the memory of that horrible night flooding back, but this time, it didn't break you. “But you were offering me to him that night like a piece of meat, weren't you, uncle? You told me... that if he chooses to mount me, I should just give in to what he wanted. You told me I should do whatever he wants. You even said that if he killed me for daring to answer Neteyam, I should just accept it. You said that, didn't you, uncle?”

Neteyam shifted. He had never heard of this before, and a low hiss of anger and rippled through him. Jake’s eyes darkened completely, and Neytiri’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits, watching Ka’lu’s face turn pale, the words dying in his throat. He looked around frantically, realizing he had lost the crowd entirely. Still, his desperation pushed him to try one last lie.

“Things... things are different now, Y/N! I swear it! You no longer need to rely on the charity and shelter of the Omatikaya. I have found a better, safer place for us two to live. We can leave right now—“

“She is not going anywhere with you,” Neteyam interrupted.

He stepped fully in front of you, his towering, broad frame completely blocking Ka’lu from your sight. He drew himself up to his full, imposing height as he leveled a look of pure, unadulterated lethal intent at the older male.

“She does not need your shelter,” Neteyam barked, his voice booming across the clearing. “She is my mate.”

Ka’lu staggered back a step, utterly shocked. He blinked, looking from Neteyam’s fierce expression to you, who stood behind him, not knowing just how far his audacity actually reaches. A sickening smile attempted to re-form on his face.

“Your... your mate? My niece?” Ka’lu breathed, his face obvious calculating the political advantage. How had he not thought of this before? If he had known the possibility of Neteyam falling for your charms, he would have gone that route instead of toiling to bring you back to Mokri! “Well... that is wonderful news! Truly great! And in that case... as her only remaining family, perhaps I could stay... here?”

You recoiled in absolute disgust, a heavy weight of disbelief settling over you. The man truly had no shame.

Neteyam kept his deadly focus entirly on Ka’lu, but his hand reached and found yours,  giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “The choice is yours, baby,” he said softly. “I will do whatever your decision is.“

You stepped out from behind Neteyam’s shoulder, looking directly at Ka’lu. “I do not want him to stay,” you decided, your voice ringing clear and absolute. “You are not my uncle, Ka'lu. You said so yourself that night. It is better if we part ways now. Permanently.”

Neteyam nodded once. He took another terrifying step toward Ka’lu, his ears pinning back completely as a low, feral snarl vibrated in his throat.

“You heard her. Go,” Neteyam threatened, his voice dropping into a low growl that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. “Turn around and walk out of our lands. You should be glad I am letting you leave with your life, because all I want to do right now is tear your throat out with my bare hands. Never show your face near the Omatikaya again. Because if I ever see you on our territory, I will do exactly what I want to do.”

Ka’lu didn't need to be told again. Terror finally overtook his greed, tripping over his own feet as he turned. The warriors led him out and they reported how he practically fled oit into the brush in haste.

The moment you heard that, the immense tension drained from your body. Your legs suddenly felt incredibly shaky, the emotional exhaustion of finally closing that dark chapter hitting you all at once. Neteyam turned instantly, catching you before you could falter, pulling you tightly against his chest and pressing a warm kiss to your temple. You breathed a massive, ragged huff of relief against his skin.

“Wait,” Lo’ak’s voice suddenly broke through the quiet. “Is that actually true? You two are... mated now?”

Neteyam kept his arm securely wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against his side. He looked at his brother, then up at his parents, before offering a firm, incredibly proud nod. “We are. She accepted me as her mate last night.”

Lo’ak gasped, his jaw practically hitting the floor. “And what? You guys just... mated? Right away? Last night? No ceremonies, no clan blessing, no nothing?”

Before Neteyam could defend himself, a dry, raspy chuckle echoed from the edge of the clearing. It was Mo’at, her eyes twinkling with immense satisfaction. “Well,” the Tsahik mused, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. “He is his parents’ son, after all.”

Jake instantly burst into a loud laugh before quickly catching himself and covering it with a loud cough. Neytiri’s ears twitched with a dark violet blush, and she quickly looked away. You looked up at Neteyam, your brow furrowing in genuine, innocent confusion at the inside joke, your eyes silently questioning what the Tsahik meant.

Neteyam looked down at you, the warrior entirely vanishing, replaced by the man who was hopelessly, deeply in love with you. He let out a soft chuckle, leaning down to press a swift, affectionate kiss right to the tip of your nose.

You are painfully aware of that but you don’t know where to start. You have friends, yes, but they are not friends you hang out with outside of the weaving looms. You are almost always alone, and while other girls had found their places among the hunters, practicing their war cries or vying for the attention of the said men, you found yourself hidden in the looms to enjoy the repetitive routine of weaving.

It’s not like you were the best weaver, too. You are not the best, not the worst either, just a girl whose hands were often stained with berry dyes and whose eyes were usually cast downward. It was safer that way. When you didn't look up, you didn't have to see the way the world seemed to orbit around people who weren't you.

A few feet away, leaning against a sturdy root, Neteyam sat silently. An elder weaver was currently binding a new leather guard to his forearm, and while he appeared to be focused on it, his ears were swiveled toward the elders' conversation.

He watched you.

Neteyam knew everyone in the clan. It was his duty as the future Olo'eyktan, but as he looked at you now, he realized he has never even heard you speak. He knew your name, he knew your family, but he couldn't recall the sound of your voice until that very moment. Your shy, quiet laughter brought a warm feeling to his chest for some reason, making him take a deep breath.

His mind drifted to Ka’ani. She was the finest huntress among their peers, just like him. And he’s always thought of a partnership much like the one his parents have. His father is a great warrior and so is his mother. To be a great leader is to stand beside a fearsome woman as well... And he thinks it’s Ka’ani.

But right now, she was becoming a challenge. She’s making him look like a fool, flitting from warrior to warrior to test his patience. She wanted him to chase her until he was exhausted, and Neteyam, the proud, capable, and unaccustomed to losing firstborn of the clan’s pillars, was reaching his breaking point. He was never fond of playing, but some games need strategy, too.

Neteyam’s gaze lingered on you. You were still working, your movements steady and humble, completely unaware of the weight of his stare. A slow, calculated thought began to take root in his mind.

“Finished, Neteyam,” the weaver said, patting his arm.

“Thank you,” Neteyam murmured. He stood up, taller and broader than most men.

Instead of heading back to where the warriors were gathering, he turned his steps toward the shadows. He walked with deliberate strides stopping right in front of your loom until his shadow blocked your light. “You’re doing that wrong.”

The voice startled you so badly that the bone needle slipped. “I—what?” you stammered, finally looking up.

Neteyam was standing over you. In the flickering firelight, his bioluminescent freckles were glowing like stars. “The weave,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the basket in your lap. “It’s too tight. It will snap when it dries.”

“The ones I did last moon were fine,” you murmured. You tried to look back down, to disappear into your work as you always did. “Is there something you need?”

Instead of answering, he sat. The movement was fluid, but there was a heaviness to it, sitting so close to you that his knee brushed against yours.

“I have a proposition for you, Y/N,” he said. His voice was low, dropping into a register that felt dangerously intimate. He knows your name?

You blinked, your insecurity rising up like a shield. “A proposition? Do you need help with the weaving?”

“No, no, I don’t,” he answered. “The elders speak the truth, you know,” he said, his voice a smooth baritone. “It would be a shame for you to be hidden in the dark.”

You finally looked up, your eyes wide. Neteyam wasn't looking at the fire, he was looking directly at you, and for the first time in your life, the Golden Son was smiling as if you were the only person in the clearing.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you breathed, your voice trembling.

He leaned in just an inch closer, his amber eyes sparking with a hidden intent. “Hear my proposition... It might just solve both our problems with the coming season.”

You swallowed hard, the dryness in your throat making it difficult to breathe. You were a weaver of threads, but sitting before you was practically the weaver of destinies in this clan. You know he could alter your life and he was looking at you with a terrifying amount of focus.

“Our... problems?“ you whispered, your fingers curling tightly around the bone needle. “I don’t have problems. And I don’t think someone like you have problems, Neteyam.”

He let out a short, huffed breath that might have been a laugh if his eyes weren't so sharp. “Everyone has a role to play. Sometimes, that role becomes... suffocating. My mother is already looking at the daughters of the council. She expects a match that strengthens the line. I’m thinking of Ka’ani. She’s the finest huntress my age.”

At the mention of her name, his jaw tightened. You remembered the last time you saw the girl. She was draped over the arm of a young warrior, her laughter loud and pointed, as if it was a performance, designed to reach the ears of a certain warrior. You remembered Neteyam standing in the training grounds then and everything clicked in your head.

“She wants a chase,” Neteyam continued, silencing your thoughts. “But I do not have the time for nonsensical games. And you... The elders say you are a shadow. That you will be left behind.”

“I am fine being a shadow,” you countered, though your voice lacked conviction. “It’s not complicated. I will have what comes and accept what doesn’t.”

“Shadows are lonely,” he said softly. “Be my partner. Not just for the ceremonies, but the communal meals as well. I will be with you. Let the clan see us, let them see you.”

Your heart gave a violent thud. You weren't a fool. You knew what this was. You were the girl no one would suspect he will actually notice, which made you the perfect weapon to make Ka’ani lose her mind with jealousy.

“You want me to be a decoy,” you said. “You want her to see you with me so she’ll get jealous. You want her to stop playing around.”

Neteyam didn't flinch at your bluntness. Instead, he reached out, his large hand covering yours where it rested on the loom. His skin was warm, his touch steady. “Correct. And in return, you will no longer be the girl the elders pity. You will be the woman everyone sees. When the season ends and the act is over, every hunter in this clan will finally know your name. You won't be a spinster, Y/N. I’ll make sure of that. You’ll have your pick of any man here.”

It was a cold, calculated trade. He will get the girl and you get a reputation and a way out of the shadows. He looked so sincere. You knew you should say no, you wouldn’t know how to act around him. But the thought of being someone for once, of walking through the village and not having people look through you, was a siren song you couldn't resist.

“What if I'm not a good actress?” you asked, your voice a mere breath.

Neteyam’s smile widened, but it didn't reach his eyes. It was the smile of a strategist who had just moved his final piece into place.

“Just sit by my side. I’ll do the rest.” he murmured, his thumb grazing your knuckles.

You took a shaky breath and nodded. “Okay. I'll do it.”

Neteyam squeezed your hand once, a seal of the contract, before standing up. He offered his hand to help you up, and when you took it, the world felt like it shifted on its axis. You were stepping out of the dark, and into a fire that you knew, eventually, would burn you to ash.

Neteyam is a meticulous director and it was very hard for you as an easily embarrassed person. Being seen isn’t even enough for him, the act had to be over the top! He wanted it to be undeniable.

“Chin up,” he whispered one afternoon. You were walking to the central clearing for the communal meal, his hand hovering over your waist. “You look like you’re walking to a funeral. Look at me. Smile.”

“It’s hard to smile when I feel like a piece of bait,” you murmured, keeping your eyes down, feeling at least a hundred eyes on you.

Neteyam let out a sharp breath. He stopped walking, maneuvering you to turn and face him. To anyone watching from a distance, it looked like a tender, private moment between lovers. Up close, his eyes were scanning the crowd, pinpointing exactly where Ka’ani was sitting with her friends.

“You agreed to this,” he reminded you, his voice low and firm. He reached out, his fingers tilting your chin upward. His touch was warm, but it lacked the softness you’d imagined his touch would have. It was the grip of a hunter holding a prized bow. “If you don't look happy, she’ll know it’s a ruse. Do you want the elders to go back to pitying you by tomorrow sun-up?”

The reminder of your own invisibility stung. You forced your lips to curve, a small, shaky smile that felt brittle. “Is this better?”

He studied your face for a beat too long, his thumb grazing your jawline. For a split second, his focus shifted from the crowd to the way your eyes searched his, but he shook it off quickly. “Better. Keep it there, hm?“

He led you toward the long tables. This was the stage. He made a show of picking out the best cuts of roasted meat for you, leaning in so close that his braids brushed against your shoulder. He was performative, ensuring the warriors nearby heard him.

“And since you’re starting a new tapestry,” he said, loud enough for Ka'ani to hear from across your table. He draped an arm over the back of your seating mat, effectively fencing you in. “I’d fly to the borders to get you fibers for it.”

You pursed your lips, lowering your head down to chuckle. “Your voice is too loud, Neteyam...“ you mumbled. “I’ll end up with busted ear drums by the time this is over.“

His own head lowered and angled toward you to catch what you’re saying, but it threw back as he let out a bark of genuine and deep laughter. You startled, your hand flying to his chest unconsciously, your head swiveling to the crowd of people who are now looking at you. You caught a glimpse of Ka’ani’s sharp eyes narrowing to slits.

The mission is working. You know it is working, you’ve seen Ka’ani’s candid reactions in the past days and it was almost comical. You don’t understand how she can let other men touch her when it was Neteyam she truly wants. It’s confusing, especially because you can see how she jealous she looks.

“You can relax, Neteyam,” you whispered, leaning toward him. “She’s gone. She stomped away five minutes ago.”

Neteyam’s posture didn't soften. He didn't pull his arm back. He took a slow sip of water, his expression unreadable. “The act doesn't stop just because the primary audience leaves, Y/N. There are other eyes. Word must travel. That is how a reputation is built.” He looked at you then, and for a moment, the strategic coldness was all there was. “Eat your food. We have a walk through the groves. People need to see us.”

The following days, and weeks, was a blur of choreographed intimacy. Neteyam was serious with his acts, he was everywhere you were. If you were gathering fibers, he was there, scouting the perimeter but always staying within your line of sight. During communal meals, he always ate with you, listening to you ramble and chuckling at everything you say.

Now that he has brought you out to light, more and more men were trying to talk to you, asking you random stuff they wouldn't even bother asking before. For them, you were almost unreachable in the past. You are too shy, too aloof, to be in the selection of girls they dare to play with.

But as the days pressed on, the meticulous director started losing his grip on the script.

The script had been clear: Neteyam would bring you into the light, and the hunters of the clan would finally notice you. It was exactly what he had promised. But as he stood on a ridge overlooking the path back to Hometree, watching you walk beside a hunter who was carrying your bundle of fibers under his arm, the air in his lungs seemed to turn to ice.

The hunter was Ki’ong, a young man known for his easy smiles and a way of speaking that reminded him of the way you speak. If he saw this moons ago, the match would have made so much sense. The gentle hunter matches your gentleness. But today, he felt only bitterness. You were laughing, the sound he wanted to bottle and bring with him on patrol to help him calm down.

Now, Ki’ong is easily basking in it, his tail twitching with a rhythmic interest that Neteyam recognized all too well for he was a man, too. His hand tightened around the grip of the bow until the wood groaned. His jaw locked. This was the trade, wasn't it? He had told you that by the time the season ended, you would have your pick of any man in the clan. So why did he feel like he wanted to shoot an arrow through the dirt at Ki’ong’s feet as a warning?

His feet moved, and by the time you reached the shadow of the massive fern near the entrance, Neteyam was already there, blocking the path, calling your name in a sharp and dangerous tone that made Ki’ong stop in his tracks.

“Neteyam!“ you said, surprised. “I thought you weren’t back from the scout yet.”

Neteyam ignored you, his amber eyes fixed entirely on the other hunter. He stepped forward, entering your personal space with a possessiveness that felt far too real to be an act. You looked around. There was no crowd and no Ka’ani at all, and this confuses you. What more, Neteyam wasn’t even looking around for the audience. He was looking only at Ki’ong’s hand, which was hovering just a bit too close to your elbow.

Ki'ong blinked, his easy smile faltering under the sheer weight of Neteyam's stare. “I saw her in the forest, Neteyam, uh... What she was carrying was heavy—”

“Thank you for that, but I’ll take it from here,” Neteyam cut him off, his voice dropping into a warning growl. He reached out, not gently, and pulled your fiber basket from the hunter.

“I'll... see you later then... Y/N,” Ki’ong said before walking away.

Neteyam’s head snapped back to Ki’ong’s retreating form, his entire body coiled like a viperwolf ready to strike at the mere mention of a later. You watched him, your confusion slowly melting into a mischievous realization. You looked around one more time, and there’s still nothing but a stray woodsprite. No Ka’ani. No prying hunters. Just a very, very grumpy warrior holding a basket of fibers as if it were a thermal detonator.

A bubble of laughter escaped you, and you poked his rigid bicep.

“Wow,” you giggled, leaning in close to peer up at his stormy face. “Neteyam, that was... incredible. The growl? The death stare? You’re getting really good at this. If I didn't know better, I’d think you were actually trying to pick a fight over my honor.”

Neteyam didn't relax. His jaw remained a hard line. “He was overstepping. He was touching you.”

“He was just helping me,” you countered, your eyes dancing with amusement. You started walking, motioning for him to follow with your basket. “But honestly, I’m impressed. You’re such a perfectionist. Even with no audience, you’re still acting the territorial suitor.”

He fell into step behind you, his tail still lashing even though he’s not speaking.

“Oh, come on,” you teased, walking backward for a few steps so you could admire his scowl. “Let’s just hope Ki’ong tells everyone about your reaction. If word gets back to Ka’ani that the great Neteyam almost bared his teeth at a hunter just for carrying my basket... well, our mission is as good as won. It’s going to make it sound so real!” You turned back around, a satisfied hum leaving your throat. “But I don’t think Ki’ong is the type to talk about stuff like that. He seemed too nice to gossip.”

“How would you know? You don’t know him,” Neteyam cut you off, his voice sharp.

You laughed again, the sound light and airy. “Maybe I just know. I can sense if people have good hearts,” you said, reaching back to give his chest a playful, comforting pat. “Come on,” you smiled, oblivious to the way his hand tightened on the basket handle until his knuckles turned pale. “Let’s bring that to the looms. You can put all that 'warrior energy' into helping me sort the threads.”

You turned on your heels and skipped ahead, feeling lighter than you had in days. Behind you, Neteyam stood for a beat longer, his eyes locked on the sway of your braids.

                                                           ₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

You two were swimming in the river, not alone anyway, because it’s just one of your many stages. His fellow hunters and warriors were swimming in the river several paces away from the two of you, but he has since swam to a secluded bend away from their prying eyes. You don’t always swim in the river. Mostly because you don’t want to swim alone, so now, you’re enjoying everything, even the reflection of the shimmering canopy above. You kept diving for as long as you could, the act momentarily paused because he had stirred you two away from the audience. You shrieked when you felt something tiny dart on your ankle. You dove your head, swimming after the tiny fish, your hand shotting forward to catch it and you bubbled a laugh underwater when you actually caught it.

You swam to the surface, holding up the fish as you laughed, the sound of your mirth echoing off the rock walls like bells. Neteyam stared at you from where he is, leaning against a mossy boulder, his chest heaving slightly, though he had been idle the entire time. You waded toward him, bringing him the fish, but he looked so serious that your lips pushed forward instead. Neteyam gritted his teeth at the sight of your smile fading.

“You looked like the sky had fallen on you. What is it?” you asked, putting the fish back in the water and watching it dart away from you with a small smile.

“Our scout yesterday everning” he said suddenly, his voice low.

You nodded. He was late to the dinner last night... You figured there was something wrong, but you heard no news about it.

“There was a near skirmish with a violent clan. They were one of those clans whose lands were spoiled by the sky people's actions. Apparently, they’ve been looking for a place to settle in, but they are also harming non-combatant clans.”

You stopped splashing, the water settling around you. You hadn't heard about this. The elders usually kept such news quiet to avoid panic, but to know this now, and to see how burdened Neteyam was by it, you couldn't help but be bothered.

“The council expects me to be like him,” he said, staring at his reflection in the water. He didn't specify who him was and he didn’t have to. You know who he was talking about. As the firstborn of Toruk Makto, Neteyam has always lived in the shadow of a legend. “Every battle, every hunt, every word I speak... it's measured against a standard I will never reach.”

You stopped creating ripples in the waters, looking up at him. “You don’t need to be your father, Neteyam,” you said softly. “Have they considered a dialogue between the people of that clan? Perhaps... The chieftains of our neighboring clans could convene in a large council and speak with their representatives. I don’t think it needs to lead to people getting hurt when speaking would reach a much better conclusion.”

Neteyam went still, his gaze snapping from the water’s surface to your face. He watched you with an intensity he had directed to no one, but you wouldn’t know that. For a moment, the weight in his shoulders seemed to flicker, unsettled by the peaceful logic of your words.

“A dialogue,” he repeated. He had been so focused on formations, weapon readiness, and the cold calculations of a warrior that the idea of a diplomatic council felt like a sudden breath of fresh air. “Why do you think I am a warrior?” he asked, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. “I am taught to protect. To fight.”

“You are taught to lead,” you corrected gently, lightly splashing a bit of water toward his chest. “And a leader’s first duty isn’t to fight, but to ensure peace. Your warriors will think of war, you will think of how to protect the people and the forest. The people of that clan is desperate, for sure... They lost their home, they are living like beggars. There is a reason they steal and harm the people who stop them. Have the clans thought of helping them?”

He blinked, his amber eyes searching yours as if he could find all the answers there now.

You smiled lopsidedly, “You can think of all that later though,” you said softly, reaching into the crevice of the rock wall and plucking a small, ripe fruit that hung low. His eyes watched you peel it with nimble fingers. “But right now? The water is cool, the fish are annoying, and you can rest your mind. Try being here for five minutes.”

You gave him the fruit and when he took it, his fingers brushed against yours, lingering in a way that wasn't for show. He ate it slowly, watching you as if you were a piece of the puzzle he found after a long search. The silence was warm, humming with a new, dangerous kind of energy.

“You think it could be that simple?” he asked, his voice a low vibration.

“I think you make it too hard,” you laughed, feeling a sudden surge of playfulness. You stepped back, the water splashing around your chest. “I’ll bet a week’s worth of weaving that I can reach the falls before you!”

Before he could answer, you dove, your body disappearing into the water.

Neteyam stood there for a heartbeat, stunned. He didn't check the treeline. He didn't look back toward the other hunters. He didn't think about his father's expectations or the violent clan at the border. He simply dove in after you.

He caught up to you just as you reached the white water of the falls. You surfaced, gasping for air and laughing, only to find him right there, his eyes bright with a genuine, carefree light you had never seen before. You panicked at the sight of him, though, shrieking and kicking the hand that held your ankle. He barked a laugh, deep and resonant, that even he knows he hasn't laughed that way before. He reached out again, his hand finding yours under the water, squeezing it before pulling you to him. For the first time, he wasn't holding you so people would notice. He was holding you so you wouldn't drift away.

That night, as you both walked back to the village, Neteyam’s hand stayed on your waist even after you had passed the last group of onlookers. When you saw Ka’ani appeared near the communal fire, looking particularly striking in her new top and loincloth that seemed to match the feathers in her hair, Neteyam didn't even turn his head even after you pointed it out. He was too busy listening to you describe the specific shade of teal the river turns into when the moons are at a particular shade. There's lightness in his chest that made him feel like he was flying.

Several nights later, Neteyam moved through the crowd with a lightness in his step that hadn't been there days prior. The communal dinner was buzzing with different conversations, but for him, it was merely a background, his eyes locked on your form, looking like a man who had finally found the trail home.

Earlier that afternoon, the Council had been tense. Jake and the elders focused on battle plans, on dispatching warriors to fight when necessary. Neteyam saw how the council, including him, lack the sight you have to see things differently. He didn't know where it was coming from, but his chest was puffing with full confidence on the idea you had given him, that when he spoke of dialogue, of the displaced clan’s desperation, and of communal aid rather than battles that would only end in loss, his voice was laced with certainty.

Jake had looked at his son with a mixture of surprise and pride. “That is a path well thought of, Neteyam,” he said.

“You think like a true leader of the people now, son,” Neytiri had added, her hand resting on his shoulder. “You have grown.”

Neteyam had offered them a small, humble smile. “I cannot take the credit, Mother. It was a good friend who gave me the perspective I needed,” he said.

Neytiri tilted her head. “Oh? Who is this friend?” she asked.

Neteyam had looked at his mother. It was the easiest question he’d been asked, but it strike him quite deeply that he didn’t know what to say. “Someone I... trust deeply.”

Now, standing in the glow of the fire, Neteyam didn't even pause to greet the other hunters who called out to him. He made a beeline for the corner where you sat, tucked away with your latest weaving. When you looked up, your eyes widened at the sight of the massive, genuine grin splitting his face.

“They accepted it,“ he said, dropping down beside you, his presence instantly making your corner feel warmer. “The envoys will be sent at first light. My father and the elders... actually listened. We’re calling a council of all the neighboring clans to help the displaced.”

You felt a swell of pride in your chest, your grin matching his. “See? Sometimes, you need to rest your mind and your soul, clear it until it is still water,“ you gestured in the air and be watched you with a lazy smile. “Only then can you see the path clearly.“

Neteyam’s gaze was soft, lingering on your face in a way that made your heart skip a beat. It was no longer the calculated look of someone directing a performance, it was the look of someone truly seeing you. You tear your gaze away, picking at the nuts on your leaf plate.

“I have something for you,” he murmured, reaching into the small pouch at his waist. He held out his hand, palm up, revealing a mountain of perfectly ripe berries, the kind that only grow on the highest, most dangerous ledges.

You gasped, your fingers trembling slightly as you reached out for one. “Neteyam, these are rare. How did you—”

“I was scouting the upper ridges,” he lied effortlessly, though his eyes twinkled with the truth of the effort he’d put into finding them just for you. “They’re all yours. Take them.”

You popped one into your mouth, the burst of sweetness making you hum. Neteyam let out a low chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he watched you enjoy the small gift. He didn't even notice the silence that had fallen over the nearby tables as they all watched him dote on the girl whose voice they rarely heard.

From across the fire, Ka’ani felt the roasted meat in her mouth turn to ash. She couldn't even swallow. She had been so sure of what Neteyam wanted, sure that it was her in her strength and vitality. She was merely trying to break at his carefully cold facade, but he never did give her the satisfaction of seeing it.

But as she watched him now, she saw the way he leaned toward you, his body instinctively closing off the rest of the world to keep you in his private circle. She saw the way he laughed, unguarded, soft, and intimate. She had never seen that light in his eyes directed at her. She had never seen him look at anyone with such... peace.

Her fingers dug into the bark of her seating mat. This wasn't a game anymore. The challenge she thought she was winning had been forfeited by the man she wanted most, and the realization made her blood boil with a jealousy that was no longer a performance. As fot Neteyam, he has long forgotten to look if Ka’ani even had her eyes on them, and tonight, he had forgotten she was even there.

Days later, you were at the washing stream, submerging your fibers in the cool water. You were thinking too much of Neteyam and the ride you had on his ikran last night when he brought you to the Hallelujah Mountains, but your peace was disrupted with the presence of another. You stopped and turned around, your breath hitching when you saw Ka’ani step out from behind a massive fern.

“Ka’ani,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt. You adjusted the empty leaf plate in your hands, refusing to cower.

“How does it feel?” she sneered, pacing a slow circle around you, her tail lashing behind her. “To be the little pet? To be the girl Neteyam uses to get a reaction from me? You think those smiles of his mean anything? You think that look in his eyes is real?” She let out a mocking laugh. “He’s a warrior. The future Olo’eyktan. Do you think think I don’t know what he’s doing? He wants me, and he’s using a quiet mouse like you to punish me for playing hard to get.”

You pursed your lips to stop yourself from chuckling. This is comedy to you, but you also feel guilty that she seems to be really upset. If only she weren’t being mean, you’d have advised her to go to Neteyam and talk to him properly, so that they can fix things between them.

“If you are so certain of that, Ka’ani,” you said, your voice dropping to a calm, melodic register that seemed to grate on her nerves, “then why are you talking to me?”

Ka’ani froze, her lips pulling back in a snarl.

“If you're so sure he’s yours, go to him,” you continued, stepping closer into her space, though your heart was hammering against your ribs. “Whine to him. Demand his attention. Tell him to come back to you. Perhaps it will do you better.”

You didn't wait for her to respond, you walked past her, maintaining your composure until you were well out of her sight. You stopped when you’re well away from her, pursing your lips. “Wah... That was a good one from me. That’s literally method acting,” you chuckled to yourself.

At the same time, Neteyam was on patrol through the high canopies of the Omatikaya lands’ borders. Patrols are usually a time of hyper-vigilance for him, he was trained to scan for the unnatural glint of obsidian or the misplaced shadow of a predator. But today, his eyes kept snagging on a bright plant. He spotted a cluster of a familiar stalk, their ribbed skin a good shade of cerulean.

Moons ago, he would have seen them as a slippery obstacle on a landing branch. Now, he found himself hovering his ikran near the cliff edge, reaching out to pluck a single stem. He rubbed the surface, watching the pigment stain his thumb.

This, he thought, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, this is the blue she said looked like the deep water in the eastern seas. He found himself wondering about every plant he passed, not for its toxicity or its strength which he is wont to do as a vigilant hunter, but for how beautiful its hidden colors would be in the eyes of a weaver he keeps thinking about. He didn’t even have names for the shades he collected, but he knew you would find them beautiful.

When he finally returned to hometree, he didn’t head for the warriors' lodge to report in. He went straight to the weaving looms. His heart doing a strange, light hop when he saw your form hunched over a weaving loom. He silently crept up behind you and leaned down to tickle the curve of your ear with the cool tip of the blue plant.

You shrieked, your shoulders jumping as you nearly dropped your bone needle. You whirled around, your eyes wide but when you saw Neteyam, standing there with that lazy, genuine grin, you glared but still laughed.

“My work will be ruined because of you,” you breathed, clutching your chest.

“I thought a weaver's hands were supposed to be steady,” he teased, his voice low, handing you the blue stalk. “I saw this on the ridge. Is it the one that turns to ink when you boil it?”

You took the plant, your fingers brushing his. “It is. I.. I'm surprised you remembered.”

“I remember everything you say,” he said, and for a second, the air between you felt thick and heavy with a truth that had nothing to do with your deal. He tore his gaze away when his cheeks burned at the realization of what he said.

Before he could lose his footing, an elder weaver called out from the circle, asking you to venture into the lower groves to find specific climbing fibers for the council’s new tapestry.

“I'll accompany you,” Neteyam said before you could even reach for your basket.

As you walked into the dappled light of the forest, your fear of the ruse ending began to fade, replaced by the sheer comfort of his presence. You started to ramble, and Neteyam, as you have discovered in the past weeks, was a good listener. He didn't interrupt, or patronize. He simply watched you with a curious, steady gaze that made you feel... heard.

“You see that?” you said one afternoon, pointing to a cluster of deep crimson berries clinging to a damp log. “Most people think they’re just for eating, but if you crush them with a bit of limestone and the sap from a yellow stalk, you get a purple that looks like the sky before the sun sets. It’s the only color that stays after the fiber is boiled.”

Neteyam leaned in, peering at the berries as if they were a new species of prey.

“And those,” you continued, stumbling over your words in your haste to explain. “If you harvest them when they’re still young, they give a gold that practically glows in the dark. I used it for the elders' ceremonial sashes last year. Everyone thought I’d traded with the reef clans for it, but it was just right here, under our feet, being stepped on.”

You laughed, a bright sound that echoed through the trees, but when you realized you were rambling, you quickly shut your mouth, touching your lips.

“Sorry.  I’m talking too much,“ you gripped the basket hard.

Neteyam stopped walking. He turned to you with a genuine frown on his face. “You can talk my ears off. I’ve spent my whole life looking at the forest for threats or targets. I never realized how much I’m missing what was right in front of me.” He chuckled, a low vibration in his chest. “I found myself looking at different plants lately, wondering if it was the right kind of hue for your weaving.”

The admission was bold and he didn’t even feel shame even though he did feel his cheeks burn. He was thinking of you when you weren't together. The deal was working, but the lines were blurring so fast he doesn’t even care about the reason it began.

Weeks later, the success of the sturmbeest hunt was the reason for the thrumming of drums and chanting of the Omatikaya warriors dancing in the hometree’s communal clearing. High on the central dais, the Olo’eyktan’s voice carried over the throng as he announced the success of the council’s efforts to begin a dialogue with the displaced clan that has been disrupting the way of lives not only of the people, but that of the neighboring clans as well.

The chieftains of the other forest clans had apparently agreed to convene in a Great Council with the envoys returning with messages of unity. Neteyam stood beside you in the crowd, his shoulder brushing your arm. The rigid, perfect posture of a mighty warrior was gone, replaced by a relaxed stance he only seemed to find when he was within your orbit.

“You did it,” you whispered, grinning up at him.

Neteyam looked down at you, the firelight reflecting in his eyes. “We did it,” he corrected softly. “I was ready to lead a war party until you handed me that fruit and told me to breathe. I would have missed the obvious path if you hadn't been standing there to point it out.”

You shrugged, picking a berry out of the leaf bowl he gave you. “So, what happens now?” you asked. “Now that the chieftains have agreed?”

“The next step may be the hardest,” Neteyam said, his expression turning thoughtful. “We have to send someone to the displaced clan. Not to fight, but to invite their Olo’eyktan. Someone has to show them we aren't their enemies and that we’ll help them settle and get back to their own feet.”

You looked at him, admiring the way the light caught the beads you’d given him which he had immediately put in his braids. “You should go, Neteyam.”

He blinked, looking surprised. “Me? My father will likely send an experienced diplomat, or perhaps a senior warrior.”

“No,” you insisted, stepping closer. “You’re the one who suggested it to the council. It’s a great opportunity for you to hone your diplomatic skills. You’re going to lead this people one day, and this might not be the last time a clan is desperate or angry. If you go, you’ll learn a lot.”

Neteyam went quiet, watching you with an intensity that made your breath hitch. He listened to you as if every word you spoke was important. “You really think I can do it?”

“I know you can,” you said firmly. “You have the heart for it.” You looked at your berries again, eating more of it.

The wind shifted then, kicking up a swirl of fine wood-dust from the dancefloor. You winced, your hand flying to your eye as you felt a sharp things.

“Ow—wait, something’s in my eye.”

“Don’t rub it,” Neteyam said immediately. His hands were suddenly on your face, his touch firm but incredibly gentle as he cupped your jaw. “Look at me. Keep it open.”

You looked up at him, your vision watering and blurred. He was so close you could feel the heat radiating off his skin. He leaned down, his face mere inches from yours, and blew a soft, steady breath across your eye to clear the dust.

“Is that better?” he whispered, blowing another.

You chuckled as you blinked several times, your heart doing a frantic dance in your chest. “It’s just a bit of dust, Neteyam, you look so serious,” you said, smiling.

He stared at you, still not pulling away and when you didn’t move your head, he tilted his and pressed his lips to yours. It was deep, soft, and carried the weight of his yearning in the past moons. He didn’t know how long he had wanted to do that, but the softness of your lips is making him melt like candle wax.

In your belly, it felt like a hundred forest ikrans had suddenly taken flight. You felt giddy, almost lightheaded, but the thought of the deal flickered in your mind. When he pulled back just a fraction to let you breathe, your eyes pierced through him and spotted Ka’ani across the fire, her face fuming as she watched Neteyam’s back, specifically how he was bent at the waist just so he could kiss you.

“She’s looking...” you murmured against his lips, your voice a shaky mess.

Neteyam’s mind was hazy, drugged by the taste of your lips. His brows furrowed. “Who?” he asked, his voice a gravelly rumble as he kissed the corner of your mouth, his hands tightening on your jaw.

You closed your eyes, feeling the spark of his skin against yours. “Ka’ani...”

“And?” he responded, his nose nuzzling yours before he angled his head to kiss you more firmly. “Open up...”

“Uhm, about what? I mean, she talked to—”

Neteyam let out a low, vibrant chuckle that vibrated through your lips. “Your mouth, space cadet.”

Before you could even process what he meant, he darted his tongue out and licked at the seam of your lips. Your head reared back in genuine shock though, your eyes popping wide open.

“That was...” you sputtered, your face turning a deep, embarrassed crimson. “Why did you lick me? Neteyam!”

He barked a deep, resonant laugh, a real, belly-deep sound that made his whole frame shake. The sight of your shocked expression was too much for him. You tried to maintain your dignity, but his joy was too infectious.

“It’s a sweet gesture!” he laughed, reaching out to pull you back toward him.

“What? Like a fwampop?” you asked, but you were already giggling, the two of you leaning against each other and laughing so hard you forgot the rest of the clan was even there.

The festival fire continued to crackle, but for the rest of the night, Neteyam didn't leave your side. He followed you to the communal food pits when you offered to help the cooks, not letting you carry the heavy food trays so you just rambled about anything you could think of. Every time your hand brushed his, or you leaned in to tell him a secret about one of the dancers, he looked at you with a gaze so heavy and warm.

The next morning, the festival fog had settled over the village, but Neteyam was already awake and waiting by the weaving looms. He was standing there with a slightly large, intricately carved wooden bobbin. Something he spent days working on, but he won’t tell you that.

“Bobbin?” you asked with a huge smile when he gently handed it to you.

He shrugged nonchalantly, as if coming here early in the morning before his patrol to bring you something he had worked on for days meant nothing. “I saw you struggling with the one that kept snagging your thread,” he said. His fingers lingered on yours as you accepted it, his thumb tracing the back of your hand in a slow caress.

“Wow... This is perfect, Neteyam,” you said, beaming up at him as marveled at the craftsmanship.

He stared at you, fighting the urge to punch the air or beat up his chest as if he won a huge prize.

“You really didn't have to. Do you not have patrol?” you asked.

“I have,” he said. But he wanted to see you. Talk to you about last night, to clarify that the kiss had nothing to do with your deal.

“Alright, then. I’ll see you at lunch,” you said, your attention already focused on your new bobbin. He stood there for a few more seconds, just watching you, his ears twitching at the sound of your voice.

Later that afternoon, though, the rain began to pour while you were in the forest, the raindrops caching you near the lower groves. You tried to shield your basket of dyed fibers with your own body but just as heavy drops soaked your braids, you saw a familiar figure coming, holding a massive, broad leaf.

“Neteyam?” you uttered in surprise.

He had a boyish grin on as he held the leaf over your head. He was getting soaked, the rain slicking down his blue skin and making his muscles gleam, but he didn't seem to care. He stepped so close that his chest was almost touching your shoulder, the heat from his body acting as a shield against the chill.

“How did you even know I was here?” you asked, chuckling and pulling him close so he won’t get wet.

“I think I already know your routines,” he said, smirking playfully, though his voice was thick with a tenderness that made your breath hitch. He reached out and tucked a wet strand of braid behind your ear, his touch far more lingering than it needed to be. His eyes dropped to your lips for a heartbeat before returning to yours, as though searching for something.

You tear you gaze away. “I swear, you’re going to catch a cold! And you’re all muddy. What if Ka’ani sees you? You always have to be in character, you know?” you exclaimed, trying to push the leaf more toward his side.

Neteyam’s smile faltered for a second, a flicker of frustration crossing his features before he masked it with a soft chuckle. “Right. The act.”

He guided you back toward the shelter of the Hometree, his hand resting firmly on the small of your back. As you walked, he intentionally slowed his pace, pulling you closer to avoid a puddle. When you reached the dry roots of the tree, he didn't immediately let go. He leaned down, his face close to yours.

“Do you really think I'm doing all this for the audience?” he asked, his golden eyes searching yours with an intensity that felt like a plea.

Your brows furrowed, panic rising in you before laughing nervously, patting his arm and moving away into the shelter of the hometree’s canopy. “Well, you're a very dedicated actor, ‘Teyam. I have to hand it to you. Everybody believes us,” you said with a huge smile.

Neteyam went still. He stared at you, his hand still in the air, his mouth slightly open as if he wanted to say something. Instead, he let out a long, slow sigh, his shoulders dropping just an inch. “I suppose I am dedicated,” he said quietly, a sad, lopsided smile touching his lips.

“I’m just glad I can help you with this. I’ve never had an actual friend, you know?” you said brightly, grabbing your basket from him. “See you at dinner? I heard they’re serving the smoked fish you like.”

Neteyam watched you walk away, your silhouette disappearing into the winding ramp. He looked down at the hand that had held the leaf, his fingers still tingling from the brief contact with your skin. “Damn it...” he whispered to the empty air. This isn’t an act anymore and he doesn’t know how to cross the threshold between the stage and the reality.

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“No way! You can't move there, that's against the rules!” Lo’ak barked, leaning over the board.

“You’re not one to talk about rules!” Spider countered, reaching for your game piece to help you. “Go on, girl, take his territory. Do it!”

You laughed, your face flushed with the kind of rowdy joy you usually only heard from a distance before. You slammed your piece down, successfully “capturing” Lo’ak’s base. You turned to Spider and Lo’ak, throwing up a hand for a high-four. “Did you see that?“

Spider barked a laughter. “Tell him, ‘suck it!’”

“Suck it?” you repeated with a confused smile.

The word had barely left your lips when the air in the room seemed to shift. Neteyam, who had been leaning against a nearby pillar watching you with a soft, protective smile as he sharpen his bows suddenly went rigid. He looked at Lo’ak and Spider, who were both chuckling, explaining to you what it meant.

“Hey, don't look at us,” Lo’ak muttered, though his tail was twitching with mischief. “She’s just part of the crew now, brother. One of the guys.”

Neteyam pushed off the pillar, stepping into the circle. He ignored the snickering from Lo’ak and Kiri’s knowing smirk. “She is not one of the guys,” Neteyam hissed under his breath.

You turned to him, still grinning from your victory. “Neteyam,” you called and his ears twitched at your soft voice. “Are you angry?”

He blinked, shaking his head right away. “No, no, of course not,” he told you, his eyes softening but a flitter of reprimanding gaze to Lo’ak and Spider promised later. He had just introduced you to them more than a week ago, for Eywa’s sake, and now, they are already teaching you the wrong things!

“You're teaching her the wrong things,” Neteyam told the two later that night when you left the small kelku they created for their games.

“Brother, I think she’s enjoying just fine. I’ve seen her before, she’s usually alone. I’m sure Lo’ak and Spider are just who she needs,” Kiri said,

“Right! She’s really fun. Just yesterday, we played with squid fruit by the river and she threw a mashed handful on my face. Look, I still have stains all over!“ Spider said, pointing at his pink-stained face.

“What?” Neteyam replied, horrified, remembering the stain on your temple that he saw last night. “Just what are you two—”

Lo’ak snicked. “Bro,“ he put a hand on Neteyam’s shoulder. “Don’t be too grumpy. You said you want her to have more friends and we are her friends now,“ he grinned.

Neteyam let out a huff, rolling his eyes. He understands this. You’d told him you have never had an actual friend and he thought he could remedy that. He’d give you everything, if he could.

A few days later, he insisted on coming with you to the forest and you agreeed, knowing you will have to pass by the training grounds where Ka’ani could be and she was indeed around, her eyes following Neteyam as if she’s waiting for him to spare her a glance but he was focused on the path ahead, oblivious or uncaring to her longing stares.

“Ka’ani was looking at you,“ you grinned up at him, nudging his side with your elbow.

You saw his brows furrowed for a moment and then his face hardened. You pushed your lips forward. You assumed it was because Ka’ani still didn’t go and talk to him. The woman is fierce warrior, she was probably too proud to see that as an option. She wants Neteyam to come to her. To her credit, you had not seen her in the company of man in the past weeks... You wondered if Neteyam has realized that.

“You know... I noticed Ka’ani has not been hanging out with guys lately? Have you noticed that?“ you asked, angling your head to look up at him as you rambled, “What if she’s just waiting for you to go and talk to her? I think that’s what she wants. She talked to me, you know? She was mad, so I think she was jealous, isn’t that great—”

“She talked to you? And she was mad?” he turned to you, his face etched with both anger and worry.

You grinned. “Yes. I can tell she was jealous—”

“Did she hurt you?”

“No, she didn’t...” you said. “She was just angry, because the act is working—”

You saw the bone in his jaw tick as if he was clenching his teeth. “Let’s not talk about her.”

Your lips pushed forward and you shrugged, listening instead to the soft crunch of dried leaves breaking beneath your feet. Neteyam fell quiet then, his tail twitching with a restlessness that told you something was weighing on him. You walked faster to match his face, pressing a palm on his chest which made him stop walking... and breathing, too.

“What’s bothering you?” you asked, standing in front of him and feeling his chest slowly deflate.

This is crazy. He has never noticed girls’ voices before, but now, they could probably use yours to cool him off. Your voice caresses him and your laugh sounds like bells in his ear. He wouldn’t have said a word if a different person had asked him, but you always have a way to make him open his mouth and just talk.

“The council... they are advising against it,” he said, his voice heavy. “They think sending me to the displaced clan as an envoy is too much risk, because they see me as a target, not a diplomat.”

Your eyes searched his face and he felt warm inside. “And what does your father say?”

He let out a frustrated sigh and your hand caressed his chest. His hand rose to catch your hand, pressing it against his lips. “He doesn’t say anything. Not yet. He just listens and only then he’ll decide. I’m worried he’ll take their advice,“ he looked at you.

You huffed a breath, patting his chest, and giving him a supportive smile. “Then remind them, Neteyam, that you are no longer a child to be shielded. At your age, your father was already Olo’eyktan. You have to learn diplomacy just as much as any other leader. It wouldn't do you any good to be a leader who is ill-equipped in the discussions of peace.”

Neteyam’s gaze softened, the tension bleeding out of his shoulders as he looked at you. You removed your hand but he caught it again. “Thank you... for always sharing my burden. I don't think I could have faced them today without hearing that.”

You chuckled, swinging your joined hands lightly. “Bro, it’s nothing! That’s what friends are for, as Spider says,” you beamed at him before turning back to the path ahead, missing the way his face completely dropped.

His smile faltered, and then it deadpanned. It was a total double-kill. Bro and friends in a single breath. You might as well have just shot him in the head and he would have taken it lighter. He huffed, his tail lashing once in irritation as he followed after you.

“I’m not your 'bro,'” he said, suddenly reaching forward to grab your basket from your arm.

Your brows furrowed in confusion, and you laughed at his sudden grumpiness. “Silly! We’re all brothers and sisters in the eyes of the Great Mother,” you said, lightheartedly twirling as you walked, enjoying the dappled sunlight. You didn't even notice how his eyes narrowed as he watched you move through the forest with no care in the world, seemingly oblivious to how much Lo’ak and Spider were ruining his life with their vocabulary lessons.

He had reached his limit.

Before you could twirl again, Neteyam stepped toward you. He reached out, gently but firmly grabbing your arm. Your eyes widened in surprise as he guided you backward, gently pushing you against the trunk of a nearby tree. You looked up at him, your breath catching. His face was inches away from yours, his golden eyes burning with a sudden, fierce intensity that made your heart hammer against your ribs.

“Neteyam?” you whispered, your eyes dropping to his lips before you stupidly, unconsciously licked yours.

He leaned down, and when you didn't pull away, he pressed his lips to yours in a kiss that was deeper and more demanding than the one at the festival. He licked your lips again and you chuckled against his mouth but when his tongue darted inside yours, you made a sound that sounded so womanly it surprised even you. His tongue tangled with yours as his lips devoured yours.

Everything made you feel hot, and weirdly, tingly between your legs that you had to close your thighs together.

When he finally pulled back, his hands moved to cup your face with a tenderness that made your chest ache. “There’s something I want to talk to you about,” he said, his voice low and trembling.

You blinked. “Now?”

“There are things that needs to be dealt with first,“ he said, caressing your jaw. You nodded.

The thing that needed dealing was Ka’ani. He didn’t know the extent of the conversation you had with the huntress, but he knew how Ka’ani talks, and the fact tha you said she was mad solidified what he knew. You two walked back to Hometree, with him carrying your basket for you. The elders giggled at the sight of him following you around like a loyal pet, and when he left with a lingering brush of his thumb against your cheek, they nosed around and asked if the warrior was truly courting you like they kept hearing from the youth.

“No, he’s not... He’s a friend,” you said, noticing the arm band on your basket. You took it and thought perhaps Neteyam had left it there.

You followed after him, thinking he hasn’t gone far yet, but when as stood in the Hometree’s shadowed entrance, you saw him approach Ka’ani near the training grounds, your breath hitching. Ka’ani tilted her head and smirked at him, turning on her heels into the privacy of the deeper woods. You saw Neteyam follow and you tucked yourself behind a massive fern, your pulse thrumming in your ears.

In the dimmed bioluminescence of the forest, Neteyam stood in front of the huntress, seeing that Ka’ani was already smiling, a triumphant, sharp look. “No need to say sorry, Neteyam, if that’s how you’ll start your piece. Because I know,” she said. “I know exactly what you’ve been doing. You’ve used that weaver girl to make me jealous, to straighten me up. I get it, so you can drop the act now. I’ve learned my lesson. I know it’s me you want—”

“I do not want you, Ka’ani,” Neteyam’s voice cut through her arrogance like a blade. “I never even thought I wanted you. Yes, you are a strong and fierce warrior, and I once thought that was what I needed by my side for when I lead one day... but I didn’t realize just how much I needed to see and be seen.“

“And have I not seen you?” Ka’ani snarled, her tail lashing. “We trained together, Neteyam! We fought, we hunted! I was always here! You just spared that girl a glance literally like yesterday and you think she’s perfect for you—”

“You don’t know me in the ways that matter, Ka’ani,” he countered. “I’ve had more connection with a rock, and I don't know why I ever entertained the thought that I needed someone strong by my side when strength is not the only thing this clan needs.”

Ka’ani’s face contorted, her pride wounded in front of the man she wanted so much and thought wanted her, too. “We can get to know each other! I regret it, alright? I regret playing around. I’ll focus—”

“Don’t regret what you did,” Neteyam said. “I’m glad you did it, because not only did it prevent me from making a huge mistake, it also brought me to her. And now, I have the rest of my life in front of me, bright and clear as day.” He stepped closer to her, his voice dropping to a warning growl. “Have a good life, Ka’ani. And do not ever approach my woman to tell her nonsense again.”

He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Ka’ani watching him in deep contempt. All those last words he said not to do? She will do it. Back at Hometree, you sat by your loom, your fingers trembling as you picked up a strand of gold thread. You forced a smile onto your face, practicing the words of congratulations you would give him, even as you felt like the sky was turning a purple far deeper and darker than any storm. That was probably what he was going to talk about with you...

Outside, Neteyam walked back to Hometree with a sense of purpose he’d never felt before. He headed straight for the weaving looms. Tonight, you will be his. He’d tell you the act ends here and you two will start something real. No act from here on end. No games. Just the two of you.

But he never made it to the looms.

A hunter intercepted him midway, out of breath and frantic. “Neteyam! The night patrol was ambushed by the violent clan. Two are wounded. Your father is calling for the council.”

The shift in his demeanor was instantaneous. The soft, yearning man disappeared, replaced by the disciplined warrior. He hurried to the council, standing before Jake with a firm resolve. “I’ll go,” Neteyam insisted. “Fighting would be the last thing I’ll do. I’ll talk to them, Dad. You call for the chieftains to convene and I’ll convince them to come.”

He left within the hour, riding on his ikran, but his heart was back at Hometree, in the weaving looms... He thought he’d be back by light, but he didn’t know he’d be gone for days.

You had been crying. You learned that Neteyam left for a mission regarding the displaced clan, so even though you were heartbroken, you went to the Tree of Souls to pray for his journey. Your vulnerability was too obvious as you walk back to Hometee, and in it, Ka’ani found her opening. You were so close to Hometree when she stepped out from the shadows, a satisfied smirk on her face.

“Hi,” she greeted. “I’m pretty sure you’d heard of Neteyam going to battle... Did he say good bye to you?”

You lowered your gaze and shook your head.

“Where do you think he was last night before he went to battle?” she asked, her voice dripping with mock pity. “He was with me... getting his strength from me.” She stepped closer to you to tilt your head up. “He apologized to me, weaver. For losing sight of what’s truly for him... which is me. He loves me, which I’m sure you know... And he did make me feel loved... see?”

She tilted her head back, exposing the dark hickeys on the side of her neck. To your untrained eyes, it simply looked like bruises, but you knew what you were talking about. Pain bloomed in your chest and you felt ashamed for feeling it. You’re not supposed to feel it. You knew where this is leading to, you knew it was all an act. This woman in front of you was the only reason he approached you.

Ka’ani giggled. “Neteyam was insatiable. He missed me, as you can see... and now, I’m still sore, honestly,” she sighed, looking at you with that mock pity again. “Do you get it? He’s back with me... After he strayed. I hope you can respect that?”

You blinked, your lungs feeling as though they had turned to stone. You didn't realize you were holding your breath until she turned and walked away, and you felt like you might collapse, but the sound of Spider’s familiar voice cut through the silence. He came running toward you, laughing, with Tuk trailing just behind him.

“Was that Ka’ani?” Spider asked, his smile faltering. “What did you two talk about?”

You forced yourself to blink, the world slowly coming back into focus. “Uh... nothing. What are you two doing?”

“Playing tag!” Tuk squealed, slamming into your waist and hugging you tight. You automatically reached down to ruffle her braids. “Tag! You’re it!” she shouted, tapping your belly with a giggle before darting away.

Your soul wanted nothing more than to crawl into a dark corner and let the tears fall, but looking at Tuk’s bright face and Spider’s expectant grin, you couldn't bear to be the killjoy.

“Oh, you’re going to get it now!” you called out, forcing a smile as you chase after them.

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Neteyam had done the impossible. He had returned not just with his warriors intact, but with the promise of a unified forest. The first pace of the Great Council’s efforts to help the displaced clan find a dwelling land, he had secured a future for the displaced and for that, he was their hero.

The clan had a small celebration for it, but as the smell of roasted meat filled the air, Neteyam’s eyes were only on the winding path toward your family’s hut. He hadn't seen you in the crowd. He hadn't seen you at the landing where he expected you would be. Waiting for him. Kiri did tell him you were sick, though, which had sent a cold spike of dread that halted his celebratory high.

He didn't wait for his father’s final toast before slipping away, feeling a worry he didn't even feel during his mission. He arrived at your family’s hut, breathless, practically vibrating with the need to pull you into his arms and tell you that he had thought of nothing but your face as he sat among the displaced.

When you emerged from the flap, he froze. You were pale and your eyes were swollen and bloodshot, the telltale signs of the days you spent in quiet agony. His brows furrowed, his feet moving before he could even think. He stopped when he saw you step back though.

“I... I’m sick,” you said when you saw the question in his eyes. You didn't look at him with the warmth he’d been dreaming of. You looked at him as if he were a threat.

He stepped toward the platform, his hand reaching out instinctively. “I know. Kiri told me. But what made you sick? Why are you crying?" His voice was thick with a worry so raw it made your chest ache. “I haven't even been gone for a week, and this is what I return to?”

You stepped back into the shadows of the hut, a sharp scowl flickering across your face. “I... I don't know why I got sick. But I do know I want to lay down and rest. So if there's nothing else, I’ll go do it.”

Before he could utter another word, you grabbed the woven flap and slammed it shut. Neteyam stood there in the silence, staring at the closed entrance. His brows furrowed, his head tilting in genuine, painful confusion. He had expected a hug, a laugh, perhaps even a repeat of that soul-searing kiss in the forest. Instead, he had been shut out like a stranger. The victory he had carried on his shoulders suddenly felt hollow. For this, he didn't return to the celebration at all. He walked back to the his family’s hut in a daze, laying awake for hours wondering what could have poisoned the air in his absence.

The next day was filled with council meetings. He sat through hours of strategy and relocation discussions, but his mind was in the looms which he would check every time there's a chance, ready to scold you for working while ill, but your spot was empty. It wasn't until the following morning that he found you. You were sitting at your spot, your movements stiff and mechanical. And it seemed like you were waiting, too, because you looked at him the moment he stepped into the looms.

“Let’s talk,” he said, his voice firm, trying to reclaim some shred of authority to hide how much his heart was racing.

You stood up, your face impassive. “We do need to talk.” you said, your voice cold and sharp.

He stopped in his tracks, staring at you for more than a minute. For the first time in his life, after facing predators, raids, and the weight of a legacy, Neteyam felt a genuine, cold prickle of fear. But as he looked at the fire in your eyes, a small, reckless part of him couldn't help but admire it. He feels crazy. You are so hot when you’re mad.

You walked into the forest, feeling even more slighted when you remembered him going in this same route with Ka’ani. You felt his hand on your elbow though, steering you toward a different path instead. You glared at him. “Where are we going?”

The sight of direhorses answered your question though. You saw some warriors riding their mounts and Neteyam whistled for his. You saw Ka’ani among the warriors nearby and saw how her eyes narrowed at the sight of you and Neteyam. Shame rose in you and you tried to wriggle away from Neteyam’s hold, especially when a warrior came jogging toward you.

“Brother, will you not watch the young tame their mounts?“ The warrior asked. “They’ll be here in five minutes.”

The warrior glanced at you and you took your elbow from Neteyam again, but you weren’t able to get away though, because his hand found your waist and pulled you to him.

“No. I got something more important to do,“ Neteyam said. “I’m sure they’ll do well.”

The warrior snickered, “Enjoy then,” he glanced at you meaningfully before nodding to Neteyam, and turning away.

Neteyam’s hand spanned your waist and lifted you up on his direhorse in under ten seconds, making you slightly shriek. He mounted the beast behind you, making tsaheylu with it before wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you against him. You tried to move away, but the direhorse had started moving, and in a second, it was running.

The wind roared  past your ears as the direhorse ate up the miles, forcing you to lean back against Neteyam’s chest just to stay balanced. You enjoyed the sight during the ride, fighting the urge to move your head away when you felt him pressung a kiss to the crown of your head. You felt sad when he pulled on the reins, already missing the exhilaration of riding and the good view.

Neteyam slid off the mount first before reaching up to lift you down, his movements fluid and sure. He didn't let go immediately, his hands lingered on your waist as he looked around the clearing. He felt a surge of triumph that you hadn't jumped off and bolted, though he felt a twinge of guilt, too, because he’d brought you this far specifically so you couldn't run away.

The glade was breathtaking and it immediately snagged your attention. Under any other circumstances, you would have danced through the high grass, but the weight in your chest kept your feet heavy.

Neteyam turned to you, the light dabbing across his face. “Alright," he whispered, his jaw tightening. “Tell me. What has changed since I left?”

You scowled, the image of Ka’ani’s smug face flashing in your mind. “Are you sure things didn’t change before you left? I’m pretty sure you made up with Ka’ani, and did more than just talking.”

The accusation hit him like a physical blow that his eyes widened, his head snapping back in shock. “I did not ‘make up’ with Ka’ani. Yes, I talked to her, but I simply told her to back off. I told her never to approach you again. Did she talk of nonsense to you again?” He was practically vibrating, his tail lashing behind him.

“Yes, she did! We talked,” you threw back at him. “She showed me the hickeys on her neck, Neteyam! She said she was so sore... because you were insatiable! Because you missed her so much that you had to get your 'strength' from her before you left!”

“What?” The word was a rasp of horror. A visceral disgust washed over his features, his body shivering at the image your words painted. “I did not lay with her. I never did and I never would. Oh, Great Mother... that woman is a huge liar!”

You searched his face. You looked for a flicker of guilt or lie, a shift in his eyes, but all you saw was a man who looked genuinely nauseated by the very idea. You believe him, despite yourself and without your consent, the suffocating clouds over your head began to lighten. He stepped toward you, his hands reaching for your arms, but you crossed them over your chest, refusing to let him in just yet.

“Believe me, please,” he pleaded, his words beginning to tumble over each other in a frantic rush. “That night after we were in the forest, all I did was find her and shut down her delusions. I was so mad that she dared to talk to you, dared to get mad at you, so I told her to back off and never approach you again. I was coming back to you, baby. I was going to tell you our ruse ends there and then. I was going to beg you for a chance to make it real.”

He palmed his face , sounding completely undone.

“But then the incident with our warriors happened and I had to go... Jesus. I was so stupid. I should have gone to you before I left, but I was thinking... I was thinking I probably wouldn't be able to leave at all if you told me you’d give me a chance.”

His heart was beating too fast and to hard against his chest, watching the fire in your eyes finally die out, replaced by a soft heat. You believed him. It wasn't in your nature to stay angry when the truth felt so solid, and you knew Neteyam well enough now to know he would never play around. The fact that Ka’ani had looked so bitter earlier suddenly made sense. She hadn't won anything, she had just tried to burn down your bridge.

You bit your lip, your shoulders finally dropping. “Alright...” you whispered.

Neteyam didn't hesitate. He stepped into your space, gently wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into the solid warmth of his chest. “That’s it? ‘Alright’?” he asked, his voice soft and breathless, his face so close yours.

You pushed your lips forward in a small pout, though you didn't pull away. “I guess I believe you... I don’t think it’s in your character to lie like that.”

A wave of shame washed over you as you realized how quickly you had let Ka’ani’s poison work. You had given him so little confidence, believing a lie over the man you know to be so genuine and kind. But then, you had been protecting yourself; you were in an act, and the lines had been so blurred you didn't know where it all ended.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured “I just... I thought it was still an act. That we were still acting to get her back...”

Neteyam tightened his grip, lowering his head to bury his face in the crook of your neck. “I’ve long forgotten about the deal. I think I stopped truly caring about it just a week after I started spending my days with you. I just didn't know what it was I was feeling until the thought of it ending and not being with you anymore felt more terrifying than any battle.” He pulled back just enough to look at you, his thumb caressing your cheek. “This is why you’ve been crying...”

You pushed your lips forward. You wanted to forget that part! “Let’s just forget it...”

“No, we won’t. You don’t know how much it broke me to see you cry, to see you so gray, and not know why. She hurt you, she meant to hurt you,” he said, his voice hard and his jaw tightening. “And I played a part in it. I should have talked to you, clear everything for us so you would have confidence in me. So you won’t believe her.”

You looked up at him, your hand pressing against his chest to calm him down. “It’s over and done with, Neteyam... What’s important is that we’te okay now. Right?”

He looked down at you, his head tilting. Ka’ani was lucky that you are so kind, but she wasn’t that lucky because he’s not. He leaned down to kiss you, “Right. There will be no more acts and games... Just us.”

You looked up at him, the weight finally gone, and for the first time in days, the light returned to your golden eyes. “Just us.” you beamed at him.

He sucked in a breath, pulling you and tilting your head to kiss you hard. He was a man starved and you could tell with how he's holding and kissing you. He moaned when your tongue licked his lower lip, making him pull his head back to look at you.

“It’s you I missed so much...” he mumbled, kissing you softly. “It’s you I’d be insatiable for... And you I’ll make so sore—”

“Neteyam!” your hand lifted up to clamp around his mouth and he laughed. You shrieked when you felt his warm and wet tongue lick at your palm.

“I know... I’ll court you... Then you'll accept me as your mate... And then you’re in big trouble wth me—”

You groaned, your cheeks burning purple. He kissed your cheek before angling his head to kiss you for real.

The next afternoon, the Sully siblings were in on the plan—though only Kiri truly understood the gravity of it. They had dragged you down to the river, telling you they’ll teach you how to properly splash a person without getting soaked yourself.

“Focus! You have to cup your hand like this,” Spider shouted, sending a wall of water toward a ducking Lo’ak.

You laughed, the sound genuine and bright, completely unaware that Neteyam had quietly slipped away. He had seen Ka’ani heading toward the upper trails, and he wasn't about to let another sun set without finishing this. He intercepted her near the high roots, his silhouette blocking her path. Ka’ani stopped, her smirk faltering when she saw the look on his face. He didn’t look friendly at all, not that he had look friendly the last time they talked, but the hard storm masking his face right now was the look of a man who had seen a threatening the peace.

“Neteyam,” she started, trying to reclaim her cool composure. “I thought you'd be busy with your little weaver.“

“I am busy,” Neteyam said. “I am busy realizing how wrong I was about you. I thought you were a warrior of honor, Ka’ani. I thought that even if you were proud, you were noble. But to purposely hurt a woman who did you nothing wrong? To lie about the most disgusting things just to see her cry—”

Ka’ani’s eyes narrowed, her tail lashing. “I know what I’m doing, Neteyam! You were only using her to straighten me up! I just leveled the playing field. I was reclaiming what was mine—”

“I was never yours,” he cut her off, disgust for her delusions crumpling his face. “There was nothing to reclaim, you had nothing. The life you are living is the one you actively chose. Even if we had tried before, I know I would have quickly realized it would never work, what with our lack of connection. The only thing we shared was the training grounds.”

Ka’ani winced as if he’d struck her. “I... I was just blinded, Neteyam. I was jealous! I was envious. I’m sorry, alright? I was just trying to get you back.”

Neteyam let out a sharp huff. “I wasn’t yours to get back, we had nothing to do with each other. And you’re not really sorry. At least not yet, because you didn't think of taking your words back during the days I wasn't home. You knew she was crying. You knew she was hurting from your lies, and you sat back and enjoyed it. You are only sorry now because I am standing here confronting you.”

Ka’ani opened her mouth to argue, her hands trembling, but no words came out. The truth of his gaze was too heavy to deflect.

“I hope you grow,” Neteyam said, turning on his heel.

“Neteyam, wait!” she called out, sounding frantic as he turned to walk away. “I’m sorry! I’ll go to her right now. I’ll apologize to her! Please... can we still be friends? We’ve known each other our whole lives.”

Neteyam stopped, but he didn't turn around. He looked over his shoulder, his profile sharp against the sunlight filtering through the leaves.

“We were never friends, Ka’ani. You don't see me as a friend. You see me as a prize to be won.” He took a breath, thinking of your laugh echoing by the river. “Friends don’t hurt the people you love. And that is exactly what you did to the woman I love. After that, I don’t think your wish can be possible.”

He left her standing there, the weight of her own choices finally settling on her shoulders. When he returned to the river, he saw you. You were dripping wet, laughing as Tuk tried to climb onto your back.You looked up and caught his eye, beaming at him with a warmth that made his heart feel like it was soaring home.

He didn't say a word about Ka’ani. He just waded into the water, pulled you into a lopsided embrace, and whispered into your ear, “I think it’s time I started that courting I mentioned. Properly.”

And just like that, the moons had drifted by like dust in the wind, and Neteyam had kept his word. He courted you openly and even formally asked your parents for your hand, which they initially did not want to grant him. They think your life wouldn’t be as peaceful if you mated Neteyam instead of a simple man in the clan. Honestly, your parents didn’t know what to do with him. Neteyam was so intense in his courtship to you and your family that, most times, your parents were literally hiding from him. By then, he had already brought your family the finest meat and the rarest fruits, but surprise of your parents’ lives probably came when he brought Jake and Neytiri. He wasn’t really planning to bring them along, it was just... Neytiri is apparently getting impatient over the fact that Neteyam isn’t an official suitor yet, and Jake wanted to relieve your parents of their worries over you being Neteyam’s mate.

And today, the celebration for the new village of the displaced clan felt like the culmination of everything you and Neteyam had built. It seemed so long ago when you two discussed the matter when you were swimming in the river, and now, the clan found a home by the river. The Olo’eyktan of the displaced clan stood before the grand fire. You’d met him only today, but you could already tell the respect he has for Neteyam.

“For too long, we were ghosts in this forest,” the Olo’eyktan started. “We lived like beggars, raiding for sustenance, hurting our brothers and sisters among your clans, and also fearing their spears, but a path was cleared where we saw only hopelessness. Our homes are standing here today because of Neteyam te Suli, our brother of the Omatikaya. Because of him, we have peace. Our children will know only the beauty of the forest and never the tragedy that forced us out of our lands.”

You grinned as the crowd erupted, but Neteyam tried to sink into his seat, his ears pressing back in embarrassment as his arm pulled you to him. He hated the attention, but the chieftains wouldn't have it. They pushed him to the center, where he was forced to give a piece of his mind.

He cleared his throat, his golden eyes immediately finding yours in the crowd as if to ground himself. “The peace you see today was not born in my mind,” he began, his voice steadying as he looked at you. “I am a warrior, I was ready to lead with my bow. But it was my woman who showed me the wisdom in a hand offered instead of an arrow. She gave me the strength to listen when I wanted to fight. If this land is a home today, it is because her heart guided my way.”

Neytiri turned to you and smiled as the men in the crowd roared to tease the warrior they’ve been acquainted with in the past moons. As he strode back to you, pulling you into a deep kiss of victory, a warrior from a different clan hooted from the side. “Careful, Neteyam! Keep your wits about you and don’t let her hit her head, or she might wake up and realize she could leave your ass behind!”

Neteyam let out a deep, resonant laugh, pulling you flush against his side. “I have no intention of ever letting her get far enough to find out!”

As the party reached its high, Neteyam’s eyes found yours, looking at you meaningfully, in a way that made your skin tingle. You raised a brow and he jerked his head toward the dark woods. You pushed your lips forward in a playful pout but tugged his hand anyway, leading him away from the noise and into the glowing embrace of the forest.

You skipped hand in hand, admiring the bioluminescent flora lighting your path and when you reached the secluded bend of the river, the sounds of the festival was nothing but a hum. You turned to him with a grin and, without a word, untied the ties of your beaded top. His hungry eyes followed the movement, his breath hitching as if he has not seen them for a hundred times already. You untied your loincloth next, letting it pool on the floor.

He watched you with an intensity that excited you, and when his own loincloth fell, you bit your lip, seeing of the hard-on you had become quite well-acquainted with over the past moons. The glow of the river and the forest illuminated his handsome face so perfectly your heart hammered against your chest. He is so handsome.

“Hi,” he whispered, his large arms on your waist pulling you close.

Your smile grew to a grin. “You’re silly,” you chuckled, pressing a palm against his muscled chest to gently push him back. “I’m going to swim... why are you holding me?”

Neteyam’s eyes narrowed playfully, a boyish grin spreading across his face as he leaned in, his nose brushing yours. “Oh, I think there are other things that need swimming, too,” he teased, his voice dropping as his hand caught yours, bringing it down so you could feel his hardened cock. “Your babies want to swim in you.”

“Neteyam!“ you called, almost swiveling your head around in case someone could hear him. You’ve learned, in the past moons, how lewd he can be with his words but your habit of looking around will probably stay for a few years more.

He angled his head to press a hard kiss against your lips. “What? Don’t you want our kids to have fun time?”

You laughed, the sound like bells in his ears. You threw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. “Am I in big trouble again?” you whispered against his ear.

He groaned. “You’re always going to be in big trouble with me if I had my way.”

You smirked, tilting your head. “I want to take care of you tonight...” you mumbled, your hand on his chest caressing his skin and pushing him back.

He raised a brow, always surprised still whenever you show him fire. You pulled him down to kiss him, your lips crashing into his with a hunger that made him vibrate in excitement. He let you push him back against the trunk of a towering tree, letting out a gravelly groan when his head thumped back against the bark.

His hands gripped your waist, pulling you so flush against him that the ridge of his hard-on felt like it was imprinting itself on your belly. With practiced ease, he reached behind himself to bring his queue forward, while his other hand found yours behind you, making you break the kiss for just a second, watching through hooded eyes as the pink tendrils of your kurus began to reach and weave together.

The familiar psychic  jolt of his intense love, raw devotion and desire for you flooded your mind, feeling his heart hammering against your ears, echoing the rhythm of your own. His fingers cupped your jaw to kiss you again, ad you smiled against his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth before trailing your lips down. You licked and kiss his neck, your palms staying flat on his chest, feeling the heavy thud of his heart as you kissed your way down over the hard ridges of his stomach.

“My warrior...” you murmured, kissing his lower abdomen.

You peered up at him, seeing his head pressed against the tree, but his eyes were looking down at you. You kissed sharp V-line of his hips before your hand reached out, fisting his girth. Neteyam’s breath hitched, a strangled sound escaping his throat as your hand began to move. The bond between your queues flared, sending waves of his pleasure crashing through the both of you.

“You are celebrated tonight,” you whispered, looking up at him with your innocent doe eyes that contrasted the sinful movement of your hands on him. “I think you deserve a reward, don't you?”

“Baby...” he rasped, his hands fisting as he tried to ground himself.

You didn't give him a chance to respond. You lowered your head, taking him into your mouth with a heat that made his entire body shudder. Through the bond, you felt the exact moment he weakened. His hands flew to your long braids as your mouth started sucking around his girth, your tongue playing with its underside, getting another sharp intake of his breath. You drew back slightly, then plunged deeper, taking more of him down your throat. You worked your mouth, your lips sealing around him that made him tremble. His fingers tightened in your braids in a gentle tug, guiding your movements, urging you faster.

Your tongue swirled, licked, teased, tracing the veins along his length. You felt him grow even harder in your mouth. You pulled back, then swallowed him again, your breath hitching as you felt the wide head deep inside your throat. His hips began to thrust, his hand on your jaw, meeting your eager mouth until you tasted him, the musky scent of his arousal filling your nostrils. Your throat ached, but the pleasure in his groans kept you moving.

“Oh, baby,” he gasped, his body trembling.

His hips bucked, a deep growl rumbling from his chest. You felt the first warm gush of him erupt into your mouth, hot and thick, and you swallowed as his body convulsed, still pouring into you. He groaned deeply, a powerful sound that made you shiver, his fingers digging into your hair as he emptied himself.

He slumped, his breathing ragged. “Enough, my love,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, trying to pull your head up.

But you weren’t finished. You wanted to clean him, to savor every last drop. You ignored his pleas, your tongue flicking out, licking away the remnants of his pleasure, tracing the underside of his shaft. You heard his sharp intake of breath, his abdominal muscles tensing again. He was literally fighting to hold onto his strength, and you felt his cock twitch, hardening slightly at your continued ministrations. You ran your tongue along the tip, then sucked gently, drawing out the last of his cum.

“Fuck. I regret teaching you, you know?” he said weakly, his knees buckling.

You glared at him before reluctantly releasing him, your lips glistening. He reached down, pulling you up with a sudden, fierce strength that lifted until your bodies collided. His mouth found yours in a hard, demanding kiss, his tongue plunged into your mouth, mirroring the thrusts of his shaft earlier, tangling with yours. You met him with equal fervor, your arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer still, your hips instinctively grinding against his.

He broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your jaw and your throat in a fiery path. He lifted you, cradling you in his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist before he lowered you gently against the soft moss. He knelt above you, his golden eyes devouring your body like a man starved. His hand traced the curve of your waist, then upward, toward your breasts. His fingers brushed against your nipple and you arched your back, a soft moan escaping your lips. He leaned down, his mouth closing over one of the pebbled tips, sucking hard. You gasped and shivered, your fingers tangling in his braids, pressing him closer. His tongue swirled around your breast, while his other hand kneaded the other, his thumb circling the aroused tip.

“What a great reward,” he groaned, his voice muffled against your flesh. He suckled hard that it made you arch your back both in ache and pleasure. He moved to the other breast, giving it the same intense attention until you cried out, your body writhing for more.

He pulled away, his eyes hot with a familiar predatory hunger in them. He shifted, kneeling between your legs, which had instinctively parted for him. He leaned down, his mouth moving lower. You moaned, knowing what was coming, your hips lifting in anticipation. His tongue flicked out, tracing the velvety folds of your pussy, already wet with anticipation,

He spread your lips, his tongue plunging directly into your clit, making you arch your back, your fingers scratching at his back. He licked, sucked, and torment, his mouth relentlessly sucking and his tongue playing more than it licks. He used his fingers, too, parting your lips to allowing his tongue full access on you. He tasted you, the salty-sweet essence, a taste that always drove him wild.

“So sweet,” he murmured against your folds his voice a low growl, his tongue flicking faster, harder.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, your legs trembling, wrapping around his head, pressing him deeper into your pussy. You felt the suction of his mouth and the relentless assault of his tongue on your clit, and your orgasm coiled in your belly. You whimpered, unable to form words, only sounds of pure pleasure, your hips bucking as your body shivered with release, leaving you gasping. You felt the soft shudders of your pussy, contracting around his tongue.

He pulled away, moving above you, his hard cock pressing against your folds. You whimpered, still quivering from your orgasm that your pussy was still throbbing and incredibly sensitive. He still pushed though, the head of his cock sliding inside. You moaned and he pushed deeper, stretching you, and filling you completely.

You wrapped your arms around his body that hovered above yours, his eyes locked with yours. He began to move, a slow thrust, then another, pulling almost completely out before plunging back in deep and hard. The sounds of him sliding in and out of your wetness filled the air, mingling with your gasps and his grunts. You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, urging him deeper and faster.

He gripped your waist, his fingers digging into your flesh, lifting you slightly to control the angle, to thrust even deeper. “Harder,” you pleaded, your voice hoarse, your hips bucking to meet his.

He responded instantly, his thrusts becoming a furious assault. He pounded into you, deep and relentless, filling you with every thrust. You felt yourself tightening around him, your muscles clenching. Your breath hitched, your vision blurring. You cried out his name, again and again, as your body convulsed, leaving you gasping, clinging to him.

He groaned, his body trembling above you as he thrusted a few more times, deep, desperate strokes. His body tensed, his seed erupting inside you, hot and thick, filling your womb with your babies that needed swimming. He collapsed onto you, heaving, his breath ragged against your neck. You lay there, your entwined bodies both slick with sweat and release.

He let out a long, shaky exhale, his tail giving one final, exhausted twitch against your leg. With a groan that sounded sated and delirious, he pulled out of you, watching the gush of his heavy and thick cum dripping out of you. “You emptied me,” he mumbled, his voice thick.

You chuckled, breathless. “Complaining, are we? You’re the one who started talking about ‘swimmers’ in the middle of our conversation,” you smirked.

Neteyam let out a dry, boyish laugh, propping himself up on one elbow. He looked down at your stomach, then back at your face, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I believe in my warriors. They’re fast.”

You groaned, reaching up to swat his chest, but he caught your hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss your knuckles. “Neteyam, if my mother sees me walking back looking like this, I’m going to receive a scolding.”

“Tell her you are a mated woman,” he suggested shamelessly, pulling you closer until your head was resting on his chest.

“Neteyam... They don’t know that yet. We are following the traditions!” you whisper-shouted playfully. “Beside, what happened to being modest for my parents?” you narrowed your eyes at him.

He laughed, a genuine, chest-shaking sound that made you feel warm all over again. He rolled to his side, his hand grabbing your waist with a renewed look of heat in his eyes that made you groan. You sat up and his head angled to catch the pebbled tip of your breast into his mouth.

“‘Teyam...” your hand clutched at his shoulder.

“Just one more...” he said, his words muffled because he had your flesh in his mouth.

You bit you lip and laid back on the soft moss, spreading your thighs as your hand caressed the soft skin on his back. You watched his large, formidable form hover over you, his thick and long cock already pointing at your pussy as if it knows its target. You shivered at the sight of it, your excitement vibrating in your body. His hand clasped under your knee and pushed your leg back, stretching you before his cock nudged your entrance.

His other hand moved over your pussy, his thumb rubbing your sensitive nub as his length disappeared in you. You moaned a long one, arching your back, offering your rounded breasts to him and he lowered his head to take one into his mouth, his tongue immediately swirling on your nipple. In a sudden, hard movement, his hand on your hips pulled you to him, burying himself to the hilt inside you.

“Ah!” you moaned, your thighs quivering to close around him but he kept them open, restraining both of them tightly befote delivering a series of hard and intense pounding.

You held onto him, your eyes flying open and meeting his. You probably looked so aroused and fucked, because his pupils blew even wider, almost swallowing the gold. Your mouth remained perpetually gaped, releasing jagged breaths and moans as he continued pumping into you. Your hand pressed against his lower abdomen and his thrusts quickened and hardened even more.

He lowered his head to kiss you, his tongue immediately plunging into your open mouth. You wrapped your arms around him, feeling his hard muscles contrasting his soft skin until all the sensations he’s giving you pushed you to the edge. He came first, shuddering above you despite his efforts to hold out longer. You hugged him tighter when you felt yourself erupt.

He kissed your neck softly, feeling your body shudder against him, you legs literally quivering as your walls clenched around him to milk him dry. He chuckled, pressing a hard kiss against your jaw. “I told you. Big trouble.”

You let your head fall on the mossy ground, feeling him lick the skin on your exposed neck. “I think I can handle the trouble,” you murmured. “As long as it’s yours.”

໑ As the head of House Stark, he is obligated to take routine visits to the wall to check on operations, and give morale to the men of the Night's Watch. You hate when he leaves for the wall. The bed is cold. The food tastes bland in your mouth. The wind howls louder when he is gone. "Can I go with you?" you ask.

He gives his response after not even a second of thought "No. It is out of the question." Cregan Stark is a reasonable man. He treats you as his equal. But this is a matter he will never budge on. "You fear grumpkins and snarks-"

You roll your eyes, remembering the childish tales you believed before you came to Winterfell, and how silly they seem now.

"- but you should fear the Wall. Some of those men were murderers and rapers. For most, it has been years that they have even seen a woman. If you -" He shakes his head, unable to finish the thought "Absolutely not."

You turn back to your book, disappointed that his answer remains the same. He steps over to you, hands gravitating to your belly. "Soon you will have a piece of me. That when I am away, you won't be alone."

"But, I am not-"

"I know." His hand rubs your womb, as if to warm or soothe it. He recalls only hours ago filling you up, and holding you still on his cock to keep every ounce of spend inside. While you waited, you brushed soft touches over his cheeks and jaw, fading scars from battle and adolescence alike. When he returned home, he thought, he would try again in the Godswood, in such a sacred place the seed simply had to take.

A month after the Gullet, the castle still smells faintly of medicines, as though the sea itself has followed Jacaerys home and settled in the stone with him.

You have grown so accustomed to it that you hardly notice anymore.

A month ago, you would have given anything to smell it. A month ago, there had been blood. So much blood. But now there are only maesters, all the time.

Three of them stand gathered around the table right now near the window, speaking in low, serious voices while Jace sits in a carved chair looking increasingly irritated with every minute.

Sunlight spills through the narrow panes behind him, catching in his dark curls and turning the edges of them gold, softening him in a way that makes him seem almost boyish despite everything he has endured in the last couple weeks.

His injuries have faded from terrifying to merely alarming. The worst of the bruising is gone, the cuts have begun to heal, and colour has returned to his face, though not yet enough for you to relax.

Unfortunately for everyone else, so has his stubbornness.

You stand beside him with one hand resting lightly on the back of his chair, partly affection but mostly precaution if you're being honest with yourself, because the prince has developed an unfortunate habit of forgetting that nearly dying is supposed to slow a person down.

"Your Grace is recovering admirably," Grand Maester Gerardys says at last.

Jace straightens immediately, as if the words themselves have restored him. Gerardys clears his throat with the patient air of a man who has spent his life delivering unwelcome truths to the powerful. "Recovering admirably, however, does not mean recovered."

Jace slumps back with all the theatrical suffering of a man condemned to the Wall. Gerardys continues as though he has not noticed the prince's offence.

"Your ribs are still mending. The wound to your side has not fully healed. The fever has passed, but weakness remains. Any unnecessary strain could set back his recovery considerably."

Jace folds his arms. "What strain?"

The three maesters exchange a glance, and you immediately become suspicious. Jace notices it too, his brows drawing together. "What strain?" he repeats, sharper this time.

Nobody answers.

The silence stretches, and stretches, and then stretches a little further, until finally the old maester clears his throat again, looking faintly pained. "This includes physical exertion."

Jace nods at once. "Yes, I gathered that, obviously."

"Excessive physical exertion."

"Yes."

"Particularly..." Gerardys pauses, and one of the younger maesters suddenly finds the floor fascinating. "...marital exertion."

The room falls completely silent.

For a single moment Jace simply stares at them. Then his face changes all at once, horror and outrage arriving together.

"I beg your pardon?"

You turn away quickly because you can already feel laughter rising in your throat and you know if you let it out now you will never stop. Beside you, Jace looks scandalised beyond measure. "What do you mean?"

"My Prince-"

"No." The word echoes off the stone walls. "Absolutely not. This is absurd and I refuse to accept it."

Gerardys remains maddeningly calm. "It is only temporary."

"Temporary?" Jace sounds personally betrayed. "You are forbidding me from bedding my own wife."

The younger maester goes slightly red. You stare very intently at the tapestry across the room, because if you look at Jace now you will lose whatever dignity you have left. He points an accusing finger at the entire collection of healers. "I survived a naval battle."

"Indeed."

"I was shot."

"Yes."

"I nearly drowned."

"Correct."

"And your conclusion is that my greatest threat is my wife?"

The maesters look vaguely embarrassed. Jace looks outraged. And suddenly, despite the lingering ache that still lives in your chest whenever you remember the sight of him bleeding on a bed, you feel lighter, because this is familiar. This is your Jace. He's alive enough to argue and complain. Alive enough to glare dramatically at innocent old men and be stubborn.

Your hand slips from the chair to his shoulder, and immediately he covers it with his own. Gerardys notices, and his expression gentles. "My Prince," he says, "the restriction is not punishment."

Jace groans. "I would beg to differ."

A few of the maesters smile despite themselves. Gerardys gathers his papers, "It is only another month."

Jace nearly chokes. "A whole month?"

"Perhaps less, if recovery continues."

"A month."

"You survived the Gullet. Surely you can survive a few more weeks."

Jace mutters something deeply disrespectful under his breath, and you squeeze his shoulder in warning and affection both. His fingers immediately tighten around yours as he looks up at you, exhaustion and frustration playing on his features.

You smile at him, and his expression softens immediately.

Then Gerardys speaks again, and the spell breaks at once. "And separate beds may also be advisable."

Jace's head snaps around, "No."

Silence settles over the chamber. Jace's hand remains wrapped around yours, firm and warm and immovable. "I nearly died, so I am not sleeping without my wife."

They exchange glances and then, wisely, surrender. "Very well."

You lower your head to hide your smile, because truly, there are battles even the maesters cannot win.

That evening the matter should have been settled, at least in theory.

The maesters had spoken, their instructions delivered and their warnings had been repeated no fewer than six times over supper, as though saying them often enough might somehow make Jace more inclined to obey.

Instead, he is attempting to negotiate, which is perhaps exactly what you should have expected from him and yet still feels faintly absurd when he is sitting there shirtless on the edge of the bed, looking incredibly offended by the very concept of restraint.

You sit beside him with a fresh roll of linen in your lap while he holds one arm lifted so you can reach the wound along his side.

The chamber is quiet except for the crackle of the fire and the distant, steady sound of waves striking the cliffs below; night has fully settled beyond the windows, leaving only darkness on the other side of the glass and the warm gold of candlelight within.

Carefully, you peel away the old bandage, and he hisses through his teeth at the movement. You glance up at once. “You are being dramatic.”

"Three arrows pierced my body.”

“A month ago.”

“It still counts.”

You make a skeptical sound and reach for the ointment, though you cannot quite keep the corner of your mouth from twitching. For a few moments silence settles between you. You smooth the salve across healing skin, studying the angry scar that is beginning to form there, the sight still makes something twist painfully in your chest.

There are moments when you look at him and see only Jace; your husband, your best friend, the boy who once raced you through castle corridors and stole lemon cakes from the kitchens with the shameless confidence of someone who had never once been told no in his life.

Then there are moments like this, when memory comes back all at once and with it the blood, the fever, the endless waiting, the terrible certainty, however brief, that you might lose him. Your fingers pause before you can stop them.

Immediately, his hand settles over yours.

He notices. Of course he does.

You lift your eyes, and his expression softens at once. “I am all right,” he says quietly.

“Mm.”

His thumb brushes slowly across your knuckles.

Then, because Jacaerys Velaryon possesses the survival instincts of an overconfident golden retriever, he says, “I still think the maesters are being unreasonable.”

You close your eyes for a brief, weary moment. You had been wondering how long it would take.

“You are recovering from grievous injuries.”

“I am recovering exceptionally well.”

“You still tire walking up stairs.”

“Well, I dislike those stairs.”

You begin wrapping the fresh bandage around his ribs. “They are not unusual stairs, Jace.”

"They are steeper than other stairs."

Despite yourself, you laugh, and his grin appears immediately. He tilts his head, thoughtful in the way that always makes you suspicious.

“What exactly constitutes marital exertion?”

You nearly drop the bandage. “Jacaerys.”

“It is a reasonable question.”

You finish tying the linen perhaps just a little tighter than necessary, and he winces. You feel no guilt whatsoever.

“They were quite vague,” he says after a moment.

“They were not vague. They were, in fact, extraordinarily clear.”

Jace considers this with the air of a man weighing evidence in a trial he has already decided to win. “Perhaps to you.”

“To everyone.”

“Not to me.” His smile widens, and you are suddenly struck by the realisation that the maesters should perhaps have prescribed confinement in separate castles.

“They said strain,” he says, as though he's continuing a perfectly sensible conversation.

“Yes.”

“And exertion.”

“Yes.”

“So theoretically-”

“No.”

“What if-”

“Jace.”

He stops, though only because he is laughing now, actually laughing, and the sound fills the room so easily that for a moment you forget everything else.

“You are impossible,” you inform him.

“I have been told.”

He reaches for your hand, and you let him take it. His fingers close around yours with a warmth that feels almost unbearably familiar, and when he speaks again his voice has lost its teasing edge. “Another month is a very long time.”

You shake your head, smiling softly, but before he can begin constructing another ridiculous argument, you lean forward and press a kiss to his mouth.

The effect is immediate. Jace falls silent, blessedly, wonderfully silent, and when you pull back he blinks once, then twice, as though he has forgotten every thought he was having.

A second kiss lands at the corner of his mouth, then another against his cheek, and with each one his smile grows slower, softer, warmer, until by the third he has entirely abandoned his campaign against the maesters.

You feel rather proud of yourself.

He grins and reaches for you, and you allow him to pull you nearer. The blankets shift around you both as you settle beside him carefully, because he is still healing and you are both painfully aware of it.

His arm slides around your waist. Your head finds its familiar place against his shoulder.

The first week after the maesters' decree is irritating.

The second becomes ridiculous.

By the third, it's infuriating.

Jacaerys Velaryon approaches recovery the way he approaches every obstacle in his life: by refusing to accept that it is truly an obstacle at all.

If the maesters insist upon restrictions, then he will simply find exceptions.

One evening, as you sit beside him on the bed with your book open in your lap, he glances over and says, almost casually, “I stand by my opinion that their instructions were imprecise.”

You do not look up. “No.”

“They never actually provided definitions.”

You turn a page. “They are maesters, Jace, not scholars debating philosophy.”

He sighs, long-suffering and theatrical, and shifts a little closer.

Recently, he has become fond of finding excuses to sit beside you, or hold your hand, or drape an arm around your shoulders, or rest his head in your lap while insisting he is 'too weak' to move despite having spent the entire afternoon arguing in council.

“What if,” he begins. You close your eyes.

“What if,” he repeats, undeterred, “the concern is specifically overexertion?”

“It is.”

“Then surely the solution is simply avoiding overexertion.”

At last you lower the book and look at him properly. His expression brightens at once, as though he has won something merely by drawing your attention.

“Jace.”

“Yes?”

“No.”

He groans, and you return to your book.

Three nights later, he appears to have developed a new argument. You discover this when he is sprawled across the bed with his head resting against your shoulder, warm and comfortable and entirely too pleased with himself.

“What if,” he says thoughtfully.

You nearly laugh. “Again?”

“I have had several days to refine my position on the issue.”

“Gods preserve me.”

“What if I simply did not move very much? You could do all the... moving... uh, like difficult parts.”

You lower your embroidery hoop and glance down at him. He looks entirely sincere, which somehow makes it worse.

“Jacaerys.”

“I am not going to do any part because we are not going to do anything.”

He studies the ceiling for a moment, then turns his head just enough to look at you. “I think you are dismissing my proposals too quickly.”

“I think you enjoy hearing yourself talk.”

“I enjoy talking to you.”

Oh, you hate how good he is at being charming.

His arm slips around your waist. “You know,” he says quietly, “I do understand why you’re worried.”

The humour fades a little. You look at him, but his gaze remains fixed on your joined hands.

“You frightened me,” you admit.

Something flashes behind his eyes. “I know.”

Silence settles between you, gentle and sad and comfortable all at once. Then, because he is incapable of allowing a serious conversation to remain serious for too long, he lifts his head and says, “So that is still a no?”

You stare at him.

Jace immediately begins laughing, and when you throw a cushion at his face he catches it easily, looking delighted by the rejection.

Which, unfortunately, only convinces you that recovery is proceeding exceptionally well.

One morning at the beginning of the fourth week you're standing at the edge of the bedchamber, the salt-laced wind moaning through the open shutters as the last embers in the hearth crackle low.

Jacaerys is desperate today, even more than usual

He lies propped against the pillows, his bare chest rising and falling with quick, restless breaths, the angry red scars along his ribs and hip still mapped in fresh pink, but they are scars now, nonetheless.

It's been two months since the Gullet.

To the naked eye he seems fully recovered — he partakes in council meetings, goes on long walks with you along the shore, is no longer winded by those particularly steep stairs — but the maesters’ edict remains iron.

No strain, no exertion, no touch that might tear what they say has barely knit. Yet here he is, dark eyes fixed on you with shameless hunger, voice low and frayed.

“Please,” he murmurs, the words thick with frustration, his hand extended, palm up, fingers flexing as if he can already feel the shape of your waist.

“I cannot do this, I’m not some broken thing anymore. I feel you every night in my dreams, and then I wake up and you won't even let me touch you properly. I need your hand, your mouth, anything. Just… let me feel you again.”

He sits up a little straighter, a small grin finding his lips, voice dropping to a growl. “You’re aching too, I know it. Two months without feeling how wet you get for me-"

"Jacaerys, stop being so crude, you cannot possibly think-" but he continues, completely disregarding your objections.

"Gods, I’d give anything to see you under me like I used to, but I won’t move. I swear it. Just you, I'll even lie still.”

Your fingers tighten on the bedpost, because you cannot dent he's right. You do miss him, painfully so. You miss the feel of his hands on you and the stretch of him inside you, but reluctance still coils tight in your chest.

You take one hesitant step closer.

The cool stone floor beneath your bare feet gives way to the softness of the mattress as you perch carefully at his uninjured side, your fingers brushing the edge of the linen without yet touching him.

“Jacaerys,” you whisper, “I cannot, the maesters said-” But the way his hips twitch, just once, desperate and involuntary, stops the protest on your tongue.

A soft, helpless sound escapes him, and something shifts inside you, because this, in a way, is also him in pain, except this time you actually have the power to help him.

Your hand drifts over the sheet, hovering just above the bulge you can just start to see emerging beneath the linen.

“You must promise me you’ll lie perfectly still,” you remind him, the words gentle but unyielding, “There are reasons they forbid it; you could open one of the wounds.”

His dark eyes flash, jaw tightening as if he might argue, but apparently the months of forced stillness have left him too raw, too aching, and he nods once, a bead of sweat tracing down his temple.

You smile then, small and maybe a little teasing, and let your fingertips graze the linen over the head of his cock.

Slowly you peel the sheet down, then work on the laces of his breeches before pulling them down and finally revealing him fully to the firelit air.

His cock thick and flushed dark, the vein along its length pulsing visibly as you wrap your fingers around the base with deliberate lightness, still not quite sure how this is going to go.

He groans, low and broken, head tipping back against the pillows, but he holds himself rigid as promised, muscles trembling with the effort.

You lean in, breath ghosting over the sensitive head, and press the softest kiss there, tasting the salt of him while your free hand rests lightly on his uninjured hip to remind him of the boundary.

“Only on my terms tonight, dearest husband,” you whisper against his skin, stroking him once, slow and torturous, savouring the way his breath hitches and his fingers clutch the bedding instead of reaching for you.

“I will give you this, you just lay there and let me take care you.”

You tighten your grip just enough to draw another shuddering groan from him, your thumb circling the slick head of his cock in slow, deliberate strokes that make his thighs tense against the sheets.

He’s so hard it must be painful, the heavy length twitching in your fist with every pass,

The sight of your big, strong husband, normally so commanding, now reduced to biting his lip to keep from thrusting stirs something warm and aching in your chest.

It feels like the biggest relief.

You still remember every moment of the last two months, watching him wince at every breath, lying awake beside his bandaged body while fear gnawed at you both, and now here he is, flushed and leaking for you, trying so hard to obey even as his hips give one tiny, involuntary roll.

It’s adorable, that stubborn flicker of dominance surfacing in the way he grits out your name, only for it to dissolve into a whimper when you lean down and drag your tongue along the underside of his shaft.

His fingers fist the bedding harder, knuckles white, and you can see the war in his eyes, the urge to grab your hair and guide you deeper warring with the maesters’ warnings and his own fragile healing.

“Fuck… just like that,” he rasps, voice cracking with need so raw it makes your own neglected body clench.

You take him deeper into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks with a soft suck that has him arching his head back.

It's as if you're watching him heal in real-time, because he’s becoming himself again, that fierce, passionate man who once pinned you laughing to the furs.

You hum around him, savouring the salt-bitter taste of him while your free hand strokes soothing circles over his tightening stomach.

You pull off just enough to murmur against the flushed skin, teasing the slit with the tip of your tongue until his breath stutters.

“Still, Jace.”

Then you resume your rhythm, slow, twisting strokes of your hand paired with wet, deliberate licks. He trembles beneath you, every suppressed sound proof of how desperately he’s craved your touch.

You quicken your pace with deliberate mercy, not seeing a point in dragging this out any longer than you have to, lips sealed tight around him as your tongue swirls and your hand pumps in steady rhythm, feeling the way his thighs quake despite his vow to stay still.

His voice breaks on your name, half-command and half-plea, while one of his hands finds your hair and grips tight, not that you mind at all.

Finally, he spills hot and pulsing across your tongue, thick spurts you swallow with a soft moan of your own. You keep stroking him through it, gentling your touch as the last tremors fade, watching the tension drain from his battered body until he lies boneless and breathless, dark eyes glassy.

For a long moment afterward, neither of you says anything.

The chamber is quiet except for the soft crackle of the fire and the distant rhythm of the sea beyond the windows. The candles have burned lower than either of you realised, leaving the room washed in warm gold and shadow.

Jace lies beside you with that same dazed, contented smile still lingering on his mouth, as though he has not quite remembered how to put it away.

You glance at him from the corner of your eye and shake your head. “What?”

His smile only deepens. “Nothing.”

“Mhmm.”

He gives a quiet, breathless laugh and reaches for your hand where it still rests atop his stomach, threading his fingers through yours. His thumb moves over your knuckles, warm and absentminded.

The sight of him like this, softened and unguarded, makes something in your chest loosen.

You fuss over him out of habit more than necessity, fetching a washcloth, straightening the blankets around his hips and making certain he is comfortable, searching his face and posture for any sign that he has overdone himself despite every promise he made.

Jace watches the whole business with open affection, his expression growing gentler by the moment.

“My darling,” he murmurs, though there is no real complaint in it. You ignore him. “You are checking on me.”

“Someone has to.”

His teasing fades then, leaving something softer in its place. For a moment he simply watches you, and when he lifts your joined hands and presses a kiss to your knuckles, the gesture is so familiar that it catches you off guard all the same.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

You look up at him.

The words are not playful nor triumphant, not even particularly clever. Your chest aches unexpectedly, because beneath all the bargaining and persistence and impossible shamelessness, you know what this has really been about.

Weeks of fear. Weeks of recovery. Weeks of being careful. Weeks of wondering whether life would ever feel normal again.

You squeeze his hand, and his fingers tighten around yours at once.

“You do not need to thank me.”

“I do.”

His voice is gentle. “I know I was insufferable.”

You giggle softly. “Do you now?”

Without either of you needing to say anything, Jace opens his arm toward you. You move into it at once, as naturally as breathing, as though you have done it a thousand times before. Because you have. Your head settles against his shoulder, his arm folds around your waist, and the blankets shift around you both as you settle more comfortably together.

Eventually you feel his lips brush lightly against your hair, a sleepy, lingering kiss that makes you smile before you can stop yourself.

“Tired?” you murmur.

“A little.”

“You should sleep.”

“So should you.”

The waves continue their endless song beyond the walls.

His deep voice got you to look up at him, making you smile like you always did when he came back. “Oh, you’re back. How was the hunt?”

He did not answer right away. Instead he dropped his bow and walked to you, leaning in without thinking.

The scent was coming straight from your neck. It was sweet but addictive, something in it just made his tail curl behind him.

You tilted your head, giving him more access to your neck, but you were a little confused. “You okay?”

He breathed in deeper, almost pressing his nose against the side of your neck. “This scent… did you make this today?”

You laughed and shook your head. “No, I wasn’t making anything new. The other perfumers told me to test this one when I’m alone. They said it might be too strong for normal days. Do you not like it?”

Neteyam stayed still, breathing you in. His right hand rested on the counter, while his left gently gripped your waist, keeping you in place.

“It’s… really good. Too good.” He pulled back to look at your back properly. “You smell… really dangerous right now, y/n...”

You felt your cheeks warm up fast. He had never said anything like that before. “Dangerous? It’s just a perfume, skxawng.”

He turned you around, now you’re facing him as both his arms trapped you with the counter. “I have smelled all your creations, this is not your style. What did they put in it?”

You shrugged, trying to ignore how fast your heart was beating by his presence. “Some night blooming flowers, i think. A little musk from the forest, and something sweet they wouldn’t tell me the name of.”

Neteyam nodded but his eyes kept drifting back to your neck. “It suits you.”

You swallowed hard. The two of you had been best friends for years. He helped you test every scent, carried heavy baskets for you, and always gave the most honest feedback for your scents. But right now he was looking at you in a way that made your stomach flutter.

You nudged him like you always did. “C’mon, you’re just exhausted from the hunt. Go wash up before you start saying… weird things.”

He did not move though, instead leaned in again, nose brushing just under your ear. “I’m not that tired...” he whispered to your ear.

The air between you felt thicker now. You bit your lip knowing you had liked him for a long time, way longer than you would ever admit. I mean, how could you not, right? He was strong, respectful, kind, and always there for you.

But he was Neteyam, Toruk Makto’s first son, a mighty warrior, your best friend.

You were lucky enough to be even called his best friend.

“Neteyam…” you whimepred.

”Should I stop?”

You did not say stop. Instead you stayed quiet, cheeks burning hotter as he searched your face.

He moved first. His hand came up to cup your jaw gently, “May I?”

You gave a shy nod as he leaned in and kissed you. The kiss started slowly but quickly turned deeper. You kissed him back, heart pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it.

He moved closer, his body brushing against yours, making you gasp. Taking the moment, he deepened the kiss, when his tongue touched yours, you couldn’t help but let out a moan against his mouth.

You pulled away, putting your hands on his chest and the other on his biceps, breathing fast and blushing hard. “We… What are we doing?”

Neteyam rested his forehead against yours, chuckling. “that was better than any fantasy i’ve ever had.”

You laughed nervously befoee looking away. “Stop lying. You never said anything.”

He smiled a little, thumb brushing your cheek. “Because I didnt wanna ruin what we have. But this scent… I’m sorry... it’s making it very hard to hold back right now.”

You bit your lip, trying to calm your racing thoughts. You glanced at him, whose eyes shut tight, before your gaze drifted below to notice the bump beneath his loincloth.

Oh...

He lifted his face and kissed you again, harder this time. Your hands grabbed onto his shoulders as the kiss grew messy and needy.

You had dreamed about this more times than you could count, but feeling it for real was completely different.

When you broke apart again you were both breathing heavily. “Neteyam wait,” you said, voice shaky. “Are you sure? This isn’t the perfume talking?”

He shook his head and looked straight into your eyes. “The scent made me stop pretending.”

“Really now?”

“Trust me, baby, I have more to thank than just this perfume for making me act this way.”

Your chest felt tight at his words. You pulled his jaw back into another kiss, this one deeper and more desperate.

His hands moved to your waist, holding you closer. You could feel how hard he already was against your thigh. He lifted you suddenly, strong arms wrapping around your legs. Your back hit the wall of the kelku gently.

Neteyam pressed against you, mouth back on your neck as he breathed in that addictive scent again. “Fuck... you smell so good right here…” he groaned, lips brushing your skin before he started sucking.

You whimpered, legs wrapping around his waist on instinct. He ground his clothed cock against your covered pussy. The friction made you moan into his shoulder.

“Neteyam… it feels…”

He kept grinding, one hand holding your ass while the other braced against the wall. “Tell me what you feel. I need to hear it.”

You gasped as he rolled his hips again. “It feels really good. Don’t stop.”

He marked your neck more, leaving small bruises while he kept rubbing against you. Your hands tangled in his braids, pulling every time pleasure shot through you.

It wasn’t helping knowing there was only fabric blocking you from the pleasure, but even then, it was enough to get you riled up.

Neteyam pulled back to look at you, eyes full of heat. “Is this okay?”

You nodded fast, cheeks flushed and breathing ragged. “It’s okay… please.”

He kissed you hard again, grinding slower but deeper against you. The conversation stopped for a moment as you both got lost in the feeling. Your fingers traced his chest, feeling how fast his heart was beating.

“Tell me what you like,” he whispered against your lips. “I wanna make you feel good.”

You bit your lip while whimpering. “I... like when you keep… kissing my neck like that. And keep m-moving like this.”

He did exactly what you asked, mouth back on your neck while his hips rolled against you. The friction on your clit through the thin loincloths was driving you crazy. You could feel how wet you already were.

Neteyam groaned against your skin. “You’re so warm already. May I take this off?” His fingers tugged at your top.

You nodded, lifting your arms so he could pull it away. He stared at your bare chest for a second before leaning down to kiss between your breasts.

You moaned louder, back arching off the wall. “Neteyam…”

He looked up at you. “So beautiful, baby…” His words made your heart flutter even more than the pleasure.

He kept kissing lower, mouth closing around one nipple while his finger played with the other. You held his head there, hips still grinding against him desperately.

The intimacy between friends was still there in the way he checked your face every few seconds, making sure you were okay and you wanted this, too.

After a while he pulled back and carried you toward your sleeping mat. He laid you down gently, hovering over you. “Still okay?”

You reached up and pulled him down for another kiss. “More than okay. I can take you, Neteyam. Hurry.”

He grinned against your lips. “Yeah? You can?” His hand slid between your legs, fingers brushing over your soaked loincloth. “You’re really wet, yknow?”

You blushed harder and tried to hide your face. He chuckled and pulled your hands away. “Do not hide. I love seeing you like this.”

He kissed you again as his fingers pushed the cloth aside and touched you directly. The slow build continued as he explored you with his fingers, learning what made you moan the loudest.

You returned the favor, stroking him through his loincloth until he was panting into your mouth. He kissed you like he had been holding back for years, technically speaking, he is.

His hand moved to your wrist that was teasing him, gently pinning it beside your head before he kissed you again. you kissed him back just as eagerly, soft whimpers slipping out each time he sucked on your bottom lip.

Neteyam groaned and buried his face in your neck again, inhaling that addictive scent while grinding his tewng against your pussy.

“Fuck… so good,” he groaned against your skin. He started kissing and sucking on your neck, leaving marks while his clothed tip rolled into you. You whimpered loudly, hands gripping his shoulders as heat rushed through your body.

“Please...”

As he inhaled your neck, he untied his loincloth to free his ccock that was hard and throbbing, the tip already leaking, and pulled one of your legs around him, pressing you closer so he could rub against you.

Your whimpers cut off when he ground against you harder, his cock rubbing right against your clit. Both of you moaned at the same time.

He lifted his head and looked down at where the two of you were caught in the moment, breathing heavily, a purple flush spreading across his cheeks from the heat and adrenaline. “It feels really good, baby…”

His voice was deep and rough. You blushed even deeper, so turned on by how desperate he looked and sounded for you.

You pulled him back into a messy kiss, tongues sliding together as he kept grinding into you. Your puszy was already getting wet from how good it felt.

His hand squeezed your ass, his hips never slowed down. He kissed you harder, one hand sliding between your bodies to find your slick folds and rub your clit in slow circles.

You moaned into his mouth, thighs trembling around him. He groaned at how wet you were. “All this for me?” You nodded, hips moving against his fingers as he kept teasing you.

He stopped teasing you with his fingers and moved down your body, slowly kissing from your neck to your collarbone, then lower, tracing his way with lingering kisses as he continued downward. your legs were lifted against him, resting near his shoulders as he stayed close to where your body ached for him.

You watched him closely as he, throughout, kept eye contact with you. he was humming between your legs and smelling your scent; even from a distance, near your neck, he could still smell the lingering sweetness of it, as if it was guiding him to your pussy.

“Stop teasing and just...”

you pouted your lips as he wouldn’t even give you the pleasure yet he was so close, but still keeping it just out of reach. He chuckled between your legs, marking every side of your thighs. “let me take my time, baby.”

You looked away from the scene and let your head hit the soft mat, playing with his braids as he marked his way down your body, making sure every one of the elders would get the message that the scent had successfully captured his attention.

“mhm…” you hummed as his other hand lifted to play with your nipples, making sure you weren’t left wanting as he took his time, greedily marking your thighs.

You wanted to rub your thighs together from the way his fingers gently played with you, it was as if he already knew exactly how to get to you.

He could see your pussy glistening with wetness, making him grin before he looked up at your expression and pressed a kiss against your clit, making you jolt.

“N-Neteyam, it—” you couldn’t catch your breath as he licked and circled around your pussy, your grip tightening in his hair.

your eyes rolled to the back of your head, you didn’t even realize you were basically humping onto his face as he helped you reach your pleasure.

He chuckled against your pussy as he witnessed you getting caught in the pleasure, the vibration of his mouth against you making you moan.

“You like that?”

You couldn’t even form full sentences or put your words together as the pleasure really got to you. The way he knew how to move his tongue, with his fingers adding to your pleasure as well, was overwhelmingly good.

You sat up from lying down, using your elbow to guide his head even deeper between your legs. “keep doing that, neteyam...”

“you taste so good, girl… makin’ me wonder if someone else is lucky enough to have this.”

“no… just you.” your voice trailed off; you couldn’t really find it in you to speak further, unable to trust your voice to say the right things.

he hummed, and you could feel every swift movement of his tongue on your body, and it wasn’t helping you at all. “’teyam, i can feel something—”

He stopped licking you, making you whine, and you let yourself fall back onto the futon, pulled away from the rushed pleasure but it left you feeling deprived.

Neteyam chuckled at your reaction. “i apologize, baby. i wanna do something else…” he mumbled.

He went back to your neck once again, sniffing your scent, while your legs wrapped around his hips as he connected your lips together. “What is it?” You whispered.

“i’m sorry, y/n. I just feel… disgusted with myself.” he pulled away from kissing you, looking down at your trembling body.

He could hear your heartbeat dancing in rhythm with his. you cupped his cheeks. “don’t be… if you are… then i should be with myself as well, right?”

“no, baby,” his hand rubbed yours as it caressed his cheeks. “it’s just… i wanna do a lot. i wanna do something that— i shouldn’t even be doing. i shouldn’t even be thinking about doing. to you… it’s really… inappropriate of me. i can’t help it.”

“neteyam, if you’re thinking about… inappropriate things, as you say, then wouldn’t you find me disgusting too? i’m pretty sure you’d be surprised by how my mind is functioning right now…” you bit your lip, unable to let any more words out. it felt like every sentence you held back only exposed your vulnerability and desperation further.

“Tell me please... I wanna know what you’re thinking of.”

You let your hands travel to his hair before pulling him down to kiss his lips, then you licked along his jaw. “want you to… put it in…”

“damn it, baby…” he muttered, taking hold of his cock slowly, giving it a stroke before rubbing it against your wet pussy, coating himself in your slick. “tell me more.”

“I… please. i’m begging you, just put it in…” you cried out, making him grin at your desperation, matching his internal urge, almost screaming need for something to wrap around his cock other than his big palm.

“I will, baby.” he gave you a kiss before slowly pushing the head inside. you gasped at the stretch, nails digging into his shoulders.

He went slow, letting you adjust while kissing your neck again, breathing in that scent. “So tight… you feel perfect around it…”

Once he was fully inside, he started thrusting.

“relax for me, please,” he groaned next to your ear. You could only hold onto him and moan in response as the pleasure hit you quite hard. “S-Sorry...”

Neteyam just kissed your apologies away and fucked you good, one hand supporting himself while the other gripped your thigh. “you have no idea how long i’ve wanted you like this,” he confessed between thrusts.

You kissed him again, messy and desperate as he picked up speed. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the kelku along with your moans.

He felt so good inside you, thick and hot, hitting the perfect spot every time. “You’re doing so well for me. If only you could see how beautiful you look right now...”

His continuous praises for you only made you squeeze around his cock and moan uncontrollably, the way his hips slapped against yours driving you further.

“Don’t move, baby,” he suddenly pulled out, making you whine at the loss. But he quickly lifted your hips, placing a soft fabric pillow beneath them so they rested comfortably, before climbing on top of you, spreading your legs wide and sliding back inside in one smooth thrust.

This time he fucked you harder, eyes locked on your face, the position let him go deep with every roll of his hips while also watching you make pleased faces. “Talk to me, please... Wanna hear your voice.”

You did as he asked, cheeks burning as he pounded into you. Your hands roamed his chest, nails scratching against his biceps every time he hit your sweet spot. “N-Neteyam… you feel— oh, you’re so big…”

The scent on your skin kept driving him crazy. He buried his face in your neck again, licking and sucking marks while his hips snapped against yours.

“It’s big, baby?”

“Y-yes... it is...”

“You can handle it, right?”

You were getting close already, your walls clenching around him, you just kept nodding. His thrusts were halting as he was unable to keep himself steady with how your pussy was clamping around his cock, and the way he was groaning and moaning loudly without hesitation next to your ear was making you feel wetter than you already were.

Making the strongest warrior within your age group moan this loudly, you felt giddy but embarrassed as well knowing somebody could have walked in near your kelku or walked in on you two doing the deed, but you couldn’t care less.

“Let go, baby... I’ll hold you.”

“Neteyam… I’m gonna—”

Your words turned into a loud moan as you came hard, thighs shaking around his waist. He groaned at the feeling of you squeezing him and kept thrusting through it, chasing his own release.

A few moments later he pulled out and spilled across your stomach, thick ropes of cum painting your blue skin.

“…why didn’t you finish inside?”

He hesitated, cheeks burning. “Sorry… I remembered something my father warned me about. I’m not even sure if it applies to us. Also, I panicked.”

“Seriously?” you rolled your eyes before giggling along with him.

He breathed heavily, smacking his neck before his forehead pressed against yours. You both stayed quiet for a second, just catching your breath.

Then you bit your lip, still blushing. “So… Im guessing you really like the new scent?”

Neteyam chuckled and kissed you again, “I think I need you to wear it every day from now on,” he said, grinning against your lips.

“Skxawng… you were wild.”

You cast a glance over your shoulder. Heart, now definitively, in your throat, with shudders running through you at the sight of the hooded figure at your back.

You walk a little faster. Eyes skittering around to see if there are any others around to witness the worst of your fears. Seeing you’re alone, you pick up the pace even more. Any faster now and you’d be jogging. Yet, you don’t want to be too presumptuous. After all, you don’t know if the guy’s even following you. It would be rude to treat him like he’s already committed a crime, when he isn’t guilty of anything other than walking home. And so, out of courtesy,  you give him the benefit of the doubt and stick to power-walking. 

Gratefully, you make it to your outergate. Keys already in your hands. You're happy to find the keyhole on your first try. Even so, with thoughts regarding the worst still unpleasantly lingering in the back of your head, when you pull the door to yourself, you make sure to crack it open just wide enough for only you to slip through. Wanting it to close behind you quickly, so that the automatic lock could do its job and shut out whoever it was that might be following you. 

You skip along, through the passage leading to the inner-yard, paranoid with a simultaneous feeling of being silly for feeling paranoid, side-eying the gate again before you turn the corner—utterly horrified upon what you catch in your peripheral. 

Shit, fuck-fuck-fuck, he made it inside. It's official then, he’s definitely fucking following you. 

This time you skip jogging and go straight to running to reach the door to your block. Hands shaking a little too much to make it on the first try this time, but somehow you manage in your scramble, making sure to pull the door closed behind you, hearing it click in place, signalling that it’s been locked tight. Despite it, just in case you still straight jump up the stairs, two at a time to reach your flat.

You can’t see it, but you hear it—how he makes it through the second door.

Feeling a mix of terror and confusion all at once. You don’t understand, you’re certain you heard the door lock, but somehow now it’s open again. Your keys jingle as you steady them to open your door in a panic. Listening to the stranger climb the stairs. Once it’s open you nearly tumble inside your apartment, all but slamming it shut to lock it—only… along with your keys, there’s another pair jingling in the staircase.

That's when you realize. He’s not following you. He lives here. He’s your fucking neighbour. 

He lives in the apartment under you. He lives in the apartment under you and you’d clearly just treated him like some sort of a criminal. He’s your neighbor and you’d all but slammed two doors in his face and sprinted away from him.

Embarrassment takes the place of your fear, filling it with regret and guilt. “Shit.”

But can he blame you though? Dressed like that? Dark hood hiding his face, like some sort of thief in the night. What were you supposed to do? Hold the door open for him and say “Heya there, mysterious stranger, you wanna come join me for a nightcap?”

“Shit,” you repeat to no one but yourself. Now you’re just being sarcastic because you feel bad. 

You sigh, then decide you’ll apologize next time you see him. A most dreaded and most-certainly awkward event which turns out to be as soon as the next day.

“Oh! Hey!” Newly awoken from your drunken slumber, you’d just stepped out after a failed mission to find some breakfast in your fridge—having found it completely empty except for a couple of expired tubes of condiments. “Hey, you!”

You rush down the steps, seeing the guy from last night lurking outside his apartment door, keys in hand like he’s just locking up to go as well. He pulls out his earphones once he sees you, a little taken aback by the sight of you panting, all out of breath in front of him.

Jeez, you need to start taking the gym more seriously, you think to yourself as you catch your breath. “Hey, listen, I’m real’ sorry ‘bout the other night. That was so rude and uncalled for,” you apologize. Face all riddled with embarrassment and guilt, smiling at him in the awkward hope of his understanding forgiveness.

The only problem is, he’s got no idea who you are or “What’re you on about?”

Oh, you pause, maybe he hadn’t noticed you? Still, you start explaining, “Last night, or well, this morning I guess, we came home at the same time. I was sorta… nearly, kinda running away from you? I was drunk and paranoid—I didn’t know you live here—I should have held the door open. Anyway, I just wanted to say sorry.”

His chin tilts up in recognition after that, “Ah, right, yeah,” then waves his hand, saying, “No worries. I know how it is. Dressed the way you were, I'd have been scared too. Hardly recognized you without that little dress you had on.”

You look down at yourself, all covered up in baggy sweatpants and a hoodie—a far cry from yesterday’s get-up—now make-up free, not to mention your hair in a messy updo. No wonder he didn’t put two and two together.

“Right,” you giggle then, suddenly feeling embarrassed for a whole other reason. You were just going to pop in and out to the store—you hadn’t exactly accounted for anyone to see you. “Yeah, I was just gonna grab some breakfast. Mornin’ after and all that—need something fatty, you know?”

He returns your smile, way cooler than you, eyeing you like he’s amused before offering, only with a small pause, “How ‘bout we go to the bakery around the corner? I'll forgive you for yesterday if you pay.”

It stuns you. Thinking, that’s brazen—a little impressed by his forwardness. Your smile gets brighter with another laugh. This was not the morning you were expecting. But heck, why not?

“A’right, sure,” you agree, before putting up your pointer, jokingly stating, “But then we better be square.”

He whistles, “Sounds good to me.”

And that’s how you end up having breakfast with your downstairs neighbour.

And as you sit there, opposite each other, you let your eyes wander because holy cow, he’s absolutely massive. You’d noticed when you were standing inside as well, but you’d been too busy making your awkward apology to really have taken him in.

No wonder your female heart was cowering in your chest last night, it must have sensed the size of the guy from the sound of his footsteps. You're completely flabbergasted how you’ve never seen him before. Two meters easily, big broad shoulders with a back you could build a house on and two gigantic arms that could easily lift it straight above his head and toss it across a football field if he wanted to.

He's a cop, you learn over breakfast. He hits the gym early and comes home during the day or works the late shift and comes home in the morning, which explains why you’ve never run into him except last night. He’s a bit of a routine junkie, he admits. 

And, well, though he doesn’t come clean about it, it’s not hard to tell how he’s also a bit of a flirt.

“I gotta be honest, I thought you’d lost your pants or something,” he chuckles, smirking at you playfully from atop his coffee cup, forcing a permanent heat in your cheeks as well as a cramp from the bashful smile you’re unable to make settle through all his teasing.

“Quit bullying my dress!” you nearly whine. “It’s cute. You can’t deny it’s cute.”

He gives a can’t-argue-with-that type of shrug. “I mean, yeah, I've just never seen such a thing besides on film,” he says, then inquires, “What were you up to anyway?”

“Oh, you know…” You pluck the last blueberry off your plate, wondering if you should order more pancakes. “Just’ at the club with some friends. Dancin’.” 

Popping the berry in your mouth, you decide against another round as you suck the cream off your digits—thinking you should show some restraint in front of the gym-freak across from you. You wouldn't want to come across as a complete glutton either.

Besides, just looking at him is a meal enough on its own, and you can tell he’s enjoying you the same way. And so, you lay it on extra thick for him. “It gets hot in there, so the less you wear the better.”

He scoffs, “Oh, really?” brows raised, grinning at your display. “You sure it ain’t got nothin’ to do with makin’ people look?”

You make a show out of getting offended with a fake gasp, before bringing forth your wrists. Your voice thick with sardonic theatrics, speaking your words through a pout, “Well, arrest me, officer. I didn’t know that was a crime.”

Shaking his head, he chuckles some more at you. “Nah, you’re good. But maybe I should come along to chaperone you next time—you know, make sure you get home all safe and sound.”

He takes another sip of coffee while watching his words and how they affect you. Yeah, he knows exactly what he’s doing, the scoundrel—you know he knows, shamelessly making you gush like this. 

You bite your lip—it’s all you can do to keep yourself from kicking your feet. A man hasn’t flirted with you in broad daylight like this in some time, you don’t even know how long, and you’re not going to lie, it’s making you weak.

“You don’t have work?” you ask—perhaps a little too eager.

But he doesn’t seem to think so, answering with charm, “I get time off just like everyone else.”

You bite your lip, trying to force yourself into acting casual even though you’re squealing on the inside, “Okay, sure, why not? But you gotta promise you won’t be all police-like and stuff though.”

He chuckles again. “Don’t worry. I’ll leave my gun at home.”

Yeah… You end up dating. 

In fact, you make pasta together and fuck that very same night. Multiple times, multiple positions, multiple rooms, and, most important of all, multiple orgasms. 

You’ve never been with a guy like him, outside of your fantasies. A monster truck of a man, he’s practically herculean—he could literally carry you on his back up a mountain if he wanted to. So of course the sex is amazing. He puts you in all kinds of crazy states you’ve never been in before—full-nelson, pile-driver, standing missionary—he fucking rails you like a jack hammer until your positively destroyed.

Honestly you weren’t too sure you liked muscle freaks who could manhandle you any way they want, but now you can say you’ve been fully baptised into the church of size difference and you’re afraid there will be no going back. 

Not only is he built for it, but he’s good at it too. He knows how to foreplay, how to get you going, how to tease and make you all hot and bothered and desperate for it. Not just sexy, but playful. Always joking when knocking on your door—saying FBI open up while posted there in his uniform—roleplaying with it, frisking you after putting you under arrest with real handcuffs, even using his gun sometimes—unloaded, of course.

Outside of sex, he’s a real gentleman too. Takes you out for dates—dinners, parks, movies. Tells you that you look good and wraps you in his jacket when you’re looking chilly—or when he spots other guys leering.

He’s just a really good guy overall. You actually really like him. And that’s saying a lot, given how many shitty dating situationships you’ve had over the past years. This might be something real.

Is what you thought until, well… 

After a few weeks, it's revealed he doesn't like it when you go out by yourself.

It’s nothing, at first—not something you pay much mind to. He’s just a bit protective, is all—any decent man who cares for his girlfriend will show some instinct regarding her safety when he’s not around. It’s normal. 

Still though, you can’t help that it rubs you the wrong way just a bit.

It’s dangerous, he’ll argue, and you can’t really disagree when you've already admitted to being scared going home alone. But even though you know it comes from a good place—that he’s just looking out for you—it’s still a little… you don’t know. Patronizing? 

At least, that’s what it feels like…

Then again, he doesn’t strike you as very traditional. He’s supportive of your studies, comfortable watching chick flicks with you, doesn’t care when you dress like a slob, joins you shopping, cooks for you, he even goes down on you. Like you said, he’s a good guy. And you really like him.

But shit… this increasing need of his to chaperone your every move? You’re not going to lie, it’s getting a little annoying.

“Going somewhere?” he stops you on your way out.

You’d given one another the keys to each other’s apartment some time ago now, and he’d taken it as an invitation to come by anytime he wanted. You thought it was sweet at first, and you still do—your schedules don’t always line up, so it’s nice to keep it easy-access. It’s just, you already told him you’d be busy today.

“Yeah, just out with some girlfriends,” you repeat, sitting down to put on the pair of strappy black heels you’d just bought, excited to hear what the girls will say—already hearing them go silly with cat-calls, howling compliments at you.

“Like that?” he questions, standing with his shoulder leaning against the wall and arms crossed over his chest.

You get up and do a spin, wearing a tight but classy black cocktail dress. “What’s wrong with this?”

He throws his brows up, scratching the back of his neck while stepping closer. “Nothin’.” He releases a sigh, dwarfing your waist in his hands, pulling you flush against him. “You don’t think it's a little dressy for a girl’s night?”

You pout, placing your chin on his chest, batting your lashes with puppy-dog eyes looking up at him. “I like looking nice, is that so bad?”

His hands travel, over the small of your back, down the dome of your ass, swaying with you in his arms. “No. Of course not.” He sighs again, squeezing you tight. “I'm just jealous of whoever’s gonna get to look at you all night.”

You smile, thinking, despite how it gets on your nerves just a bit, it’s still kind of cute how needy he is.

“Where’ you going?” he asks, chin atop your crown, still keeping you close, as though charging himself up, knowing he’s going to be without you for the evening.

“Just the lounge down by the pier.”

He groans then, hauling you off by your forearms to give you a stern look. “You know I don't like when you drink when I'm not around.”

You tilt your head and return his look with a softly patronizing one of your own, silently trying to tell him he’s being childish again like the two of you’d spoken about. Because you had told him—how unreasonable it was. And as mentioned, you were beginning to get a little sick of having to tell him off about it.

When he doesn’t say anything, you roll your eyes and show him enough sympathy to reassure him of how “It’s just gonna be a glass of wine.”

“Mh…” he hums, looking at you, not fully convinced. “Give me five minutes and I'll join you.”

“No.” It slips before you give it much thought. And yet, even after having said it, despite it having been a bit rude, you still don’t regret it or make any proceedings to take it back.

“No?” he echoes. A little affronted—to be expected.

Still, you don’t let it deter you. “Well, it’s a girl’s night. You know…” you explain, hoping to appeal to his sense of reason. “It would be rude if I brought you when the rest of the girls have left their man at home.”

It doesn't seem to persuade him. His face just scrunches, as though the entire idea of a girl’s night is absurd in and of itself, arguing, “Tell ‘em to invite them then. Problem solved. None of you should be out on your own anyway.”

And it’s comments like that that really upset you. You bite your lip, trying to think of the most disarming response—not wanting to fight it out right now, thinking you could bring it up later at a better time.

“I'll be home before ten. I'll only have one glass of wine. I'll take a taxi home. And…” You give him a playful smile as you wrap your arms around his neck and give the locks on his nape a light tug. “I'll make it up to you all night long.”

You feel his frame tense up at the offer, enticed by your words until he, at long last, finally grumbles out a defeated, “Fine.” 

He releases you then, but doesn’t leave you alone for too long before grabbing your chin. 

“No need for a Taxi, I'll come pick you up,” he says firmly, laying it forth like a condition to his allowing you to go. “Stand ready outside at ten o’clock sharp.” 

Giving you a small kiss, he continues before you can voice any complaint. 

“Or else I really will have to spend all night long punishing you.”

It gives you goosebumps. And yet, because you don’t entirely hate the sound of it, you decide to treat it like a joke, and against reading all that deep into it—even though you’re aware there might be some small truth behind the warning. 

You know if your friends were to have heard it, they’d probably disapprove, but come on… Being threatened with sex is harmless enough. 

And so, you brush it off and play along, answering him with a bright and bushy-tailed, “Yes’sir.”

To which he proudly smiles, “Atta’ girl.”

Despite promises made, that first glass of wine disappears quickly. 

You never were much of a slow drinker. Not that you’re an alcoholic either, of course, it’s just… it’s hard pacing yourself when you’re in good company. And your girls? Well… let’s just say they know how to bring the party.

“Another round of wine?” Franny declares more than asks.

You shrink back a little in your chair. Not only not wanting to be a bummer, but also fearing how they’d most likely see right through it not being your decision, then actively begin to judge you for letting yourself be governed by your boyfriend. 

Still, you shake your head and hope they might not catch on. “I shouldn't—”

“What? Why?” Franny immediately boos, all but gawking at you from across the table like you’d just declared you were becoming a nun or something else equally baffling.

Carrie, on the other hand, doesn't seem surprised at all, throwing the rest of her wine back before mumbling, “Or else Mr. Officer will put her under arrest.”

Franny’s head snaps to her at that, again, gasping, “What? Really?”

Carrie throws up a brow, cool like a mean-girl about it, “Oh, you haven’t heard?” before cocking her head back at you, putting you on the spot, “Tell her then. Go on.”

You pout at her judgementalness, knowing you won’t be able to hide it either if she decides to push—which she most certainly will. “Come on, he’s not that bad...”

That’s when her cool demeanor takes a twist, all but banging her glass on the table with her outburst, “Girl, be so real! Man’s a total chauvinist, you gotta break up with him.”

You weren’t in the dark about her attitude regarding your relationship, so it doesn’t exactly come as a big shock to hear her criticize it to your face. It wouldn't kill her to learn some tact though. Even so, you’re willing to forgive her, given you know her tolerance to be rather low and her need to be candid evidently very high.

“I like him,” you defend under her disapproving glare and Franny’s wide-eyed stare, the both of them awaiting something more persuasive.

“Besides…” you drift, feeling the wine in your system forcing you to be a little more honest with both them and yourself. “He’s my neighbour, you know… If I break up with him I'll still have to run into him.”

Carrie deadpans at that. Looking at your square in the eye with dull ones of her own, her mouth catching flies, back to being as suave as always while stating in a more-than-obvious manner, “Start looking for places to move.”

You sigh, pouting even more while you whine, “But I like my apartment.”

There’s a moment of silence, as though in solidarity of your situation, letting you come to terms with what you have to do.

Franny lifts her glass after a moment. A sympathetic quirk on her lips, repeating, now suggestively in comfort, “Another round of wine?”

You look at her, then at Carrie, who just shrugs, also with her glass in hand—tone equally suggestive, “We won’t snitch.” 

You bite your lip, letting their mischief rub off on you like you do so well. Smiling. “Oh, fine. You win.”

The three of you chat more about each other’s hopeless love pursuits, how no men are perfect, how friendship is so much more reliable, and how being alone might just be the only reasonable thing for any one of you.

You like him, but you can see Carrie’s point. You’ve had the same concerns yourself, despite not wording them as harshly as her. Of course you don’t enjoy having to argue about going out with your friends or dressing the way you want. 

Having to ask permission for such things doesn’t make sense to you, and it never will. You’re a grown woman who pays her own bills. You don’t have to run your decisions by anyone. And even if you did feel the need, it would be out of pure consideration—simply to keep the other person in the loop, and not something to be discussed—at the very least not something to be prohibited. You’re not a prisoner, and you’re certainly no child either.

Shit, you don’t know… maybe dating the guy in your building wasn’t the brightest decision after all.

“I said ten,” he admonishes as you step towards the parking lot. 

It’s just gotten dark. You’d hadn’t seen him yet and so the sudden sound of his voice spooks you, making you slap a hand over your pulse with a gasp.

If he notices, he doesn’t seem to mind. Not offering you an apology. Rather the opposite. Standing there, posted against his squad car with his arms folded upon his chest—staring at you like some criminal, awaiting your confession.

“Sorry, it took some time figuring out the bill–”

“You're drunk,” he cuts you off, shaking his head in disapproval as he goes to grab your purse in one hand and your upper arm in the other.

“No,” you argue sharply, saying “I'm not drunk.” because you most certainly are not. In fact, between two glasses of wine and a whole meal, you wouldn't even describe it as being tipsy.

He ignores you while opening the door to the passenger seat, ushering you inside with a strict, “Get in the car.”

You have to roll your eyes. Sarcastically thanking him for not going so far as to place you in the back like an actual arrestee, muttering, “Yes, sir.” under your breath.

He then even leans across you to put on your seatbelt, prompting you to almost push him off. Saying, “Dude, chill. I had two glasses of wine. Like, how—”

“We agreed on one,” he cuts you off again, making it very clear how little interest he had in hearing  any of it.

Again, like his previous comments, it upsets you. In fact, it’s the last straw. “Yeah? Well, you’re not the boss of me. If I want another glass of wine, it’s in my rights to fucking have one.”

You don’t scream it, and yet, he acts like you do. Scolding you like you’re some child throwing a tantrum, nearly growling at you in return, “Lower your voice. I'm not having this discussion with you if you’re going to be yelling.”

You can only scoff, completely flabbergasted by him and his behaviour. “Ugh, you’re so infuriating sometimes,” you nearly shriek, though he shuts the door in your face before hearing it.

He gets in the driver’s seat, snaps his belt in place, and veers out of the lot in one swift movement. In any other circumstance, you’d find his capabilities assuring—maybe even a little arousing. But, right now it only serves to piss you off.

The rest of the drive is silent. You keep your gaze fixed out of the window, not even acknowledging the way his wrist go white wringing the wheel—probably sitting there waiting for you to beg his forgiveness or something stupid.

You don’t know what to say. All you know is that you’re going home by yourself. 

“Give me my purse,” you demand once you’re outside his apartment. Your hand stretched out, waiting for him to hand it to you. You’d abandon it if it weren't for the unfortunate fact that your keys and your phone were both confiscated within it.

“You’ll get it once we’re inside,” he sighs, his entire back bulking with the action, standing with it facing you as he unlocks the door. Again, flat-out ignoring you as if you had no say in the matter.

“No,” you protest, insisting, “I'm going to my own apartment, so give me my purse.”

With his hand once again around your upper arm, he tugs on you despite you planting your feet and pulling back. “Don’t be difficult.”

You grab his wrist, trying to twist it off, but failing. “I don’t need you to baby me—I’m not a fucking child.”

“Oh yeah? You could have fooled me, standing here throwing a fit for everyone to hear.” He only tightens his grip, tugging you harder—so hard you’re forced off balance and nearly fall straight into him. “Now get your butt inside before I throw you over my shoulder.”

He doesn’t give you any time or room to refuse, all but dragging you inside and placing you on the couch with a mean and very nearly brutal shove. “Sit down.”

He then gets down on one knee in front of you. Hands lifting your foot onto his thigh as he begins undoing the straps to your heels.

“I can do that myself—” you try to pry it away from him, but he only pulls it back into place.

“Just sit.”

You don’t know what to do at that point. Eyeing him and the way he was positively radiating annoyance. You’re equally frustrated, and still, you can’t help but be struck with this sensation that it doesn’t matter much when he’s more equipped in enacting his will. 

In the end, you just sit there like he’d commanded, at a loss for what you could do or say—and only getting more frustrated by it.

“Now this,” he declares once done, gesturing to your dress as he gets up, fingers clawing under the hem, beginning to pull it up.

“Stop it already. I said I can do it myself!” Your hands are on his chest then, having had enough—this time officially. “Ugh, just get off, I’m going home!”

You don’t know what happened, but something instinctual must have kicked in once it was clear he wouldn’t listen, because suddenly, without warning, you kicked him in the shin in order to get him off.

But little good it does you...

In fact, it only makes the following events that much worse.

“What's gotten into you, huh? Acting so fuckin’ bratty—” 

His hand is atop your mouth like a piece of duct tape, trapping all unwanted noise beneath it. He’s got you lying on your back now, himself on top of you. Your dress balled up in his other fist, this time opting to rip it off rather than tug you out of it. 

“I swear, nothing good ever comes from letting you women yap amongst yourselves—you always come back with so much attitude and dumb ideas I gott’a straighten out.” 

Your struggles seem to mean nothing to him—all efforts to thwart him, easily ignored. 

“You can bet your ass this is the last time I let you go anywhere with those sluts. I mean, just look at you—dressed like a fucking whore. A shitty fucking influence the lot of ‘em.” 

He succeeds in tearing the dress, throwing it across the floor like trash—passing little consideration to the way it has you squirming beneath him with fat tears now streaming down your cheeks, soaking his fingers in a way that should have been enough to reconsider.

And yet, his eyes seem more concerned with your other articles. 

“You even wear pretty underwear for ‘em—fuck’s that about, huh?” Clicking his tongue, the frown on his face is enough to make your stomach churn—fully terrified of what he meant to do next. 

“What’s left for me?” His eyes meet yours, demanding an answer from you even though your lips were sealed under his grip. “If you go parading around for the entire fucking world to see, what’s left?” 

His other hand balls up into a fist, then bangs against the back cushion to the side of your face, hard enough to make the entire couch skirt just a bit, making you let out a muffled scream, followed by a whimper as you shut your eyes hard and start praying.

“I’m the only one who’s supposed to see you like this. It’s supposed to be my fucking privilege. Something special for me to cherish.” 

You feel his touch return to you, and you tremble receiving it, despite it only softly stroking your skin in ticklish touches, down your chest and belly until stopping at the lace of your panties. 

There’s a heavy sigh, loud enough for the pursuing silence to feel deafening.

“But I guess… if you’re gonna act like a cheap whore, I might as well treat you like one.”

The quickening beat of your heart makes it hard to breathe while your eyes blow open wide at the feel of him tearing at the lace. Your sobbing turns more violent, while your hands fly to keep the flimsy garment in place. 

“No? You don’t want that?” he mocks without humor, and you try your best to shake your head under his hold, every thought begging him to stop. 

Teeth grit, he continues, “Then quit being difficult and start doing what I say. Can you do that?”

You peel your eyes open, now nearly choking on the tears clogging your nose. Sniveling as you give him pitiful nods, hoping it will suffice.

“Good,” he affirms. 

His hold relents after that, just enough for you to be able to suck in a breath. Sill though, calming down takes you a moment, and even then you never fully manage completely—just enough to turn your sobbing into softer bleating.

He allows you the time to recover, before getting up and demanding the same of you. 

“Come on. Bathroom.”

His hand’s on your nape, guiding you like a leash and collar. You keep your head bowed, feeling exposed as you shuffle along just in front of him. Regarding him like a beast on your heels.

You enter the bathroom, where he positions you in front of the sink.

“Let’s get all this clown shit off.” 

His actions are gentler now, but they still feel anything but. Still making you sniffle as you stand there, knees wobbly, stuck in shock as he proceeds to find your makeup remover.

Your breaths are wintry as you stand there, both hands shaking, holding onto the white marble, staring into the drain, terrified to meet his reflection in the mirror above as he starts to drag a wet wipe over your cheeks and lips, rubbing your no-doubt ruined make-up off. 

You watch as each cotton-cloth is discarded one after the other in the basin below, flecked with black mascara streaks and pink rouge, the latest one cleaner than the first few.

“There she is—that’s better,” he coos once done. Caressing your face in his hand as he lifts it up to look straight ahead. 

You don’t want to, but the way his fingers all rub against your jugular, is enough for you to take as a warning. Seeing yourself—your eyes puffy, lashes gathered in wet wisps, bottom lip trembling. 

“My pretty girl.”

He sags forward, lowering his mouth to your neck, kissing you there in slow but heavy mouthfuls. His other hand, the one not holding you by the throat, is snaked around your midriff with his arm across your body, pushing you against him and the way he angles his hips against your ass and grinds into you from the back.

“I’m sorry for getting upset,” he murmurs with a groan then, but it’s not an effective apology. “It’s just so frustrating, you know? To be here, worrying about you out there—epsecially when you don’t take any safety precautions. You just…” His mouth reaches your ear, nuzzling the shell, his breath making it burn. “You drive me fucking nuts.”

You don’t dare reply. You don’t dare do anything. You just keep clutching onto the sink, as though letting go would result in him pulling you away somewhere more dangerous.

“You’re so cruel—always leaving me with my dick in my hand.” His hands fall to your hips, his grip bruising as he kneads you against him and the hard thing jabbing itself against your ass.

“I’m sorry–” comes out of your mouth before you can think.

To which he releases a pent-up chuckle. “That’s okay…” 

He rests his chin on his shoulder, mouth perfectly level with your ear with words holding onto something utterly horrid, saying, “It’s like you said—you can make it up to me.”