♡゙ : 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 𓈒 🍓 ？

“Y/N! Over here!”

Kiri’s voice cut through the noise and you turned around to see her waving frantically from a table near the center of the clearing, surrounded by Spider, Lo’ak, a few of their hunter friends, and him. Neteyam.

Your heart did its usual, foolish flutter, smiling at her before weaving through the crowd toward them. As you drew closer, you noticed the tight seating arrangement.

To be fair, it was filled with men of particularly larger physique. There was barely enough room for Spider, let alone another Na’vi. Neteyam scanned the table and saw the thoughts forming on your your face. You’re going to politely wave Kiri off and tell her you’d eat later instead. So, without a word, Neteyam’s elbow dug sharply into Lo’ak’s ribs.

“Ow!” Lo’ak hissed, nearly dropping his roasted meat.

“Move over,” Neteyam commanded in a low, authoritative murmur, shoving his brother a full foot to the left. Lo’ak grumbled under his breath but complied anyway, leaving a perfectly cleared space right beside Neteyam.

“Oh, there, Y/N!” Kiri offered the seat with a grin.

Neteyam looked up at you with a nonchalant look, acting as if he hadn’t just practically manhandled Lo’ak away. You rounded the table and slowly folded your legs beneath you to sit on the mat beside Neteyam.

“Thank you,” you whispered as you settled into the space. The heat radiating from his side was instantaneous, a contrast to the cool evening breeze filtering through the branches.

“You're late,” he noted, his eyes scanning your face, tracking the slight smudge of soot on your cheek.

Your eyes fluttered, stupidly going mute for a moment with how close he is and before you could actually answer, he reached to his side and pulled a large leaf toward you. Usually, you’re left with a random assortment of scraps when you sit with the other kids you live with at the longhouse, but this one was piled with the sweetest, most tender cuts of roasted meat and roots, and a handful of the rare blue berries you always picked when you go out to forage.

“Kiri prepared it,” he murmured and cleared his throat, pushing the leaf into your hands.

Kiri’s ear twitched at the mention of her name and she turned to the both of you.

You smiled when your eyes locked, “Thank you, Kiri. You shouldn't have bothered...” you said cheerfully.

Her brows furrowed. “For the seat? Sure. I always ask you to eat with us, I don’t know why you also always refuse.” she pouted.

You started eating the meat on your leaf, chuckling at her sulking. The young ones at the other table still need assistance with eating sometimes, and the ones your age are not always as attentive. Your hunger and the fact that you haven’t eaten since breakfast didn’t really register to you until you started downing your food.

Neteyam reached over before silently pushing a small wooden cup of water toward you. You grabbed it and drank the cool water gratefully, the soothing liquid easing the tightness in your chest. As you set the wooden cup down, your fingers brushed lightly against Neteyam’s. A faint, electric warmth jumped across your skin, making your pulse spike, but you forced your eyes to stay fixed on your food.

That was just Neteyam. He was always doing things like this, paying attention to the smallest details, noticing when someone’s cup was empty, sensing when a space needed to be cleared, or when someone needs help. And that was you. You are always in need of help.

So of course, the eldest son of Toruk Makto who was bred from birth to watch over the people, to lead with a watchful eye and a steady hand is always ready to give it. This kindness extends over everyone and not really a special favor to you, because it was simply the fabric of who he was. He was just as attentive to the young hunters learning to string their first bows.

You looked up briefly, watching from the corner of your eye as he laughed at a joke Spider made, his teeth flashing in an easy air, his shoulders relaxed.

You loved him.

You had loved him for as long as you could remember, but it wasn't the kind of love that demanded possession. You didn't dare dream of standing beside him as his mate, or wrapping your songcord around his wrist in front of the whole clan. To you, Neteyam was like the great Hometree itself. Magnificent, sheltering, and belonging to everyone. You were entirely content to admire him from the periphery, to be the quiet shadow that appreciated his warmth without ever asking to burn in it. Knowing that he was safe, that he was thriving, and that he would one day be the glorious leader the Omatikaya deserved... That was enough for you.

“Hey, Y/N,“ Lo’ak suddenly spoke up, breaking you out of your thoughts. He was leaning across the table, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he looked between you and his older brother. “You know, if you're always this hungry, you should just hunt with us. Neteyam here can teach you how to properly take down a hexapede. He would be so eager to share his wisdom with you.”

Neteyam’s ears immediately flared, pinning back slightly against his head. He didn't look at Lo’ak, but his jaw tightened. “What are you even talking about,” he calmly said in a low voice, bringing his cup to his lips to sip.

“She works in the kitchens and the nurseries, Lo’ak,” Kiri said, crossing her arms against her chest. “She doesn't need to waste her time missing targets with you.”

“I don't miss!” Lo'ak protested, throwing his hands up.

“You missed twice yesterday,” Neteyam retorted smoothly, his tone perfectly even, though he reached out and casually grabbed another sweet root from the center platter, dropping it onto your leaf without a word.

Across the circle, Kiri rested her chin in her hands, her gaze drifting between you and Neteyam with a quiet, knowing expression. She didn't say anything, but the subtle quirk of her brow made your forehead crease in confusion. You arranged the meat, roots, and fruit properly, scanning the table for a spare leaf to cover and fold it with, only to see all their leaves scantily discarded.

You bit your lip, planning to get up and get a fresh leaf. You hadn't even made a sound, but without breaking eye contact with the hunter he was speaking to, Neteyam’s hand shot out and gently caught your wrist. His grip was warm, his thumb resting right over your pulse point.

“Leaf?” he murmured over his shoulder to you, seamlessly continuing the conversation with the hunter. With his free hand, he grabbed a clean leaf from a neighboring table and gave it to you.

Across the circle, Lo’ak stopped chewing. He looked at Neteyam, then at you, and a slow, wicked smirk spread across his face watching you begin to fold the leaf.

“Are you full or are you just bothered with what Lo’ak said?” he asked quietly as their friends began to talk and laugh loudly.

Your forehead creased, chuckling. “I am full. I am bringing this back to the kids,” you said. “They tend to get really hungry in the middle of the night.”

Neteyam watched your hands work, his eyes tracking the neat, careful way you bind the leaf. “Then we should add more,” he said, his tone telling you this was a no-brainer.

“No, there’s no need. The kids also need to learn how to make do with what’s there. Besides, the food is rationed...” you reasoned.

He huffed. “Even so. The kids need to eat... But then, it’s your decision. You’re basically the one raising them,” he said in a soft voice, staring at your side profile, but he immediately caught himself. “The clan is thankful to you for that.” he added in a flat tone, looking away to look at the mess on the table instead.

“We have sisters in the longhouse as well, I am not entirely alone in it,” you replied, finishing the bundle.

When the dinner finally wound down and the people began to disperse, laughing and slapping each other's shoulders, you stayed behind. It was muscle memory at this point. You knelt to gather the leaves, the discarded bowls, and wipe down the tables

“I swear, you're the one running this clan, Y/N,” Kiri mused, dropping to her knees beside you to stack a pile of the bowls. She shook her head, though her eyes were fond.

“Don't exaggerate, Kiri,” you laughed, leaning over to pick up a stray cup. Before your fingers could touch it, a large hand closed around it first.

You looked up. Neteyam was kneeling right there, seamlessly joining the cleanup. He didn't say anything at first, just quietly moving around the space, stacking heavy bowls and carrying them toward the washing area so you wouldn't have to. He was a warrior, built for the hunt, yet he moved through the domestic chore with a quiet, efficient grace.

“Go on ahead, Kiri,” Neteyam suddenly said, not looking up from his task. “We’ll finish up here.“

Kiri looked between the two of you, pursing her lips. “Right. I’ll get going...” she said in a singsong voice, giving your shoulder a quick squeeze before wandering off.

With just the two of you left, the silence felt thick, charged with the steady hum of the forest outside. Neteyam worked quickly, ensuring you didn't have to bend down for a single heavy object. When the last mat was cleared, you turned to him, wiping your hands. “Thank you, Neteyam. Good night.”

You quickly turned to head toward the winding path that led up to the high branches, but his footsteps closely followed yours.

“I'm walking you up,“ he stated like it was a fact of the moment.

You shrugged. He often does that anyway. “Alright. But just so you know, I know my way home,” you chuckled.

“It's dark, and the higher ledges are slick from the evening dew,” he replied smoothly, his hands resting casually on his hips as he looked down at you. It was the perfect excuse, the responsible commander looking out for a clan member. He completely ignored the fact that you climbed these branches every single day of your life without a single slip. He was only glad you didn't argue.

But that was mainly because walking up the winding pathways of Hometree beside him was quite the torture you can’t refuse. The warmth of his body shielded you from the cool draft blowing through the upper canopy, and you know, that when you lay awake later, you will think about every detail of tonight like a teenage girl with a crush.

When you reached the longhouse where orphaned children are housed, the low, collective breathing of sleeping kids greeted you. There were children as young as four years old huddled together on the woven mats.

“Here we are,“ you whispered, turning to him. “Thank you.”

“Good night, Y/N,” he murmured, his eyes lingering on your face in the dim light of the bioluminescent moss.

You slipped inside, finding your spot on the floor. Almost instantly, a tiny four-year-old girl stirred, whimpering in her sleep before crawling over and burying her head against your side. Another young boy shifted, tossing his arm over your legs. You smiled softly, wrapping your arms around them to draw them close, and began to softly hum a low, soothing lullaby.

Outside the shelter, Neteyam stood still. He listened to the faint, sweet sound of your humming, his chest tightening with an unfamiliar, fierce warmth. He told himself he was just ensuring everything in the clan was sound before he left. He told himself that a warrior simply values peace in the clan. He didn’t want to acknowledge anything other than that.

A few days later, the forest was alive with the bright golden light of the afternoon. You were deep in the woods, leading a small group of the younger children on a foraging trip. Among them was Tuk, who was practically bouncing on her heels.

“And this one! What does this one do? Can we eat it? Is it poisonous? Will it turn my tongue blue like Lo'ak's when he ate those bad berries?” Tuk fired off questions without breathing, pointing at a glowing fern.

You laughed enthusiastically, kneeling down so you were at her eye level. “No, Tuk, this one isn't for eating. But see these veins? If you ever get a scrape, you can mash these leaves up and put them on the cut. It stops the stinging.”

“Whoa,” Tuk gasped, her eyes wide with wonder.

You gathered the children closer, holding up a bright, deceptively beautiful leaf. “Now, look closely at this one. See these tiny, pale hairs on the edges? Never, ever touch this. They have sharp, pin-like needles. They will stick into your skin and itch for days. Do you understand?”

The children all nodded solemnly, completely captivated by your voice.

You were so focused on their wide, curious eyes that you didn't hear the soft rustle of the brush behind you. Neteyam had just finished his patrol. His body was tired, his muscles tense from hours of scouting, and by all accounts, he should have reported straight to his father. Yet, the moment his duties were cleared, his feet had carried him straight toward the woods.

He had known Tuk was with you, as usual. He had used that exact thought to make himself comfortable with the decision. I'm just checking on my sister, he told himself, ignoring the way his heart had done a strange, eager leap the moment he saw the bright feathers of your long braids.

“Neteyam!” Tuk’s high-pitched voice suddenly rang out.

You blinked, turning around as the circle of children parted. Neteyam has already reached your flock, looking every bit the fierce warrior the kids idolized. The children instantly gasped, looking at him with awe.

“The teacher is so immerse... A palulukan could have attacked anytime,” he said in a humored voice, his lips curling in a smirk.

Your lips twisted. “And the hunter should have also known that these paths are not the paths a palulukan would take,” you playfully narrowed your eyes but you grew serious right away. “Did you come to get Tuk? We were just about to walk home, it's almost eclipse.”

Neteyam paused, his tongue catching in his throat. You were so practical and straight to the point. It was exactly the excuse he had prepared in his mind should you question his presence, but hearing you say it so plainly made his chest feel strangely hollow. He couldn't admit to you, or to himself, that Tuk was entirely secondary.

“Yeah...” he said, clearing his throat and rounding the group of children, his ears twitching slightly. “I just got back from patrol.”

“We better get back, kids,” you announced, clapping your hands together. “The skies will darken in minutes and we don’t want to be caught in the dark.”

The children obediently scrambled into a line, holding each other's hands and walking ahead of you. You and Neteyam fell into step behind them, keeping a watchful eye on the little line.

“They're so good with you,” Neteyam murmured, watching a little boy trip over a root, only for Tuk to proudly help him up. “They actually listen. When I try to tell Tuk to stay put, she completely ignores me.”

You chuckled, a warm, genuine sound that made Neteyam’s gaze snap right to you. “It is only because I speak to their curiosity and I rarely demand for their obedience. They are curious kids and they are really behave when you speak to them about what they want to know.”

Neteyam watched you as you walked. The fading sunlight filtered through the canopy, catching the amber light in your eyes. He stifled a soft smile, a sudden wave of something fierce washing over him. You were almost exactly the same as the kids you were teaching. You had grown up, yes, but that pure, undiluted light in your eyes had never faded. You were still the same curious, incredibly polite, and deeply kind girl who used to sit in the corner of his family's hut, laughing quietly with Kiri.

He found himself stepping just a little bit closer to you as the shadows of the forest lengthened, completely oblivious to the knowing pairs of eyes watching over you both from the high branches of Hometree.

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

The atmosphere inside Hometree felt unusually heavy. You were returning from a long day in the woods, carrying a basket of rare roots and leaves that Mo’at had explicitly requested. This was exactly what you did for the clan: anything. You don’t really have an official designation; you were simply someone who could do anything. An errand girl.

Mostly you gather fibers for the weavers and forage for the cooks, but when necessary, you could weave and cook, too. Your mornings were spent with the children, and since most of your chores were usually over before the communal dinner, you manage to help in the kitchens as well.

And now, you felt fortunate that you were tasked to the woods to gather the herbs the Tsahik is in need of, because an older hunter from the Olangi passing through the Omatikaya territory had chanced upon you and talked to you about your great aunt, Suk’tet.

It is not like you’ve ever met this lady before... Despite your mother being Olangi, you grew up in the Omatikaya; but still, your mind was occupied and weighed down by the conversation you had with the hunter.

“She is very sick, child. The fever clings to her like a shadow, and the people are afraid she will pass without any of her blood with her.”

The news left a cold ache in your chest. Already feeling deeply dispirited, you hugged the basket closer to your chest and decided to take a quiet shortcut, intending to quickly drop off the herbs and retreat to the high branches. But as you rounded the pavillion toward the back entrance, the sound of low, intense voices made you freeze in your tracks.

“…she will ground you when the burden of leadership becomes too heavy,” Mo’at’s sharp voice echoed clearly through the space.

“Y/N?”

Your breath hitched. It was Neteyam’s voice.

“Tsahik, I see that you mean well,” Neteyam continued, his tone formal but strained. “Y/N is a good woman. She cares deeply...”

“There is a but. What is it?” Neytiri’s voice cut in, smooth and unyielding.

“Mother, I… I don’t see why you cannot see what I mean,” Neteyam sighed, his frustration bleeding through his words. “You are an Olo'eyktan's mate, and you are strong. A fearsome warrior who helped Dad fight his battles. Y/N… She’s… She cannot even hunt for herself. She cannot protect herself either. If I were to choose my mate, it would be someone who is capable of protecting my children because I would be completely occupied with protecting the people.“

Your stomach dropped, a cold, sickening weight pooling in your gut. Your grip tightened so hard on the basket that the stalks of the fresh herbs began to snap under your fingers.

“She works with children right now and you can see she is good with them,” Mo’at grinded.

You heard Neteyam sigh. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

Your breathing hitched. You can literally feel goosebumps raise on your skin from how cold you were feeling inside.

“You underestimate Y/N,” Neytiri replied, her voice carrying a fierce edge. “Her father was an honorable warrior of the Omatikaya, and her mother a warrior of the Olangi.”

You heard Neteyam let out a sharp huff. “And she is not them, mother,” he said flatly. “I hope you are hearing how ridiculous this is.”

“Enough,“ Mo’at commanded. “You have spoken too much, and I hear you. I will not speak of this again.”

Pressing your back against the column, you gritted your teeth, your entire body shaking as you fought back the hot tears threatening to spill over. You bit your lip so hard you tasted copper, forcing yourself to stay entirely silent. A moment later, Neteyam strode out of the pavilion. His posture was rigidly stiff, his jaw clenched, his steps heavy as he walked right past your hiding spot without noticing you.

You closed your eyes and forced a ragged breath into your lungs, desperately calming your racing heart. He was right about everything. It was a ridiculous idea. You didn't even know what had possessed Mo’at and Neytiri to pitch such a far-fetched match. But understanding his logic didn't mean it didn't cut you to the absolute core. He was so utterly appalled by the very concept of you being his mate that he could barely find a kind word to soften his rejection. To him, you were completely unsuited and unimaginable.

Waiting until the burning in your throat subsided, you stepped out from the shadows and walked into the pavilion. Mo’at and Neytiri were sitting in a heavy, tense silence. Neytiri’s eyes widened slightly in surprise as you approached, her gaze searching your face, likely wondering just how long you had been standing outside.

Acting as completely normal as you could muster, you knelt and began pulling the herbs from your basket. “I have the roots you asked for, Tsahik,” you said, your voice tight but clear.

Neither of them spoke. They remained utterly silent, the weight of the air suffocating, until Mo’at uttered a simple, quiet thanks for your job. You bowed your head and left as quickly as your legs could carry you.

During dinner that night, the vibrant atmosphere of the communal area felt entirely distant. For the first time in your life, you felt exhausted. You took a seat at the lower ledges with your companions from the longhouse, instantly diving into the task of tearing up meat and mashing roots for the younger children. You didn't get a single bite onto your own leaf. You couldn't eat anyway, your throat felt entirely closed up. You just wanted the day to end so you could finally curl up in your sleeping mat and cry where no one could see you.

Across the clearing, Neteyam sat at his usual table, completely distracted. His neck craned, his eyes trained on your back. You were turned away from him, your shoulders slightly hunched as you patiently fed a few toddlers. He had been watching long enough to know that you hadn't taken a single portion for yourself.

A strange, sharp pang clawed at his chest. Neteyam knew there was no possible way you could have heard his conversation with his mother and grandmother, yet an irrational sense of fear kept pulling his gaze back to you. He tried to tell himself he had done the right thing. He knew, ever since he was a child, that he did not belong to himself. His choices weren't his own. He belonged to his parents’ expectations, his siblings’ protection, and the future of the entire Omatikaya clan.

He knew, without a doubt, that should the council choose someone they deem suited for him, that he would mate with her. For his part, he believed that he needed a fierce warrior by his side. Much like the partnership his parents had. It was the only logical choice for the people.

Yet, he knew what he felt when Mo’at had pitched the idea of you being his mate. His heart had leapt into his throat with a terrifying, fierce surge of possessiveness, a reaction he had immediately suppressed and buried under cold, harsh logic. That was impossible. How could he be so selfish?

He wanted to talk to you. He needed to hear your voice, to see that quiet, comforting smile that usually settled his mind after a long day. He felt ridiculous. Pathetic. He feels weighed down by what he said about you, by how he disparaged you to his mother and Mo’at, and yet here he is, desiring to hear your voice.

And because he is selfish when it came to you, he decided he would wait until the dinner ended, knowing you would stay behind to clean the tables, and he would help you just like he always did. That plan calmed him down a little.

But it didn’t last long. From your table across the clearing, he saw you stand up. Neteyam’s forehead creased in immediate confusion as he watched you gather five of the youngest children, gently guiding them away from the light of the fires and out of the clearing.

Without even thinking, Neteyam pushed off his mat and stood up to follow you. He was delayed, forced to weave through the crowded tables and dodge a few greeting hunters, his eyes never leaving the path you took. By the time he broke away from the crowd and stepped onto the winding ramp upwards, you were already high up in the branches, nearing the longhouse.

He climbed quietly, his long strides easily closing the distance. Just as he reached the platform of the shelter, he caught sight of you returning from the back of the longhouse, lifting a wooden basin of water.

You stopped dead in your tracks when your eyes landed on him standing in the dim light. You managed to force a small, flickering smile before continuing to walk toward the doorway.

Neteyam immediately stepped into your path, making you halt. Up close, he could see the profound exhaustion in your posture. You looked completely dispirited, your usual warmth entirely replaced by a hollow, distant look that he couldn't quite put a hand on.

“You didn’t stay until the end of the meal,” he said softly, his eyes tracking the way your body was already angled toward the entryway, as if you couldn't stand the thought of lingering for even a second.

Your lips parted slightly, your eyes flickering away, struggling to maintain eye contact. “Uh, yes. The kids are done eating, and I’m putting them to bed,” you murmured.

“You didn't eat much,” he blurted out, the words slipping past his lips before he could stop them. He hadn't meant to sound like he had been watching your every move, even though that was exactly what he had been doing.

Your forehead creased, and you looked up at him as if he had suddenly grown two heads. The irony of his sudden concern was almost laughable. “I’m not that hungry,” you said quietly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Is there anything you need, Neteyam?”

The straightforward, practical question hung in the air. He didn't have an answer, because he didn't even know why his feet had dragged him all the way up here. “No, nothing—”

“Y/N!!!”

Milo's high-pitched, crying voice suddenly pierced the air from inside the longhouse.

Setting the basin down with a hurried splash, you immediately rushed inside, with Neteyam following close behind. Little Milo was sitting on the woven mats, tears streaming down his face as the other children frantically explained that they had been playing a reckless game of tag in the dark and he had tripped.

“How many times have I told you not to run inside in the dark?” you scolded them gently, kneeling down to inspect a small, bleeding scratch on Milo’s elbow. Neteyam quickly light the hanging firepots up. You sighed, turning toward your side of the longhouse where your baskets of healing supplies were kept. “Stay still, Milo. I'm going to get the salve.”

“Let me see,” you heard Neteyam’s deep voice resonate through the small shelter.

You paused, turning your head to see him already kneeling in the spot you vacated. He was carefully dipping his large, calloused fingers into the basin water, his touch remarkably gentle as he began to wash the dirt from the little boy's scratch. “A future hunter doesn't cry over a little scrape like this, right? You have to be brave,” Neteyam murmured, a soft, encouraging smile on his face that made Milo instantly sniffle and nod bravely.

You walked back over, your chest aching at the sight, and silently applied the herbal salve to the wound, wrapping it neatly in a strip of soft, woven cloth.

Standing up, you turned to the rest of the wide-eyed children. “All of you, wash your hands in the basin and get to your sleeping mats right now,” you commanded.

“Y/N, will you tell us a story tonight?” one of the younger girls pleaded, looking up with big, hopeful eyes.

“No,” you said strictly, keeping your tone firm despite the exhaustion pulling at your eyelids. “As punishment for your rowdiness causing Milo to get hurt, there will be no story tonight.”

A collective, dramatic groan echoed through the longhouse.

You let out a soft sigh, your features softening just a fraction. “There will be a lullaby instead. Now, to bed.”

They immediately scrambled to their mats, grumbling but obedient. You turned around to face Neteyam, who was now standing by the entrance, his tall frame nearly brushing the upper beams of the longhouse as he watched you.

“Thank you for helping with Milo,” you whispered, your voice completely devoid of the playful, affectionate teasing you usually shared with him. You kept your distance, your hands clasped tightly behind your back.

He looked down at you, his golden eyes deep and swirling with unspoken words. His lips parted, his ears twitching slightly as if he were fighting the urge to reach out, to say something, anything, to bridge the immense, freezing distance that had suddenly formed between you.

“Y/N, there’s something—”

“You should definitely go now, Neteyam,” you interrupted softly, using the kids as an immediate shield. “The children need to settle down, and it needs to be quiet in here. Good night.”

“I should go then,” Neteyam said softly, his voice dropping into that familiar, quiet register. He lingered by the threshold, his eyes scanning your face one last time, searching for whatever was casting that heavy shadow over your usual warmth. “Good night, Y/N.”

The moment his tall, muscular frame disappeared past the woven flap of the longhouse, the forced smile slid completely off your face. Your chest felt like it was being compressed by a great, invisible fist. You turned back to the kids, pushing the agonizing memory of his cruel words deep down into the recesses of your mind. Tonight, you couldn't afford to break.

After all, you do care deeply. That’s your defining trait.

You sat down on the woven mats, and as promised, you began to softly hum a low, soothing lullaby. The children huddled close, their breathing slowing down as sleep claimed them one by one. But as the longhouse grew quiet, the heavy silence only made the echo of his voice louder in your head.

For years, you were content to just exist in his orbit. You knew your place. You were practically just doing the scraps of everyone’s work. You were who they remember when they needed something done and didn’t want to ask their equal to do it. You do the thankless tasks while the real warriors bled for the clan.

Someone like Neteyam needed a mate who could ride into battle beside him, a woman with fire in her blood and not someone whose greatest talent was comforting crying children in the dark.

Your eyes pricked with hot tears before it spilled over. You huddled close to a sleeping child, closing your eyes and letting the darkness swallow you, wishing more than anything that you could simply disappear.

The next morning brought a shift in the wind, and with it, a strange sense of timing. You were on your way to deliver a fresh batch of woven sleeping mats to the lower ledges when one of the clan's senior scouts stopped you in the corridor.

“The Tsahik calls for you, Y/N,” he said, his face grave.

You shifted your weight on your other foot, feeling a bit of unease. “What for?” you asked.

He shrugged. “Just go. It seems important. An Olangi rider came at dawn, must be about your mother’s family.”

You shifted the heavy stack of woven mats to your other hip, a cold knot of dread tightening in your stomach. “Thank you. I will go right away,” you murmured to the scout.

But you didn't drop everything, for that wasn't in your nature. You marched down to the lower ledges first, carefully laying out the fresh bedding for the families who needed them, ensuring the task was finished before you finally turned your steps toward the healing pavilion.

When you stepped past the beaded curtain, the scent of crushed leaves and dried roots filled your senses, and you saw Mo’at sitting near the central hearth, grinding paste in a heavy stone mortar.

You knelt before her, keeping your posture perfectly respectful. “Good day, Tsahik. I was told a messenger arrived. Is it about my great aunt, Suk’tet?”

Mo’at paused, her sharp eyes tilting upward as she studied your face. “Indeed, it is,” she said, her voice a low, gravelly hum. “How is it that you already know?”

“I chanced upon an Olangi hunter near the borders yesterday,” you explained softly, keeping your eyes trained on the dirt floor so she wouldn't see the lingering redness in them. “He told me of her condition.”

Mo’at nodded slowly, setting her pestle aside. “The message confirms it. The fever has gripped Suk’tet tightly. She is growing older and the spirit grows weary when left to fight in an empty home. The Olangi council sends word to us out of respect for your mother’s blood.”

You let out a quiet, heavy breath. “I should go and take care of her, Tsahik,” you said, your decision born from what you were feeling more than what you are thinking. “I am Omatikaya, but the Olangi blood is half of who I am. I want to tend to her.”

Mo’at’s eyes narrowed slightly, a quiet, knowing look swimming in their depths. “Are you certain, young one? Reconsider the children you spend your days with. They look to you for much.”

You bit your lip as your gaze lowered, feeling guilty that you hadn’t even thought of them when you decided. You will miss them all dearly. “The children have other adults who will ensure they are fed and looked after,” you replied. “But my great aunt has no one. She only has me.”

Mo’at stared at you for a long moment, the silence stretching between you until she finally gave a single, slow nod. “Go then. I will arrange your travels. May the Great Mother guide your path.”

You spent the next two days privately packing your meager belongings, but true to your nature, you refused to leave your duties unfinished. You spent your mornings foraging double the usual amount of roots, wanting to leave the longhouse well-stocked before your departure.

On your final afternoon, you were walking back toward Hometree through the lower forest trails, guiding a small flock of children who were carrying tiny bundles of sweet-pods. The sun was dipping low, casting long, amber shadows through the trees, when a familiar rustle in the brush made your posture instantly stiffen.

You turned and saw Neteyam step into the clearing. His bow was slung over his shoulder, his skin still glistening with light sweat from a perimeter run. His gaze immediately locked onto you, a sudden, bright intensity flaring in his golden eyes.

You stopped and he immediately noticed the apprehension on your face. “Tuk is not with us today, Neteyam,” you stated, cutting straight to the only logical excuse he could possibly have.

Neteyam paused, his ears twitching backward slightly at the precision of your voice. “I know,” he said softly, taking a step closer.

You grimaced slightly, turning your attention to a little boy who was struggling with his bundle, adjusting the strap for him to avoid looking at Neteyam. “We are just heading back. It is nearly time for the evening meal.”

He nodded. “I’ll walk you,” he said.

You gritted your teeth, guiding the kids to walk ahead of you. “Do you think I cannot... protect these children, Neteyam?” you blurted out, your mouth getting ahead of your mind.

You saw his head rear back for a moment, shadows of surprise and something you cannot pinpoint crossing his face. “Of course, I do. You are good with these children, Y/N,” he said.

You fought the urge to roll your eyes, but you did look away, your brows almost touching your hairline as you gritted your teeth. Neteyam angled his head to look at you properly.

“Seriously. I do not have a single doubt that you’d protect these children to the best of your ability,” he murmured.

You lifted your brows and nodded. “Yes, I believe you, Neteyam,” you replied before stepping past him to guide the children who are stepping out of their line.

He followed after you, casually walking beside you. “We’re going on a two-week-long hunt in the western forest. Is there anything you want from there?” he asked, his hand extending half an inch as if he wanted to reach out, though he caught himself.

“Nothing I can think of right now,” you said politely. “But thank you.”

His lips parted to say something again, but one of the kids already snagged your attention. He took a deep breath through his nose. You were never really as close to him as you were with Kiri, so now he doesn’t know what else to say just to keep you standing in front of him for a few moments longer. He wanted you to tell him to be safe. He wanted you to look at him with that quiet trust that always secretly anchored his heart.

Instead, your expression was entirely vacant and he couldn’t find the warmth in your voice. He watched you walk the children up the roots leading to Hometree, and when the kids are finally under the safety of the hollowed trunk, he spoke again.

“It has been years since we last hunted in the western forest,” he said, stalling you with a conversation. “I remember it was a hundred times more perilous than this one.”

“Then it would probably be best if you report to your father now to prepare for the hunt,” you said, turning to the kids to make sure they aren’t pushing each other off the winding ramp. “I need get the kids up to the common area.”

Before he could utter another syllable, you stepped past him, your shoulder brushing the air inches from his chest. Neteyam stood frozen in the middle of the entryway, his fist clenching at his side as he watched you retreat into the winding ramp. The cold, empty hollow in his chest was growing wider, and he didn't know how to stop it.

That night at dinner, the communal area was alive with the boisterous shouting of the hunting parties preparing for the grand hunt. But Neteyam sat at their usual table in absolute silence, completely ignoring the loose banter between Lo'ak and Spider.

His eyes were trained like a predator's on the lower ledges.

He watched you sit with the young ones from the longhouse, watched you tear up meat, wipe smudges from tiny faces, and hand out portions, completely ignoring your own leaf. Once again, he hadn't seen you take a single bite all night. A deep, agonizing urge to stand up, walk over, and force you to eat burned in his gut, but the heavy expectations of his position kept him pinned to his mat.

He looked forward to the end of the meal again, his heart hammering against his ribs. He thought of coming clean, of telling you what happened with his mother and his grandmother, and everything he had said. He debated fiercely with himself. Would telling you about the matchmaking only hurt you more? You knew nothing about it, or so he thought, and explaining his rejection might just plant a seed of pain where there was none.

He didn’t know if he were only imagining things. That perhaps he was so guilty, he was imagining you pulling away because of the damning words he had uttered in the healing pavillion. He’s pretty sure you weren’t always like this. You were never dismissive, especially of him. You were always happy to talk to him. Always looking at him like he personally hung the stars in the sky.

He looked at Lo’ak who is busy eating. Everyone in the table is immersed in a conversation and... he just needed to ask.

“Lo’ak,” he called in a whisper and Lo’ak immediately turned to him.

“Oh?” Lo’ak asked, his brows furrowing at the distraction.

He swallowed, biting the inner flesh of his lips. “Do you... Do you remember what Y/N is like?” he whispered.

Lo’ak looked to the side in confusion. “Y/N...?” he repeated. “What she is like?” Lo’ak closed his eyes for a moment. “She’s just a few tables down, bro. Why are you asking that as if she’s gone or something?” he giggled.

Neteyam’s lips pulled back, baring his fangs. “Just answer the question.”

Lo’ak cleared his throat to feign seriousness. “What she is like to everyone or to you?”

Neteyam’s forehead creased. “Is there a difference?”

Lo’ak rolled his eyes. “Are you stupid?” he whispered and Neteyam stared at him in a way that made bim clamp his mouth shut for a moment. “Okay, so... She’s very kind, she’s always willing to do everything for everyone. She’s also really cute when she smiles, especially when she’s shy and she’s very—”

“What was that?” Neteyam asked, every word emphasized.

“What?” Lo’ak whisper-shouted

“Stop imagining her like that,” Neteyam replied with a scowl, his eyes once again landing on your table.

He was about to ask Lo’ak to elaborate on what he said about how you were to him, when he saw you stand up from your table. Neteyam’s shoulders instantly tensed. It was entirely too early. The main feast wasn't even halfway finished, yet you were already guiding a couple of the youngest, sleepiest children toward the shadows of entryway.

He stood up, ignoring Lo’ak’s confused calls behind him. He took three urgent strides toward the aisle, determined to catch you before you reached the winding ramp—

“Neteyam.”

Mo’at’s sharp, commanding voice followed him and Neteyam stopped, his head snapping toward his grandmother, who was gesturing heavily for him to join the circle of elder council members near the central hearth.

“The Olo'eyktan requires your calculations for the western trails,” Mo'at stated, her eyes locking onto his with an unreadable, stern look.

Neteyam looked back over his shoulder. Your shadow was just disappearing past the grand archway of the entryway, completely vanishing into the dark pathways of Hometree.

His shoulders slumped, a heavy, defeated sigh escaping his chest. He slowly turned around and walked back toward the elders' circle, suppressing the bitter frustration roaring in his blood.

He fought the urge to groan, trying to soothe the sharp ache in his chest as he sat among the strategists. He reasoned with himself that the two weeks might help him clear the cloud in his mind that’s making him imagine things. In two weeks, the air between you would be better, because he will have been in a better headspace, too.

He had no idea at all that by the time he comes back, the bed where you slept would already be stripped bare.

The next day, you helped prepare the kids for the day one last time, pressing your forehead against their small brows, swallowing down the lump in your throat. They would be looked after by the other sisters, but you cannot help but feel sad and guilty about leaving them anyway.

“The hunting party left at dawn,” Mo’at informed you as you stood before a direhorse, her voice full of meaning. “But Hito will take you there safely.” She nodded to the young scout she tasked to accompany you.

You smiled, “Thank you, Tsahik,” you mumbled, turning when you heard hurried sounds of footsteps coming toward you.

You saw Tuk running, with Kiri and Lo’ak tailing behind her. “Y/N!” she called out. “Is it true?! You are leaving?” she asked as soon as she's standing in front of you, tears wetting her cheeks.

You glanced at Kiri, sighing softly as you lowered yourself to level with her. “Only temporarily, Tuk. I have a sick aunt I need to take care of...” you explained.

“Like Ta’uri?“ she asked, referencing an elder who was gripped by a lasting fever and passed last season.

You nodded, “Yes... you can say that. She is all alone, Tuk, and I need to be there for her.

Her lips tugged downward, but she nodded anyway. “Hug Popiti for me, Y/N... it’s been so long since I last saw her,” she cried dramatically, burying her face into your hair and wrapping her small arms tightly around your neck.

You smiled, nodding as you caressed her braids. “I will, Tuk. I'll tell her you're growing into a fine huntress.”

“Don’t worry, Tuk, I can always take you to visit Y/N,” Kiri said, stepping forward to wrap her arms around both of you. Her eyes met yours over Tuk’s shoulder, filled with a quiet, intense concern. “The Olangi isn't that far by ikran.”

“Me, too. But you’ll have to let Y/N settle there first,” Lo’ak said, pausing and looking at your packed satchel. “Won’t you say goodbye to Neteyam?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly.

You forced a small, awkward laugh, the sound hollow in your ears. “He wouldn't be back until next, next week...” you said, turning your gaze vack to Tuk. As if, you thought bitterly.

Lo’ak smirked. “Up to you,” he said in a singsong tone, biting on a piece of fruit.

The journey to the Olangi clan took two full days on the back of a sturdy direhorse, including the necessary breaks to rest and eat. But the moment the dense, claustrophobic canopy of the rainforest gave way to the endless, shimmering sea of grassland, something inside your chest broke open. The sky felt massive, an unbroken dome of brilliant blue that stretched out forever.

When you finally reached the Olangi encampment, a vast circle of beautifully woven leather tents and banners snapping in the wind, you asked for your aunt's home. A young warrior led you to a tent near the eastern edge, where the great direhorse herds grazed.

Suk’tet was lying on a bed of thick furs, her skin flushed with a stubborn fever, though her eyes were still as sharp as flint.

“S-Suk’tet?“ you called out in a small voice, stepping inside to get a better look of her.

“You shouldn't have left the forest, child,” she rasped even without opening her eyes and seeing you, her voice was weak but her tone scolding as you knelt beside her to press a cool, wet cloth to her forehead. “The Omatikaya is your home.”

“Once upon a time, this was my mother’s home, too, Auntie,” you replied softly, squeezing her frail hand. “I am Omatikaya and Olangi. My mother’s blood runs in me just as much as my father’s. I will take care of you.”

Over the next two weeks, you completely threw yourself into the ways of the plains. You missed the high branches of Hometree, but the plains were endless and you had more ground to walk on. When you’re not taking care of Suk’tet, you’re learning how to properly tend to the massive direhorses, how to harvest the tough, sun-baked roots of the plains, and how to cook the rich, heavily spiced stews that sustained the hunters through long days under the scorching sun. You worked until your muscles screamed and your hands were calloused from coarse leather reins.

“Oh, Y/N, I can never be as hardworking as you are,” Popiti said dramatically as she helped you wipe mud from a direhorse. “Surely, Tuk isn’t, too?”

You pushed your lips forward to stifle a chuckle. “Tuk is very curious. She comes with me when I forage in the woods, she loves to study the flora.”

She waved a hand. “Well, I think that’s the equivalent of what I do with you here,” she declared and grinned. “Once she visits, we’ll show her the fun stuff they don’t have back in the forest.”

You laughed softly, your heart tightening with a brief, familiar ache at the mention of Tuk's name. “She would love that, Popiti. She’d love it here.”

Before Popiti could reply, a sudden, heavy shadow fell over the two of you, accompanied by the smug, smooth chuckle that had quickly become the bane of your existence over the last ten days.

“Rinsing a direhorse's hocks is a hunter’s duty, forest girl. You're going to scrub the hide raw if you keep using that gentle touch.”

You closed your eyes for a brief, exhausting second before turning around. Standing there, leaning casually against the wooden post of the horse pen with a stalk of sweet grass jutting out from his smirk, was Ziklan. The moment you had arrived in the camp, the hunter had seemingly made it his life's mission to insert himself into every single chore you attempted.

“I am doing just fine,” you said, your voice dripping with sweet, deliberate politeness as you wrung out your woven cloth. “And I didn't ask for your critique.”

“You never ask,” Ziklan countered, stepping into the muddy pen. Without waiting for your permission, he took the heavy wooden bucket from your hands and poured a fresh splash of clean water over the direhorse's flank. “But don’t worry, it is my duty as a generous clan member to ensure you don't accidentally get kicked into the dirt.”

“I have handled direhorses before,” you shot back, crossing your arms over your chest.

“In the thick trees, maybe,” Ziklan scoffed playfully. He reached out, his hand flashing quickly to pluck a stray bit of dried grass out of your braided hair before you could swat his hand away. “Out here, they run like the wind, Y/N. You have to be firmer with them. Like this.” He slapped the beast’s flank with a loud, firm thud, and the direhorse let out a contented snort, settling under his touch.

Your face crumpled in disgust and Popiti fell in a fit of laughter. “He has a point, Y/N. Ziklan is the best rider in our clan. If you want to learn how to properly race across the ridges, you should let him teach you.”

“I am here to take care of my great aunt, not to race,” you muttered. Ziklan was helpful, you couldn't deny that, but he was just so incredibly annoying. He never left you alone.

“Suk’tet is sleeping,” Ziklan noted, handing the empty bucket back to you, his fingers deliberately lingering against yours for a brief second. “Which means you are free. Come to the ridge so I can teach you.”

“No, thank you. I have roots to prepare for tonight's stew,” you said, turning on your heel and walking out of the pen.

“I’'ll gather them for you!” Ziklan called out behind you, his laugh echoing.

You shook your head, walking back toward Suk’tet's tent. Ziklan's relentless attention was exhausting, but in a strange way, it was the only thing keeping you grounded. He didn't look at you like you were a fragile caretaker who needed protection. Somehow, it eases the burn brought by Neteyam’s rejection.

By the end of the second week, Suk’tet’s fever had finally broken completely, leaving her weak but fiercely demanding her usual herbal tea. You were standing near the eastern edge of the camp, helping Popiti sort through a basket of dried grass for the hearth, when a high-pitched, familiar shriek suddenly echoed paces away. You turned around, seeing Tuk running toward you, her high-pitched voice calling your name excitedly.

Your face instantly split into a wide, genuine smile, the heavy weight that had settled in your chest for weeks suddenly lifting. “Tuk!” you cried out, dropping your basket and jogging toward her.

Popiti chased after you. “Tuk!!” she screeched excitedly.

Tuk tackled you into a fierce, rib-crushing hug. “I missed you so much! Everyone does! Look at your clothes, you look so beautiful!” she cheered, pulling back to inspect your sleek Olangi leathers.

“I missed you too, little one,” you laughed.

Tuk turned to Popiti, hugging her like they are both grown women who had just reunited. “Oh, sweet dear, it has been so long!” Tuk said, wiping an imaginary drop of tear on her cheek.

“Indeed, it is! I would have prepared an afternoon tea for us, my dear, if only I know you’ll be visiting!” Popiti replied, wiping her cheek, too.

You chuckled at their antics, clearing your throat. “I think, I can do something about that,” you narrowed your eyes playfully, and then turning to Tuk seriously. “Where is your sister?”

You craned your neck to look at where she came from, your smile slowly fading as the blood in your veins turned to absolute ice. Standing beside the massive flank of an ikran was not Kiri.

It was Neteyam.

He fixed something on his saddle while his eyes were locked entirely onto you as he approached. He was still strapped into his heavy hunting harness, dark grease from the forest canopy smudging his collarbone and a quiver of heavy arrows rattling against his back. He looked like he just got back from the hunt, pushed his ikran to its absolute limit, and flown straight here without washing the grit from his skin.

You stood up slowly, your brows furrowed a little. It was glaringly obvious that he had rushed here, and equally obvious that he was completely blindsided to actually find you standing in the muddy horse pens instead of being safely back at Hometree. He was looking at you as if you had stolen something from him.

His gaze raked over you, taking in your sun-kissed skin, the sleek, fitted leathers that hugged your frame, and the way your long braids moved freely in the breeze and his lips parted a fraction of an inch. His head tilted.

“They told me you left the forest,” he said, his voice raspy. He stepped closer, his jaw tight.

“My great aunt is sick,” you replied, keeping your chin lifted despite the sudden, erratic skipping of your heart. “She has a stubborn fever. I came here to nurse her, and I will stay until she is well.”

His intense golden eyes locked onto yours with a scrutiny so fierce and unblinking that you suddenly found it impossible to look him in the face. You shifted your gaze to the dirt, your skin prickling under the weight of his attention.

Tuk, entirely oblivious to the thick tension vibrating between the two of you, stepped up and beamed at Popiti. “To be honest, I didn't even know we were flying out here today! Neteyam just arrived from the long hunt and I told him you left the village, and well... here we are! I guess Neteyam misses you just as much as the rest of us do.”

Neteyam instantly snapped his gaze away, clearing his throat roughly as a deep, unmistakable purple flush crept up the sides of his neck and flooded his ears. He clamped a massive hand over the top of Tuk’s head, effectively muffling her next words while trying to look anywhere but at you.

Your own cheeks flared. Desperate for an escape from the suffocating awkwardness, you blurted out the first hospitable thing you could think of. “I... I will go prepare some tea for you two. We can eat some of the dried honey biscuits, too.”

But just as you spun on your heel to head toward the tents, a familiar, melodic whistle echoed from the edge of the ridge. Ziklan strolled into the clearing, a casual smirk plastered across his face.

“You know, forest girl, if I hadn't gone home to eat and sleep, and had just waited on the ridges for you to show up, I would have died of old age by now,” Ziklan teased, slinging a long arm over the wooden fence post. “You are completely heartless.”

“I never promised you anything, Ziklan,” you sighed, casting him a dry look. “I distinctly remember telling you I wasn't going.”

Neteyam’s head snapped toward the intruder. His flustered, embarrassed frame vanished in a fraction of a second, replaced by a rigid, towering warrior who clearly did not appreciate this stranger invading your personal space. His eyes narrowed to slits, tracking Ziklan’s movements with a cold, territorial glare that practically screamed his desire to physically shove the man a three-mile distance away from you.

Ziklan, however, possessed an incredibly bold streak and absolutely zero sense of self-preservation. Sensing the heavy gaze, he turned his grin directly onto Neteyam.

“Neteyam te Suli?” Ziklan asked, his tone shifting into one of genuine, deep-seated respect.

Neteyam gave a single, stiff nod. He extended his forearm in the formal warrior's greeting. Ziklan clasped it firmly, but Neteyam’s fingers locked around the man's wrist with a grip that was entirely too tight, his knuckles white under his blue skin.

“What brings a legendary warrior such as yourself to our lands, Neteyam?” Ziklan asked, seemingly unfazed by the bone-crushing grip.

Neteyam’s jaw pulsed, his teeth grinding together before he directly uttered, “Y/N.”

“Y/N?” Ziklan echoed, blinking in surprise before looking between the two of you. “Ah, yes! This forest girl. Well, she has been a savior for her aunt. Suk’tet has been practically bedridden since the turning of the season, but just two days ago, Y/N had her sitting up and taking the air. We finally brought her out to see the sun today. Right, Y/N?”

Neteyam’s eyes narrowed further, the muscle in his cheek twitching. Objectively, he knew he should be grateful. He should be glad that you had found someone kind, someone helpful who made your grueling chores easier in a foreign clan. But as he watched Ziklan stand comfortably close to you, Neteyam couldn't find a single drop of gratitude in his chest. He felt like a complete fraud, an awful, bitter weight settling deep in his stomach.

When Neteyam offered nothing but a freezing silence, you took it as his usual indifference toward your life outside of his family's circle. Why should he care about what you’re doing out here anyway? Swallowing the lump of disappointment in your throat, you placed your hands on Tuk and Popiti’s small shoulders.

“Let’s find a good spot for our gathering,” you urged.

“Can Neteyam join our tea party, Y/N?” Tuk asked, looking up with wide, hopeful eyes.

Popiti immediately leaned in, shielding her mouth with a hand as she whispered loudly to Tuk, “I highly suggest we do not bring boys into our sacred circle. They ruin the gossip.”

“But Neteyam will be entirely alone,” Tuk whispered back urgently. "Y/N is his only friend here, and I think he really, really wants to hang out with her. We can even invite Ziklan to balance it out! They can act as our personal guards.”

“Fine, I will ask him,” Popiti relented.

Within seconds, Popiti had scampered over to pitch the idea to Ziklan, while Tuk tugged relentlessly on Neteyam’s hand. Ziklan didn't need to be asked twice. “An afternoon tea with Y/N? Count me in,” he grinned, sending a playful wink your way.

You leveled him with a completely deadpan expression.

“I’ll even help you stoke the hearth and brew the leaves,” Ziklan offered smoothly. “Our guests can just sit back and relax. Popiti, why don't you guide the young warrior's sister to the shade near the weaving tents?”

“Or,” Neteyam interrupted, his deep voice slicing through Ziklan’s easy hospitality, “I can be the one to help Y/N. Besides, I have been meaning to learn how the Olangi prepare their blends. You know these plains better than I ever could, Ziklan. It makes more sense for you to ensure the children stay safe near the perimeter.”

Ziklan’s lips parted, his mind visibly grinding through the flawless logic of the suggestion. He looked at Neteyam’s towering, unmoving frame, then back to the girls, and finally nodded, completely sold. “Right. You're completely right about that, my friend. Let's go, girls!” With a sweeping gesture, he guided a giggling Tuk and an eager Popiti away toward the center of the camp.

The silence that settled over the horse pen was instantaneous and deafening. You stood by the wooden bucket, deliberately avoiding Neteyam’s gaze.

“I don't really need any help,” you muttered, picking up the woven basket of dried tea roots.

“I want to learn,” Neteyam said softly, his tone losing every ounce of its earlier authority. “Show me how it is done.”

You pursed your lips, letting out a small sigh as you shrugged and began walking toward the communal kitchens. Neteyam fell into step right beside you, his massive strides falling perfectly into rhythm with your smaller ones.

As you began sorting the dried roots, washing them in a clay basin, Neteyam hovered close, his eyes quietly cataloging every tiny detail that had changed about you over the last two weeks. Heck, he was extremely detailed on it he even tracked the small scratch on your thumb.

“How are you?” he asked quietly.

“I am fine,” you replied, keeping your eyes trained on the knife in your hand. “My aunt is resting. She is doing much better than when I first arrived.”

“I am glad,” Neteyam murmured, his voice softening into something raw and incredibly intimate. “Nobody ever stays sick for long on your watch. You are better than most of the trained healers in the pavilion. I think it is because you actually care deeply for the souls of those you tend to.”

Your fingers froze over the clay basin. You care deeply. Those words again.

A sudden, sharp sting of memory sliced through your chest. The memory of his cruel, careless words about your lack of strength, your inability to hunt or protect, your unfitness to stand beside a future leader. You gritted your teeth, forcing the pain down as you arranged the honeyed biscuits, a clay pot, and clay cups onto a heavy wooden serving tray.

Before you could lift it, Neteyam’s large hands slid beneath the wood, effortlessly taking the weight from you. He didn't say another word, silently carrying the tray as you scanned the ridge to see where Ziklan had taken the girls.

“Y/N! Over here!” Ziklan’s voice boomed from a shaded knoll near a cluster of vibrant banners. He waved an arm, a massive smile on his face.

“Is he always like that?” Neteyam murmured.

You glanced up at him with your brows furrowed. “He is a good man,” you murmured, felt a sudden urge to defend the hunter. “He has helped me more than anyone else since I got here.”

Neteyam stared at you, his eyes tracking the small, genuine smile that graced your lips. A bitter, suffocating knot tightened in his throat. He felt like a monster. An awful, selfish person who couldn't even find it in himself to be happy that you had found comfort and safety in a strange place. He tried to imagine how Kiri would react, knowing his sister would be overjoyed for you. But he wasn't Kiri. He knew exactly why his blood boiled at the sight of Ziklan, and the realization terrified him.

“Finally!” Popiti clapped happily as Neteyam carefully set the heavy tray down on a woven mat.

The next hour passed in a blur of lighthearted chatter. Popiti and Tuk ran the entire conversation, practically putting on a theatrical performance about their tragic separation, while Ziklan laughed loudly, entirely missing the subtle, icy cues Neteyam kept throwing his way. It was blindingly obvious to Neteyam that Ziklan was completely infatuated with you, and the hunter didn't have the slightest bit of shame about showing it.

“I wish we could see each other every single sunrise, Popiti,” Tuk declared dramatically, clutching her chest and wiping a fake tear from her cheek. “But the cruel distance separates our souls!”

Ziklan snorted into his tea, thoroughly entertained by their antics.

“You can see each other whenever you want,” Neteyam spoke up suddenly, his voice steady as he looked at his little sister. “I will fly you here myself.”

“Seriously?!” Tuk squealed, jumping up.

Popiti immediately nudged her with an elbow. “Manners,” she whispered fiercely, before turning a highly formal, respectful gaze toward Neteyam. “That would be most grand, respected warrior. You are incredibly gracious to offer such a thing.” Popiti then turned to you, speaking as if she were a wise elder rather than a child. “Y/N, you have a very thoughtful friend. Perhaps we should allow him to join our future gatherings.”

“I would like that very much,” Neteyam replied, offering a low, respectful bow of his head before taking a slow sip from his small clay cup.

“Hey, what about me?” Ziklan chimed in, tossing a seed at Popiti.

“You have tracking duties for the Olo'eyktan, Ziklan,” Popiti said dismissively, waving a hand. “You cannot always be lounging around with the ladies.”

And just like that, the girls unknowingly laid a path that Neteyam walked with relentless, calculated devotion.

Every single morning for the next moon, the heavy thrum of ikran wings would signal Neteyam’s arrival. He always brought Tuk, but the moment her feet hit the dirt, Neteyam would vanish into the background of your daily life, transforming into a silent force of labor.

He brought rare forest herbs for Suk’tet that he specifically asked Mo’at’s expertise on. He brought prime cuts of fresh hexapede and various forest fruits from his morning hunts, quietly handing them off to the camp cooks for you and your aunt. One afternoon, while you were away by the river, He spent three hours under the scorching sun patching the worn, weather-beaten outer hide of your aunt's tent, his massive hands skillfully weaving the thick woven walls until the structure was completely windproof.

He wanted to make things easy for you here. He didn’t want to think of you wanting for anything.

By the end of the second month, Suk’tet had completely recuperated. She was back on the back of a direhorse, back in the elders’ social circles and was finally able to join the rituals. But you lingered on the plains, wishing to see her all the way through it, making sure she is completely fine. You had grown genuinely close to Ziklan, finding a comfortable, easy friendship in his loud, unfiltered nature.

One afternoon, Neteyam had just finished thatching your aunt’s roof when he found the two of you out on the southern ridge. Ziklan was standing directly behind you, his hands adjusting your grip on a heavy shortbow, his chest practically pressed against your back as he guided your aiming arm toward a distant target.

Neteyam froze at the edge ridge, his eyes narrowing into slits. He wanted to act normal. He wanted to be the stoic, composed future leader the council raised him to be, but looking at you encaged in another man's arms, hearing your bright, unburdened laughter ring across the plains is unleashing something ugly in him.

He couldn't do it anymore. He admitted it to himself fully, the truth crushing his chest: he loved you. He felt for you more than words could ever express, and the raw, green jealousy raging in his blood was a monster he could no longer tame. He hated that Ziklan could openly admire you and be with you. At the same time, Neteyam hated himself for being entirely, unforgivably selfish.

He had spent his entire life suppressing his own desires for the good of the clan and had never done a single thing purely for himself... And right now, he knew that if he didn't start being selfish, he would lose you forever.

“She's a natural sharpshooter, this one!” Ziklan joked loudly, catching sight of the towering his frame standing like a statue in the brush. “I might just have to convince her to stay here.”

You gathered your practice arrows beforr walking up to Neteyam, entirely oblivious of the storm brewing in his dark eyes, and pointed toward the eastern tents. “Popiti and Tuk are over by the weaving mats. Tuk has been waiting for you.”

“You are learning archery?” he asked, his voice rough.

Your adrenaline was making it hard for you to wipe the smile off your face, turning to him with a breathless, excited smile and his gaze softened into something so intense, so vulnerable. A warm golden light of the sun was shining on you so specifically, it felt as though Eywa herself had drawn a golden line toward you, pointing you to him. He reached out without thinking, wiping the sweat off your neck and moving a strand of hair that’s sticking to your skin.

A soft, nervous giggle bubbled out of you before you could stop it. You quickly swatted his hand away, stepping back as a sudden, violent heat flared under your skin where his fingers had grazed you. You cleared your throat quickly.

“I wish only to learn so I can hunt... so I can protect myself and the children when we forage,” you said, your heart hammering against your chest. “I need to know how to protect them from danger. The children follow me everywhere in the forest.”

His brows furrowed. “There is no need for that, Y/N,” Neteyam said, his voice dropping into a firm, protective register. “Our clan has many hunters and warriors. It is our duty to handle the sustenance and protection of the people.”

Your lips pressed into a hard, rigid line. The lingering warmth vanished, replaced by a sudden wave of old anger. You tilted your head up, staring directly into his amber eyes. “You really don't even remember your own words, do you?”

Neteyam blinked, his brow furrowing. “My own words?”

“Yes,” you spat, the softness entirely gone from your voice as months of suppressed hurt finally broke through the surface. “You didn’t really think I heard you tell your mother and the Tsahik that I couldn't even hunt for my own food or protect my own life, did you? You asked how someone like me could ever protect the children of a future Olo'eyktan. I don't disagree with you on that, Neteyam. I know I am not a warrior. It is your right to choose a mate who fits your grand vision of a leader, and it is also my right to choose mine.

You stepped closer, your voice entirely cold.

“But you should know... I never wanted to be your mate anyway. I never even thought of it,” you said. “I wish you well in your pursuit of a perfect, strong warrior mate, Neteyam. Truly.”

You swept past him, your shoulder brushing his arm as you marched toward where Popiti and Tuk are. Neteyam didn't follow. He stood entirely paralyzed, heavily burdened by the sheer weight of reality. He had no defense. He had said those exact things. He believed them to be logical amd right at the time, even though the words had tasted like ash in his mouth the moment they left his lips. It had never felt right.

You had heard it all. You had carried his stupidity, his arrogance, and his cruelty in silence for months, and yet, you were still too kind to allow him to be comfortable around you.

He felt his chest hollow out completely. You didn’t even want him. He had spoken so cruelly, spent months agonizing over duty and pride, while you hadn't even considered him a choice. But he had, and it all felt so comical he knew his Mo’at and his mother would laugh at the fact. How dare he reject the idea of you, when it was he who was heads over heels for you this entire time?

It was always you. Since you were children running through the high branches, he had never truly looked at another girl. When he was weary from the endless pressures of being the perfect heir, your quiet laughter was the only thing that lifted the weight from his shoulders. You grounded him. You always had. Like always, Mo'at had been right and he had been completely, utterly blind.

Later that night, back at Hometree, Neteyam sat near the low embers of a secluded fire, a skin of strong, fermented wine gripped tightly in his hand. Lo'ak sat across from him, silently tearing into a piece of dried meat.

“I love her, Lo'ak,” Neteyam whispered into the darkness, the confession tearing out of his throat for the very first time. “I love her so much.”

Lo'ak didn't even pause his chewing. “Tell me something new.”

Neteyam snapped his head up, his eyes wide. “How did you know?”

Lo'ak rolled his eyes, letting out a dry snort. “Because I have functioning eyes? And a shred of common sense? Kiri has a million friends in this village, but growing up, you were always completely centered on Y/N. You were always about what Y/N would like and need. I know you try to be there for everyone in the clan, but you would drop a council meeting with Dad if Y/N ever needed a basket carried or a path cleared. You’ve had it bad since we were kids.”

Neteyam lowered his head into his hands, a ragged breath escaping him. “I... I always just thought I wanted to make things convenient for her. She spends every waking hour making life easy for everyone else in this village. She cares so deeply for the old and the small, and she never stops to think if anyone is looking out for her. I never stopped to think why my urge to protect and provide was so violently strong for her, and her alone.”

A hot, stinging moisture flooded his eyes, blurring his vision until a heavy tear escaped, tracking down his nose. He angrily wiped it away with the back of his hand, pressing his knuckles into his eye sockets to stop the trembling.

“What the fuck, bro...” Lo'ak mumbled, his voice dropping into a rare moment of genuine sympathy. “She really got you bad...” he looked at Neteyam. “But well, why are you crying? Y/N likes you, too, I know that! I see it. And I also know that Y/N knows you care for her. She knows who you are.”

“I hurt her, Lo'ak,” Neteyam choked out, his voice thick with unspent grief. “I hurt her so deeply.”

“How? Is this about you flying to the Olangi camp every single day?” Lo'ak asked, a worried smirk on his face. “Because everyone knows you're not pulling a four-hour round trip just so Tuk can play hand-clapping games with Popiti.”

“No... before that,” Neteyam whispered, staring into the dying flames. “Mo’at and Mother talked to me moons ago. They suggested Y/N to be my betrothed. And instead of listening to my heart, I let my pride and my narrow view of what a leader ‘needs’ take over. I said cruel, unforgivable things about her strength. And she heard every single word.”

Neteyam’s grip tightened on the flask until his claws dug into the wood. “And the worst part, Lo'ak? She was still so kind. She carried that pain in silence, allowing me to exist comfortably around her, never throwing it in my face until today when I finally pushed her past her limits. She must have been in such agonizing discomfort every time I forced my way into her space... and she never said a word.”

Lo'ak breathe sharply through his teeth, shaking his head. “Stupidity... Eywa practically dropped your destiny right into your lap and you kicked it off a cliff. What’s your plan now?”

“I don't want to keep showing up if my presence genuinely makes her miserable,” Neteyam said, his chest constricting tightly as the image of Ziklan holding your bow arm flashed vividly behind his eyelids. “But I also cannot let her think I am giving up. I can't let her fall for someone else.”

Lo'ak let out a rough laugh, shaking his head. “So... you're just gonna keep using Tuk and Popiti as shields to force your way back into her life, huh?”

Neteyam didn't answer. He knew he should be ashamed. He knew he had no right to be territorial, but the sheer terror of a life without you overrode every ounce of his ingrained honor. He would keep showing up.

But his master plan exploded directly in his face the very next morning.

When Neteyam marched back into the clearing after his dawn patrol, the first thing he saw was Tuk and Popiti sitting on the high woven platform outside his family's kelku, giggling uncontrollably as they played a frantic hand-clapping game.

Neteyam stopped dead in his tracks, his heart stopping. “Popiti?” he called out, stepping closer to ensure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him.

The young girl snapped her head around, beaming. “Hello, Neteyam!”

“We don't need to fly all the way to the plains anymore, Neteyam!” Tuk cheered, jumping up and down on the mats. “Popiti and her mother traveled through the night to be with Norm and her sister! There is a huge possibility they are moving to the forest permanently. Isn't that amazing?!”

Neteyam stared at the two girls, a loud, high-pitched ringing filling his ears as his gaze volleyed between them. His throat went completely dry. “Is... is Y/N back?”

Popiti’s smile faded into a serious, knowing look, and she shook her head slowly. “No. She won't be coming back to the forest, I think. Ziklan has officially started courting her. They will be mated soon, and that means babies also.” Popiti nodded sagely, as if she were an expert on the matter. “Y/N is going to stay with the Olangi forever.”

Neteyam’s heart dropped straight into his stomach, a physical sensation of icy dread washing over him. At the moment, his mind can’t even differentiate between being hunted by a starving palulukan in the dead of night and the fact Popiti was talking about. His mind spun out of control as he imagined the future.

“Y/N can't do that!” Tuk shouted, her face twisting into a fierce scowl, mirroring exactly what he was feeling. “She belongs to us! She is Omatikaya!”

“Well, once she binds her spirit to Ziklan, she becomes Olangi. That is how things are. Right, Neteyam?” Popiti asked, looking up at him for confirmation.

Tuk looked up at her big brother, giant tears overflowing her lower lids. Neteyam forced his shaking knees to bend, dropping down to eye level with the two young girls. He reached out, placing his massive hand tenderly over Tuk’s head.

“It doesn't work like that, Tuk. Popiti,” Neteyam said, his voice incredibly calm but carrying a desperate weight. “Y/N is both Omatikaya and Olangi. Her mother's blood and her father's blood make her who she is. A mate will not change anything. She will always belong to both.”

Tuk sniffled loudly, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “But will she ever come home? I miss her being here so much, Neteyam... I pray with Mo'at for her aunt's health every single night just so she can come back to us.”

Neteyam lowered his eyes to the woven floorboards, his chest aching so severely he could barely draw breath. “She will come back... if her heart wishes it so, Tuk.”

“Will her heart ever wish it?” the little girl whispered.

Neteyam’s gaze remained locked on the ground. “We will see...”

The universe, it seemed, was determined to strip away every last bit of his time. Later that afternoon, Neteyam was summoned to the high council, a gathering led far more by the sharp, unyielding gaze of his grandmother, Mo'at, than by his father.

As soon as he took his seat, the elders began discussing the formal arrangements for his future betrothal selection. His jaw slackened. Looking at the completely blank, deliberate expression on his grandmother’s face, he knew instantly that this entire timeline had been forced forward by her hand. She was trying to lock him into his duties.

“Which is why,” Mo'at said, her sharp voice echoing off the woven walls as she looked directly at him, “I expect you to cease these endless, frivolous flights to only Eywa knows where. Stay here, Neteyam. Act like a true leader who prioritizes his people.”

Neteyam’s shoulders slumped, a profound, hollow numbness spreading through his limbs as he heard the incredibly loud this is your choice tone from Mo’at. Every single avenue was closing. Popiti was in the forest, stripping away his excuse to fly to the plains, and the council was locking him into a cage of duty.

He watched his grandmother walk away toward the healing pavilion, and before his brain could register the danger, his feet began to move. He followed her. He pushed past the beaded curtains of the pavilion, his heart hammering against his ribs. He was going to tell her. He was going to call off the selection.

“Tsahik,” he barked out, stopping her in the center of the quiet structure. “I am trying to win Y/N's heart. I need the betrothal selection to stop. I will not choose anyone else.”

Mo'at slowly turned around, her face completely expressionless, though her eyes held a deep curiosity. “Do you remember the exact words you had spoken in this exact room months ago?”

“I remember what I said, Tsahik,” Neteyam intercepted, his voice cracking with emotion. “I will remember my own stupidity for as long as I draw breath.”

“Then you must understand that Y/N will never forget it either,” Mo'at replied coldly.

“I am going to try anyway,” Neteyam vowed, stepping closer, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I will never give up on her. I was too blind to see the gift Eywa had placed directly in front of me. I was so consumed by the weight of the leadership, so obsessed with being the perfect leader, that I ignored the only voice that has ever kept me whole. I thought a leader only protects through the bow. But Y/N... Y/N holds the very soul of our people. She heals the old, she guides the young, she binds the broken pieces of this clan together. No one is better than her, Grandmother, not even I. I am not even her equal, but I will spend every sunrise trying to be worthy of her. Even if it goes against the council.”

Mo'at stared at her grandson, a flicker of profound awe breaking through her tight-lipped facade. The boy had finally grown into a man who understood that his heart must be louder than his mind.

“Very well,” she said softly, turning back to her herbs. “Do what you must do.”

The very next morning, the moment his dawn patrol was ovr, Neteyam pushed his ikran into a sprint across the sky, flying straight back to the Olangi encampment.

Neteyam was a perfectionist by nature. He was a boy who prided himself on being pristine, composed, and unshakeable. But today, the toll of his sleepless nights and absolute terror was laid bare for everyone to see. His ears were pinned flat against his head, his tail hung low and twitching with anxiety, and the regal posture he usually carried was completely fractured by fear.

The moment his boots hit the dirt, his shoulders squared automatically as his eyes locked onto Ziklan. Thank Eywa, you were nowhere in sight.

Ziklan noticed him immediately, stepping away from the herd with a curt, surprised nod. “Neteyam? If you're looking for Popiti, she and her mother left for the forest days ago.”

Neteyam swallowed hard, forcing his raging jealousy down into the pit of his stomach. He looked at the Olangi tracker, forcing himself to speak with a raw, stripping honesty that cost him every ounce of his pride.

“I know,” Neteyam said, his voice steady but thick. “I did not come for the girl. I came for Y/N.”

Ziklan froze, his lips parting in genuine surprise.

“Ziklan,” he called out. “I want to thank you," Neteyam continued, his golden eyes unblinking. “I want to thank you for doing what I was too cowardly and foolish to do. You saw Y/N’s worth instantly... You proudly showed her your admiration and made her feel safe when I did nothing but bring her grief. I respect you for that, Ziklan.”

Ziklan blinked, his eyes awkwardly looking everywhere but at Neteyam. “Y-You’re welcome? I mean, Y/N is a great woman. What’s not to like?” he giggled.

Neteyam looked at him with an easy smile. “But if you must know... I am here to win her back. And I will go through you, or anyone else in this clan, if I have to.”

Ziklan went entirely pale for a fraction of a second, staring at the massive Omatikaya warrior before he suddenly burst into a flustered, stammering laugh. He reached out, nervously patting Neteyam’s massive shoulder. “Whoa, whoa, wait! Hold your ikran, warrior! There is absolutely no need to go through anyone. I am not... courting Y/N.”

Neteyam’s ears twitched. “You are not?”

“No,” Ziklan chuckled, shaking his head. “Look, I like her. Any man with eyes would. She’s beautiful and fierce. But... well, I also have eyes in my head, Neteyam. I've watched you endure a four-hour round trip every single day just to carry her water buckets. I know a desperate man when I see one,” he grinned. “I am glad to know that you are a man of immense honor. Most guys with your rank would have pulled status and thrown their weight around to clear me out of the way, but you came to me directly. I respect that. Don't mind if I steal that move for my own future courting.“ Ziklan smirked, pointing a thumb over his shoulder toward the communal kitchens. “She's over there. Go get her. Good luck!”

The sun was barely over the horizon, casting long, sharp shadows across the dirt as Neteyam walked toward the outdoor kitchens. He spotted you instantly, laughing softly with a group of Olangi women as you prepped roots for the morning stew.

The moment the other women noticed the towering Omatikaya heir standing at the edge of the shade, their conversations died into astounded whispers. You turned around, your breath catching in your throat as your face instantly twisted into a hard, defensive scowl.

Why was he here? You thought you had finally broken him days before. You had once again spent the entire night crying into your furs, furious at yourself for still caring, furious that his face was the only thing you saw when you closed your eyes. You deliberately turned your back on him, picking up your knife and focusing entirely on the vegetables.

An hour passed. You worked until your fingers were stained with juice, completely ignoring the edge of the clearing. You assumed he had finally taken the hint and flown away, but when you finally turned around to carry a basket to the fire, you froze.

He hadn't moved an inch. He was still standing exactly where you left him, his massive hands tucked nervously behind his back, his entire posture vibrating with a fragile, desperate tension. He was waiting for you.

You tried to march past him, but Neteyam stepped directly into your path, his tail dragging in the dirt, his ears completely flattened in a posture of total surrender.

“Please...” he whispered, his voice cracking, entirely dry. “Y/N, please just allow me to speak. Then I will leave if you command it.”

You raised your eyes, forcing them to remain cold, indifferent, and dead to the world. But the sheer vulnerability in his golden gaze made your throat tighten.

“I am an idiot, Y/N,” Neteyam said, the words rushing out of him like a floodgate opening. “When I said those cruel, unfeeling things to Mo’at and my mother, I had convinced myself they were right. I thought that to be a leader, to be a protector, I needed a mate who mirrored my mother’s strength, someone who knew how to kill and hunt. I had such a pathetic, narrow view of strength that I failed to see that you are the one holding the actual future of our people in your hands.”

He took a ragged breath, stepping closer, though his hands remained down.

“No one knows the children better than you. No one has held the hands of our dying elders with more grace than you. I am completely ashamed that I ever deemed you unequal to the title of a leader's mate, when the truth is... I am not equal to you. I was too blinded by my own arrogance to see that the only person lacking true strength in that room... was me.” Neteyam took a deliberate step back, physically granting you the space to breathe. “I do not ask for your forgiveness today. Or even tomorrow. But I swear to you, by the Great Mother, I will spend every single sunrise for the rest of my life proving to you that I can be a man worthy of standing by your side.”

His words hung heavily in the crisp, cool morning air. He stared at you, desperate, begging for any sign that the ice in your chest had thawed. But the memory of the tears you had shed over him was too fresh, the wound too deep. You refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you soften.

Keeping your face entirely flat, your voice cut through his lingering hope like a sheet of ice. “Are you done?”

Neteyam’s ears twitched with a faint, visible pang of grief. He swallowed hard, his tail lowering. “Yes.”

“Okay, then move.”

You didn't wait for him to fully step aside, you pushed right past his shoulder, your basket tightly gripped in your hands. Neteyam didn't try to stop you again. He simply stood in the center of the camp, watching your retreating back, his chest hollowed out by the brutal realization that words would never be enough to fix the wreckage he had caused.

You marched straight down to the riverbank, your heart hammering violently against your ribs as you refused to look back. Your hands were shaking so hard you could barely loop the leather straps of the massive communal waterskins over your arms. You braced your knees, preparing to haul the immense weight back up the ridge, when a massive hand suddenly gripped the leather straps, effortlessly lifting the weight completely out of your grasp.

You snapped your head up, a sharp scowl flaring on your face. “I told you to move.”

“I did move,” he murmured, his voice incredibly soft, his eyes downcast to the riverbed so he didn't look like he was challenging your authority. Without an ounce of strain, he swung the massive, heavy waterskins over his broad shoulders, a weight that would have made your knees buckle instantly. “But I cannot let you carry this.”

You could hear the faint, underlying rumble of frustration in his throat, not at you, but at the fact that anyone in this camp had allowed you to haul such a ridiculous weight by yourself.

“Do you do this every day?” he asked, his lips thinning into a tight line as he looked at the steep ridge trail.

“I don't need your help,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “But if you are going to insist on stealing my chores, the least you can do is do it in absolute silence.”

Neteyam bit his lower lip, turning his head away to stifle the sudden, breathless smile that threatened to break across his face. Hello there, little fire. He had never seen this side of you. You were always so gentle, so soft-spoken, and kind. He had never seen your eyes flash with such fierce, blinding spirit, and the fact that it was directed entirely at him made his blood sing.

For the next weeks, Neteyam turned the Olangi camp into his personal proving ground.

He completely outworked you. Every single time your fingers so much as brushed against a tool, a knife for chopping vegetables, a basket of heavy laundry, a broom for the tent mats, Neteyam would materialize from the shadows, silently and gently prying it from your hands. It was driving you entirely insane. You wanted to ignore him, you wanted to freeze him out, but it is impossible to ignore a towering warrior who is literally completing your entire daily checklist while you are forced to sit on the sidelines with your arms crossed.

The Olangi clan watched the entire spectacle with utter fascination. Elders would sit outside their tents, whispering in amusement as they watched the proud, decorated heir of Toruk Makto skinning vegetables, scrubbing blackened cooking pots until they shined, and carrying logs that usually required two men, all for one furious forest girl. They knew he was courting you, but given the permanent scowl on your face, they all collectively agreed he must have committed a crime of historic proportions.

He would touch down the exact moment his morning patrol ended and refuse to leave until the communal dinners were finished. He wouldn't even sit with the Olangi to eat, he would wait by the washing basins, tracking your movements until you approached with a dirty dish, only to grab it first. He would have tied you to a support beam before he ever let you scrub grease in the kitchens again.

By the middle of the second month, you sat between Suk’tet’s legs while she braided your hair. She was completely healed, her strength entirely restored, her eyes as sharp as ever.

“You have been far from the jungle for too long, child,” she said softly, her fingers weaving the leather ties into your hair. “As much as my old heart loves your presence, I know this endless sky is not the home you grew up in. You have made good friends here... but everything you have ever known is the forest. The Hometree. Your father’s people.”

A quiet ache settled in your chest. It was true. You missed the canopy. “Back at Hometree... I do not have a biological family left, Auntie,” you muttered, turning to face her. “Here, I have you. But... I do miss the children. The little ones I told you about.”

Suk’tet smiled warmly, cupping your cheek with a calloused hand. “You are a beautiful soul, Y/N. Everywhere your feet tread, people learn to love you. They cling to you and build a home around you. You barely knew me, yet you nursed an old woman back from the grave.”

You smiled back, your eyes crinkling. “You are blood of my blood, Suk’tet. I would do it again, though I prefer you stay healthy.”

She let out a dry chuckle, clearing her throat as her eyes turned mischievous. “The son of Toruk Makto... he is your lover?”

Your face erupted into a furious, flustered scowl. “No!” you insisted, though the sudden, violent racing of your pulse gave you away instantly.

Suk’tet simply scoffed, a knowing smirk on her lips. “I see.”

You packed your meager belongings that very afternoon. Ziklan, ever the loyal friend, insisted on guiding you back to the Omatikaya boundaries, a trek that took two full days on the backs of the swift direhorses.

You had absolutely no idea the level of absolute chaos your sudden departure had caused Neteyam.

When he had arrived at the plains two days ago only to leard that you had left with Ziklan, his mind had shattered. He had spent forty-eight hours flying over the forest canopy, terrified that you weren't coming back to the forest at all, that you were fleeing from him forever.

The moment your direhorses broke through the dense foliage into the Omatikaya clearing, a crowd of scouts was already assembled, already mounted on direhorses. Neteyam was at the front.

“Y/N!” his voice broke, his shoulders slumping in a wave of relief so massive it looked as though he might collapse. He was moving toward you before your mount had even come to a full stop.

Before you could even slide off the saddle, Neteyam’s arms were around your waist, pulling you down into a fierce, crushing hug that buried his face into the crook of your neck. The surrounding scouts watched with wide, wondering eyes.

You pressed a firm palm against his hard chest, pushing back until he reluctantly peeled himself off you, though his hands lingered on your waist.

“Ziklan,” Neteyam greeted, turning a sharp but respectful nod toward the Olangi hunter. “Your journey took too long.”

Ziklan raised his hands in the air, a massive, unbothered grin on his face. “Hey, don't shoot the messenger, warrior, as they say.”

Neteyam let out a low huff, and you immediately leveled him with a sharp glare. “The journey always takes two days, Neteyam.”

Neteyam quickly cleared his throat, “Of course,” he nodded without a fight before turning back to Ziklan. “You should stay for supper, Ziklan.”

Before you could force Ziklan to say yes, a chorus of high-pitched shrieks echoed from the Hometree’s entryway. A dozen children from the nursery came tearing down the dirt path, their little feet flying as they chanted your name. Your face split into a brilliant, breathless smile. You dropped to your knees, throwing your arms wide as the kids tackled you into the dirt, their little hands clutching at your clothes, nuzzling their faces against yours.

Neteyam watched with a soft, incredibly tender smile. They had missed you terribly. The entire village had.

That evening, the kitchens prepared a feast that felt more like a celebration for a returning warrior than an errand girl. The older cooks completely barred you from the hearth, shoving you into a seat and telling you to just rest and be served for once. You spent the night sharing stories of the plains, while Tuk and Popiti sat close, Tuk beaming with absolute joy that your heart had chosen to return home. Mo'at herself greeted you with a warm touch to your shoulder, asking after Suk'tet with a look that told you she knew exactly what had been happening on those plains.

The moment the feast concluded and the crowds began to disperse, Neteyam stayed behind to gather the trash. You stayed too, slipping into your familiar routine. A few of the older kitchen women lingered, scrubbing the large pots, their eyes darting between you and the towering boy across the room.

“Y/N,” one of them whispered loudly, leaning over the counter with a massive grin. “Is it true? Did Neteyam really fly to the plains every single sunrise for two moons just to watch you chop roots?”

“Is he your lover?” another chimed in, nudging your ribs.

“Or is he still courting you?”

Your face flushed a violent, burning purple. “No! None of that,” you stammered, frantically scrubbing a leaf plate. “He was only flying out so Tuk could play with Popiti.”

The older woman let out a loud huff. “Oh, please! Popiti has been living in the forest for over a moon now, and Neteyam didn't fly Tuk to the plains a single time before you left. He only had wings when you were out there, child.”

You denied everything until your throat was dry, but the denial was entirely futile. If Neteyam had stolen your chores on the plains, he doubled his efforts now that you were back on his home turf.

He began waking up before the first light of dawn, hauling waterskin after waterskin up from the river to fill the kitchen reservoirs before you even opened your eyes, completely eliminating your morning lifting routine. When you went to prep vegetables, he was already there, moving in a silent, perfect rhythm beside you. The head cooks just watched the two of you with silent amusement, never asking questions.

One afternoon, you returned to your sleeping mat after a long day in the forest with the children and found a beautiful, custom-made quiver resting on your furs. Inside were a dozen hunting arrows, each one perfectly balanced, featuring a unique and intricate fletching of bright blue and silver fibers. You bit your lip, your fingers tracing the soft feathers. You knew the handiwork instantly. The sheer, relentless devotion of the gesture finally chipped away the last of the icy armor around your heart. You couldn't even remember why you were supposed to be angry anymore.

The next morning, during the meal prep, Neteyam silently slid into the seat beside you, reaching for a basket of unpeeled roots.

“Why are you doing this, Neteyam?” you asked quietly, your voice losing its sharp edge entirely. “You are a warrior. You shouldn't be wasting your hours on meager kitchen labor or crafting arrows for a novice.”

Neteyam stopped his knife. He turned his head, his amber eyes completely bare, stripping away every ounce of his warrior pride as he looked at you.

“I told you before, Y/N... I was completely blind,” he said, his voice dropping into a deep, resonant chest tone. “I was so consumed by the council’s beliefs on how a leader must fight that I completely forgot how a leader must care for his people. I hunt, and I scout, and I bleed for this clan, but you have been the one keeping them together since we were children. You are so much more noble, so much stronger, and far more vital to the survival of the Omatikaya than I will ever be. This clan has a hundred hunters and warrior. But there is only one you. For them... and for me.”

He took a sharp breath, his fingers trembling slightly against the wooden table.

“I know you will not believe me, but when my grandmother first suggested you as my betrothed... I wanted it so desperately that the intensity of my own selfishness terrified me. In my panic, I tried to hide behind duty. In my immense stupidity, I failed to realize that the best decision I could ever make for our people was to follow my heart. A leader protects the people, Y/N... but it is you who teaches them who they are. I cannot live a life without you.”

Your heart hammered so violently against your ribs you felt completely breathless. You stared at him, your throat tight, before quickly looking down at the half-chopped fruit in your lap.

“I...” you whispered, your lips puckering slightly as you peered up through your eyelashes. “Well... I was just going to say that I want to be your friend again. I am tired of being annoyed at you...”

Neteyam’s entire face lit up, a brilliant, breathtaking smile tearing across his lips as he bit his lower lip to keep from shouting. “Then I will be the greatest... friend this world has ever seen,” he vowed softly. “I promise. I won't mess up again.”

You shrugged, a small chuckle escaping you. “None of us are perfect, Neteyam. We make mistakes. To be fair... I was mean to you, too, over the last two moons.”

He let out a rough, breathless laugh, shaking his head. “It doesn't matter. I deserved every single bit of it.”

“Agreed,” you murmured, a genuine smile finally breaking across your face.

His eyes danced with light. “Can I... can I sit at your table for dinner tonight?”

“My table?” you asked, raising a brow. “The nursery children sit there. They are incredibly rowdy.”

“I don't care,” Neteyam said instantly, his posture softening. “I can help you feed them.”

That night, the older members of the clan watched as Neteyam sat at the children's table, completely buried under a mountain of toddlers.

The kids were entirely oblivious to his fierce warrior reputation, the only thing that’s important is that they can climb on his massive frame like a Hometree branch, and having him at their table was an absolute fun time. Two small toddlers were hanging off his shoulders, another was pulling on his ear, and Neteyam didn't care in the slightest. He spent the entire meal helping you cut up meat and wipe messy faces, so focused on the task that by the time the kids were full, neither of you had touched your own food.

You looked down at his leaf plate, which was still piled high with untouched food, and let out a bright laugh. Neteyam grinned back, finally taking a bite, only to nearly choke when a two-year-old suddenly tackled his neck from behind.

“Alright, alright, we should let him eat,” you chuckled, gently prying the toddler off his back. The little girl immediately flopped into your lap, yawning hugely before snuggling her head against your chest. You tickled her nose, angling your head to look down at her sleepy face. “Always so sleepy when your belly is full, aren't you?”

The child let out a soft grunt, and you heard Neteyam let out a low, deep chuckle beside you.

Up on the leader's dais, Neytiri and Mo'at watched the scene unfold, exchanging a silent, amused look, shaking their heads in unison. If the boy had only listened to them the first time, this path would have been infinitely easier, but by choosing the long, painful route, he had managed to show you a depth of devotion that words alone could never have conquered.

The weeks that followed blurred into a seamless routine. You were together almost every waking hour, except when he's on border patrols or you're on your lessons with the children.

Meanwhile, Tuk and Popiti became a permanent fixture of teasing, constantly trailing behind you like two tiny, blue shadow-demons intent on destroying your sanity.

“I think you should have seven babies,” Tuk announced one afternoon, skipping backward ahead of you while balancing a basket of berries on her head. “Three boys to hunt with Neteyam, three girls to be with you, and one extra to just run around and be loud with us.”

“What?” you sputtered, nearly tripping over a stray root. “Tuk, please. I am just trying to sort these medical leaves, don’t be silly.”

Popiti leaned in, her eyes flashing as she mischievously smirked. “Seven is an uneven number, Tuk. Highly impractical for horse formations. I suggest eight. Four pairs. And the binding ceremony must happen before the next high moon, otherwise, the gossip in the weaving tents will go stale, and my mother says stale gossip is a sin.”

“I am right here,” you groaned, covering your face with your hands. “And gossip? What gossip?”

“Just something we’re working on,” Tuk chirped, completely unbothered. “We're just helping! You two are not going the way Mom said you’re going so someone has to do the logistics.”

Before you could threaten to assign them both to communal pot-scrubbing duty for a month, a trio of older kitchen women intercepted you near the drying racks. They looked at you with their arms crossed and their expressions a mixture of intense maternal scrutiny and absolute glee.

“Ah, finally you are back,” the elder called out, a sharp smirk cutting across her wrinkled face. “Y/N, come here. We need you to settle a wager before we throw these two little birds into the river.”

You stopped, raising an eyebrow. “A wager?”

The older woman gestured dramatically toward Tuk and Popiti, who were suddenly looking very innocent. “These two have been running from the nursery to the looms telling everyone who will listen that Neteyam has already built you a formal three-room kelku on the high branches, that he has personally wrestled a palulukan to make your wedding leathers, and that you have secretly agreed to move the entire Olangi direhorse herd into the middle of our hunting grounds.”

You felt the blood rush to your ears so fast they practically vibrated. All of those are ridiculous. “What?”

“Oh, it gets better,” another elder chuckled, leaning over a basket of sweet roots. “Tuk swore to the Tsahik this morning that you and her brother already shared the first mating bond under the stars, and that Neteyam cried tears of joy for three hours straight afterward.”

“I did not say three hours!” Tuk shouted defensively, her face flushing. “I said two! And he didlook like he was going to cry when I saw him earlier today!”

“Tuk! Popiti!” you gasped, your voice cracking as you looked between the girls and the highly entertained elders. “Neteyam has not built a kelku, he has not wrestled a palulukan, and he absolutely, under no circumstances, cried for two hours! There is no mating ceremony, and the direhorse herd is staying exactly where it is!”

The older woman let out a theatrical sigh, shaking her head as she handed a couple of iridescent rocks to the woman next to her. “A pity. I lost five beads on the palulukan. But you cannot blame us for checking, child. The future Olo'eyktan has been walking around looking all lovesick for moons now. We had to verify the misinformation before Mo'at started scheduling the clan dance.”

“Go play in the mud, you two,” you muttered, swatting at the girls' shoulders as they giggled and sprinted off toward the river. You turned back to the smirking elders, utterly exhausted. “Please tell me Neteyam hasn't heard any of this.”

The woman just winked. “Oh, he heard the part about the crying. Lo'ak made sure of it.”

You nearly choked, your eyes closing in frustration, mostly because you were desperately trying to pretend that the moment of him saying he couldn't live without you never happened. But you also know that the tension between you was growing heavy. You couldn’t completely go back to what you two used to be. Things have now shifted into something thick, dark, and predatory.

One time, you caught him watching you from across the training clearing. His golder eyes were dark, heavy, and burning with a fierce heat as they tracked the curve of your waist. When he noticed you catching him, he simply raised a slow, challenging brow before turning back to his bow. That wasn’t the first time you caught him looking at you with that same look and he’s not exactly shy about it at all.

“Focus,” he whispered, his hot breath brushing the tip of your ear. “Draw the string back to your jaw.”

He stood directly behind you, his massive chest framing your back, his large, warm hands resting firmly on your hips to adjust your stance. He pulled your hips back slightly, aligning your spine against his hard frame, and you completely forgot how to draw air into your lungs.

You tried to focus on the woven target tied to a distant three, swinging in the air to simulate a moving target. You swallowed hard, pulling the heavy string back until your knuckles grazed your cheek. You held your breath, tracking the swinging target through the dappled sunlight, and released.

The arrow cut through the air before embedding itself dead-center in the moving bullseye.

You shrieked in absolute delight, your jaw dropping. Without thinking, you spun around and jumped directly into Neteyam’s arms, laughing hysterically against his shoulder as you jumped on the soles of your feet.

“Hell yeah!” Neteyam cheered as he caught you effortlessly, his massive arms locking around your lower back, lifting your feet off the ground as he twirled around, his deep laugh rumbling directly into your chest.

“You are capable of anything, Y/N,” he murmured against your jaw, his grip tightening until you were flush against him. “You always have been.”

You leaned back slightly but you didn't pull away completely, your eyes locking onto his lips, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you tilted your head a fraction of an inch closer as your wide, golden eyes peered up at him. That tiny, deliberate movement was all the permission his starved soul needed.

Neteyam’s breath hitched, a low, desperate sound tearing from the back of his throat as he closed the remaining distance. His lips crashed into yours with the force of a breaking dam.

It wasn was heavy, consuming, and desperate right away, carrying the weight of a year's worth of unspoken longing. One of his massive hands slid up to cup the back of your neck, his fingers tangling into your braids to hold you firmly against him, while his other hand clamped around your waist, crushing your frame entirely against his. He kissed you like a starving man who had finally found the only thing capable of keeping him alive, pouring every ounce of his soul into the pressure of his mouth.

When his teeth gently caught your tongue and sucked, deep and demanding, a soft whimper escaped you. You pulled back just an inch, your eyes wide and your face burning with a scandalized, breathless laugh.

“Neteyam!” you whispered-shouted, looking around the empty canopy.

He bit his lower lip, his amber eyes glowing with joy. “Sorry...” he mumbled, though his smirk told a completely different story. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours and pressing a hard kiss against your lips. “I love you, Y/N. So much. I love you so much.”

You stared up at him, your lips tingling, wet and swollen from his kisses. Giving in completely, you stood on your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him back down for another.

Now that the threshold had been crossed, the forest became a beautiful, dangerous paradise of stolen moments.

It started on an afternoon in the deep brush, where you were supposed to be gathering red fire-ferns for the healing pavilion. Neteyam had volunteered to ‘guard’ you, which apparently meant standing entirely too close and distracting you every time you reached for a stem.

“You missed one,” he murmured, his voice dropping into that low, heavy register.

You looked down at the perfectly bare patch of earth. “Neteyam, there is literally nothing there but dirt.”

“I was talking about this,” he countered smoothly. Before you could call him out on his terrible tracking logic, his large hand was already pulling you sharply into the thick, shadows of the broad-leafed ferns.

He pinned your lower back against the damp trunk of a massive tree, his mouth dropping onto yours with a sudden, breathless hunger. You pulled him closer by his hunting harness, your quiet gasps for air completely muffled by the bruising rhythm of his lips. By the time he let you go, your basket was half-empty and your lips had a telltale crimson.

Two days later, the tension followed you up to the shadow of the ikran roost. You were wrapping a fresh leather strap around the chest piece of his riding gear, trying to focus while his golden eyes tracked your every movement.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you muttered, pulling the knot tight. “People are watching from the lower ledges.”

“No, they aren't,” Neteyam whispered back, a slow, predatory smirk spreading across his lips.

You stepped back, biting your lip with a feigned fear and his hand shot out to grab your wrists, gently but unyieldingly pinning them against the wall, stepping into your space until his hard chest completely crowded you out. He leaned down, his tail wrapping firmly around your ankle to anchor you in place.

“Neteyam, someone might land an ikran,” you whispered-shouted, your heart hammering against your ribs.

“Then they land,” he mumbled playfully against your jaw before his mouth caught yours again. He sucked on your lower lip, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles over your wrists until you stopped resisting and melted completely into the wall behind you.

But the true madness always happened long after the village had gone to sleep.

You met in the highest branches of Hometree, far above the sleeping tiers where the night air was still and cool. The moss beneath you glowed with a soft, pulsing blue light, casting an ethereal shimmer over Neteyam’s bare chest as he pulled you into his lap.

“You smell so good,” he whispered, his face buried deep in the crook of your neck, his teeth gently nipping the sensitive skin right above your collarbone.

You chuckled. “I just tried Popiti’s root sap,” you mumbled, a soft shiver running down your spine as his long fingers traced a burning path up your inner thigh. You reached up, your fingers tangling into the thick beads of his queue. “If the kids wake up and find my mat empty, I am blaming you entirely.”

Neteyam huffed a laugh against your lips, “Tuk and Popiti had spread more gossips among their flock. They really believed I wrestled a palulukan for you, I have their approval.”

You burst into a quiet, breathless laugh against his mouth, the sound immediately cut off as he pulled you down into a deep, consuming kiss that left both of you completely lost in the dark canopy.

Tonight was no different. The sky was decorated with thousands of stars but the distant waterfalls glowing with a soft, ethereal light was your main view as you sat nestled comfortably between Neteyam’s long legs, your back resting securely against his broad chest as the two of you shared a sweet fruit.

“I have a confession,” Neteyam murmured, his arms wrapping around your waist as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “When Popiti moved to the village and ended my excuses to fly to the plains... I genuinely thought my world had ended. And then that little demon doubled down by telling me Ziklan was going to make you his mate.” He let out a low, fake gasp, imitating Popiti's high voice: “And they'll be mated soon, and that means babies also!”

You burst into a loud, echoing laugh, leaning your head back against his shoulder. “She completely misinterpreted our friendship.”

“She did,” Neteyam muttered, his lips trailing down to press a warm, lingering kiss against the side of your neck. “But those words echoed in my mind every single day, even after Ziklan told me he wasn't courting you. I was losing my mind.”

“Told you? Did you confront him?" you asked, craning your neck to give his lips more room against your skin.

“Sort of...“ He whispered, his hands sliding beneath your top to rest against the warm skin of your ribs. “I told Tuk you would come home when your heart wished it... but in my head, I was already drafting an entire list of arguments to drag you back if you choose not to.”

“Such as?” you teased, your breath hitching as his fingers began to trace slow, deliberate circles upward.

“Like... ‘if you never come home, what about the children?’” he murmured against your ear, making you laugh even harder.

“Neteyam, you sound like I left you to be a single father,” you snorted, closing your eyes as his lips traced a burning path down the length of your neck to your collarbone.

“It felt like it, too,“ he chuckled. “The kids ask for you the second I take them into the brush.”

His mouth found yours again, cutting off your reply with a deep, heavy kiss that stole the remaining air from your lungs. His hands slid down to your hips, his fingers slipping beneath your loincloth, his calloused thumb finding your center through the thin fabric.

A sharp, needy whimper vibrated in your throat as your hips bucked automatically against his hand.

“You are so wet already...“ Neteyam growled against your lips, his voice dropping into a dark, gravelly register.

His long fingers caressed your slit, humming when he found you really slick. He parted your velvety folds to expose your burning heat, inserting two fingers in one, deep stroke, making you moan loudly against his mouth as he anchored your hip with his other hand. His thumb pressed firmly against your clit, moving in a frantic, relentless rhythm that had you shaking within seconds.

He pulled his mouth away, his breath coming in ragged gasps as his head lowered in your chest, his teeth gently nipping at your skin while his fingers worked your pussy into absolute madness. You stifled your moans, your hand grabbing his large forearm, your head falling back against his shoulder.

The combination of his fingers stretching you inside, his other hand kneading your breast, and his mouth sucking at your pebbled tip had your mind splintering. The terrifying thrill of anyone seeing both of you here added to your pleasure.

“Neteyam—” you cried out, your fingers locking into his braids as your body tightened into a violent, shuddering climax.

You shook in his arms, your walls clamping rhythmically around his fingers as he held you tightly through the storm, kissing you hard as you fell weak against him. You are literally forced out of your body by the shattering pleasure he has given you that when his hands moved with a purposeful hunger to turn your body around in his lap, you feel like a twig that had separated from a bark, hanging loosely but holding on for dear life.

His large hand held your other thigh to make you straddle him. His hand caressed its way up your back, clamping on your nape as his lips came crashing down on yours. You kissed him back, holding tight onto his shoulders. He kissed his way down to your breasts, sucking and biting before he lowered you down on the flat and wide surface of the branch.

He adjusted between your legs, fitting his large body between them until your felt his mouth on your warmth. He laid his tongue flat, licking your slit before sucking at your sensitive nub.

“Oh, Neteyam!” you moaned before biting your lip, your hips bucking away from the stimulation of his tongue’s pressure on your clit, urging a release from you that he ultimately got.

You felt a warm liquid gush out of you and his tongue licked you clean as he untied your loincloth around your tail. He let out a low chuckle when you bucked away from his mouth again, kissing your inner thigh and squeezing the other. He hovered over you as he reached behind him to shed his own loincloth.

You bit your lip as you watched him, spreading your legs for him as you watched his loincloth peel away. His hand held your thigh to spread it wider, his other hand holding his cock that you are currently eyeing. It wasn't your first time seeing it... but it still daunts you.

You licked your lips wet, reaching out to wrap your fingers around it. He let go of it to let you have your way with him, groaning as you twisted your fingers softly around this girth. You smiled, watching him tremble as his hold on your thigh tightened from the agonizing stimulation, but after a while of allowing you to play with him, he pushed you thigh back, your foot resting flat on his bicep.

He looked at you, his dark eyes grazing your naked form, his lower lip caught between his teeth. He lowered himself down a little, his large arm circling around your torso, his hand holding you by your nape. “I love you so much,” he mumbled, kissing you.

He guided the wide head of his shaft to your wamrth, pushing against your defenses. He was breathing heavily, and you can tell he wanted to close his eyes by the time he successfully slid the head into your warmth, but that he's fighting it.

His other hand lowered down to cup your butt cheek, helping him guide himself better as he sinks down into your tight walls. The girth was immense and you're barely breathing, feeling like someone's trying to insert a rod into you that which does not belong there. He was so thick and large and you feel every inch of him in you.

“You're so big...” you mewled, panicking a little.

He hushed you softly, kissing your lips. “You can take it all, baby...” he mumbled, his hand reaching out to softly rub your clit just as he was sinking in.

He kisses your neck to amp the distractions, taking you away from the immense fullness in your pussy, making you moan in absolute pleasure. One of his hands came up to cover your mouth and the next thing he did explained why: he pushed the remaining length into you in one go, and a loud, strangled moan tore from your throat.

Your eyes widened, your inner walls stretching to their absolute limits around his immense thickness, a sensation of pure, suffocating fullness locking your hips in place.

“Fuck, baby, you are so tight...” he groaned his forehead resting against yours as his thumb found your clit again, gently rubbing the bundle of nerves to ease the stretch.

His mouth claimed your mouth again, kissing you thoroughly, sucking at your tongue. The moment your body adjusted, he began to move. He started with slow, agonizingly deep pulls, bottoming out against your core before picking up a frantic, relentless pace. The branch beneath you moved softly with the rhythm of his thrusts. Neteyam buried his face in your neck, his deep, guttural grunts vibrating against your skin as he forcefully pounded into you.

You wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, pulling him closer, your mind completely vacant of anything but the white-hot electricity of his body moving inside yours, moaning his name when the tension snapped completely.

Neteyam let out a loud groan into the night air as he came inside you, his entire body going rigid as he buried his face in your braids, holding you so tightly against his chest it felt as though he wanted to fuse your spirits permanently. You rode the wave of his release, your own body shattering into a blinding climax that left both of you completely spent, tangled together on the high, mossy branch.

Long after the heat had cooled, Neteyam remained hovering over you, his fingers gently stroking your cheek as he pulled the leather ties from your hair, letting your braids fall loose against the bark.

“Please, don’t ever leave me again,” he whispered into the quiet dark, his eyes soft and filled with a peace you had never seen in him.

You let out a soft, tired chuckle, wrapping your arms securely around his neck. “I don't think I could leave even if I wanted to. My heart is entirely trapped here,” you mumbled. “With the children and all.“ you added, pursing your lips.

His head lifted, his eyes playfully narrowed. “Uh-huh?”

You let your head fall down the moss. “And with you... Maybe one-fourth of it...”

“Y/N! Over here!”

Kiri’s voice cut through the noise and you turned around to see her waving frantically from a table near the center of the clearing, surrounded by Spider, Lo’ak, a few of their hunter friends, and him. Neteyam.

Your heart did its usual, foolish flutter, smiling at her before weaving through the crowd toward them. As you drew closer, you noticed the tight seating arrangement.

To be fair, it was filled with men of particularly larger physique. There was barely enough room for Spider, let alone another Na’vi. Neteyam scanned the table and saw the thoughts forming on your your face. You’re going to politely wave Kiri off and tell her you’d eat later instead. So, without a word, Neteyam’s elbow dug sharply into Lo’ak’s ribs.

“Ow!” Lo’ak hissed, nearly dropping his roasted meat.

“Move over,” Neteyam commanded in a low, authoritative murmur, shoving his brother a full foot to the left. Lo’ak grumbled under his breath but complied anyway, leaving a perfectly cleared space right beside Neteyam.

“Oh, there, Y/N!” Kiri offered the seat with a grin.

Neteyam looked up at you with a nonchalant look, acting as if he hadn’t just practically manhandled Lo’ak away. You rounded the table and slowly folded your legs beneath you to sit on the mat beside Neteyam.

“Thank you,” you whispered as you settled into the space. The heat radiating from his side was instantaneous, a contrast to the cool evening breeze filtering through the branches.

“You're late,” he noted, his eyes scanning your face, tracking the slight smudge of soot on your cheek.

Your eyes fluttered, stupidly going mute for a moment with how close he is and before you could actually answer, he reached to his side and pulled a large leaf toward you. Usually, you’re left with a random assortment of scraps when you sit with the other kids you live with at the longhouse, but this one was piled with the sweetest, most tender cuts of roasted meat and roots, and a handful of the rare blue berries you always picked when you go out to forage.

“Kiri prepared it,” he murmured and cleared his throat, pushing the leaf into your hands.

Kiri’s ear twitched at the mention of her name and she turned to the both of you.

You smiled when your eyes locked, “Thank you, Kiri. You shouldn't have bothered...” you said cheerfully.

Her brows furrowed. “For the seat? Sure. I always ask you to eat with us, I don’t know why you also always refuse.” she pouted.

You started eating the meat on your leaf, chuckling at her sulking. The young ones at the other table still need assistance with eating sometimes, and the ones your age are not always as attentive. Your hunger and the fact that you haven’t eaten since breakfast didn’t really register to you until you started downing your food.

Neteyam reached over before silently pushing a small wooden cup of water toward you. You grabbed it and drank the cool water gratefully, the soothing liquid easing the tightness in your chest. As you set the wooden cup down, your fingers brushed lightly against Neteyam’s. A faint, electric warmth jumped across your skin, making your pulse spike, but you forced your eyes to stay fixed on your food.

That was just Neteyam. He was always doing things like this, paying attention to the smallest details, noticing when someone’s cup was empty, sensing when a space needed to be cleared, or when someone needs help. And that was you. You are always in need of help.

So of course, the eldest son of Toruk Makto who was bred from birth to watch over the people, to lead with a watchful eye and a steady hand is always ready to give it. This kindness extends over everyone and not really a special favor to you, because it was simply the fabric of who he was. He was just as attentive to the young hunters learning to string their first bows.

You looked up briefly, watching from the corner of your eye as he laughed at a joke Spider made, his teeth flashing in an easy air, his shoulders relaxed.

You loved him.

You had loved him for as long as you could remember, but it wasn't the kind of love that demanded possession. You didn't dare dream of standing beside him as his mate, or wrapping your songcord around his wrist in front of the whole clan. To you, Neteyam was like the great Hometree itself. Magnificent, sheltering, and belonging to everyone. You were entirely content to admire him from the periphery, to be the quiet shadow that appreciated his warmth without ever asking to burn in it. Knowing that he was safe, that he was thriving, and that he would one day be the glorious leader the Omatikaya deserved... That was enough for you.

“Hey, Y/N,“ Lo’ak suddenly spoke up, breaking you out of your thoughts. He was leaning across the table, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he looked between you and his older brother. “You know, if you're always this hungry, you should just hunt with us. Neteyam here can teach you how to properly take down a hexapede. He would be so eager to share his wisdom with you.”

Neteyam’s ears immediately flared, pinning back slightly against his head. He didn't look at Lo’ak, but his jaw tightened. “What are you even talking about,” he calmly said in a low voice, bringing his cup to his lips to sip.

“She works in the kitchens and the nurseries, Lo’ak,” Kiri said, crossing her arms against her chest. “She doesn't need to waste her time missing targets with you.”

“I don't miss!” Lo'ak protested, throwing his hands up.

“You missed twice yesterday,” Neteyam retorted smoothly, his tone perfectly even, though he reached out and casually grabbed another sweet root from the center platter, dropping it onto your leaf without a word.

Across the circle, Kiri rested her chin in her hands, her gaze drifting between you and Neteyam with a quiet, knowing expression. She didn't say anything, but the subtle quirk of her brow made your forehead crease in confusion. You arranged the meat, roots, and fruit properly, scanning the table for a spare leaf to cover and fold it with, only to see all their leaves scantily discarded.

You bit your lip, planning to get up and get a fresh leaf. You hadn't even made a sound, but without breaking eye contact with the hunter he was speaking to, Neteyam’s hand shot out and gently caught your wrist. His grip was warm, his thumb resting right over your pulse point.

“Leaf?” he murmured over his shoulder to you, seamlessly continuing the conversation with the hunter. With his free hand, he grabbed a clean leaf from a neighboring table and gave it to you.

Across the circle, Lo’ak stopped chewing. He looked at Neteyam, then at you, and a slow, wicked smirk spread across his face watching you begin to fold the leaf.

“Are you full or are you just bothered with what Lo’ak said?” he asked quietly as their friends began to talk and laugh loudly.

Your forehead creased, chuckling. “I am full. I am bringing this back to the kids,” you said. “They tend to get really hungry in the middle of the night.”

Neteyam watched your hands work, his eyes tracking the neat, careful way you bind the leaf. “Then we should add more,” he said, his tone telling you this was a no-brainer.

“No, there’s no need. The kids also need to learn how to make do with what’s there. Besides, the food is rationed...” you reasoned.

He huffed. “Even so. The kids need to eat... But then, it’s your decision. You’re basically the one raising them,” he said in a soft voice, staring at your side profile, but he immediately caught himself. “The clan is thankful to you for that.” he added in a flat tone, looking away to look at the mess on the table instead.

“We have sisters in the longhouse as well, I am not entirely alone in it,” you replied, finishing the bundle.

When the dinner finally wound down and the people began to disperse, laughing and slapping each other's shoulders, you stayed behind. It was muscle memory at this point. You knelt to gather the leaves, the discarded bowls, and wipe down the tables

“I swear, you're the one running this clan, Y/N,” Kiri mused, dropping to her knees beside you to stack a pile of the bowls. She shook her head, though her eyes were fond.

“Don't exaggerate, Kiri,” you laughed, leaning over to pick up a stray cup. Before your fingers could touch it, a large hand closed around it first.

You looked up. Neteyam was kneeling right there, seamlessly joining the cleanup. He didn't say anything at first, just quietly moving around the space, stacking heavy bowls and carrying them toward the washing area so you wouldn't have to. He was a warrior, built for the hunt, yet he moved through the domestic chore with a quiet, efficient grace.

“Go on ahead, Kiri,” Neteyam suddenly said, not looking up from his task. “We’ll finish up here.“

Kiri looked between the two of you, pursing her lips. “Right. I’ll get going...” she said in a singsong voice, giving your shoulder a quick squeeze before wandering off.

With just the two of you left, the silence felt thick, charged with the steady hum of the forest outside. Neteyam worked quickly, ensuring you didn't have to bend down for a single heavy object. When the last mat was cleared, you turned to him, wiping your hands. “Thank you, Neteyam. Good night.”

You quickly turned to head toward the winding path that led up to the high branches, but his footsteps closely followed yours.

“I'm walking you up,“ he stated like it was a fact of the moment.

You shrugged. He often does that anyway. “Alright. But just so you know, I know my way home,” you chuckled.

“It's dark, and the higher ledges are slick from the evening dew,” he replied smoothly, his hands resting casually on his hips as he looked down at you. It was the perfect excuse, the responsible commander looking out for a clan member. He completely ignored the fact that you climbed these branches every single day of your life without a single slip. He was only glad you didn't argue.

But that was mainly because walking up the winding pathways of Hometree beside him was quite the torture you can’t refuse. The warmth of his body shielded you from the cool draft blowing through the upper canopy, and you know, that when you lay awake later, you will think about every detail of tonight like a teenage girl with a crush.

When you reached the longhouse where orphaned children are housed, the low, collective breathing of sleeping kids greeted you. There were children as young as four years old huddled together on the woven mats.

“Here we are,“ you whispered, turning to him. “Thank you.”

“Good night, Y/N,” he murmured, his eyes lingering on your face in the dim light of the bioluminescent moss.

You slipped inside, finding your spot on the floor. Almost instantly, a tiny four-year-old girl stirred, whimpering in her sleep before crawling over and burying her head against your side. Another young boy shifted, tossing his arm over your legs. You smiled softly, wrapping your arms around them to draw them close, and began to softly hum a low, soothing lullaby.

Outside the shelter, Neteyam stood still. He listened to the faint, sweet sound of your humming, his chest tightening with an unfamiliar, fierce warmth. He told himself he was just ensuring everything in the clan was sound before he left. He told himself that a warrior simply values peace in the clan. He didn’t want to acknowledge anything other than that.

A few days later, the forest was alive with the bright golden light of the afternoon. You were deep in the woods, leading a small group of the younger children on a foraging trip. Among them was Tuk, who was practically bouncing on her heels.

“And this one! What does this one do? Can we eat it? Is it poisonous? Will it turn my tongue blue like Lo'ak's when he ate those bad berries?” Tuk fired off questions without breathing, pointing at a glowing fern.

You laughed enthusiastically, kneeling down so you were at her eye level. “No, Tuk, this one isn't for eating. But see these veins? If you ever get a scrape, you can mash these leaves up and put them on the cut. It stops the stinging.”

“Whoa,” Tuk gasped, her eyes wide with wonder.

You gathered the children closer, holding up a bright, deceptively beautiful leaf. “Now, look closely at this one. See these tiny, pale hairs on the edges? Never, ever touch this. They have sharp, pin-like needles. They will stick into your skin and itch for days. Do you understand?”

The children all nodded solemnly, completely captivated by your voice.

You were so focused on their wide, curious eyes that you didn't hear the soft rustle of the brush behind you. Neteyam had just finished his patrol. His body was tired, his muscles tense from hours of scouting, and by all accounts, he should have reported straight to his father. Yet, the moment his duties were cleared, his feet had carried him straight toward the woods.

He had known Tuk was with you, as usual. He had used that exact thought to make himself comfortable with the decision. I'm just checking on my sister, he told himself, ignoring the way his heart had done a strange, eager leap the moment he saw the bright feathers of your long braids.

“Neteyam!” Tuk’s high-pitched voice suddenly rang out.

You blinked, turning around as the circle of children parted. Neteyam has already reached your flock, looking every bit the fierce warrior the kids idolized. The children instantly gasped, looking at him with awe.

“The teacher is so immerse... A palulukan could have attacked anytime,” he said in a humored voice, his lips curling in a smirk.

Your lips twisted. “And the hunter should have also known that these paths are not the paths a palulukan would take,” you playfully narrowed your eyes but you grew serious right away. “Did you come to get Tuk? We were just about to walk home, it's almost eclipse.”

Neteyam paused, his tongue catching in his throat. You were so practical and straight to the point. It was exactly the excuse he had prepared in his mind should you question his presence, but hearing you say it so plainly made his chest feel strangely hollow. He couldn't admit to you, or to himself, that Tuk was entirely secondary.

“Yeah...” he said, clearing his throat and rounding the group of children, his ears twitching slightly. “I just got back from patrol.”

“We better get back, kids,” you announced, clapping your hands together. “The skies will darken in minutes and we don’t want to be caught in the dark.”

The children obediently scrambled into a line, holding each other's hands and walking ahead of you. You and Neteyam fell into step behind them, keeping a watchful eye on the little line.

“They're so good with you,” Neteyam murmured, watching a little boy trip over a root, only for Tuk to proudly help him up. “They actually listen. When I try to tell Tuk to stay put, she completely ignores me.”

You chuckled, a warm, genuine sound that made Neteyam’s gaze snap right to you. “It is only because I speak to their curiosity and I rarely demand for their obedience. They are curious kids and they are really behave when you speak to them about what they want to know.”

Neteyam watched you as you walked. The fading sunlight filtered through the canopy, catching the amber light in your eyes. He stifled a soft smile, a sudden wave of something fierce washing over him. You were almost exactly the same as the kids you were teaching. You had grown up, yes, but that pure, undiluted light in your eyes had never faded. You were still the same curious, incredibly polite, and deeply kind girl who used to sit in the corner of his family's hut, laughing quietly with Kiri.

He found himself stepping just a little bit closer to you as the shadows of the forest lengthened, completely oblivious to the knowing pairs of eyes watching over you both from the high branches of Hometree.

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

The atmosphere inside Hometree felt unusually heavy. You were returning from a long day in the woods, carrying a basket of rare roots and leaves that Mo’at had explicitly requested. This was exactly what you did for the clan: anything. You don’t really have an official designation; you were simply someone who could do anything. An errand girl.

Mostly you gather fibers for the weavers and forage for the cooks, but when necessary, you could weave and cook, too. Your mornings were spent with the children, and since most of your chores were usually over before the communal dinner, you manage to help in the kitchens as well.

And now, you felt fortunate that you were tasked to the woods to gather the herbs the Tsahik is in need of, because an older hunter from the Olangi passing through the Omatikaya territory had chanced upon you and talked to you about your great aunt, Suk’tet.

It is not like you’ve ever met this lady before... Despite your mother being Olangi, you grew up in the Omatikaya; but still, your mind was occupied and weighed down by the conversation you had with the hunter.

“She is very sick, child. The fever clings to her like a shadow, and the people are afraid she will pass without any of her blood with her.”

The news left a cold ache in your chest. Already feeling deeply dispirited, you hugged the basket closer to your chest and decided to take a quiet shortcut, intending to quickly drop off the herbs and retreat to the high branches. But as you rounded the pavillion toward the back entrance, the sound of low, intense voices made you freeze in your tracks.

“…she will ground you when the burden of leadership becomes too heavy,” Mo’at’s sharp voice echoed clearly through the space.

“Y/N?”

Your breath hitched. It was Neteyam’s voice.

“Tsahik, I see that you mean well,” Neteyam continued, his tone formal but strained. “Y/N is a good woman. She cares deeply...”

“There is a but. What is it?” Neytiri’s voice cut in, smooth and unyielding.

“Mother, I… I don’t see why you cannot see what I mean,” Neteyam sighed, his frustration bleeding through his words. “You are an Olo'eyktan's mate, and you are strong. A fearsome warrior who helped Dad fight his battles. Y/N… She’s… She cannot even hunt for herself. She cannot protect herself either. If I were to choose my mate, it would be someone who is capable of protecting my children because I would be completely occupied with protecting the people.“

Your stomach dropped, a cold, sickening weight pooling in your gut. Your grip tightened so hard on the basket that the stalks of the fresh herbs began to snap under your fingers.

“She works with children right now and you can see she is good with them,” Mo’at grinded.

You heard Neteyam sigh. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

Your breathing hitched. You can literally feel goosebumps raise on your skin from how cold you were feeling inside.

“You underestimate Y/N,” Neytiri replied, her voice carrying a fierce edge. “Her father was an honorable warrior of the Omatikaya, and her mother a warrior of the Olangi.”

You heard Neteyam let out a sharp huff. “And she is not them, mother,” he said flatly. “I hope you are hearing how ridiculous this is.”

“Enough,“ Mo’at commanded. “You have spoken too much, and I hear you. I will not speak of this again.”

Pressing your back against the column, you gritted your teeth, your entire body shaking as you fought back the hot tears threatening to spill over. You bit your lip so hard you tasted copper, forcing yourself to stay entirely silent. A moment later, Neteyam strode out of the pavilion. His posture was rigidly stiff, his jaw clenched, his steps heavy as he walked right past your hiding spot without noticing you.

You closed your eyes and forced a ragged breath into your lungs, desperately calming your racing heart. He was right about everything. It was a ridiculous idea. You didn't even know what had possessed Mo’at and Neytiri to pitch such a far-fetched match. But understanding his logic didn't mean it didn't cut you to the absolute core. He was so utterly appalled by the very concept of you being his mate that he could barely find a kind word to soften his rejection. To him, you were completely unsuited and unimaginable.

Waiting until the burning in your throat subsided, you stepped out from the shadows and walked into the pavilion. Mo’at and Neytiri were sitting in a heavy, tense silence. Neytiri’s eyes widened slightly in surprise as you approached, her gaze searching your face, likely wondering just how long you had been standing outside.

Acting as completely normal as you could muster, you knelt and began pulling the herbs from your basket. “I have the roots you asked for, Tsahik,” you said, your voice tight but clear.

Neither of them spoke. They remained utterly silent, the weight of the air suffocating, until Mo’at uttered a simple, quiet thanks for your job. You bowed your head and left as quickly as your legs could carry you.

During dinner that night, the vibrant atmosphere of the communal area felt entirely distant. For the first time in your life, you felt exhausted. You took a seat at the lower ledges with your companions from the longhouse, instantly diving into the task of tearing up meat and mashing roots for the younger children. You didn't get a single bite onto your own leaf. You couldn't eat anyway, your throat felt entirely closed up. You just wanted the day to end so you could finally curl up in your sleeping mat and cry where no one could see you.

Across the clearing, Neteyam sat at his usual table, completely distracted. His neck craned, his eyes trained on your back. You were turned away from him, your shoulders slightly hunched as you patiently fed a few toddlers. He had been watching long enough to know that you hadn't taken a single portion for yourself.

A strange, sharp pang clawed at his chest. Neteyam knew there was no possible way you could have heard his conversation with his mother and grandmother, yet an irrational sense of fear kept pulling his gaze back to you. He tried to tell himself he had done the right thing. He knew, ever since he was a child, that he did not belong to himself. His choices weren't his own. He belonged to his parents’ expectations, his siblings’ protection, and the future of the entire Omatikaya clan.

He knew, without a doubt, that should the council choose someone they deem suited for him, that he would mate with her. For his part, he believed that he needed a fierce warrior by his side. Much like the partnership his parents had. It was the only logical choice for the people.

Yet, he knew what he felt when Mo’at had pitched the idea of you being his mate. His heart had leapt into his throat with a terrifying, fierce surge of possessiveness, a reaction he had immediately suppressed and buried under cold, harsh logic. That was impossible. How could he be so selfish?

He wanted to talk to you. He needed to hear your voice, to see that quiet, comforting smile that usually settled his mind after a long day. He felt ridiculous. Pathetic. He feels weighed down by what he said about you, by how he disparaged you to his mother and Mo’at, and yet here he is, desiring to hear your voice.

And because he is selfish when it came to you, he decided he would wait until the dinner ended, knowing you would stay behind to clean the tables, and he would help you just like he always did. That plan calmed him down a little.

But it didn’t last long. From your table across the clearing, he saw you stand up. Neteyam’s forehead creased in immediate confusion as he watched you gather five of the youngest children, gently guiding them away from the light of the fires and out of the clearing.

Without even thinking, Neteyam pushed off his mat and stood up to follow you. He was delayed, forced to weave through the crowded tables and dodge a few greeting hunters, his eyes never leaving the path you took. By the time he broke away from the crowd and stepped onto the winding ramp upwards, you were already high up in the branches, nearing the longhouse.

He climbed quietly, his long strides easily closing the distance. Just as he reached the platform of the shelter, he caught sight of you returning from the back of the longhouse, lifting a wooden basin of water.

You stopped dead in your tracks when your eyes landed on him standing in the dim light. You managed to force a small, flickering smile before continuing to walk toward the doorway.

Neteyam immediately stepped into your path, making you halt. Up close, he could see the profound exhaustion in your posture. You looked completely dispirited, your usual warmth entirely replaced by a hollow, distant look that he couldn't quite put a hand on.

“You didn’t stay until the end of the meal,” he said softly, his eyes tracking the way your body was already angled toward the entryway, as if you couldn't stand the thought of lingering for even a second.

Your lips parted slightly, your eyes flickering away, struggling to maintain eye contact. “Uh, yes. The kids are done eating, and I’m putting them to bed,” you murmured.

“You didn't eat much,” he blurted out, the words slipping past his lips before he could stop them. He hadn't meant to sound like he had been watching your every move, even though that was exactly what he had been doing.

Your forehead creased, and you looked up at him as if he had suddenly grown two heads. The irony of his sudden concern was almost laughable. “I’m not that hungry,” you said quietly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Is there anything you need, Neteyam?”

The straightforward, practical question hung in the air. He didn't have an answer, because he didn't even know why his feet had dragged him all the way up here. “No, nothing—”

“Y/N!!!”

Milo's high-pitched, crying voice suddenly pierced the air from inside the longhouse.

Setting the basin down with a hurried splash, you immediately rushed inside, with Neteyam following close behind. Little Milo was sitting on the woven mats, tears streaming down his face as the other children frantically explained that they had been playing a reckless game of tag in the dark and he had tripped.

“How many times have I told you not to run inside in the dark?” you scolded them gently, kneeling down to inspect a small, bleeding scratch on Milo’s elbow. Neteyam quickly light the hanging firepots up. You sighed, turning toward your side of the longhouse where your baskets of healing supplies were kept. “Stay still, Milo. I'm going to get the salve.”

“Let me see,” you heard Neteyam’s deep voice resonate through the small shelter.

You paused, turning your head to see him already kneeling in the spot you vacated. He was carefully dipping his large, calloused fingers into the basin water, his touch remarkably gentle as he began to wash the dirt from the little boy's scratch. “A future hunter doesn't cry over a little scrape like this, right? You have to be brave,” Neteyam murmured, a soft, encouraging smile on his face that made Milo instantly sniffle and nod bravely.

You walked back over, your chest aching at the sight, and silently applied the herbal salve to the wound, wrapping it neatly in a strip of soft, woven cloth.

Standing up, you turned to the rest of the wide-eyed children. “All of you, wash your hands in the basin and get to your sleeping mats right now,” you commanded.

“Y/N, will you tell us a story tonight?” one of the younger girls pleaded, looking up with big, hopeful eyes.

“No,” you said strictly, keeping your tone firm despite the exhaustion pulling at your eyelids. “As punishment for your rowdiness causing Milo to get hurt, there will be no story tonight.”

A collective, dramatic groan echoed through the longhouse.

You let out a soft sigh, your features softening just a fraction. “There will be a lullaby instead. Now, to bed.”

They immediately scrambled to their mats, grumbling but obedient. You turned around to face Neteyam, who was now standing by the entrance, his tall frame nearly brushing the upper beams of the longhouse as he watched you.

“Thank you for helping with Milo,” you whispered, your voice completely devoid of the playful, affectionate teasing you usually shared with him. You kept your distance, your hands clasped tightly behind your back.

He looked down at you, his golden eyes deep and swirling with unspoken words. His lips parted, his ears twitching slightly as if he were fighting the urge to reach out, to say something, anything, to bridge the immense, freezing distance that had suddenly formed between you.

“Y/N, there’s something—”

“You should definitely go now, Neteyam,” you interrupted softly, using the kids as an immediate shield. “The children need to settle down, and it needs to be quiet in here. Good night.”

“I should go then,” Neteyam said softly, his voice dropping into that familiar, quiet register. He lingered by the threshold, his eyes scanning your face one last time, searching for whatever was casting that heavy shadow over your usual warmth. “Good night, Y/N.”

The moment his tall, muscular frame disappeared past the woven flap of the longhouse, the forced smile slid completely off your face. Your chest felt like it was being compressed by a great, invisible fist. You turned back to the kids, pushing the agonizing memory of his cruel words deep down into the recesses of your mind. Tonight, you couldn't afford to break.

After all, you do care deeply. That’s your defining trait.

You sat down on the woven mats, and as promised, you began to softly hum a low, soothing lullaby. The children huddled close, their breathing slowing down as sleep claimed them one by one. But as the longhouse grew quiet, the heavy silence only made the echo of his voice louder in your head.

For years, you were content to just exist in his orbit. You knew your place. You were practically just doing the scraps of everyone’s work. You were who they remember when they needed something done and didn’t want to ask their equal to do it. You do the thankless tasks while the real warriors bled for the clan.

Someone like Neteyam needed a mate who could ride into battle beside him, a woman with fire in her blood and not someone whose greatest talent was comforting crying children in the dark.

Your eyes pricked with hot tears before it spilled over. You huddled close to a sleeping child, closing your eyes and letting the darkness swallow you, wishing more than anything that you could simply disappear.

The next morning brought a shift in the wind, and with it, a strange sense of timing. You were on your way to deliver a fresh batch of woven sleeping mats to the lower ledges when one of the clan's senior scouts stopped you in the corridor.

“The Tsahik calls for you, Y/N,” he said, his face grave.

You shifted your weight on your other foot, feeling a bit of unease. “What for?” you asked.

He shrugged. “Just go. It seems important. An Olangi rider came at dawn, must be about your mother’s family.”

You shifted the heavy stack of woven mats to your other hip, a cold knot of dread tightening in your stomach. “Thank you. I will go right away,” you murmured to the scout.

But you didn't drop everything, for that wasn't in your nature. You marched down to the lower ledges first, carefully laying out the fresh bedding for the families who needed them, ensuring the task was finished before you finally turned your steps toward the healing pavilion.

When you stepped past the beaded curtain, the scent of crushed leaves and dried roots filled your senses, and you saw Mo’at sitting near the central hearth, grinding paste in a heavy stone mortar.

You knelt before her, keeping your posture perfectly respectful. “Good day, Tsahik. I was told a messenger arrived. Is it about my great aunt, Suk’tet?”

Mo’at paused, her sharp eyes tilting upward as she studied your face. “Indeed, it is,” she said, her voice a low, gravelly hum. “How is it that you already know?”

“I chanced upon an Olangi hunter near the borders yesterday,” you explained softly, keeping your eyes trained on the dirt floor so she wouldn't see the lingering redness in them. “He told me of her condition.”

Mo’at nodded slowly, setting her pestle aside. “The message confirms it. The fever has gripped Suk’tet tightly. She is growing older and the spirit grows weary when left to fight in an empty home. The Olangi council sends word to us out of respect for your mother’s blood.”

You let out a quiet, heavy breath. “I should go and take care of her, Tsahik,” you said, your decision born from what you were feeling more than what you are thinking. “I am Omatikaya, but the Olangi blood is half of who I am. I want to tend to her.”

Mo’at’s eyes narrowed slightly, a quiet, knowing look swimming in their depths. “Are you certain, young one? Reconsider the children you spend your days with. They look to you for much.”

You bit your lip as your gaze lowered, feeling guilty that you hadn’t even thought of them when you decided. You will miss them all dearly. “The children have other adults who will ensure they are fed and looked after,” you replied. “But my great aunt has no one. She only has me.”

Mo’at stared at you for a long moment, the silence stretching between you until she finally gave a single, slow nod. “Go then. I will arrange your travels. May the Great Mother guide your path.”

You spent the next two days privately packing your meager belongings, but true to your nature, you refused to leave your duties unfinished. You spent your mornings foraging double the usual amount of roots, wanting to leave the longhouse well-stocked before your departure.

On your final afternoon, you were walking back toward Hometree through the lower forest trails, guiding a small flock of children who were carrying tiny bundles of sweet-pods. The sun was dipping low, casting long, amber shadows through the trees, when a familiar rustle in the brush made your posture instantly stiffen.

You turned and saw Neteyam step into the clearing. His bow was slung over his shoulder, his skin still glistening with light sweat from a perimeter run. His gaze immediately locked onto you, a sudden, bright intensity flaring in his golden eyes.

You stopped and he immediately noticed the apprehension on your face. “Tuk is not with us today, Neteyam,” you stated, cutting straight to the only logical excuse he could possibly have.

Neteyam paused, his ears twitching backward slightly at the precision of your voice. “I know,” he said softly, taking a step closer.

You grimaced slightly, turning your attention to a little boy who was struggling with his bundle, adjusting the strap for him to avoid looking at Neteyam. “We are just heading back. It is nearly time for the evening meal.”

He nodded. “I’ll walk you,” he said.

You gritted your teeth, guiding the kids to walk ahead of you. “Do you think I cannot... protect these children, Neteyam?” you blurted out, your mouth getting ahead of your mind.

You saw his head rear back for a moment, shadows of surprise and something you cannot pinpoint crossing his face. “Of course, I do. You are good with these children, Y/N,” he said.

You fought the urge to roll your eyes, but you did look away, your brows almost touching your hairline as you gritted your teeth. Neteyam angled his head to look at you properly.

“Seriously. I do not have a single doubt that you’d protect these children to the best of your ability,” he murmured.

You lifted your brows and nodded. “Yes, I believe you, Neteyam,” you replied before stepping past him to guide the children who are stepping out of their line.

He followed after you, casually walking beside you. “We’re going on a two-week-long hunt in the western forest. Is there anything you want from there?” he asked, his hand extending half an inch as if he wanted to reach out, though he caught himself.

“Nothing I can think of right now,” you said politely. “But thank you.”

His lips parted to say something again, but one of the kids already snagged your attention. He took a deep breath through his nose. You were never really as close to him as you were with Kiri, so now he doesn’t know what else to say just to keep you standing in front of him for a few moments longer. He wanted you to tell him to be safe. He wanted you to look at him with that quiet trust that always secretly anchored his heart.

Instead, your expression was entirely vacant and he couldn’t find the warmth in your voice. He watched you walk the children up the roots leading to Hometree, and when the kids are finally under the safety of the hollowed trunk, he spoke again.

“It has been years since we last hunted in the western forest,” he said, stalling you with a conversation. “I remember it was a hundred times more perilous than this one.”

“Then it would probably be best if you report to your father now to prepare for the hunt,” you said, turning to the kids to make sure they aren’t pushing each other off the winding ramp. “I need get the kids up to the common area.”

Before he could utter another syllable, you stepped past him, your shoulder brushing the air inches from his chest. Neteyam stood frozen in the middle of the entryway, his fist clenching at his side as he watched you retreat into the winding ramp. The cold, empty hollow in his chest was growing wider, and he didn't know how to stop it.

That night at dinner, the communal area was alive with the boisterous shouting of the hunting parties preparing for the grand hunt. But Neteyam sat at their usual table in absolute silence, completely ignoring the loose banter between Lo'ak and Spider.

His eyes were trained like a predator's on the lower ledges.

He watched you sit with the young ones from the longhouse, watched you tear up meat, wipe smudges from tiny faces, and hand out portions, completely ignoring your own leaf. Once again, he hadn't seen you take a single bite all night. A deep, agonizing urge to stand up, walk over, and force you to eat burned in his gut, but the heavy expectations of his position kept him pinned to his mat.

He looked forward to the end of the meal again, his heart hammering against his ribs. He thought of coming clean, of telling you what happened with his mother and his grandmother, and everything he had said. He debated fiercely with himself. Would telling you about the matchmaking only hurt you more? You knew nothing about it, or so he thought, and explaining his rejection might just plant a seed of pain where there was none.

He didn’t know if he were only imagining things. That perhaps he was so guilty, he was imagining you pulling away because of the damning words he had uttered in the healing pavillion. He’s pretty sure you weren’t always like this. You were never dismissive, especially of him. You were always happy to talk to him. Always looking at him like he personally hung the stars in the sky.

He looked at Lo’ak who is busy eating. Everyone in the table is immersed in a conversation and... he just needed to ask.

“Lo’ak,” he called in a whisper and Lo’ak immediately turned to him.

“Oh?” Lo’ak asked, his brows furrowing at the distraction.

He swallowed, biting the inner flesh of his lips. “Do you... Do you remember what Y/N is like?” he whispered.

Lo’ak looked to the side in confusion. “Y/N...?” he repeated. “What she is like?” Lo’ak closed his eyes for a moment. “She’s just a few tables down, bro. Why are you asking that as if she’s gone or something?” he giggled.

Neteyam’s lips pulled back, baring his fangs. “Just answer the question.”

Lo’ak cleared his throat to feign seriousness. “What she is like to everyone or to you?”

Neteyam’s forehead creased. “Is there a difference?”

Lo’ak rolled his eyes. “Are you stupid?” he whispered and Neteyam stared at him in a way that made bim clamp his mouth shut for a moment. “Okay, so... She’s very kind, she’s always willing to do everything for everyone. She’s also really cute when she smiles, especially when she’s shy and she’s very—”

“What was that?” Neteyam asked, every word emphasized.

“What?” Lo’ak whisper-shouted

“Stop imagining her like that,” Neteyam replied with a scowl, his eyes once again landing on your table.

He was about to ask Lo’ak to elaborate on what he said about how you were to him, when he saw you stand up from your table. Neteyam’s shoulders instantly tensed. It was entirely too early. The main feast wasn't even halfway finished, yet you were already guiding a couple of the youngest, sleepiest children toward the shadows of entryway.

He stood up, ignoring Lo’ak’s confused calls behind him. He took three urgent strides toward the aisle, determined to catch you before you reached the winding ramp—

“Neteyam.”

Mo’at’s sharp, commanding voice followed him and Neteyam stopped, his head snapping toward his grandmother, who was gesturing heavily for him to join the circle of elder council members near the central hearth.

“The Olo'eyktan requires your calculations for the western trails,” Mo'at stated, her eyes locking onto his with an unreadable, stern look.

Neteyam looked back over his shoulder. Your shadow was just disappearing past the grand archway of the entryway, completely vanishing into the dark pathways of Hometree.

His shoulders slumped, a heavy, defeated sigh escaping his chest. He slowly turned around and walked back toward the elders' circle, suppressing the bitter frustration roaring in his blood.

He fought the urge to groan, trying to soothe the sharp ache in his chest as he sat among the strategists. He reasoned with himself that the two weeks might help him clear the cloud in his mind that’s making him imagine things. In two weeks, the air between you would be better, because he will have been in a better headspace, too.

He had no idea at all that by the time he comes back, the bed where you slept would already be stripped bare.

The next day, you helped prepare the kids for the day one last time, pressing your forehead against their small brows, swallowing down the lump in your throat. They would be looked after by the other sisters, but you cannot help but feel sad and guilty about leaving them anyway.

“The hunting party left at dawn,” Mo’at informed you as you stood before a direhorse, her voice full of meaning. “But Hito will take you there safely.” She nodded to the young scout she tasked to accompany you.

You smiled, “Thank you, Tsahik,” you mumbled, turning when you heard hurried sounds of footsteps coming toward you.

You saw Tuk running, with Kiri and Lo’ak tailing behind her. “Y/N!” she called out. “Is it true?! You are leaving?” she asked as soon as she's standing in front of you, tears wetting her cheeks.

You glanced at Kiri, sighing softly as you lowered yourself to level with her. “Only temporarily, Tuk. I have a sick aunt I need to take care of...” you explained.

“Like Ta’uri?“ she asked, referencing an elder who was gripped by a lasting fever and passed last season.

You nodded, “Yes... you can say that. She is all alone, Tuk, and I need to be there for her.

Her lips tugged downward, but she nodded anyway. “Hug Popiti for me, Y/N... it’s been so long since I last saw her,” she cried dramatically, burying her face into your hair and wrapping her small arms tightly around your neck.

You smiled, nodding as you caressed her braids. “I will, Tuk. I'll tell her you're growing into a fine huntress.”

“Don’t worry, Tuk, I can always take you to visit Y/N,” Kiri said, stepping forward to wrap her arms around both of you. Her eyes met yours over Tuk’s shoulder, filled with a quiet, intense concern. “The Olangi isn't that far by ikran.”

“Me, too. But you’ll have to let Y/N settle there first,” Lo’ak said, pausing and looking at your packed satchel. “Won’t you say goodbye to Neteyam?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly.

You forced a small, awkward laugh, the sound hollow in your ears. “He wouldn't be back until next, next week...” you said, turning your gaze vack to Tuk. As if, you thought bitterly.

Lo’ak smirked. “Up to you,” he said in a singsong tone, biting on a piece of fruit.

The journey to the Olangi clan took two full days on the back of a sturdy direhorse, including the necessary breaks to rest and eat. But the moment the dense, claustrophobic canopy of the rainforest gave way to the endless, shimmering sea of grassland, something inside your chest broke open. The sky felt massive, an unbroken dome of brilliant blue that stretched out forever.

When you finally reached the Olangi encampment, a vast circle of beautifully woven leather tents and banners snapping in the wind, you asked for your aunt's home. A young warrior led you to a tent near the eastern edge, where the great direhorse herds grazed.

Suk’tet was lying on a bed of thick furs, her skin flushed with a stubborn fever, though her eyes were still as sharp as flint.

“S-Suk’tet?“ you called out in a small voice, stepping inside to get a better look of her.

“You shouldn't have left the forest, child,” she rasped even without opening her eyes and seeing you, her voice was weak but her tone scolding as you knelt beside her to press a cool, wet cloth to her forehead. “The Omatikaya is your home.”

“Once upon a time, this was my mother’s home, too, Auntie,” you replied softly, squeezing her frail hand. “I am Omatikaya and Olangi. My mother’s blood runs in me just as much as my father’s. I will take care of you.”

Over the next two weeks, you completely threw yourself into the ways of the plains. You missed the high branches of Hometree, but the plains were endless and you had more ground to walk on. When you’re not taking care of Suk’tet, you’re learning how to properly tend to the massive direhorses, how to harvest the tough, sun-baked roots of the plains, and how to cook the rich, heavily spiced stews that sustained the hunters through long days under the scorching sun. You worked until your muscles screamed and your hands were calloused from coarse leather reins.

“Oh, Y/N, I can never be as hardworking as you are,” Popiti said dramatically as she helped you wipe mud from a direhorse. “Surely, Tuk isn’t, too?”

You pushed your lips forward to stifle a chuckle. “Tuk is very curious. She comes with me when I forage in the woods, she loves to study the flora.”

She waved a hand. “Well, I think that’s the equivalent of what I do with you here,” she declared and grinned. “Once she visits, we’ll show her the fun stuff they don’t have back in the forest.”

You laughed softly, your heart tightening with a brief, familiar ache at the mention of Tuk's name. “She would love that, Popiti. She’d love it here.”

Before Popiti could reply, a sudden, heavy shadow fell over the two of you, accompanied by the smug, smooth chuckle that had quickly become the bane of your existence over the last ten days.

“Rinsing a direhorse's hocks is a hunter’s duty, forest girl. You're going to scrub the hide raw if you keep using that gentle touch.”

You closed your eyes for a brief, exhausting second before turning around. Standing there, leaning casually against the wooden post of the horse pen with a stalk of sweet grass jutting out from his smirk, was Ziklan. The moment you had arrived in the camp, the hunter had seemingly made it his life's mission to insert himself into every single chore you attempted.

“I am doing just fine,” you said, your voice dripping with sweet, deliberate politeness as you wrung out your woven cloth. “And I didn't ask for your critique.”

“You never ask,” Ziklan countered, stepping into the muddy pen. Without waiting for your permission, he took the heavy wooden bucket from your hands and poured a fresh splash of clean water over the direhorse's flank. “But don’t worry, it is my duty as a generous clan member to ensure you don't accidentally get kicked into the dirt.”

“I have handled direhorses before,” you shot back, crossing your arms over your chest.

“In the thick trees, maybe,” Ziklan scoffed playfully. He reached out, his hand flashing quickly to pluck a stray bit of dried grass out of your braided hair before you could swat his hand away. “Out here, they run like the wind, Y/N. You have to be firmer with them. Like this.” He slapped the beast’s flank with a loud, firm thud, and the direhorse let out a contented snort, settling under his touch.

Your face crumpled in disgust and Popiti fell in a fit of laughter. “He has a point, Y/N. Ziklan is the best rider in our clan. If you want to learn how to properly race across the ridges, you should let him teach you.”

“I am here to take care of my great aunt, not to race,” you muttered. Ziklan was helpful, you couldn't deny that, but he was just so incredibly annoying. He never left you alone.

“Suk’tet is sleeping,” Ziklan noted, handing the empty bucket back to you, his fingers deliberately lingering against yours for a brief second. “Which means you are free. Come to the ridge so I can teach you.”

“No, thank you. I have roots to prepare for tonight's stew,” you said, turning on your heel and walking out of the pen.

“I’'ll gather them for you!” Ziklan called out behind you, his laugh echoing.

You shook your head, walking back toward Suk’tet's tent. Ziklan's relentless attention was exhausting, but in a strange way, it was the only thing keeping you grounded. He didn't look at you like you were a fragile caretaker who needed protection. Somehow, it eases the burn brought by Neteyam’s rejection.

By the end of the second week, Suk’tet’s fever had finally broken completely, leaving her weak but fiercely demanding her usual herbal tea. You were standing near the eastern edge of the camp, helping Popiti sort through a basket of dried grass for the hearth, when a high-pitched, familiar shriek suddenly echoed paces away. You turned around, seeing Tuk running toward you, her high-pitched voice calling your name excitedly.

Your face instantly split into a wide, genuine smile, the heavy weight that had settled in your chest for weeks suddenly lifting. “Tuk!” you cried out, dropping your basket and jogging toward her.

Popiti chased after you. “Tuk!!” she screeched excitedly.

Tuk tackled you into a fierce, rib-crushing hug. “I missed you so much! Everyone does! Look at your clothes, you look so beautiful!” she cheered, pulling back to inspect your sleek Olangi leathers.

“I missed you too, little one,” you laughed.

Tuk turned to Popiti, hugging her like they are both grown women who had just reunited. “Oh, sweet dear, it has been so long!” Tuk said, wiping an imaginary drop of tear on her cheek.

“Indeed, it is! I would have prepared an afternoon tea for us, my dear, if only I know you’ll be visiting!” Popiti replied, wiping her cheek, too.

You chuckled at their antics, clearing your throat. “I think, I can do something about that,” you narrowed your eyes playfully, and then turning to Tuk seriously. “Where is your sister?”

You craned your neck to look at where she came from, your smile slowly fading as the blood in your veins turned to absolute ice. Standing beside the massive flank of an ikran was not Kiri.

It was Neteyam.

He fixed something on his saddle while his eyes were locked entirely onto you as he approached. He was still strapped into his heavy hunting harness, dark grease from the forest canopy smudging his collarbone and a quiver of heavy arrows rattling against his back. He looked like he just got back from the hunt, pushed his ikran to its absolute limit, and flown straight here without washing the grit from his skin.

You stood up slowly, your brows furrowed a little. It was glaringly obvious that he had rushed here, and equally obvious that he was completely blindsided to actually find you standing in the muddy horse pens instead of being safely back at Hometree. He was looking at you as if you had stolen something from him.

His gaze raked over you, taking in your sun-kissed skin, the sleek, fitted leathers that hugged your frame, and the way your long braids moved freely in the breeze and his lips parted a fraction of an inch. His head tilted.

“They told me you left the forest,” he said, his voice raspy. He stepped closer, his jaw tight.

“My great aunt is sick,” you replied, keeping your chin lifted despite the sudden, erratic skipping of your heart. “She has a stubborn fever. I came here to nurse her, and I will stay until she is well.”

His intense golden eyes locked onto yours with a scrutiny so fierce and unblinking that you suddenly found it impossible to look him in the face. You shifted your gaze to the dirt, your skin prickling under the weight of his attention.

Tuk, entirely oblivious to the thick tension vibrating between the two of you, stepped up and beamed at Popiti. “To be honest, I didn't even know we were flying out here today! Neteyam just arrived from the long hunt and I told him you left the village, and well... here we are! I guess Neteyam misses you just as much as the rest of us do.”

Neteyam instantly snapped his gaze away, clearing his throat roughly as a deep, unmistakable purple flush crept up the sides of his neck and flooded his ears. He clamped a massive hand over the top of Tuk’s head, effectively muffling her next words while trying to look anywhere but at you.

Your own cheeks flared. Desperate for an escape from the suffocating awkwardness, you blurted out the first hospitable thing you could think of. “I... I will go prepare some tea for you two. We can eat some of the dried honey biscuits, too.”

But just as you spun on your heel to head toward the tents, a familiar, melodic whistle echoed from the edge of the ridge. Ziklan strolled into the clearing, a casual smirk plastered across his face.

“You know, forest girl, if I hadn't gone home to eat and sleep, and had just waited on the ridges for you to show up, I would have died of old age by now,” Ziklan teased, slinging a long arm over the wooden fence post. “You are completely heartless.”

“I never promised you anything, Ziklan,” you sighed, casting him a dry look. “I distinctly remember telling you I wasn't going.”

Neteyam’s head snapped toward the intruder. His flustered, embarrassed frame vanished in a fraction of a second, replaced by a rigid, towering warrior who clearly did not appreciate this stranger invading your personal space. His eyes narrowed to slits, tracking Ziklan’s movements with a cold, territorial glare that practically screamed his desire to physically shove the man a three-mile distance away from you.

Ziklan, however, possessed an incredibly bold streak and absolutely zero sense of self-preservation. Sensing the heavy gaze, he turned his grin directly onto Neteyam.

“Neteyam te Suli?” Ziklan asked, his tone shifting into one of genuine, deep-seated respect.

Neteyam gave a single, stiff nod. He extended his forearm in the formal warrior's greeting. Ziklan clasped it firmly, but Neteyam’s fingers locked around the man's wrist with a grip that was entirely too tight, his knuckles white under his blue skin.

“What brings a legendary warrior such as yourself to our lands, Neteyam?” Ziklan asked, seemingly unfazed by the bone-crushing grip.

Neteyam’s jaw pulsed, his teeth grinding together before he directly uttered, “Y/N.”

“Y/N?” Ziklan echoed, blinking in surprise before looking between the two of you. “Ah, yes! This forest girl. Well, she has been a savior for her aunt. Suk’tet has been practically bedridden since the turning of the season, but just two days ago, Y/N had her sitting up and taking the air. We finally brought her out to see the sun today. Right, Y/N?”

Neteyam’s eyes narrowed further, the muscle in his cheek twitching. Objectively, he knew he should be grateful. He should be glad that you had found someone kind, someone helpful who made your grueling chores easier in a foreign clan. But as he watched Ziklan stand comfortably close to you, Neteyam couldn't find a single drop of gratitude in his chest. He felt like a complete fraud, an awful, bitter weight settling deep in his stomach.

When Neteyam offered nothing but a freezing silence, you took it as his usual indifference toward your life outside of his family's circle. Why should he care about what you’re doing out here anyway? Swallowing the lump of disappointment in your throat, you placed your hands on Tuk and Popiti’s small shoulders.

“Let’s find a good spot for our gathering,” you urged.

“Can Neteyam join our tea party, Y/N?” Tuk asked, looking up with wide, hopeful eyes.

Popiti immediately leaned in, shielding her mouth with a hand as she whispered loudly to Tuk, “I highly suggest we do not bring boys into our sacred circle. They ruin the gossip.”

“But Neteyam will be entirely alone,” Tuk whispered back urgently. "Y/N is his only friend here, and I think he really, really wants to hang out with her. We can even invite Ziklan to balance it out! They can act as our personal guards.”

“Fine, I will ask him,” Popiti relented.

Within seconds, Popiti had scampered over to pitch the idea to Ziklan, while Tuk tugged relentlessly on Neteyam’s hand. Ziklan didn't need to be asked twice. “An afternoon tea with Y/N? Count me in,” he grinned, sending a playful wink your way.

You leveled him with a completely deadpan expression.

“I’ll even help you stoke the hearth and brew the leaves,” Ziklan offered smoothly. “Our guests can just sit back and relax. Popiti, why don't you guide the young warrior's sister to the shade near the weaving tents?”

“Or,” Neteyam interrupted, his deep voice slicing through Ziklan’s easy hospitality, “I can be the one to help Y/N. Besides, I have been meaning to learn how the Olangi prepare their blends. You know these plains better than I ever could, Ziklan. It makes more sense for you to ensure the children stay safe near the perimeter.”

Ziklan’s lips parted, his mind visibly grinding through the flawless logic of the suggestion. He looked at Neteyam’s towering, unmoving frame, then back to the girls, and finally nodded, completely sold. “Right. You're completely right about that, my friend. Let's go, girls!” With a sweeping gesture, he guided a giggling Tuk and an eager Popiti away toward the center of the camp.

The silence that settled over the horse pen was instantaneous and deafening. You stood by the wooden bucket, deliberately avoiding Neteyam’s gaze.

“I don't really need any help,” you muttered, picking up the woven basket of dried tea roots.

“I want to learn,” Neteyam said softly, his tone losing every ounce of its earlier authority. “Show me how it is done.”

You pursed your lips, letting out a small sigh as you shrugged and began walking toward the communal kitchens. Neteyam fell into step right beside you, his massive strides falling perfectly into rhythm with your smaller ones.

As you began sorting the dried roots, washing them in a clay basin, Neteyam hovered close, his eyes quietly cataloging every tiny detail that had changed about you over the last two weeks. Heck, he was extremely detailed on it he even tracked the small scratch on your thumb.

“How are you?” he asked quietly.

“I am fine,” you replied, keeping your eyes trained on the knife in your hand. “My aunt is resting. She is doing much better than when I first arrived.”

“I am glad,” Neteyam murmured, his voice softening into something raw and incredibly intimate. “Nobody ever stays sick for long on your watch. You are better than most of the trained healers in the pavilion. I think it is because you actually care deeply for the souls of those you tend to.”

Your fingers froze over the clay basin. You care deeply. Those words again.

A sudden, sharp sting of memory sliced through your chest. The memory of his cruel, careless words about your lack of strength, your inability to hunt or protect, your unfitness to stand beside a future leader. You gritted your teeth, forcing the pain down as you arranged the honeyed biscuits, a clay pot, and clay cups onto a heavy wooden serving tray.

Before you could lift it, Neteyam’s large hands slid beneath the wood, effortlessly taking the weight from you. He didn't say another word, silently carrying the tray as you scanned the ridge to see where Ziklan had taken the girls.

“Y/N! Over here!” Ziklan’s voice boomed from a shaded knoll near a cluster of vibrant banners. He waved an arm, a massive smile on his face.

“Is he always like that?” Neteyam murmured.

You glanced up at him with your brows furrowed. “He is a good man,” you murmured, felt a sudden urge to defend the hunter. “He has helped me more than anyone else since I got here.”

Neteyam stared at you, his eyes tracking the small, genuine smile that graced your lips. A bitter, suffocating knot tightened in his throat. He felt like a monster. An awful, selfish person who couldn't even find it in himself to be happy that you had found comfort and safety in a strange place. He tried to imagine how Kiri would react, knowing his sister would be overjoyed for you. But he wasn't Kiri. He knew exactly why his blood boiled at the sight of Ziklan, and the realization terrified him.

“Finally!” Popiti clapped happily as Neteyam carefully set the heavy tray down on a woven mat.

The next hour passed in a blur of lighthearted chatter. Popiti and Tuk ran the entire conversation, practically putting on a theatrical performance about their tragic separation, while Ziklan laughed loudly, entirely missing the subtle, icy cues Neteyam kept throwing his way. It was blindingly obvious to Neteyam that Ziklan was completely infatuated with you, and the hunter didn't have the slightest bit of shame about showing it.

“I wish we could see each other every single sunrise, Popiti,” Tuk declared dramatically, clutching her chest and wiping a fake tear from her cheek. “But the cruel distance separates our souls!”

Ziklan snorted into his tea, thoroughly entertained by their antics.

“You can see each other whenever you want,” Neteyam spoke up suddenly, his voice steady as he looked at his little sister. “I will fly you here myself.”

“Seriously?!” Tuk squealed, jumping up.

Popiti immediately nudged her with an elbow. “Manners,” she whispered fiercely, before turning a highly formal, respectful gaze toward Neteyam. “That would be most grand, respected warrior. You are incredibly gracious to offer such a thing.” Popiti then turned to you, speaking as if she were a wise elder rather than a child. “Y/N, you have a very thoughtful friend. Perhaps we should allow him to join our future gatherings.”

“I would like that very much,” Neteyam replied, offering a low, respectful bow of his head before taking a slow sip from his small clay cup.

“Hey, what about me?” Ziklan chimed in, tossing a seed at Popiti.

“You have tracking duties for the Olo'eyktan, Ziklan,” Popiti said dismissively, waving a hand. “You cannot always be lounging around with the ladies.”

And just like that, the girls unknowingly laid a path that Neteyam walked with relentless, calculated devotion.

Every single morning for the next moon, the heavy thrum of ikran wings would signal Neteyam’s arrival. He always brought Tuk, but the moment her feet hit the dirt, Neteyam would vanish into the background of your daily life, transforming into a silent force of labor.

He brought rare forest herbs for Suk’tet that he specifically asked Mo’at’s expertise on. He brought prime cuts of fresh hexapede and various forest fruits from his morning hunts, quietly handing them off to the camp cooks for you and your aunt. One afternoon, while you were away by the river, He spent three hours under the scorching sun patching the worn, weather-beaten outer hide of your aunt's tent, his massive hands skillfully weaving the thick woven walls until the structure was completely windproof.

He wanted to make things easy for you here. He didn’t want to think of you wanting for anything.

By the end of the second month, Suk’tet had completely recuperated. She was back on the back of a direhorse, back in the elders’ social circles and was finally able to join the rituals. But you lingered on the plains, wishing to see her all the way through it, making sure she is completely fine. You had grown genuinely close to Ziklan, finding a comfortable, easy friendship in his loud, unfiltered nature.

One afternoon, Neteyam had just finished thatching your aunt’s roof when he found the two of you out on the southern ridge. Ziklan was standing directly behind you, his hands adjusting your grip on a heavy shortbow, his chest practically pressed against your back as he guided your aiming arm toward a distant target.

Neteyam froze at the edge ridge, his eyes narrowing into slits. He wanted to act normal. He wanted to be the stoic, composed future leader the council raised him to be, but looking at you encaged in another man's arms, hearing your bright, unburdened laughter ring across the plains is unleashing something ugly in him.

He couldn't do it anymore. He admitted it to himself fully, the truth crushing his chest: he loved you. He felt for you more than words could ever express, and the raw, green jealousy raging in his blood was a monster he could no longer tame. He hated that Ziklan could openly admire you and be with you. At the same time, Neteyam hated himself for being entirely, unforgivably selfish.

He had spent his entire life suppressing his own desires for the good of the clan and had never done a single thing purely for himself... And right now, he knew that if he didn't start being selfish, he would lose you forever.

“She's a natural sharpshooter, this one!” Ziklan joked loudly, catching sight of the towering his frame standing like a statue in the brush. “I might just have to convince her to stay here.”

You gathered your practice arrows beforr walking up to Neteyam, entirely oblivious of the storm brewing in his dark eyes, and pointed toward the eastern tents. “Popiti and Tuk are over by the weaving mats. Tuk has been waiting for you.”

“You are learning archery?” he asked, his voice rough.

Your adrenaline was making it hard for you to wipe the smile off your face, turning to him with a breathless, excited smile and his gaze softened into something so intense, so vulnerable. A warm golden light of the sun was shining on you so specifically, it felt as though Eywa herself had drawn a golden line toward you, pointing you to him. He reached out without thinking, wiping the sweat off your neck and moving a strand of hair that’s sticking to your skin.

A soft, nervous giggle bubbled out of you before you could stop it. You quickly swatted his hand away, stepping back as a sudden, violent heat flared under your skin where his fingers had grazed you. You cleared your throat quickly.

“I wish only to learn so I can hunt... so I can protect myself and the children when we forage,” you said, your heart hammering against your chest. “I need to know how to protect them from danger. The children follow me everywhere in the forest.”

His brows furrowed. “There is no need for that, Y/N,” Neteyam said, his voice dropping into a firm, protective register. “Our clan has many hunters and warriors. It is our duty to handle the sustenance and protection of the people.”

Your lips pressed into a hard, rigid line. The lingering warmth vanished, replaced by a sudden wave of old anger. You tilted your head up, staring directly into his amber eyes. “You really don't even remember your own words, do you?”

Neteyam blinked, his brow furrowing. “My own words?”

“Yes,” you spat, the softness entirely gone from your voice as months of suppressed hurt finally broke through the surface. “You didn’t really think I heard you tell your mother and the Tsahik that I couldn't even hunt for my own food or protect my own life, did you? You asked how someone like me could ever protect the children of a future Olo'eyktan. I don't disagree with you on that, Neteyam. I know I am not a warrior. It is your right to choose a mate who fits your grand vision of a leader, and it is also my right to choose mine.

You stepped closer, your voice entirely cold.

“But you should know... I never wanted to be your mate anyway. I never even thought of it,” you said. “I wish you well in your pursuit of a perfect, strong warrior mate, Neteyam. Truly.”

You swept past him, your shoulder brushing his arm as you marched toward where Popiti and Tuk are. Neteyam didn't follow. He stood entirely paralyzed, heavily burdened by the sheer weight of reality. He had no defense. He had said those exact things. He believed them to be logical amd right at the time, even though the words had tasted like ash in his mouth the moment they left his lips. It had never felt right.

You had heard it all. You had carried his stupidity, his arrogance, and his cruelty in silence for months, and yet, you were still too kind to allow him to be comfortable around you.

He felt his chest hollow out completely. You didn’t even want him. He had spoken so cruelly, spent months agonizing over duty and pride, while you hadn't even considered him a choice. But he had, and it all felt so comical he knew his Mo’at and his mother would laugh at the fact. How dare he reject the idea of you, when it was he who was heads over heels for you this entire time?

It was always you. Since you were children running through the high branches, he had never truly looked at another girl. When he was weary from the endless pressures of being the perfect heir, your quiet laughter was the only thing that lifted the weight from his shoulders. You grounded him. You always had. Like always, Mo'at had been right and he had been completely, utterly blind.

Later that night, back at Hometree, Neteyam sat near the low embers of a secluded fire, a skin of strong, fermented wine gripped tightly in his hand. Lo'ak sat across from him, silently tearing into a piece of dried meat.

“I love her, Lo'ak,” Neteyam whispered into the darkness, the confession tearing out of his throat for the very first time. “I love her so much.”

Lo'ak didn't even pause his chewing. “Tell me something new.”

Neteyam snapped his head up, his eyes wide. “How did you know?”

Lo'ak rolled his eyes, letting out a dry snort. “Because I have functioning eyes? And a shred of common sense? Kiri has a million friends in this village, but growing up, you were always completely centered on Y/N. You were always about what Y/N would like and need. I know you try to be there for everyone in the clan, but you would drop a council meeting with Dad if Y/N ever needed a basket carried or a path cleared. You’ve had it bad since we were kids.”

Neteyam lowered his head into his hands, a ragged breath escaping him. “I... I always just thought I wanted to make things convenient for her. She spends every waking hour making life easy for everyone else in this village. She cares so deeply for the old and the small, and she never stops to think if anyone is looking out for her. I never stopped to think why my urge to protect and provide was so violently strong for her, and her alone.”

A hot, stinging moisture flooded his eyes, blurring his vision until a heavy tear escaped, tracking down his nose. He angrily wiped it away with the back of his hand, pressing his knuckles into his eye sockets to stop the trembling.

“What the fuck, bro...” Lo'ak mumbled, his voice dropping into a rare moment of genuine sympathy. “She really got you bad...” he looked at Neteyam. “But well, why are you crying? Y/N likes you, too, I know that! I see it. And I also know that Y/N knows you care for her. She knows who you are.”

“I hurt her, Lo'ak,” Neteyam choked out, his voice thick with unspent grief. “I hurt her so deeply.”

“How? Is this about you flying to the Olangi camp every single day?” Lo'ak asked, a worried smirk on his face. “Because everyone knows you're not pulling a four-hour round trip just so Tuk can play hand-clapping games with Popiti.”

“No... before that,” Neteyam whispered, staring into the dying flames. “Mo’at and Mother talked to me moons ago. They suggested Y/N to be my betrothed. And instead of listening to my heart, I let my pride and my narrow view of what a leader ‘needs’ take over. I said cruel, unforgivable things about her strength. And she heard every single word.”

Neteyam’s grip tightened on the flask until his claws dug into the wood. “And the worst part, Lo'ak? She was still so kind. She carried that pain in silence, allowing me to exist comfortably around her, never throwing it in my face until today when I finally pushed her past her limits. She must have been in such agonizing discomfort every time I forced my way into her space... and she never said a word.”

Lo'ak breathe sharply through his teeth, shaking his head. “Stupidity... Eywa practically dropped your destiny right into your lap and you kicked it off a cliff. What’s your plan now?”

“I don't want to keep showing up if my presence genuinely makes her miserable,” Neteyam said, his chest constricting tightly as the image of Ziklan holding your bow arm flashed vividly behind his eyelids. “But I also cannot let her think I am giving up. I can't let her fall for someone else.”

Lo'ak let out a rough laugh, shaking his head. “So... you're just gonna keep using Tuk and Popiti as shields to force your way back into her life, huh?”

Neteyam didn't answer. He knew he should be ashamed. He knew he had no right to be territorial, but the sheer terror of a life without you overrode every ounce of his ingrained honor. He would keep showing up.

But his master plan exploded directly in his face the very next morning.

When Neteyam marched back into the clearing after his dawn patrol, the first thing he saw was Tuk and Popiti sitting on the high woven platform outside his family's kelku, giggling uncontrollably as they played a frantic hand-clapping game.

Neteyam stopped dead in his tracks, his heart stopping. “Popiti?” he called out, stepping closer to ensure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him.

The young girl snapped her head around, beaming. “Hello, Neteyam!”

“We don't need to fly all the way to the plains anymore, Neteyam!” Tuk cheered, jumping up and down on the mats. “Popiti and her mother traveled through the night to be with Norm and her sister! There is a huge possibility they are moving to the forest permanently. Isn't that amazing?!”

Neteyam stared at the two girls, a loud, high-pitched ringing filling his ears as his gaze volleyed between them. His throat went completely dry. “Is... is Y/N back?”

Popiti’s smile faded into a serious, knowing look, and she shook her head slowly. “No. She won't be coming back to the forest, I think. Ziklan has officially started courting her. They will be mated soon, and that means babies also.” Popiti nodded sagely, as if she were an expert on the matter. “Y/N is going to stay with the Olangi forever.”

Neteyam’s heart dropped straight into his stomach, a physical sensation of icy dread washing over him. At the moment, his mind can’t even differentiate between being hunted by a starving palulukan in the dead of night and the fact Popiti was talking about. His mind spun out of control as he imagined the future.

“Y/N can't do that!” Tuk shouted, her face twisting into a fierce scowl, mirroring exactly what he was feeling. “She belongs to us! She is Omatikaya!”

“Well, once she binds her spirit to Ziklan, she becomes Olangi. That is how things are. Right, Neteyam?” Popiti asked, looking up at him for confirmation.

Tuk looked up at her big brother, giant tears overflowing her lower lids. Neteyam forced his shaking knees to bend, dropping down to eye level with the two young girls. He reached out, placing his massive hand tenderly over Tuk’s head.

“It doesn't work like that, Tuk. Popiti,” Neteyam said, his voice incredibly calm but carrying a desperate weight. “Y/N is both Omatikaya and Olangi. Her mother's blood and her father's blood make her who she is. A mate will not change anything. She will always belong to both.”

Tuk sniffled loudly, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “But will she ever come home? I miss her being here so much, Neteyam... I pray with Mo'at for her aunt's health every single night just so she can come back to us.”

Neteyam lowered his eyes to the woven floorboards, his chest aching so severely he could barely draw breath. “She will come back... if her heart wishes it so, Tuk.”

“Will her heart ever wish it?” the little girl whispered.

Neteyam’s gaze remained locked on the ground. “We will see...”

The universe, it seemed, was determined to strip away every last bit of his time. Later that afternoon, Neteyam was summoned to the high council, a gathering led far more by the sharp, unyielding gaze of his grandmother, Mo'at, than by his father.

As soon as he took his seat, the elders began discussing the formal arrangements for his future betrothal selection. His jaw slackened. Looking at the completely blank, deliberate expression on his grandmother’s face, he knew instantly that this entire timeline had been forced forward by her hand. She was trying to lock him into his duties.

“Which is why,” Mo'at said, her sharp voice echoing off the woven walls as she looked directly at him, “I expect you to cease these endless, frivolous flights to only Eywa knows where. Stay here, Neteyam. Act like a true leader who prioritizes his people.”

Neteyam’s shoulders slumped, a profound, hollow numbness spreading through his limbs as he heard the incredibly loud this is your choice tone from Mo’at. Every single avenue was closing. Popiti was in the forest, stripping away his excuse to fly to the plains, and the council was locking him into a cage of duty.

He watched his grandmother walk away toward the healing pavilion, and before his brain could register the danger, his feet began to move. He followed her. He pushed past the beaded curtains of the pavilion, his heart hammering against his ribs. He was going to tell her. He was going to call off the selection.

“Tsahik,” he barked out, stopping her in the center of the quiet structure. “I am trying to win Y/N's heart. I need the betrothal selection to stop. I will not choose anyone else.”

Mo'at slowly turned around, her face completely expressionless, though her eyes held a deep curiosity. “Do you remember the exact words you had spoken in this exact room months ago?”

“I remember what I said, Tsahik,” Neteyam intercepted, his voice cracking with emotion. “I will remember my own stupidity for as long as I draw breath.”

“Then you must understand that Y/N will never forget it either,” Mo'at replied coldly.

“I am going to try anyway,” Neteyam vowed, stepping closer, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I will never give up on her. I was too blind to see the gift Eywa had placed directly in front of me. I was so consumed by the weight of the leadership, so obsessed with being the perfect leader, that I ignored the only voice that has ever kept me whole. I thought a leader only protects through the bow. But Y/N... Y/N holds the very soul of our people. She heals the old, she guides the young, she binds the broken pieces of this clan together. No one is better than her, Grandmother, not even I. I am not even her equal, but I will spend every sunrise trying to be worthy of her. Even if it goes against the council.”

Mo'at stared at her grandson, a flicker of profound awe breaking through her tight-lipped facade. The boy had finally grown into a man who understood that his heart must be louder than his mind.

“Very well,” she said softly, turning back to her herbs. “Do what you must do.”

The very next morning, the moment his dawn patrol was ovr, Neteyam pushed his ikran into a sprint across the sky, flying straight back to the Olangi encampment.

Neteyam was a perfectionist by nature. He was a boy who prided himself on being pristine, composed, and unshakeable. But today, the toll of his sleepless nights and absolute terror was laid bare for everyone to see. His ears were pinned flat against his head, his tail hung low and twitching with anxiety, and the regal posture he usually carried was completely fractured by fear.

The moment his boots hit the dirt, his shoulders squared automatically as his eyes locked onto Ziklan. Thank Eywa, you were nowhere in sight.

Ziklan noticed him immediately, stepping away from the herd with a curt, surprised nod. “Neteyam? If you're looking for Popiti, she and her mother left for the forest days ago.”

Neteyam swallowed hard, forcing his raging jealousy down into the pit of his stomach. He looked at the Olangi tracker, forcing himself to speak with a raw, stripping honesty that cost him every ounce of his pride.

“I know,” Neteyam said, his voice steady but thick. “I did not come for the girl. I came for Y/N.”

Ziklan froze, his lips parting in genuine surprise.

“Ziklan,” he called out. “I want to thank you," Neteyam continued, his golden eyes unblinking. “I want to thank you for doing what I was too cowardly and foolish to do. You saw Y/N’s worth instantly... You proudly showed her your admiration and made her feel safe when I did nothing but bring her grief. I respect you for that, Ziklan.”

Ziklan blinked, his eyes awkwardly looking everywhere but at Neteyam. “Y-You’re welcome? I mean, Y/N is a great woman. What’s not to like?” he giggled.

Neteyam looked at him with an easy smile. “But if you must know... I am here to win her back. And I will go through you, or anyone else in this clan, if I have to.”

Ziklan went entirely pale for a fraction of a second, staring at the massive Omatikaya warrior before he suddenly burst into a flustered, stammering laugh. He reached out, nervously patting Neteyam’s massive shoulder. “Whoa, whoa, wait! Hold your ikran, warrior! There is absolutely no need to go through anyone. I am not... courting Y/N.”

Neteyam’s ears twitched. “You are not?”

“No,” Ziklan chuckled, shaking his head. “Look, I like her. Any man with eyes would. She’s beautiful and fierce. But... well, I also have eyes in my head, Neteyam. I've watched you endure a four-hour round trip every single day just to carry her water buckets. I know a desperate man when I see one,” he grinned. “I am glad to know that you are a man of immense honor. Most guys with your rank would have pulled status and thrown their weight around to clear me out of the way, but you came to me directly. I respect that. Don't mind if I steal that move for my own future courting.“ Ziklan smirked, pointing a thumb over his shoulder toward the communal kitchens. “She's over there. Go get her. Good luck!”

The sun was barely over the horizon, casting long, sharp shadows across the dirt as Neteyam walked toward the outdoor kitchens. He spotted you instantly, laughing softly with a group of Olangi women as you prepped roots for the morning stew.

The moment the other women noticed the towering Omatikaya heir standing at the edge of the shade, their conversations died into astounded whispers. You turned around, your breath catching in your throat as your face instantly twisted into a hard, defensive scowl.

Why was he here? You thought you had finally broken him days before. You had once again spent the entire night crying into your furs, furious at yourself for still caring, furious that his face was the only thing you saw when you closed your eyes. You deliberately turned your back on him, picking up your knife and focusing entirely on the vegetables.

An hour passed. You worked until your fingers were stained with juice, completely ignoring the edge of the clearing. You assumed he had finally taken the hint and flown away, but when you finally turned around to carry a basket to the fire, you froze.

He hadn't moved an inch. He was still standing exactly where you left him, his massive hands tucked nervously behind his back, his entire posture vibrating with a fragile, desperate tension. He was waiting for you.

You tried to march past him, but Neteyam stepped directly into your path, his tail dragging in the dirt, his ears completely flattened in a posture of total surrender.

“Please...” he whispered, his voice cracking, entirely dry. “Y/N, please just allow me to speak. Then I will leave if you command it.”

You raised your eyes, forcing them to remain cold, indifferent, and dead to the world. But the sheer vulnerability in his golden gaze made your throat tighten.

“I am an idiot, Y/N,” Neteyam said, the words rushing out of him like a floodgate opening. “When I said those cruel, unfeeling things to Mo’at and my mother, I had convinced myself they were right. I thought that to be a leader, to be a protector, I needed a mate who mirrored my mother’s strength, someone who knew how to kill and hunt. I had such a pathetic, narrow view of strength that I failed to see that you are the one holding the actual future of our people in your hands.”

He took a ragged breath, stepping closer, though his hands remained down.

“No one knows the children better than you. No one has held the hands of our dying elders with more grace than you. I am completely ashamed that I ever deemed you unequal to the title of a leader's mate, when the truth is... I am not equal to you. I was too blinded by my own arrogance to see that the only person lacking true strength in that room... was me.” Neteyam took a deliberate step back, physically granting you the space to breathe. “I do not ask for your forgiveness today. Or even tomorrow. But I swear to you, by the Great Mother, I will spend every single sunrise for the rest of my life proving to you that I can be a man worthy of standing by your side.”

His words hung heavily in the crisp, cool morning air. He stared at you, desperate, begging for any sign that the ice in your chest had thawed. But the memory of the tears you had shed over him was too fresh, the wound too deep. You refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you soften.

Keeping your face entirely flat, your voice cut through his lingering hope like a sheet of ice. “Are you done?”

Neteyam’s ears twitched with a faint, visible pang of grief. He swallowed hard, his tail lowering. “Yes.”

“Okay, then move.”

You didn't wait for him to fully step aside, you pushed right past his shoulder, your basket tightly gripped in your hands. Neteyam didn't try to stop you again. He simply stood in the center of the camp, watching your retreating back, his chest hollowed out by the brutal realization that words would never be enough to fix the wreckage he had caused.

You marched straight down to the riverbank, your heart hammering violently against your ribs as you refused to look back. Your hands were shaking so hard you could barely loop the leather straps of the massive communal waterskins over your arms. You braced your knees, preparing to haul the immense weight back up the ridge, when a massive hand suddenly gripped the leather straps, effortlessly lifting the weight completely out of your grasp.

You snapped your head up, a sharp scowl flaring on your face. “I told you to move.”

“I did move,” he murmured, his voice incredibly soft, his eyes downcast to the riverbed so he didn't look like he was challenging your authority. Without an ounce of strain, he swung the massive, heavy waterskins over his broad shoulders, a weight that would have made your knees buckle instantly. “But I cannot let you carry this.”

You could hear the faint, underlying rumble of frustration in his throat, not at you, but at the fact that anyone in this camp had allowed you to haul such a ridiculous weight by yourself.

“Do you do this every day?” he asked, his lips thinning into a tight line as he looked at the steep ridge trail.

“I don't need your help,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “But if you are going to insist on stealing my chores, the least you can do is do it in absolute silence.”

Neteyam bit his lower lip, turning his head away to stifle the sudden, breathless smile that threatened to break across his face. Hello there, little fire. He had never seen this side of you. You were always so gentle, so soft-spoken, and kind. He had never seen your eyes flash with such fierce, blinding spirit, and the fact that it was directed entirely at him made his blood sing.

For the next weeks, Neteyam turned the Olangi camp into his personal proving ground.

He completely outworked you. Every single time your fingers so much as brushed against a tool, a knife for chopping vegetables, a basket of heavy laundry, a broom for the tent mats, Neteyam would materialize from the shadows, silently and gently prying it from your hands. It was driving you entirely insane. You wanted to ignore him, you wanted to freeze him out, but it is impossible to ignore a towering warrior who is literally completing your entire daily checklist while you are forced to sit on the sidelines with your arms crossed.

The Olangi clan watched the entire spectacle with utter fascination. Elders would sit outside their tents, whispering in amusement as they watched the proud, decorated heir of Toruk Makto skinning vegetables, scrubbing blackened cooking pots until they shined, and carrying logs that usually required two men, all for one furious forest girl. They knew he was courting you, but given the permanent scowl on your face, they all collectively agreed he must have committed a crime of historic proportions.

He would touch down the exact moment his morning patrol ended and refuse to leave until the communal dinners were finished. He wouldn't even sit with the Olangi to eat, he would wait by the washing basins, tracking your movements until you approached with a dirty dish, only to grab it first. He would have tied you to a support beam before he ever let you scrub grease in the kitchens again.

By the middle of the second month, you sat between Suk’tet’s legs while she braided your hair. She was completely healed, her strength entirely restored, her eyes as sharp as ever.

“You have been far from the jungle for too long, child,” she said softly, her fingers weaving the leather ties into your hair. “As much as my old heart loves your presence, I know this endless sky is not the home you grew up in. You have made good friends here... but everything you have ever known is the forest. The Hometree. Your father’s people.”

A quiet ache settled in your chest. It was true. You missed the canopy. “Back at Hometree... I do not have a biological family left, Auntie,” you muttered, turning to face her. “Here, I have you. But... I do miss the children. The little ones I told you about.”

Suk’tet smiled warmly, cupping your cheek with a calloused hand. “You are a beautiful soul, Y/N. Everywhere your feet tread, people learn to love you. They cling to you and build a home around you. You barely knew me, yet you nursed an old woman back from the grave.”

You smiled back, your eyes crinkling. “You are blood of my blood, Suk’tet. I would do it again, though I prefer you stay healthy.”

She let out a dry chuckle, clearing her throat as her eyes turned mischievous. “The son of Toruk Makto... he is your lover?”

Your face erupted into a furious, flustered scowl. “No!” you insisted, though the sudden, violent racing of your pulse gave you away instantly.

Suk’tet simply scoffed, a knowing smirk on her lips. “I see.”

You packed your meager belongings that very afternoon. Ziklan, ever the loyal friend, insisted on guiding you back to the Omatikaya boundaries, a trek that took two full days on the backs of the swift direhorses.

You had absolutely no idea the level of absolute chaos your sudden departure had caused Neteyam.

When he had arrived at the plains two days ago only to leard that you had left with Ziklan, his mind had shattered. He had spent forty-eight hours flying over the forest canopy, terrified that you weren't coming back to the forest at all, that you were fleeing from him forever.

The moment your direhorses broke through the dense foliage into the Omatikaya clearing, a crowd of scouts was already assembled, already mounted on direhorses. Neteyam was at the front.

“Y/N!” his voice broke, his shoulders slumping in a wave of relief so massive it looked as though he might collapse. He was moving toward you before your mount had even come to a full stop.

Before you could even slide off the saddle, Neteyam’s arms were around your waist, pulling you down into a fierce, crushing hug that buried his face into the crook of your neck. The surrounding scouts watched with wide, wondering eyes.

You pressed a firm palm against his hard chest, pushing back until he reluctantly peeled himself off you, though his hands lingered on your waist.

“Ziklan,” Neteyam greeted, turning a sharp but respectful nod toward the Olangi hunter. “Your journey took too long.”

Ziklan raised his hands in the air, a massive, unbothered grin on his face. “Hey, don't shoot the messenger, warrior, as they say.”

Neteyam let out a low huff, and you immediately leveled him with a sharp glare. “The journey always takes two days, Neteyam.”

Neteyam quickly cleared his throat, “Of course,” he nodded without a fight before turning back to Ziklan. “You should stay for supper, Ziklan.”

Before you could force Ziklan to say yes, a chorus of high-pitched shrieks echoed from the Hometree’s entryway. A dozen children from the nursery came tearing down the dirt path, their little feet flying as they chanted your name. Your face split into a brilliant, breathless smile. You dropped to your knees, throwing your arms wide as the kids tackled you into the dirt, their little hands clutching at your clothes, nuzzling their faces against yours.

Neteyam watched with a soft, incredibly tender smile. They had missed you terribly. The entire village had.

That evening, the kitchens prepared a feast that felt more like a celebration for a returning warrior than an errand girl. The older cooks completely barred you from the hearth, shoving you into a seat and telling you to just rest and be served for once. You spent the night sharing stories of the plains, while Tuk and Popiti sat close, Tuk beaming with absolute joy that your heart had chosen to return home. Mo'at herself greeted you with a warm touch to your shoulder, asking after Suk'tet with a look that told you she knew exactly what had been happening on those plains.

The moment the feast concluded and the crowds began to disperse, Neteyam stayed behind to gather the trash. You stayed too, slipping into your familiar routine. A few of the older kitchen women lingered, scrubbing the large pots, their eyes darting between you and the towering boy across the room.

“Y/N,” one of them whispered loudly, leaning over the counter with a massive grin. “Is it true? Did Neteyam really fly to the plains every single sunrise for two moons just to watch you chop roots?”

“Is he your lover?” another chimed in, nudging your ribs.

“Or is he still courting you?”

Your face flushed a violent, burning purple. “No! None of that,” you stammered, frantically scrubbing a leaf plate. “He was only flying out so Tuk could play with Popiti.”

The older woman let out a loud huff. “Oh, please! Popiti has been living in the forest for over a moon now, and Neteyam didn't fly Tuk to the plains a single time before you left. He only had wings when you were out there, child.”

You denied everything until your throat was dry, but the denial was entirely futile. If Neteyam had stolen your chores on the plains, he doubled his efforts now that you were back on his home turf.

He began waking up before the first light of dawn, hauling waterskin after waterskin up from the river to fill the kitchen reservoirs before you even opened your eyes, completely eliminating your morning lifting routine. When you went to prep vegetables, he was already there, moving in a silent, perfect rhythm beside you. The head cooks just watched the two of you with silent amusement, never asking questions.

One afternoon, you returned to your sleeping mat after a long day in the forest with the children and found a beautiful, custom-made quiver resting on your furs. Inside were a dozen hunting arrows, each one perfectly balanced, featuring a unique and intricate fletching of bright blue and silver fibers. You bit your lip, your fingers tracing the soft feathers. You knew the handiwork instantly. The sheer, relentless devotion of the gesture finally chipped away the last of the icy armor around your heart. You couldn't even remember why you were supposed to be angry anymore.

The next morning, during the meal prep, Neteyam silently slid into the seat beside you, reaching for a basket of unpeeled roots.

“Why are you doing this, Neteyam?” you asked quietly, your voice losing its sharp edge entirely. “You are a warrior. You shouldn't be wasting your hours on meager kitchen labor or crafting arrows for a novice.”

Neteyam stopped his knife. He turned his head, his amber eyes completely bare, stripping away every ounce of his warrior pride as he looked at you.

“I told you before, Y/N... I was completely blind,” he said, his voice dropping into a deep, resonant chest tone. “I was so consumed by the council’s beliefs on how a leader must fight that I completely forgot how a leader must care for his people. I hunt, and I scout, and I bleed for this clan, but you have been the one keeping them together since we were children. You are so much more noble, so much stronger, and far more vital to the survival of the Omatikaya than I will ever be. This clan has a hundred hunters and warrior. But there is only one you. For them... and for me.”

He took a sharp breath, his fingers trembling slightly against the wooden table.

“I know you will not believe me, but when my grandmother first suggested you as my betrothed... I wanted it so desperately that the intensity of my own selfishness terrified me. In my panic, I tried to hide behind duty. In my immense stupidity, I failed to realize that the best decision I could ever make for our people was to follow my heart. A leader protects the people, Y/N... but it is you who teaches them who they are. I cannot live a life without you.”

Your heart hammered so violently against your ribs you felt completely breathless. You stared at him, your throat tight, before quickly looking down at the half-chopped fruit in your lap.

“I...” you whispered, your lips puckering slightly as you peered up through your eyelashes. “Well... I was just going to say that I want to be your friend again. I am tired of being annoyed at you...”

Neteyam’s entire face lit up, a brilliant, breathtaking smile tearing across his lips as he bit his lower lip to keep from shouting. “Then I will be the greatest... friend this world has ever seen,” he vowed softly. “I promise. I won't mess up again.”

You shrugged, a small chuckle escaping you. “None of us are perfect, Neteyam. We make mistakes. To be fair... I was mean to you, too, over the last two moons.”

He let out a rough, breathless laugh, shaking his head. “It doesn't matter. I deserved every single bit of it.”

“Agreed,” you murmured, a genuine smile finally breaking across your face.

His eyes danced with light. “Can I... can I sit at your table for dinner tonight?”

“My table?” you asked, raising a brow. “The nursery children sit there. They are incredibly rowdy.”

“I don't care,” Neteyam said instantly, his posture softening. “I can help you feed them.”

That night, the older members of the clan watched as Neteyam sat at the children's table, completely buried under a mountain of toddlers.

The kids were entirely oblivious to his fierce warrior reputation, the only thing that’s important is that they can climb on his massive frame like a Hometree branch, and having him at their table was an absolute fun time. Two small toddlers were hanging off his shoulders, another was pulling on his ear, and Neteyam didn't care in the slightest. He spent the entire meal helping you cut up meat and wipe messy faces, so focused on the task that by the time the kids were full, neither of you had touched your own food.

You looked down at his leaf plate, which was still piled high with untouched food, and let out a bright laugh. Neteyam grinned back, finally taking a bite, only to nearly choke when a two-year-old suddenly tackled his neck from behind.

“Alright, alright, we should let him eat,” you chuckled, gently prying the toddler off his back. The little girl immediately flopped into your lap, yawning hugely before snuggling her head against your chest. You tickled her nose, angling your head to look down at her sleepy face. “Always so sleepy when your belly is full, aren't you?”

The child let out a soft grunt, and you heard Neteyam let out a low, deep chuckle beside you.

Up on the leader's dais, Neytiri and Mo'at watched the scene unfold, exchanging a silent, amused look, shaking their heads in unison. If the boy had only listened to them the first time, this path would have been infinitely easier, but by choosing the long, painful route, he had managed to show you a depth of devotion that words alone could never have conquered.

The weeks that followed blurred into a seamless routine. You were together almost every waking hour, except when he's on border patrols or you're on your lessons with the children.

Meanwhile, Tuk and Popiti became a permanent fixture of teasing, constantly trailing behind you like two tiny, blue shadow-demons intent on destroying your sanity.

“I think you should have seven babies,” Tuk announced one afternoon, skipping backward ahead of you while balancing a basket of berries on her head. “Three boys to hunt with Neteyam, three girls to be with you, and one extra to just run around and be loud with us.”

“What?” you sputtered, nearly tripping over a stray root. “Tuk, please. I am just trying to sort these medical leaves, don’t be silly.”

Popiti leaned in, her eyes flashing as she mischievously smirked. “Seven is an uneven number, Tuk. Highly impractical for horse formations. I suggest eight. Four pairs. And the binding ceremony must happen before the next high moon, otherwise, the gossip in the weaving tents will go stale, and my mother says stale gossip is a sin.”

“I am right here,” you groaned, covering your face with your hands. “And gossip? What gossip?”

“Just something we’re working on,” Tuk chirped, completely unbothered. “We're just helping! You two are not going the way Mom said you’re going so someone has to do the logistics.”

Before you could threaten to assign them both to communal pot-scrubbing duty for a month, a trio of older kitchen women intercepted you near the drying racks. They looked at you with their arms crossed and their expressions a mixture of intense maternal scrutiny and absolute glee.

“Ah, finally you are back,” the elder called out, a sharp smirk cutting across her wrinkled face. “Y/N, come here. We need you to settle a wager before we throw these two little birds into the river.”

You stopped, raising an eyebrow. “A wager?”

The older woman gestured dramatically toward Tuk and Popiti, who were suddenly looking very innocent. “These two have been running from the nursery to the looms telling everyone who will listen that Neteyam has already built you a formal three-room kelku on the high branches, that he has personally wrestled a palulukan to make your wedding leathers, and that you have secretly agreed to move the entire Olangi direhorse herd into the middle of our hunting grounds.”

You felt the blood rush to your ears so fast they practically vibrated. All of those are ridiculous. “What?”

“Oh, it gets better,” another elder chuckled, leaning over a basket of sweet roots. “Tuk swore to the Tsahik this morning that you and her brother already shared the first mating bond under the stars, and that Neteyam cried tears of joy for three hours straight afterward.”

“I did not say three hours!” Tuk shouted defensively, her face flushing. “I said two! And he didlook like he was going to cry when I saw him earlier today!”

“Tuk! Popiti!” you gasped, your voice cracking as you looked between the girls and the highly entertained elders. “Neteyam has not built a kelku, he has not wrestled a palulukan, and he absolutely, under no circumstances, cried for two hours! There is no mating ceremony, and the direhorse herd is staying exactly where it is!”

The older woman let out a theatrical sigh, shaking her head as she handed a couple of iridescent rocks to the woman next to her. “A pity. I lost five beads on the palulukan. But you cannot blame us for checking, child. The future Olo'eyktan has been walking around looking all lovesick for moons now. We had to verify the misinformation before Mo'at started scheduling the clan dance.”

“Go play in the mud, you two,” you muttered, swatting at the girls' shoulders as they giggled and sprinted off toward the river. You turned back to the smirking elders, utterly exhausted. “Please tell me Neteyam hasn't heard any of this.”

The woman just winked. “Oh, he heard the part about the crying. Lo'ak made sure of it.”

You nearly choked, your eyes closing in frustration, mostly because you were desperately trying to pretend that the moment of him saying he couldn't live without you never happened. But you also know that the tension between you was growing heavy. You couldn’t completely go back to what you two used to be. Things have now shifted into something thick, dark, and predatory.

One time, you caught him watching you from across the training clearing. His golder eyes were dark, heavy, and burning with a fierce heat as they tracked the curve of your waist. When he noticed you catching him, he simply raised a slow, challenging brow before turning back to his bow. That wasn’t the first time you caught him looking at you with that same look and he’s not exactly shy about it at all.

“Focus,” he whispered, his hot breath brushing the tip of your ear. “Draw the string back to your jaw.”

He stood directly behind you, his massive chest framing your back, his large, warm hands resting firmly on your hips to adjust your stance. He pulled your hips back slightly, aligning your spine against his hard frame, and you completely forgot how to draw air into your lungs.

You tried to focus on the woven target tied to a distant three, swinging in the air to simulate a moving target. You swallowed hard, pulling the heavy string back until your knuckles grazed your cheek. You held your breath, tracking the swinging target through the dappled sunlight, and released.

The arrow cut through the air before embedding itself dead-center in the moving bullseye.

You shrieked in absolute delight, your jaw dropping. Without thinking, you spun around and jumped directly into Neteyam’s arms, laughing hysterically against his shoulder as you jumped on the soles of your feet.

“Hell yeah!” Neteyam cheered as he caught you effortlessly, his massive arms locking around your lower back, lifting your feet off the ground as he twirled around, his deep laugh rumbling directly into your chest.

“You are capable of anything, Y/N,” he murmured against your jaw, his grip tightening until you were flush against him. “You always have been.”

You leaned back slightly but you didn't pull away completely, your eyes locking onto his lips, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you tilted your head a fraction of an inch closer as your wide, golden eyes peered up at him. That tiny, deliberate movement was all the permission his starved soul needed.

Neteyam’s breath hitched, a low, desperate sound tearing from the back of his throat as he closed the remaining distance. His lips crashed into yours with the force of a breaking dam.

It wasn was heavy, consuming, and desperate right away, carrying the weight of a year's worth of unspoken longing. One of his massive hands slid up to cup the back of your neck, his fingers tangling into your braids to hold you firmly against him, while his other hand clamped around your waist, crushing your frame entirely against his. He kissed you like a starving man who had finally found the only thing capable of keeping him alive, pouring every ounce of his soul into the pressure of his mouth.

When his teeth gently caught your tongue and sucked, deep and demanding, a soft whimper escaped you. You pulled back just an inch, your eyes wide and your face burning with a scandalized, breathless laugh.

“Neteyam!” you whispered-shouted, looking around the empty canopy.

He bit his lower lip, his amber eyes glowing with joy. “Sorry...” he mumbled, though his smirk told a completely different story. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours and pressing a hard kiss against your lips. “I love you, Y/N. So much. I love you so much.”

You stared up at him, your lips tingling, wet and swollen from his kisses. Giving in completely, you stood on your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him back down for another.

Now that the threshold had been crossed, the forest became a beautiful, dangerous paradise of stolen moments.

It started on an afternoon in the deep brush, where you were supposed to be gathering red fire-ferns for the healing pavilion. Neteyam had volunteered to ‘guard’ you, which apparently meant standing entirely too close and distracting you every time you reached for a stem.

“You missed one,” he murmured, his voice dropping into that low, heavy register.

You looked down at the perfectly bare patch of earth. “Neteyam, there is literally nothing there but dirt.”

“I was talking about this,” he countered smoothly. Before you could call him out on his terrible tracking logic, his large hand was already pulling you sharply into the thick, shadows of the broad-leafed ferns.

He pinned your lower back against the damp trunk of a massive tree, his mouth dropping onto yours with a sudden, breathless hunger. You pulled him closer by his hunting harness, your quiet gasps for air completely muffled by the bruising rhythm of his lips. By the time he let you go, your basket was half-empty and your lips had a telltale crimson.

Two days later, the tension followed you up to the shadow of the ikran roost. You were wrapping a fresh leather strap around the chest piece of his riding gear, trying to focus while his golden eyes tracked your every movement.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you muttered, pulling the knot tight. “People are watching from the lower ledges.”

“No, they aren't,” Neteyam whispered back, a slow, predatory smirk spreading across his lips.

You stepped back, biting your lip with a feigned fear and his hand shot out to grab your wrists, gently but unyieldingly pinning them against the wall, stepping into your space until his hard chest completely crowded you out. He leaned down, his tail wrapping firmly around your ankle to anchor you in place.

“Neteyam, someone might land an ikran,” you whispered-shouted, your heart hammering against your ribs.

“Then they land,” he mumbled playfully against your jaw before his mouth caught yours again. He sucked on your lower lip, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles over your wrists until you stopped resisting and melted completely into the wall behind you.

But the true madness always happened long after the village had gone to sleep.

You met in the highest branches of Hometree, far above the sleeping tiers where the night air was still and cool. The moss beneath you glowed with a soft, pulsing blue light, casting an ethereal shimmer over Neteyam’s bare chest as he pulled you into his lap.

“You smell so good,” he whispered, his face buried deep in the crook of your neck, his teeth gently nipping the sensitive skin right above your collarbone.

You chuckled. “I just tried Popiti’s root sap,” you mumbled, a soft shiver running down your spine as his long fingers traced a burning path up your inner thigh. You reached up, your fingers tangling into the thick beads of his queue. “If the kids wake up and find my mat empty, I am blaming you entirely.”

Neteyam huffed a laugh against your lips, “Tuk and Popiti had spread more gossips among their flock. They really believed I wrestled a palulukan for you, I have their approval.”

You burst into a quiet, breathless laugh against his mouth, the sound immediately cut off as he pulled you down into a deep, consuming kiss that left both of you completely lost in the dark canopy.

Tonight was no different. The sky was decorated with thousands of stars but the distant waterfalls glowing with a soft, ethereal light was your main view as you sat nestled comfortably between Neteyam’s long legs, your back resting securely against his broad chest as the two of you shared a sweet fruit.

“I have a confession,” Neteyam murmured, his arms wrapping around your waist as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “When Popiti moved to the village and ended my excuses to fly to the plains... I genuinely thought my world had ended. And then that little demon doubled down by telling me Ziklan was going to make you his mate.” He let out a low, fake gasp, imitating Popiti's high voice: “And they'll be mated soon, and that means babies also!”

You burst into a loud, echoing laugh, leaning your head back against his shoulder. “She completely misinterpreted our friendship.”

“She did,” Neteyam muttered, his lips trailing down to press a warm, lingering kiss against the side of your neck. “But those words echoed in my mind every single day, even after Ziklan told me he wasn't courting you. I was losing my mind.”

“Told you? Did you confront him?" you asked, craning your neck to give his lips more room against your skin.

“Sort of...“ He whispered, his hands sliding beneath your top to rest against the warm skin of your ribs. “I told Tuk you would come home when your heart wished it... but in my head, I was already drafting an entire list of arguments to drag you back if you choose not to.”

“Such as?” you teased, your breath hitching as his fingers began to trace slow, deliberate circles upward.

“Like... ‘if you never come home, what about the children?’” he murmured against your ear, making you laugh even harder.

“Neteyam, you sound like I left you to be a single father,” you snorted, closing your eyes as his lips traced a burning path down the length of your neck to your collarbone.

“It felt like it, too,“ he chuckled. “The kids ask for you the second I take them into the brush.”

His mouth found yours again, cutting off your reply with a deep, heavy kiss that stole the remaining air from your lungs. His hands slid down to your hips, his fingers slipping beneath your loincloth, his calloused thumb finding your center through the thin fabric.

A sharp, needy whimper vibrated in your throat as your hips bucked automatically against his hand.

“You are so wet already...“ Neteyam growled against your lips, his voice dropping into a dark, gravelly register.

His long fingers caressed your slit, humming when he found you really slick. He parted your velvety folds to expose your burning heat, inserting two fingers in one, deep stroke, making you moan loudly against his mouth as he anchored your hip with his other hand. His thumb pressed firmly against your clit, moving in a frantic, relentless rhythm that had you shaking within seconds.

He pulled his mouth away, his breath coming in ragged gasps as his head lowered in your chest, his teeth gently nipping at your skin while his fingers worked your pussy into absolute madness. You stifled your moans, your hand grabbing his large forearm, your head falling back against his shoulder.

The combination of his fingers stretching you inside, his other hand kneading your breast, and his mouth sucking at your pebbled tip had your mind splintering. The terrifying thrill of anyone seeing both of you here added to your pleasure.

“Neteyam—” you cried out, your fingers locking into his braids as your body tightened into a violent, shuddering climax.

You shook in his arms, your walls clamping rhythmically around his fingers as he held you tightly through the storm, kissing you hard as you fell weak against him. You are literally forced out of your body by the shattering pleasure he has given you that when his hands moved with a purposeful hunger to turn your body around in his lap, you feel like a twig that had separated from a bark, hanging loosely but holding on for dear life.

His large hand held your other thigh to make you straddle him. His hand caressed its way up your back, clamping on your nape as his lips came crashing down on yours. You kissed him back, holding tight onto his shoulders. He kissed his way down to your breasts, sucking and biting before he lowered you down on the flat and wide surface of the branch.

He adjusted between your legs, fitting his large body between them until your felt his mouth on your warmth. He laid his tongue flat, licking your slit before sucking at your sensitive nub.

“Oh, Neteyam!” you moaned before biting your lip, your hips bucking away from the stimulation of his tongue’s pressure on your clit, urging a release from you that he ultimately got.

You felt a warm liquid gush out of you and his tongue licked you clean as he untied your loincloth around your tail. He let out a low chuckle when you bucked away from his mouth again, kissing your inner thigh and squeezing the other. He hovered over you as he reached behind him to shed his own loincloth.

You bit your lip as you watched him, spreading your legs for him as you watched his loincloth peel away. His hand held your thigh to spread it wider, his other hand holding his cock that you are currently eyeing. It wasn't your first time seeing it... but it still daunts you.

You licked your lips wet, reaching out to wrap your fingers around it. He let go of it to let you have your way with him, groaning as you twisted your fingers softly around this girth. You smiled, watching him tremble as his hold on your thigh tightened from the agonizing stimulation, but after a while of allowing you to play with him, he pushed you thigh back, your foot resting flat on his bicep.

He looked at you, his dark eyes grazing your naked form, his lower lip caught between his teeth. He lowered himself down a little, his large arm circling around your torso, his hand holding you by your nape. “I love you so much,” he mumbled, kissing you.

He guided the wide head of his shaft to your wamrth, pushing against your defenses. He was breathing heavily, and you can tell he wanted to close his eyes by the time he successfully slid the head into your warmth, but that he's fighting it.

His other hand lowered down to cup your butt cheek, helping him guide himself better as he sinks down into your tight walls. The girth was immense and you're barely breathing, feeling like someone's trying to insert a rod into you that which does not belong there. He was so thick and large and you feel every inch of him in you.

“You're so big...” you mewled, panicking a little.

He hushed you softly, kissing your lips. “You can take it all, baby...” he mumbled, his hand reaching out to softly rub your clit just as he was sinking in.

He kisses your neck to amp the distractions, taking you away from the immense fullness in your pussy, making you moan in absolute pleasure. One of his hands came up to cover your mouth and the next thing he did explained why: he pushed the remaining length into you in one go, and a loud, strangled moan tore from your throat.

Your eyes widened, your inner walls stretching to their absolute limits around his immense thickness, a sensation of pure, suffocating fullness locking your hips in place.

“Fuck, baby, you are so tight...” he groaned his forehead resting against yours as his thumb found your clit again, gently rubbing the bundle of nerves to ease the stretch.

His mouth claimed your mouth again, kissing you thoroughly, sucking at your tongue. The moment your body adjusted, he began to move. He started with slow, agonizingly deep pulls, bottoming out against your core before picking up a frantic, relentless pace. The branch beneath you moved softly with the rhythm of his thrusts. Neteyam buried his face in your neck, his deep, guttural grunts vibrating against your skin as he forcefully pounded into you.

You wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, pulling him closer, your mind completely vacant of anything but the white-hot electricity of his body moving inside yours, moaning his name when the tension snapped completely.

Neteyam let out a loud groan into the night air as he came inside you, his entire body going rigid as he buried his face in your braids, holding you so tightly against his chest it felt as though he wanted to fuse your spirits permanently. You rode the wave of his release, your own body shattering into a blinding climax that left both of you completely spent, tangled together on the high, mossy branch.

Long after the heat had cooled, Neteyam remained hovering over you, his fingers gently stroking your cheek as he pulled the leather ties from your hair, letting your braids fall loose against the bark.

“Please, don’t ever leave me again,” he whispered into the quiet dark, his eyes soft and filled with a peace you had never seen in him.

You let out a soft, tired chuckle, wrapping your arms securely around his neck. “I don't think I could leave even if I wanted to. My heart is entirely trapped here,” you mumbled. “With the children and all.“ you added, pursing your lips.

His head lifted, his eyes playfully narrowed. “Uh-huh?”

You let your head fall down the moss. “And with you... Maybe one-fourth of it...”

He was turning a sleek hunting knife in his hands. At seventeen, he already carried himself with the heavy, unshakeable confidence of a man who knew he was born to lead. You froze for a short moment before your mask snapped back into place, your expression hardening into the cold, untouchable gaze the rest of the clan knew all too well.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice clipped.

He flipped the knife once more, catching it expertly by the hilt before sliding it into his chest sheath, his golden eyes never leaving yours while a slow smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“I came to tell your brother about the change in patrol rotation. I stayed behind when he left because you were still sleeping. It wouldn't be good to leave you here unguarded.”

You crossed your arms, looking down at him from the slight elevation of the alcove steps. “I don’t need a guard, or protection. Besides, no one in this clan would dare cross into this hut.”

“I am not talking about who, I am talking about what,” he countered easily, pushing himself up to his feet and the sudden height difference made you want to take a step back, though you forced your feet to stay glued to the floor. “This part of Hometree is accessible to stray viperwolves. You know that.”

He was right, much to your annoyance. Because your father was Jake’s second-in-command, your mother a fierce huntress, and your brother a rising star among the warriors, your family’s pod was situated on the lower, more vulnerable branches. It was a position of pride, a statement to the clan that your family stood as a shield between danger and the gentler artisans of the upper branches.

Still, you weren't about to give him the satisfaction. You rolled your eyes, a deliberate show of disrespect that you would never dare attempt to do to him in front of your father.

“I am awake now,” you said coldly, walking past him toward the water basin. “You can leave.”

Neteyam let out a low huff of laughter, his cocky nature bleeding into his posture as he tilted his head. “What, no ‘thank you’?” he asked, a smirk playing on his face.

“I did not ask for you to guard me,” you replied smoothly, bringing your waterskin up and taking a slow, deliberate drink to avoid looking at him.

He chuckled, shaking his head. He turned his back to leave, his long tail flicking lazily behind him, but just as he reached the threshold of the pod, he paused and turned around, pointing a long finger toward the hearth.

“I brought you food from earlier since you weren’t at the communal breakfast,” he murmured, his smirk softening into something a little more private. “I didn't know you were such a sleepyhead.”

Before you could snap back a retort, he slipped through the woven entrance and was gone.

The moment his presence left the room, the invisible weight on your chest lifted. You let out a long, ragged breath as you rolled your eyes. Moving to the edge of the pod, you looked out into the bustling morning of the village, your eyes automatically tracking his retreat.

He walked down the massive branch with an easy grace. It was no secret that his father had once been a dreamwalker, an avatar, and Neteyam seemed to have inherited the broader, more muscular physique of his father, setting him apart from the other boys his age, including your older brother's lanky build, making him look like he belonged with the more seasoned warriors.

You watched him until he vanished into the crowd, a familiar, frustrating knot tightening in your stomach. You noticed everything about him and that never sat right with you. He’s your older brother’s best friend and your brother is his shadow, meaning he was a permanent fixture in your periphery.

It didn’t suffice that girls in the clan would want to befriend you to get closer to your brother, Neteyam had to add to the equation, too. So now, you’re burdened by the constant presence of girls pretending to be chummy with you only to ask you about your brother or Neteyam days later.

It made your life less about you and more about them, making you struggle to find age peers who are actually interested in being friends with you.

Except for Lekya and Reti.

They weren't entirely different from the other girls, they still giggled whenever the young hunters walked past and gush over Neteyam and your older brother. But they always seem to be less intimidated by the coldness, and sometimes, meanness, that you use to fend everyone off. You had long given up on trying to shake their presence off. No matter how coldly you ignored them, they always found a way to tail you around, stubbornly dragging you into their plans until your sharp edges softened just a fraction.

Like some days when they would drag you down to the river for a ‘picnic,’ a concept they had apparently learned from the older girls like Kiri and her friends. Now, they had even brought along a boy named Kar’ek, gentle and sharp-witted. You quickly realized he wasn't a threat to your peace in the slightest; he had absolutely no interest in girls, preferring to watch the young hunters from afar with an appreciative eye.

Surprisingly, you found yourself actually enjoying it. Safely hidden under the shade of the trees where the conversation quickly turned from the weather to the young warriors of the clan. They were talking about them like they were heroes, but you had other ideas, like nitpicking every single imperfection you had witnessed on the training grounds.

In that, you became uncharacteristically talkative. It was obvious to the three that you found none of them attractive. They were all trying too hard.

“Like Nurte yesterday,” you said, leaning back on one hand with a scoff. “He took three entire minutes just to aim at a target that wasn't even moving, all because he knew the girlswere watching. It’s pathetic.“

“Oh, well,” Lekya giggled. “He’s just trying to look brave. What about Tayrel? He practically broke a baby tree trunk with his spear during the strength drills.”

“He missed the dummy entirely and hit the tree because his footing was completely off,” you countered smoothly, rolling your eyes. “He has the balance of a newborn ikran. If a viperwolf actually attacked him, he’d trip over his own tail.”

Kar’ek let out a dramatic, breathless laugh, fanning himself with a broad leaf. “Oh, she is vicious today! But she’s not wrong. Tayrel spends more time oiling his braids than practicing his strikes.”

Not even Neteyam was spared to your nitpicking. You were incredibly detailed when you tore into him, mimicking his cocky posture by puffing out your chest and tilting your head back, mocking his signature smirk.

“And don't even get me started on the golden boy,” you scoffed, lowering your voice to copy his deep, confident cadence. “Look at me, I am Neteyam, I can shoot a bow with my eyes closed because I am so perfect. Please. He drops his left elbow every time he releases an arrow on a hard turn. He’s sloppy when he thinks no one is looking, and that arrogant little half-smile he does when he lands a hit? It looks like he swallowed a sour piece of fruit.”

You laughed, expecting the others to join in on the mockery, but you suddenly realized the riverbank had gone entirely quiet.

You blinked, popping a sweet berry into your mouth. “What? You all have gone silent. Nothing to say about that arrogant boy?”

Kar’ek looked at you like you had lost your mind. “What are you talking about, girl? He is valiant and a gentleman!”

“He is also not arrogant, Y/N,” Reti chimed in, pouting. “He is kind and humble. Just last moon, he helped me carry my heavy fiber bundles all the way to the weaving looms. And your brother helped Lekya!”

You grimaced, the berry suddenly tasting sour. “Show-offs. Both of them. You shouldn't have accepted their help. They only do it so everyone can look at them.”

Before Reti could snap a retort back, the crunch of leaves announced the arrival of a new group. You turned around and saw five young hunters strolling out from the thick foliage, laughing and shoving each other. At the front were your brother, Sak’nur and Neteyam. They had clearly just finished a grueling training session; their skin was glistening with sweat, and they carried themselves with the eager energy of boys ready to plunge into the cool river.

But the moment they stepped into the clearing, Neteyam’s golden eyes locked onto yours.

He raised a single, amused brow. You hadn't even realized you were doing it, but you were glaring at him with enough heat to burn through Hometree. You swiftly slid your gaze to your brother.

“What are you doing here, Sak’nur?” you demanded, your voice cutting through the peaceful atmosphere like a knife.

Your brother blinked, holding his hands out in confusion. “Uh... swimming?”

The other hunters laughed, instantly chiming in. They began boisterously greeting Lekya, Reti, and Kar’ek, completely unbothered by your hostile aura. Kar'ek offered them a witty greeting back, while your “friends” instantly smoothed their hair, their previous defense of Neteyam turning into shy, bright smiles as they began chatting with the boys.

Your sharp eyes found Neteyam again when he chuckled and saw that his eyes were on you, his tail flicking with pure amusement. He tilted his head, looking down at your stormy expression.

“And here I thought the river was supposed to be relaxing,” he said, his voice dropping into that smooth, teasing register meant just for you. “What’s with the scowl, sleepyhead?”

Truthfully, his heart swelled at the sight of you; he loved the fire in your eyes, and his teasing was born from a desperate desire to see you react to him, and only him. But to your ears, it was just another arrogant provocation from him, just like the many other times in the past.

The other hunters caught his words and burst into a loud, obnoxious laughter, with your brother shaking his head at your expense.

The hot flush of embarrassment crawled up your neck, painting your cheeks a deep, furious violet. Without thinking, your hand snapped down, grabbed a heavy, overripe fruit from the leaf platter, and hurled it directly at his chest.

The fruit exploded against his sternum, leaving a sticky, bright purple smear across his smooth skin.

The laughter died instantly. Sak’nur’s jaw dropped, and the rest of the boys froze in sheer shock. No one, absolutely no one, threw things at the future Olo'eyktan.

Neteyam blinked, looking down at the sludge dripping down his chest, and then looked back up at you. You lifted your chin to wait for his anger, already burning in anger, but as his eyes met yours, you saw no fury. Instead, his golden eyes danced with a dangerous, thrilled light. A slow, breathless smile parted his lips. He wasn't insulted at all. He looked utterly captivated.

You let out a sharp, furious hiss, unable to bear the heat of his gaze for another second. Scrambling to your feet, you turned on your heel and sprinted away into the safety of the forest, leaving the river, your friends, and his maddening smile far behind.

Later that night, you sat at your family’s table, just a few paces away from the Olo’eyktan’s family, as the clan hierarchy dictated. The orange glow of the central fire bathed the communal clearing with warmth and you know you would have loved it if you the Sully family’s table weren’t exactly on your line of the sight. Looking at the fire meant accidentally meeting Neteyam’s eyes, which is exactly what happened four times in a row already in the past few minutes.

Beside you, sat Sak’nur, eating heartily, though he occasionally cast a wary glance your way. The memory of the riverbank still plagued you. You didn’t feel sorry at all, but you do feel like you could have handled it better. There were too many witnesses to your volatile nature, what’s worse, it included your brother.

Just as your lips were pulling in a grimace, a movement drew your eye. A fighre stood up in the Sully table and began walking toward your family's area. Neteyam. You let out a deep breath off your nose, pretending to be busy with your food but when Sak’nur elbowed you, you were forced to look up.

As he approached, you noticed he was carrying a leaf square bowl. Inside was a freshly baked sweet-root pie, a delicacy usually reserved for special celebrations.

Your stomach dropped. No. Do not do this here.

“Greetings, sir,” Neteyam said smoothly, dipping his head in a respectful nod to your father before his eyes shifted down to you. The cocky, teasing hunter from the riverbank was gone, replaced by the perfect, dutiful Olo’eyktan to be.

Your father let out a booming laugh. “Neteyam! What is this for?” he asked, looking at the pie.

“I came to bring a peace offering,“ Neteyam answered seriously, his eyes on you.

Your father’s eyes darted between Neteyam and you, his forehead creasing. “A peace offering? For what?”

You took a sharp breath through your nose, your fingers clenching into the fabric of your loincloth. You absolutely hated having your father peek into your business, and you hated, absolutely detested, that Neteyam was staging this elaborate stunt right in front of your parents. You knew that he wasn't actually sorry, that this was a calculated humiliation, a way to trap you into accepting his apology because you wouldn't dare cause a scene in front of your father.

“It is between Y/N and I, sir, if you’ll excuse my refusal to divulge the matter,” Neteyam told him, his voice dripping with humility that you knew was entirely fabricated. He extended the bowl toward you, his eyes locking onto yours with deeply apologetic eyes. He was such a good actor.

Your father’s lips pushed forward, nodding at Neteyam as he shared a quiet laughter with your mother. “Alright, then. I guess this is one of your petty arguments again,“ he said, looking at you. “Daughter. You must remember: Not only is Neteyam much older than you for he is your older brother’s age, but you are also no longer a child.”

Your face burned with further humiliation. You cannot believe this. He has brought this upon you! Huffing a breath of pure fury through your nose, you forced your face into a tight, strained mask of a polite compliance.

You reached out and snatched the bowl from his hands. “Thank you, Neteyam. Your apology is accepted,” you said through gritted teeth.

“I am glad,” Neteyam murmured, a faint, almost imperceptible twitch of his lips telling you exactly how much he was enjoying your frustration. He bowed to your parents once more and walked away.

Stupid boy. Stupid, arrogant, obnoxious boy.

“What happened at the river?” Your father asked the moment Neteyam was out of earshot.

“Nothing, Father,” you lied smoothly, keeping your voice level. “Just a small... disagreement. It is resolved.”

But you made sure to make your true statement when the dinner ended. As your family stood up to leave, you deliberately left the leaf basket sitting squarely in the middle of the empty table, completely untouched.

From across the pavilion, Neteyam watched your retreating back, his eyes falling on the abandoned pie. A heavy sigh escaped him. He should have known a simple pastry wouldn't melt your ice.

Beside him, Lo’ak snickered. “What did you do this time?” he asked.

Neteyam’s jaw locked as his lips formed a thin line. “Said something about her scowl.”

Lo’ak stared at him for a moment before the boy doubled over in a fit of laughter. “Skxawng,“ he said. “Girls do not like hearing about their facial expressions! The same way they don’t like hearing comments about their hair, like your crime the last time!”

Neteyam’s forehead creased. “I told her the side part suited her best!”

“Which is implying that the previous look looked bad on her. It was also in the delivery, you know? I noticed you seem cocky when you talk to her.” Lo’ak’s eyes narrowed.

“What?” Neteyam asked, bewildered.

Lo’ak rolled his eyes. “Figure it out on your own, bro. You’re smart, it shouldn't be hard.”

His brother walked past, clapping a hand on his shoulder. Neteyam sighed heavily again. He felt as though the weight of Hometree was on his shoulder. He genuinely didn't know what to do with you anymore; you had always been aloof to him, so he tried talking to you and doing things for you, but you met that with coldness, and he lay awake at night wondering what he had done to deserve such an impenetrable wall.

The wall only grew taller during the training cycles. Neteyam tried to be helpful, but that only made your life miserable.

Whenever you practiced your marksmanship at the archery lines, he would happen to pass by and offer a quiet word of encouragement or adjust your stance. But you didn't want his help, especially because the other young huntresses were always watching.

“Look at her,” one of the older girls muttered from the drying racks, loud enough for the words to carry. “Must be nice being Sak’nur’s sister. Neteyam practically hands her the targets.”

“Exactly,” another chimed in, glaring at your back. “She only hits the bullseye because the future Olo'eyktan spends half his day fixing her form. If she didn't have them, she'd be nothing special.”

Hearing them credit all your hard work, your sweat, and your blistered fingers to the men in your life made your blood boil. You turned around to look at them, seeing their mocking expressions as they waited for what you’ll say or do.

“Does that make sense to your pea-sized brains?” you asked, smiling. “That I’m hitting all of those targets simply because someone is adjusting my form, or because I am someone’s sister?”

You nocked an arrow in your bow so fast you had already released it before they could even blink, hitting the feather hair ornament of the girl farthest from you. Your arrow pinned it squarely to the weapon rack behind her.

You tilted your head. “Did my brother fixed your ornament for you, Kur’na?”

A series of furious hisses echoed in the training grounds. “How dare you!” One of the older girls snarled.

They lunged at you, grabbing your braids and clawing at your skin. You fought back as ferociously as you could, grabbing braids, clawing, and punching. You heard heavy footsteps coming and suddenly, your feet are kicking in the air, even landing a hard kick on one of the girls.

You saw your brother and Lo’ak holding the girls back and bellowing for them to stop while you struggled against the strong arms wrapped around you. Your chest heaved as you breathe heavily, trying to calm yourself down.

“Y/N, what’s going on?” Sak’nur asked, his large steps eating up the space between you two.

Realizing who was holding you, you jerked back from the hold to stand on your feet properly. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?! You shot Kur’na!” One of the girls said.

“Where?” you asked.

“There!“ she pointed at the fiber pinned on the rack with an arrow.

“See, I couldn’t have done that. I don’t possess such a marksmanship without my brother or Neteyam fixing my targets for me...” you lied, pushing your lips forward. “So the truth is... You all attacked me senselessly.”

“I’ll have your father hear of this, Sak’nur,” Lo’ak told your brother, moving to walk away just as the girls gasped, fearing that your father, the Olo’eyktan’s second-in-command, would punish them for this.

“No need, Lo’ak,” you said, looking at the girls. “This was just a small training grounds disagreement. Nothing that we can work out among ourselves. Right?“

The girls exchanged tense glances, their expressions twisting into a mix of fear and fury, before they nodded, muttering their silent agreement.

You smiled, “Why don’t you take your break? You’ve been here since the first light.”

They looked absolutely furious, their ears flattened against their heads but they walked away anyway, the sheer humiliation radiating off them in waves. You watched them retreat, your expression completely blank until they were out of earshot. The adrenaline was finally leaving your system, leaving your skin stinging where they had clawed at you.

“What really happend?”

You turned to see Neteyam stepping up beside Sak’nur and Lo'ak. He was the one who had been holding you back, his hands still hovering near his sides as if he wanted to reach out again to check your injuries. His golden eyes swept over the scratches on your arms and neck, his brow furrowed in deep frustration.

“It’s seven against one, bro,” Lo'ak answered for you, crossing his arms. “Did you actually shoot Kur’na, though? If so, that’s insane. Right through the hair piece.”

“It doesn't matter,” Sak’nur growled, looking down at you with a heavy, protective frown. “You shouldn't have provoked them, Y/N. If we didn’t come—”

“I had it under control,” you interrupted, your voice dropping to a cold tone making all three of them pause.

You looked at Sak’nur before letting your gaze lock onto Neteyam. The anger that had been simmering under your skin since the drying racks finally boiled over.

“Listen to me,” you said, stepping back so you could look at them clearly. “Never meddle in my business again.”

Neteyam blinked, looking taken aback. “Y/N, we were just trying to—”

“I don't care what you were trying to do,” you snapped, gesturing sharply toward the targets behind you. “Every piece of gossip on these grounds is about how I am only here because of you and Sak’nur. Every bullseye I hit, every hour I spend sweating under the sun, they credit to my brother or the future Olo’eyktan. And your constant help just proves them right.”

You picked up your bow from the ground, dusting off the dirt with a fierce, rough motion.

“If I am going to fight my battles, I am going to fight them alone. If I get clawed, that's my problem. If I put an arrow through someone's hair, that's my problem too,” you said, your eyes flashing as you looked directly at Neteyam, then back to Sak’nur. “Stay out of it. I don't need you protecting me, and I certainly don't need you fixing my form anymore. Let me handle my own life.”

Without waiting for a reply, you slung your quiver over your shoulder and marched away, leaving the three young hunters standing in silence on the training grounds.

“That doesn’t include me, right?” Lo’ak asked, raising both his hands in the air.

Just like that, three years bled into the passage of time, and the world changed.

It was the night of the Great Feast, celebrating the debut of several young women into adulthood, the age where they were officially recognized as ready to choose a mate.

You were one of them.

The ceremonial paint was fresh on your skin, and the warrior class had taken notice. You were widely regarded as one of the most prized debutantes of the season; your coldness had transformed into an aura of regal elegance, and your legendary skill with a bow only made you more desirable.

Near the roasting pits, a group of older, seasoned hunters were drinking fermented fruit spirits, their voices rising over the music.

“The daughter of the second-in-command has grown into a fine huntress,” one of them remarked, a proud, older warrior. He took a heavy swig from his cup, a dark, possessive grin spreading across his face. “If it were me, she’d be popping out babies every season. A woman like that would breed nothing but strong warriors.”

The men laughed, taking that remark as nothing but a jest, but Neteyam had been standing a few paces away, speaking with your brother and their friends. Every muscle in his massive frame locked tight. The easy-going warrior vanished, replaced instantly by a primal, terrifying rage.

He turned slowly, his golden eyes blown wide, locked entirely on the man. “What did you just say?” Neteyam’s voice was dangerously low but it carried to the group of warriors neaby.

The hunter, older and arrogant, scoffed. He didn't care that Neteyam was the Olo’eyktan’s son. “I said what I said, boy. It is the way of things.”

“Watch your foul mouth before I clip your tongue,” Neteyam snapped back darkly, a lethal rumble vibrating in his chest.

The man sneered, stepping up to match the younger warrior’s height, to no avail. “Why don’t you come over here and say that to my face, boy?”

Neteyam’s fangs bared. “You think I won't?!”

Neteyam handed his bowl of fermented wine to a friend before his large steps ate the space between him and the man.

Every warrior in the Omatikaya was trained in hand-to-hand combat, but Neteyam had been forged by Jake Sully himself. He was broader, taller, and infinitely faster. He had allowed the hunter a single punch before he slammed him into the dirt, his fists flying in a brutal, blinding blur, coming down smash after smash against the warrior’s face

Warriors rushed forward, their deep voices taking the attention of everyone that the drums stopped its rhythm. It took five grown men to finally throw their arms around Neteyam and pull him off. His chest was heaving, his skin slick with sweat and the blood of the man beneath him. But the moment the man tried to stumble to his feet to walk away, Neteyam violently threw the warriors off him, snarling as he lunged forward a second time, entirely unhinged by a rage no one had ever seen in him before.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Mo’at shouted, rushing into the clearing as the chaos finally settled. “Why are you fighting at a sacred feast?!”

Neteyam violently shrugged the remaining hands off his shoulders, his breathing ragged as he pointed a trembling, bloody finger toward the hunter. “He disrespected Y/N!” he roared, his voice echoing across the entire clearing.

A few paces away, completely clueless to the context, you stopped mid-sip, holding your cup to your lips as you blinked. Me...?

Your father, who had watched the entire sequence from where he’s talking with Jake, narrowed his eyes to slits. He had always suspected Neteyam held a certain fondness for you, but this? This was a declaration to evey young man in the clan, as if the years of protecting your name and being protective of you weren’t enough.

Neteyam aggressively wiped a streak of blood from his split lip with the back of his hand, completely uncaring of the stunned stares of the entire clan. You set your cup down and marched straight up to him when you saw him turn around to leave, your face a storm of confusion and irritation.

“What did you do?” you demanded, but your voice didn’t carry the edge it usually would.

Neteyam blinked, surprised by your sudden proximity. Slowly, the fury in his face began to melt, his shoulders dropping slightly as he looked down at you. “He... he was speaking inappropriately about you.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Like how?”

“I refuse to repeat it,” he muttered, suddenly looking like a guilty child being chastised for using foul language.

“Like how, Neteyam?” you repeated, your voice soft, a tone he’d never heard from you before.

He closed his eyes, letting out a sigh. “I do not want to repeat it, and I won’t. I am still seeing red, Y/N. If you make me repeat the words that came out of his mouth, I will go back over there, and I might actually tear him apart.”

You pursed your lips, studying the tight, rigid lines of his jaw. He looked genuinely sickened by whatever had been said. “It was that bad?”

He didn't answer, but his hard, pained expression spoke volumes. You looked at his split, bleeding lip, and then down at his knuckles, which were scraped raw and marred with crimson.

You let out a soft, defeated sigh. “I will go get herbs and a poultice for that,” you muttered, turning to leave.

“No need,” he said quickly, his voice rough. “I didn't do that so you would feel indebted to me.”

You rolled your eyes, turning back and grabbing him by the wrist. The sudden touch made him gasp softly. “I didn't even think that,” you said, pulling him out of the bright clearing and leading him onto a massive, quiet branch away from the pavilion lights. “Get some fresh air and reflect on what you just did.” You widened your eyes at him in a stern warning before walking away for the healing pavilion.

Neteyam stood on the darkened branch, watching your retreating form. He bit the inner flesh of his lower lip, desperately trying, and failing, to suppress the massive, foolish smile threatening to break across his face.

Minutes later, the soft patter of footsteps signaled your return. You carried two small clay jars filled with soothing green paste and woven cloths.

“Did you reflect?” you asked, stepping up to him.

He grimaced, his features twisting in a way that instantly reminded you of the young boy who hated sour fruit he would grimace every time he sees it. “I reflected,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “And I think I would do it again if I could. With increasing pleasure every time.”

You shook your head, a faint huff of humor escaping you as you patted the bark of the branch. “You are stupid.”

“I suppose so...” he whispered. He lowered himself to sit on the branch, his eyes locking onto your face. Under the faint warm glow of the large fire inside, you looked so breathtakingly beautiful it made his chest ache.

You knelt before him, dipping your fingers into the cool healing paste. You gently brought your hand to his mouth, dabbing the medicine onto his split lip. “First time you have ever admitted it,” you murmured, raising a brow as your eyes snapped up to meet his. “Finally humble. I like that.”

“Yeah?” he asked, a dangerous, thrilling spark suddenly igniting in the depths of his eyes.

Your breath hitched for a fraction of a second, caught off guard by the sheer intensity of his gaze. You quickly recovered, “Only if you are truly humble. But you are not. You are arrogant and obnoxious.”

“Things can be changed,” he smirked, only to instantly hiss as the movement stretched the cut.

“See? Even your wound disagrees with you,” you teased, a genuine smirk playing on your own lips.

“I am saying—”

“Shh,” you interrupted, placing a gentle finger over his good lip.

Neteyam immediately clamped his mouth shut. He didn't say another word, completely content to just sit there, breathing in your scent, paralyzed by the gentle touch of your hands as you began wrapping his raw knuckles with the soft woven cloth. He held his hand perfectly still, refusing to move a single finger, treating your handiwork as if it were the most precious gift from Eywa herself.

A long, comfortable silence settled over the branch, punctuated only by the distant sounds of the music from the festival.

“You are a debutante now...” Neteyam said softly, breaking the quiet.

Your forehead creased in amusement, and a small, rare chuckle escaped your lips. “Uh, yeah? That was what the entire ceremony was about.”

Neteyam blinked in utter surprise, his heart skipping a beat. He stared at you, momentarily speechless. You laughed. You actually chuckled in his presence. It was a historic first.

Clearing his throat to find his voice, he leaned in just a fraction closer. “Have you... thought of suitors? Of mates?”

The lightheartedness instantly vanished from your face, replaced by a deep scowl. “Among the men of this clan?” you asked, shaking your head as you tied off the bandage. “No, thank you. Which is the better choice anyway? All of you get on my nerves.”

You stood up, picking up the empty clay jars and looking down at him one last time.

“I am bringing these back to the pavilion. Try counting to a hundred before you do something stupid again.”

You turned and walked back to the direction of the healing pavillion, your heart hammering against your ribs in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with the physical fight you had just witnessed. Neteyam was left sitting alone on the branch, his bandaged hand pressed gently against his chest as he watched you go, his eyes filled with an undeniable, burning yearning.

You like no one in the clan. A slow, triumphant smile spread across his face. That was perfect. He could definitely work with that.

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

The council’s midday gathering at the longhouse carried the scent of leaf tea and crushed sweet grass. Inside, the sunlight dripping through the woven room flickering shadows over the faces of the elders, Jake Sully, Neytiri, and your father, who sat with his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze steady.

Neteyam stood at the center of the room. At twenty one, he had completely grown into the man everyone knew he would be. Taller than most, broad-shouldered, and carries the undeniable, commanding presence of a future leader. But today, his jaw was clamped shut in a tight, defensive line.

The topic on the floor was one he had been dodging for years: his future mating with the daughter of the Anurai clan’s Olo'eyktan. An alliance meant to solidify the bonds between their people.

“Delay this until when, Neteyam?” Elder Katu asked, his weathered voice echoing off the woven walls. “You are twenty-one. You are of age, and the clan looks to its future.”

“Elder Katu, if you should be reminded, my grandfather mated late, too,” Neteyam reasoned smoothly, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. “He was forty-three then. He and my grandmother were way past the age of when they first came to adulthood.”

“Are you saying that you want to make Ateya of the Anurai wait that long?” Another elder countered.

“No, I am not saying she should wait at all,” Neteyam replied, his tone firm, yet unyielding. “I am saying I do not want to mate this young. I want to further my training and my diplomatic skills before I settle down. I will be the one mating, this would be for life, and I believe this part of my life should be my call.”

Jake Sully watched his son with a mixture of pride and suspicion, but it was your father whose sharp eyes never left Neteyam’s face. He noticed the slight, restless flick of Neteyam’s tail. He knew the young warrior was a master of discipline, so why was he fighting this alliance so fiercely?

The answer arrived with a soft rustle of the entrance flap.

You stepped into the longhouse with your chin held high, your expression a perfectly crafted mask of a huntress known for her sharp tongue. You had been tasked with delivering the recent patrol briefing to Sa’rin, an elder female warrior sitting near the back.

“I cannot be a good mate if I—”

Neteyam’s head snapping toward the movement at the threshold was entirely instinctual, but when he saw the distinct, bright feathers of your long braids, he did a complete double-take, his golden eyes locking onto your form, his breath hitching just enough that his posture faltered.

“...am not ready...” He trailed as his eyes tracked the fluid, elegant movement of your stride.

You didn’t even look at him, your eyes were trained forward until you reached Sa’rin, whispering to her animatedly. None of the older elders noticed the sudden lapse in Neteyam’s always perfect composure, not even Jake and Neytiri who were too focused on what he was saying.

But your father saw it.

His eyes narrowed into assessing slits, watching Neteyam’s chest rise and fall heavily as the young man desperately tried to refocus on the conversation. It was all the confirmation he needed. Neteyam sees you more than he ought to.

“It is a perfect match, Neteyam, if only you would open your eyes to see. It is known that Ateya is a competent huntress at her age, and a great weaver as well,” one of the elder said, shaking his head.

For the first time, your eyes snapped to the gathered council, your ears twitching at what you heard. Unfortunately, Neteyam has already tore his eyes off of you, or he would have seen the way your face crumpled in what your father perceived as a distaste.

When the elders finally dismissed Neteyam with a warning to think deeply on his duties, the young warrior let out a long, ragged breath as he walked out into the sunlight. He knew everything he had just said to the council was utter bullshit. He was ready for leadership, ready for a mate, ready for the future... but only if that future was you. He would delay every alliance, fight every elder, and play the patient hunter until he finally got you.

But he doesn’t know how to get you.

In the past years, the air between you two had been significantly better than it used to be, but that was because he heeded what you said about not meddling in your business. He still tried to sneak in help every now and then, but not so much so as to piss you off.

He would hate to wake up the palulukan in you, so to speak.

Your father quietly watched him walk away before transferring his gaze to you once Neteyam was out of sight. Sa’rin was speaking, but you kept glancing at the entryway, your tail moving in agitated flicks behind you. He knew you. He knew that for all the ice and bitter fire you hurled at Neteyam, you were masking something deeper, far more profound. And Neteyam has never really tried to hide what he has for you. People are just really imperceptive.

You two needed a push.

The push came in the form of being assigned to the same hunting pack as each other. You didn’t think much of it, after all, Neteyam is one of the high-ranking hunters of the clan and you knew your rotation would have put you under him one way or another. As usual, you were out before sunrise, while the jungle was still choked with heavy, clinging mist.

This was simply a mid-sized hunting pack, with Neteyam leading the routine sweep of the southern borders. Your brother was currently leading the border patrol, which left you entirely under Neteyam’s command. You kept your distance during the initial trek, silent but cautious of your surroundings.

But Neteyam wouldn’t really be Neteyam if he didn’t know exactly where you were at any moment in time.

When the pack finally halted on a higher valley, Neteyam gathered the hunters. He moved with an easy, terrifyingly efficient confidence, mapping out the flanking routes with quick gestures of his large hands. As the other hunters dispersed to take their positions, you turned to slip toward the western ridge.

“Not so fast,” Neteyam’s voice cut through the air, smooth and low. He stepped into your path, his towering frame blocking the narrow trail. A slow, familiar smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he tilted his head. “The western ridge is steep, and the morning dew has made the forest floor slick. We’ll take the east.”

You stopped and turned to him. “Whatt’s going on? Afraid of a little slip?” you asked. “I am taking the western flank. I have a cleaner angle, and I do not need a guide.”

Neteyam let out a low huff of laughter, stepping just an inch closer. The heat radiating off his chest was palpable in the cool morning air. He raised a single, amused eyebrow. “Prickly in the morning? I am not offering to guide you. I am telling you where the pack needs you. But if you really think I’m so afraid of a little slippery moss, you should hold my hand.”

Two years ago, your blood would have boiled. You would have hissed, thrown a cutting insult about his ego, and marched off in a fury.

But today? As your eyes locked onto his, tracking the dangerous, playful spark in his golden gaze and the infuriatingly curve of his smirk, your heart gave a sudden, treacherous thud against your ribs. The annoyance you usually relied on as a shield felt flimsy, dissolving into a strange, dizzying warmth.

You didn’t know where it began, but you no longer hate his arrogance. In fact, you realized with a sudden jolt of panic that you were entirely captivated by it.

“I think you can handle the moss perfectly fine, Neteyam," you countered, your voice clipped, though you couldn't quite stop the subtle twitch of your own lips. “Try not to get distracted out there. I would hate for my arrows to do all the work for your pack.”

“I'll try my best to keep up...” he murmured, his voice dropping into that deep, private register that always seemed reserved exclusively for you.

He gave you one last, lingering look before turning to leap into the upper ground with effortless grace. You stood frozen for a second, catching your breath, before fiercely shaking your head. Get it together, you scolded yourself, though the flush on your neck had nothing to do with the physical exertion of the hunt.

He turned to you again, offering a hand. You scoffed, ignoring his hand and leaping on the higher ground yourself. The hunt went flawlessly with three clean kills, but the tension between the two of you only tightened during the trek back.

The pack stopped by a shallow stream to wash the sweat and dirt from their skin. You sat slightly apart from the group on a fallen log, running a whetstone down the edge of your hunting knife when a few paces away, you saw Ley’a, a huntress your age, approached Neteyam. Neteyam, being the dutiful and polite warrior that he was, leaned down slightly to listen, speaking to her with that effortless, smooth charm that came naturally to him.

You saw him smiled, gesturing toward the canopy as if he was explaining something.

You didn't even realize you were staring until the stone slipped against your blade with a sharp, harsh screech. You swallowed and aggressively rolled your eyes, your lips in a thin line as something hot and ugly twisted sharply in your gut. You didn't understand why it was there, but it blinded you.

When the trek resumed again, you walked ahead of everyone, your pace faster than usual and your chin tilted high. Your sharp eyes snapped to your side when you heard footsteps coming, and your brows furrowed immediately when you saw Neteyam’s smirk.

“Are you upset about something?” he asked, matching your pace effortlessly, his strides sure and confident.

You didn’t answer. You wanted to be left alone with your thoughts, but here he is again, taunting words out of you.

“You walk fast when you’re upset.” he added.

You finally turned to him, your eyes narrowed and before your mind could stop your tongue, you spoke, “You speak quite smoothly to girls for a man who is practically spoken for, Neteyam,” you said, your tone dripping with a cold, sarcastic bite.

He looked surprise for a moment, but the smirk returned to his face, though his eyes narrowed with a sudden, intense curiosity. “And what is that supposed to mean?” he asked.

“I am merely wondering what Ateya of the Anurai would say about it,” you scoffed. “Her future mate being a certified womanizer, smooth-talking and flashing his smiles at every huntress. Personally, I would hate to have such a weak-willed mate.”

Neteyam’s lips parted, lagging behind for a fraction of a minute, watching your large steps put a distance between you. His tongue darted out to wet his lips before he walked after you, his stride purposeful. You looked at him, somehow you’re bothered that he might be angry about what you said, but he didn't look angry; he looked absolutely thrilled by your bite, his cocky persona flaring to life.

“A womanizer?” Neteyam whispered, walking right beside you and leaning down slightly so his face was level with yours. “What are you talking about, smooth-talking and flasing smiles at every huntress?” he asked, his hand itching to touch your forearm but he balled it into a fist.

You didn’t respond, you just continued walking and he kept matching your pace.

“Was it about Ley’a earlier?” he mumbled, his voice so quiet and intimate that it brought heat to your face. “I was just answering a question about a tracking trail,” he explained, his steps growing larger. He walked backward so he could look at you better, his head tilting at the silent ire on your face. “Do you care who I smile at, Y/N?”

Your face crumpled and he chuckled, “I do not care at all,” you snapped back quickly, your chest heaving as you glared up at him. “I am simply making an observation on your character. Or lack thereof.”

“Right. An observation,” he repeated as he raised a brow, his face so light and vibrant you could see the way his pupils were dilating. “Because for someone who claims to find me so arrogant and obnoxious, you seem to spend a remarkable amount of time keeping track of my betrothal status. Should I tell my father to cancel the council meetings, then? Since my future seems to weigh so heavily on your mind?”

Your face burned a deep, furious violet. You stopped abruptly, nearly knocking your shoulder into his chest as you pushed past him.

“Do whatever you want, Neteyam,” you hissed under your breath before marching ahead. “You are entirely insufferable.”

Neteyam didn't follow you right away, he stood by the stream and watched your rigid, angry retreat with a heavy, breathless exhale. His hand traced his jawline, a slow, triumphant grin spreading across his face as his tail flicked lazily behind him.

You looked jealous, absolutely furious, and you seemed very bothered by his betrothal status. He didn’t want to rejoice in the knowledge that you were upset about it, but he couldn’t help it. The heavy weight of the council’s impending arrangements suddenly felt a little lighter. He had a foothold now. And he wasn't going to let it go.

The days following the hunt felt entirely different. The invisible wall you had spent years building was actively crumbling, and the worst part was that you were no longer trying to patch it up.

Neteyam had taken what happened and run with it, his pursuit turning into a relentless, everyday occurrence. He seemed to possess an infuriating ability to materialize out of thin air whenever you were alone.

One afternoon, you were high up in the middle branches of Hometree, sitting on a secluded edge to practice your weaving skills on soft strips of fabric. Your fingers felt thick and clumsy as you tried to lace the soft strips together. You are useless in this for you had never really taken an interest in the domestic arts.

But now... You thought weaving would be a great skill to add to your repertoire.

It’s proving to be a great challenge, though, and staring at the frayed, knotted mess in your lap, you wanted to yank your own braids out for your sudden stupidity. Why had you never thought of ever learning this before? How are you supposed to even weave a loincloth for your future children if you cannot even cross two threads? A scowl deepened on your face.

The thought that you were thinking of children tore through your trance as a sudden, unauthorized image of a child with very familiar features came into your mind. You gasped sharply, your face burning a violent purple.

With a frustrated groan, you balled up the tangled mess of fabrics and threw it violently across the ledge. “Useless,” you hissed to the empty air.

“What is it that you’re upset about now?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin.

Neteyam dropped gracefully from the thick branch above, landing silently on the ledge just a few feet away. He was leaning against the bark, his arms crossed over his chest, a wildly amused smirk playing on his lips. He had a way of appearing out of nowhere lately. At the river, near your training lanes, and now in your private sanctuary.

Your mask snapped back into place, though your heart was hammering against your ribs. “Do you make a habit of stalking me, Neteyam, or do you simply have nothing better to do with your time?”

His lips twisted. “I was actually on my way to the training grounds,” he lied smoothly, taking a slow, confident step closer. His eyes dropped to the tangled ball of fabric on the ledge, and then drifted back up to your flushed face. “But then I saw the fiercest huntress I know fighting a losing battle against some fabrics. I couldn't just walk away.”

“I am not fighting it,” you retorted.

“Right. You're just glaring at it until it weaves itself,” he teased, his voice dropping into that low, rumbling register. He walked over, picking up the discarded bundle. With agonizing slowness, his hands began to effortlessly untangle the knots you had spent an hour making. “You have too much tension in your hands, holding it like a throat you want to crush.”

You watched his fingers move. They were calloused from weapons, larger than yours, yet they handled the delicate threads with a startling, gentle precision. A strange warmth settled deep in your stomach. You were too hyper-aware of how close he was, of the scent of mint and rain on his skin, and the effortless way he commanded your space.

“There...” he mumbled, showing you a perfect line of two woven strips.

You glanced at him through the fringe of your lashes, seeing the small smile on his face. A faint shadow of fear bloomed in your chest and you looked down, “Where did you learn?”

“My mother,” he answered, glancing up at you with a bright smile before he looked back down on his work. “Well, sort of. She’d always tell us to be responsible of our own clothes if it gets a hole or a tear.”

“I didn’t know that...” you mumbled.

He smirked, but somehow it looked less cocky and more... wistful. “The same way I know you can’t weave.”

Your forehead creased. “How’d you know?” you asked, glaring at him but you both know it held nothing bad.

“I pay attention,” he shrugged. “Why are you suddenly taking an interest in this?”

You took the strips from him, your eyes playfully narrowed. “I thought you know things from observing?”

“I guess I'll need to observe more when you weave... So, I can form a guess,” he said.

You pushed your lips forward, wrapping the strips he made on your wrist. “I suck at this. There's no next time.”

“You don’t really need to learn weaving if you don’t want to, you know...” he said, sitting on the branch comfortably.

You thought of the Anurai... About how they are meticulous artisans and how some of the clan’s best tapestries used for certain ceremonies are their handiwork. You didn’t even know you were scowling at your own thoughts, and once again, before you could think properly, you spoke.

“Easy for you to say as someone who would be mating an Anurai,” you said in a clipped tone, gathering your stuff and standing up to leave him there.

His jaw dropped, watching your form retreat and jump a branch down. “What...?” he whispered in the air.

You kept climbing down, the soft soles of your feet gripping the bark as you practically fled from the raw confusion on his face. The weight of your irrational feelings and thoughts were a heavy, suffocating thing and it followed you for days.

You were down by the rivers, tucked away in the humid shade of the trees for another one of your group’s picnics. Over the past years, you had actually grown genuinely close to Lekya, Reti, and Kar’ek. They had ceased to be just annoying people tailing you around, they were now your good friends.

While the three of them babbled animatedly about the latest gossips, you were hunched over, your forehead creased in absolute, soul-crushing concentration. You were trying to recreate the exact interlocking loop Neteyam had shown you on the branch. Your tongue peeked out between your teeth as you fought a thick strand of reed.

“I am just saying,” Reti sighed, leaning back on a woven mat and fanning herself, “if Mar’tu looks at me like that during the next illumination feast, I might just have to let him carry my baskets. He has those shoulders, you know?”

“Oh, please,” Lekya scoffed, tossing a seed at her. “Mar’tu trips over his own feet. If you want shoulders, you look at the patrol leaders.”

Reti sighed, “And what do the patrol leaders even like? They won’t like someone like me. I’m a weaver, Lekya, for freak’s sake. If a mere hunter likes me, I can’t be choosey.”

You pushed your lips forward and glanced up at her, your forehead creased, “Rita. Don’t speak of yourself that way,” you reprimanded. “You’re an excellent weaver. Look at me, I can’t even weave to save my life.” You showed her your botched work. “Who cares about whether warriors and hunters like any of us? They are idiots.”

They bursted out laughing. “Well, I supposed we’ll take it from you. You’re the huntress,” Reti grinned.

“You never grew out of your annoyance for them,” Lekya said. “Where will you find romance if you don’t like any of them?”

You scowled and they laughed harder.

“Well, some of us don't have to look far for romance,” Kar’ek chimed in, leaning forward with a wicked grin. He was lounging on a pile of soft moss, his fingers idly twirling a blade of grass. “Some of us are having secret midnight swims by the eastern pools with a certain hunter whose name rhymes with Zdin’rey.”

Lekya and Reti gasped in unison, leaning in. “Kar’ek! You didn't!”

“But I did,” Kar’ek purred, tossing his braids over his shoulder. “And honey, it was mmaculate!”

Lekya pouted, “Weren’t you with Nakvu last moon?”

Kar’ek snorted, “Well, I realized, I can just take, and take, and take. There are plenty of choices and we must always test the auditonees.”

You chuckled and Kar’ek’s attention pinned on you. He shifted on the grass, grabbing a piece of pie and popping it into his mouth.

“Enough about my scandalous exploits. What about our resident huntress?”

Another two pairs of eyes suddenly locked onto you. You kept your gaze glued to your terrible weaving, though.

“What about me?” you asked coldly, trying to sound aloof.

“You are of age, Y/N. A fully decorated debutante,” Kar’ek pointed out.

Lekya nodded at you, “The warriors practically fall over their own feet trying to offer you meat at the communal fires, and you look at them like they are pile of viperwolf dung.”

“Maybe because they are annoying,” you muttered, shoving a fiber under another.

“Okay, true for some,” Lekya agreed. “But what about Tayrel? He’s still single. Or maybe someone from the older batches? What about Janu?”

Before you could voice your disgust, Kar’ek let out a loud, dramatic groan, slapping his forehead with a broad leaf. “Oh, by Eywa's grace, stop it! Please! You two are giving me a headache with these horrific suggestions.” He sat up, glaring at Lekya and Reti like they had lost their minds. “Why are you two suggesting so many names when there is a very obvious one right in front of her face?”

Your glanced up at him with furrowed brows, accidentally bending a fiber completely out of shape. “My face?”

Kar’ek rolled his eyes so hard you thought they might get stuck. “Girl, you’re blind,” he said before leaning in. “Neteyam!” he whisper-shouted.

“Oh...” Lekya’s face brightened. “But he’s... I mean, the council—”

“The council can eat dirt,” Kar’ek interrupted shamelessly, waving his hand dismissively. He turned his full attention to you, his eyes glittering with pure gossip-fueled joy. “Y/N, darling, look at me. Put that plant down.”

You slowly raised your head, keeping your face as blank as possible, though your ears were burning hot against your hair. “Neteyam is my brother's best friend. He is an extension of my family.”

“Honey, if my brother’s friend looked at me the way Neteyam looks at you, I would be pregnant by the next eclipse,” Kar’ek said flatly.

“Kar'ek!” you hissed, your face flushing a violent violet.

“I am serious!” Kar’ek leaned in, his voice dropping into an intense, dramatic whisper. “I am an observer of men, Y/N. It is my spiritual calling. And I am telling you, he is crazy about you. Utterly ruined by you.”

You shook your head, “You are crazy. That’s not possible,” you said. “He teases everyone."

“Oh, please. Remember when you accidentally dropped your dagger into the communal fire? Who burned his hand pulling it out before the blade gets ruined? Neteyam. And what about the time during the rainy season when your kelku’s roof had that massive tear? Your father was away on clan business and your brother on patrol, and suddenly Neteyam shows up with three layers of fresh thatch, claiming they ‘had extra’ and he just happened to be passing by. He spent four hours in a downpour fixing it, looking like a drowned, miserable banshee, just so you wouldn't get cold!”

“Shut up, Kar'ek,” you mumbled, your voice entirely stripped of its usual icy armor. You stared down at the messy, tangled weaving in your lap, knowing that the flutter in your chest wasn't from anger or defense.

“Oh, I am not shutting up, because you need to hear the rest of this,” Kar’ek insisted, practically vibrating with excitement as he leaned even closer, gesturing wildly with his hands. xLekya, Reti, back me up on this. We are making a list because this girl is living in a complete state of delusion.”

“Alright,” Reti agreed instantly, abandoning her fern leaf. “I remember that time when your mount got that nasty deep scratch from a nightwraith attack during patrol and he stayed up for two full nights helping you by gathering the herbs in the high cliffs, grinding the soothing paste and applying it on your ikran? At least, the healers got their sleep, but Neteyam definitely didn’t.”

Your lips twisted when you remembered. You were so scared for your ikran then, panicking and crying, but he took care of everything. He didn’t even like herbs, you thought. Nobody likes herbs but the healers... But he still took care of it.

“And he beat Kutri into a pulp at the Great Feast because of you,” Lekya said with a dreamy look on her face.

“Exactly!” Kar’ek clapped his hands together triumphantly. “The man is the future leader of our people, completely disciplined and perfect, until someone breathes too loud in your direction.”

You huffed a breath through your nose. Your chest was heaving, your skin tingling with a sudden, overwhelming rush of warmth. Kar’ek’s words were too overwhelming, painting a picture you had spent years denying. Neteyam... likes you. No, according to Kar’ek, he was entirely consumed by you.

“You have him on a leash, Y/N. You just refuse to pull it,” Kar’ek added, leaning back with a smug grin.

At the same time, Neteyam was standing in the heavy atmosphere of the council as the elders discussed how to maintain the strategic alliance with the Aranahe clan, casually receiving strays from elders who couldn’t undetermined his decision.

“The Aranahe look to solidify our treaties,” one of the senior elders spoke up, leaning forward. “Their Olo'eyktan has always expressed a desire for a match. Ateya isn’t his only child. His eldest son, a fierce hunter, is also open to find a mate from our finest bloodlines.”

Jake Sully sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “My daughter, Kiri, has no mind for things like this, Elder.”

“It needed not be Kiri, Jake,” the elder replied smoothly. He turned his gaze slowly across the circle, letting it rest squarely on your father. “Levakan... your daughter, Y/N. She has just come of age. She is fit to be paired with an Olo'eyktan’s heir. Proud, brave, beautiful, and strong.”

Across the room, Neteyam froze.

Every ounce of air left his lungs. His ears instantly pinned back flat against his head, his tail lashing behind him with a sudden, violent twitch. His golden eyes locked onto the elder with a glare so fiercely lethal it could have pierced through armor. How dare he suggest handing you over to an outsider?

Neteyam’s eyes flew to your father, his heart hammering in a frantic, terrifying panic. He waited for Levakan to refuse. He waited for him to protect his daughter from being shipped off to another clan.

Instead, your father remained perfectly calm. He tilted his head, pretending to weigh the option with a thoughtful expression.

“My daughter is dutiful, Elder,” your father said, his voice loud and clear. “She understands the weight of our family’s standing. I will talk to her and see what I can do, if she is open to it.”

Neteyam’s face completely crumpled, a suffocating pain twisting in his chest. His fist clenched so hard his wrapped knuckles turned white.

If she is open to it.

Neteyam remembered the night on the branch, your soft laughter, and the way you had scowled and said you liked none of the men in this clan because they all got on your nerves. A sickening wave of dread washed over him. If you hated all the boys here... that would mean you were open to choosing a man from the outside?

From across the fire, Levakan caught the look of utter, desperate panic written across Neteyam’s face. Your father hid a satisfied smirk behind his cup, knowing the game had officially begun, and Neteyam finally knew he couldn't afford to wait in the shadows any longer.

It’s not like both of you ever asked for a sign from Eywa, but the Great Mother still found it in herself to deliver an entire diplomatic circus to make both of your lives miserable. The Aranahe clan will be making a clan visit for the upcoming feast and the looming threat of the council’s political matchmaking bothered you both endlessly.

For you, the distress manifested as a tight, biting irritation. Every time someone mentioned Ateya’s name, your stomach twisted with something sharp and ugly. For Neteyam, it was a quiet, frantic desperation. He spent days trying to sense if your father had already presented the elder's suggestion about Tuvek, the Aranahe Olo’eyktan's firstborn son, to you, and more terrifyingly, if you actually thought it was a good idea.

When he caught you alone near the ikran ledges one afternoon, he looked entirely too relaxed for someone whose life was being rearranged by a council of old men. You were violently untangling a leather riding strap, your ears pinned back, when a shadow fell over you.

“Careful,” Neteyam’s voice purred. He was leaning casually against a pillar, one ankle crossed over the other, a lazy, infuriatingly handsome smirk playing on his lips. “You keep yanking it like that and you'll snap the hide. Though, I suppose it's impressive how much anger you can pack into such small hands.”

You snapped a sharp gaze on him. He looked like he is sleeping well, even more, like he was having the best days of his life anticipating the Aranahe. Your fingers aggressively knotted the leather, “Go away.”

He didn't take the hint, stepping right into your space until the heat of his chest was brushing your shoulder. He tilted his head, his golden eyes dancing with that familiar, cocky light. “I notice the second-in-command looking like he is in a very good mood these days, almost as if he is as waiting for a huge celebration. Care to share what it is about, sleepyhead?”

The strap snapped in your hands with a sharp crack.

Your head whipped around, your chest heaving with all the suffocating anxiety you’d been drowning in for days. “Perhaps it’s about your mating with Ateya of the Aranahe. Who knows? We could be celebrating that in time with the feast.”

Neteyam’s smirk faltered for a fraction, his eyes narrowing in surprise at the sheer venom in your voice, but he recovered quickly, raising an amused brow. This again. If you didn’t look so mad, he’d think you want to cry.

“Let me worry about that,“ he said, waiting for another reaction.

Which he got when you glared up at him with yours eyes blazing. “Right. So stop asking me about my father when you could ask my brother about whatever. Worry about your own looming bond. Go flash your perfect smiles at Ateya once she arrives, and figure out how to be a dutiful mate to the Aranahe, since you're so excellent at playing the perfect future chief!“

You didn't wait for his response. You turned on your heel and stormed off down the path, your tail lashing violently behind you.

Behind you, Neteyam stood frozen, the broken strap clutched in his hand. The cocky smirk completely vanished from his face. He wanted a reaction, yes, but Great Mother, he only made you angrier than you already were.

Then, the night of the feast arrived.

The central clearing was ablaze with a roaring fire, but to you, the atmosphere felt cold. The Aranahe Olo’eyktan, his mate, and his two children were seated at the high dais alongside Jake and his family. Ateya was intentionally placed right next to Neteyam. From your seat at your family’s own dais, you couldn't even swallow your food. Every time Ateya leaned in to whisper something to him, every time Neteyam offered her a smile, the food in your mouth tasted like ash.

You hated what you were feeling. You wished with everything in you that you could go back to how things used to be, back when you could pretend you were just annoyed by him. But as you watched them, you were confronted with a bitter truth. There was never a time you didn't care. You had always noticed him. For years, you had stubbornly pretended you didn't understand why he did things for you.

Why he would risk to burn his hand to get you your favorite dagger, why he would get out of his way to help you even when you never been kind to him. You had been selfish, rude, and mean, using your sharp tongue as a shield. Looking at Ateya, someone sweet, gentle, and flawlessly poise, you felt a sinking, hollow ache in your chest. She is exactly the kind of woman he deserves.

When the dinner concluded, one of the senior elders brought you over to introduce you to Tuvek. Although you were in no mood for pleasantries, your own courtesy forced you to stay. When Tuvek politely asked about the fermented fruit wine, you forced your voice into a steady rhythm, spending nearly half an hour conversing with him about the local beverages, the traditional food, and the story of the tribe dances.

Yet, your eyes were constantly drifting back across the clearing, tracking Neteyam. You felt two feet small, as if you had been completely skinned and left exposed to the cold wind.

“The steps to the third dance are actually quite complex,” Tuvek was saying, leaning a fraction closer, his eyes fixed intently on your face. “I would be honored if you showed me the footwork, once it comes again, Y/N. A huntress of your skill must move beautifully on the mats.”

“She moves beautifully, alright,” A low, smooth purr chimed in and you nearly jumped out of your skin.

You turned to hjm with a sharp glare, your eyes tracking Ateya a few paces away, standing alone in the crowd; but when she saw you glance at her, she started moving. You snapped your gaze back to Neteyam and saw him flashing a sharp, dazzling smile at Tuvek, though his golden eyes remained completely cold, tracking the man like a target.

“Assuming you don't mind getting your toes flattened. Our fiercest huntress tends to dance exactly how she hunts. Zero mercy and absolutely no regard for those trying to keep up with her.”

Your jaw nearly dropped. You snapped your gaze to him, your ears pinning back instantly. You were just about to hiss a lethal retort when a soft, melodic voice cut through the tension.

“There you are, Neteyam,” Ateya said, smoothly gliding into the circle. She offered a polite nod to you and Tuvek. “You disappeared so suddenly. I was worried you had grown bored of my company, but I am glad you’ve already introduced yourself to my brother.”

Neteyam smiled at her, “Of course, Ateya.”

You felt a sharp, ugly coil in your chest, but you quickly masked it when Ateya glances at you.

She looked at Neteyam again. “Though, I wonder if it would be rude if I steal you away for a more private conversation,” she said.

A sweet smile cut across your face as you turned your full attention to Ateya, completely ignoring Neteyam as if he were nothing more than an inconveniently placed rock.

“Oh, do not worry, Ateya,” you said. “Neteyam is simply doing what he does best: inserting himself where he isn't invited. He is very eager to come with you.”

You pushed him subtly. Tuvek blinked, looking between you two, while Ateya’s brow furrowed in mild confusion. Neteyam, however, didn't look offended at all. Instead, his smirk widened, his golden eyes dancing with absolute delight as he leaned closer to you.

“Is that what I'm doing?” Neteyam asked, his tone laced with a lazy, teasing challenge. “I thought I was just protecting our esteemed guest from a dangerous dance partner.”

“Oh, please. The only danger here is your terrible habit of sleepwalking,” you said, turning to Ateya. “You must be patient with him, that habit could triggered by too much wine. Just last moon, his family had to drag him back because he tried to climb down the Hometree in his sleep, said he was chasing a viperwolf.”

Tuvek chuckled, thoroughly baffled by the image of the stoic Neteyam sleep-hunting. Ateya looked at Neteyam with a confused smile, while the man stared at you, entirely captivated by how fiercely you were trying to embarrass him.

“Is that right?” Neteyam asked. “I don't remember chasing a viperwolf, sleepyhead.”

“Of course you don't, you were asleep,” you shot back smoothly, turning back to Ateya with a pitying shake of your head. "It's tragic, really. He also snores like a dying banshee when it rains. It's a miracle his family gets any rest at all. I only tell you this so you know what you are getting into, should he ever be left without a mouth guard during a monsoon.”

Ateya looked genuinely startled by your bluntness, her eyes darting to Neteyam to see if his pride would flare. “Oh... I see,” she offered softly, trying to find her footing in the conversation. “I suppose everyone has their... quirks.”

“Oh, he is full of them,” you replied instantly, your smile tightening.

“Hm,” Neteyam huffed a laugh, stepping even closer into your space, completely unfazed by your trashing. If anything, your desperate attempt to ruin his reputation seemed to intoxicate him. He tilted his head, his voice dropping into a low, private purr meant only for you. “You seem to know an awful lot about my nighttime habits. One might think you spend your evenings watching over me.”

“Oh, no, it’s the talk of the village,” you waved a dismissive hand and rolled your eyes.

Just in time, the rhythm for the dance Tuvek was talking about sounded and Tuvek glances at you. “There’s the dance.”

You smiled. "I’ll honor you." You gave Tuvek your hand, and he accepted it with a polite, sweeping bow, guiding you onto the crowded dance floor.

As you moved with Tuvek, matching the rhythmic thrum of the drums, the adrenaline from your bickering with Neteyam began to bleed away, leaving behind a hollow ache of the previous days. Tuvek was a perfectly fine partner, his movements were precise, his manner exceptionally polite, but you felt entirely disconnected from your own body. You felt two feet small again, a fraud hiding behind a confident huntress.

During a synchronized turn, your eyes drifted toward the council’s dais. You caught the line of vision of several senior elders and how they were all watching Neteyam and Ateya in approval. You followed their gaze and saw Ateya who had a dreamy, captivated look on her face, her eyes fixed entirely on him as she spoke about something.

Your eyes slid to the figure beside her, your heart jumping to your throat when you saw him watching you with an intense focus. You swiftly looked away, pretending to enjoy the rhythm.

The moment the music swelled to a finish, you offered Tuvek a nod. “It was a great pleasure to be in your company, Tuvek, but you must forgive me. I want to excuse myself.”

Before he could offer to accompany you, you practically fled, slipping past the dancing bodies. You jumped a few branches down until you are out in the comfort of the surrounding forest. The heavy beat of the drums faded, replaced by the sharp cracks of leaves under your soles. But you barely had time to draw a ragged breath before the distinct, deliberate sound of footsteps echoed behind you.

You spun around, your arms instantly crossing tightly over your chest in defense. Through the glowing blue and magenta bioluminescence, you saw Neteyam tracking you, his long strides steady and unrelenting.

“Leave me alone,” you hissed, your voice clipping with vulnerability.

“No,” Neteyam said. As he stepped fully into the pale light of a glowing fern, your breath caught. He looked angry. It was a hard, clenching tight line of his jaw. A dangerous, fierce expression you had never once seen him direct at you.

Your eyes narrowed as you focused on him, your own temper flaring to mask the sudden sting of tears. “Are you angry?”

“I suppose I am,” he said, his voice a low, rough vibration.

“At me?” you asked, a bitter, defensive laugh bubbling up in your throat. Your chin lifted defiantly. “Mad at me for what? Because I disparaged your pristine image to your precious Ateya? Oh, don't worry, Neteyam, I don't think she cares at all! She was still looking at you with heart-shaped eyes the entire night!”

“You think I care about her?” Neteyam stepped sharply into your space, his chest heaving as he looked down at you, his golden eyes blazing. “I couldn't care less what she thinks of me! But I certainly cared about watching you hand your palm over to her brother! I cared about watching him lean into your face, talking about how 'beautifully' you move!”

“He was just being polite!” you yelled, your voice cracking as the sheer pressure of the past week finally broke through your defenses. “And you should, too, I saw the council. They approved of you two—”

“I don't want Ateya!” Neteyam roared, grabbing your upper arms, his grip firm, unyielding, but entirely careful not to hurt you. “And I don't want you anywhere near him! It was driving me insane, Y/N. Watching him touch you, watching you smile at him, and knowing you’re somehow mad at me again for only Eywa knows what. Because unlike him, I can’t seem to do anything right by you!”

Your chest heaved. Your inner lip was caught between your teeth as a sudden, overwhelming wave of emotion hit you. His words felt like a direct proof of the thoughts you had just harbored at the feast. He had shown you nothing but absolute, relentless kindness his entire life, and you had paid him back in nothing coldness and meanness.

You swallowed hard, quickly turning your head to hide the hot tears that were suddenly pooling in your eyes. But you weren't fast enough. Neteyam took a sharp, panicked breath the moment he saw the glint of moisture on your cheek.

“Fuck. Are you crying?” he rushed out, his long strides instantly eating away the remaining space between you. The anger was completely gone, replaced by pure panic. “I didn't mean for it to come across that way. Shit. I'm so sorry I said that. Please don't cry.”

You shook your head, the hot tears finally spilling over and tracking down your face. Before you could pull away, his large hands came up, firmly but gently grasping your upper arms to steady you.

“No? Then what is it? Was it Tuvek?” his body went instantly rigid, his ears flattening as a dangerous, protective growl vibrated in his throat. “Did he say something to you?”

“No,” you sniffled, your own hands automatically coming up to grip his forearms, feeling the hard, steady muscle beneath his skin. “You were right, Neteyam. You can't do anything right by me, but you are not to blame for that. I am. I am so mean to you. So needlessly cruel and defensive at times, when all you've ever wanted to do was help me, and protect me, and I—”

“Hey. Shh,” he hushed you softly, pulling you forward and wrapping his massive, warm arms around your trembling frame and tucking your head securely against his chest. “What are you even saying? You could never do anything to me that I do not let you do. Don’t think of me as some victim.”

“That’s the exact problem,” you mumbled against his bare chest, your voice muffled but fierce. “You are such an idiot. You would literally allow me to impale you with a hunter's spear if I told you I wanted to.”

A low, rumbling chuckle vibrated against your cheek. Neteyam squeezed you a little tighter, his chin resting against the top of your head. “I definitely would,” he whispered quietly.

A profound, heavy silence fell over you both. Neteyam slowly pulled back just enough to look down at your face, his golden eyes filled with a softness that made your knees weak as he traced the glowing pattern of your bioluminescent freckles—the stars he saw every single time he closed his eyes.

“You like me...” you mumbled, the words feeling like a sacred, forbidden secret leaving your lips.

“Like?” Neteyam echoed, a small, breathless smile tugging at his mouth. “Maybe... when I was a boy.” His gaze darkened, his thumb gently wiping away a stray tear from your cheek. “But I am a man grown now. And my feelings grew out of the 'like' territory a very long time ago.”

You swallowed hard, your mind racing as you tried to process the intensity in his eyes. Remembering the scandalous, late-night gossip sessions with Kar'ek and the girls, you blinked up at him innocently. “You... you lust for me?”

Neteyam snorted, a sharp burst of genuine laughter barking from his chest. His large frame shook against yours, his white teeth flashing in the dark. Your lips twisted into a pout, your face thoroughly confused, but a spark of warmth bloomed in your gut just watching his unbridled joy.

“I do,” he admitted freely, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as his gaze dropped to your mouth for a heavy, lingering second. “I definitely do. But what I mean is... I love you. I am completely, entirely in love with you. I have been for years, Y/N. There is no one else. There never has been. And never will be.”

You looked up at him, your heart hammering so loudly against your ribs you were certain he could hear it. You tried as hard as you could to hide the massive smile tugging at your lips, burying your face slightly back into his chest. “You are an idiot...” you mumbled.

Neteyam let out a sharp, breathless laugh, his ears pinning back in absolute, staggering relief. He didn’t back down. Instead, his hand slid up to the back of your neck, his long fingers tangling gently into your hair as he tilted your face up, demanding your full attention.

“For being crazy over and falling in love with the clan’s fiercest, most stubborn huntress?” he asked, his voice dropping to a rough, intense whisper. “Perhaps I am. I am a massive idiot.”

You playfully glared at him, your hand tracing the curve of his arm. But the vulnerability rushed back, and your gaze lowered to his chest, your forehead creasing as your lower lip gave a small, telling tremble. “I got... so jealous of Ateya tonight. I was so jealous, Neteyam, I wanted to cry during dinner.” You looked up, your eyes wide and searching. “ think she would do well. She seems like a good woman, a good huntress... and an even better weaver, from what everyone says.”

A deeply humored, incredibly smug look washed over his features, a familiar, cocky smirk returning to his lips. “Do well with what?”

“With you,” you said, poking his chest sharply.

His head tilted, his thumb caressing your jawline. “I rejected the match with her for years because I wanted someone else,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “And now this someone else is crying because she thinks I’ll ever look at another woman and forget the only one I’ve ever wanted.”

Your lips twisted. “I am not good to you,” you repeated softly.

Neteyam squeezed your hand, bringing his face so close your noses brushed. “I don’t care. I love you. And I don’t care if you don’t feel the same right now,” he said with an absolute, unyielding intensity. “I only wish for your happiness. So whatever it takes, I will do it. I will take whatever fire or ice you throw my way.”

“Me, too,” you whispered.

Neteyam froze, his eyes widening a fraction. “You do?”

Your eyes went wide as you realized what you had just admitted, your heart leaping into your throat. “I—I mean, I want you to be happy, too!” you stammered, biting your lip as your gaze helplessly dropped to his mouth.

Unable to resist the pull any longer, you stood on your tiptoes and pressed a quick, desperate kiss to his lips. You tried to step back in a hurry, your old defensive instincts flaring, but Neteyam’s arm tightened like steel around your waist. He pulled you flush against his body, his other hand gathering your braids to hold your head steady as he tilted your face up and kissed you properly.

He kissed you deep, hard, and possessive, molding his lips to yours with all the pent-up hunger of a man who had waited a lifetime. A soft, breathless moan escaped your throat against his mouth, your fingers gripping tightly into the muscles of his shoulders. It felt good. Shockingly, terrifyingly good.

He finally pulled away just enough to let you breathe, his lips trailing hot, damp paths down your jawline while his large hand cupped your cheek. You angled your head, desperate to kiss him again, but the sudden, distinct rustle of heavy footsteps nearby cut through the haze.

You moved away from him faster than lightning, your heart leaping into your throat. You started walking back toward the clearing like a startled yerik caught in a hunter's sights, only to freeze when you spotted Sak'nur walking down the path not a few paces away.

“There you are,” Sak'nur said, stopping. “Father told me to find you. What are you doing out—” He broke off, his forehead creasing deeply as his eyes slid behind you. “Neteyam?”

Your entire frame jolted. You quickly crossed your arms over your chest. “We ran past each other near the clearing,“ you lied smoothly, your voice barely trembling. “... I was only out for some cold air and alone time.”

“And Neteyam?” your brother asked, his sharp eyes darting suspiciously between the two of you.

You turned to look at Neteyam, seeing that he still looked completely stupefied, his ears twitching as he pointed a thumb vaguely behind himself, his lips opening and closing as if his verbals skills had entirely failed him.

“He was out to make sure there are no dangers in the vicinity,” you covered for him, stepping closer to your brother. “What does father want?”

Sak'nur stared at you, clearly unsatisfied with the answers but unable to pinpoint why. “He wants to speak with you about an important matter, apparently.”

“Alright, I'm going,” you said, offering a tight smile before turning back toward Hometree.

The two warriors followed you back to the communal clearing. You walked up to your father, who immediately drew you aside to a quieter corner of the clearing, away from the roaring heat of the central fire.

“Daughter,” your father began, his voice dropping into the low tone he used when speaking of clan matters. “The elders have spoken with me. They believe a pairing between you and Tuvek would secure a vital line of trust between our hunters. He is a formidable warrior, and his father is a powerful ally.”

You stood before him, but you could hardly think straight. Your skin was still flushed and your lips were practically burning, still tingling from the possessive pressure of Neteyam's mouth. The contrast between your father's political gravity and the wild, illicit heat flooding your veins was dizzying. You had absolutely no intention of entertaining a single word of what the council wanted.

“He seems like a good man, Father,” you said, forcing your voice to sound entirely detached, though your heart was still hammering against your ribs. “But I have no interest in him. Or his clan's alliances.”

Your father nodded, taking a slow sip from his cup. “He is an Olo'eyktan's firstborn son, daughter. It is a match of great honor. Are you telling me your heart is already occupied elsewhere?”

Your breath hitched, but you quickly locked your jaw, “Father, I am not interested in being a wife at this age, to be honest. I want to... sharpen my skills, so to say. But if the elders want an alliance, we have other huntresses from good lineage they can trade.”

Your father hid another slow satisfied smirk behind his cup. He had seen the way Neteyam had practically bolted out of the clearing after you, and he could see the telltale flush on your cheeks now. If the fact that you’re both singing the same tune isn’t enough proof.

“Very well,” he murmured evenly, tapping your shoulder. “I will tell the elders you wish to weigh the gravity of the decision first, but we won’t speak of this again.”

Across the room, Neteyam was standing with Sak'nur, feigning interest in whatever your brother is saying, but his golden eyes were locked onto you. He watched your expression, knowing how dutiful you were to your family, silently praying that just this once, you would listen to nothing but your own heart.

The moment he saw you walk away from your father, Neteyam set his bowl of brew down and patted Sak'nur on the back. His eyes met yours from across the crowded, firelit room, and he gave a subtle jerk of his head toward the outer branches. You gave a barely perceptible nod, slipping out of the feast once more.

As you walked along the high pathway of the outer branches, a large, warm hand wrapped firmly around your elbow, gently pulling you back into the darkness of a massive trunk.

“Your father...?” Neteyam began, his voice tight with anxiety.

Your lips twisted as you tried to stifle a massive smile. “He told me about an arrangement with Tuvek,” you murmured, watching his grip tighten on your arm. “I told him I am not interested.”

Neteyam let out a long, shuddering huff of relief. You smiled up at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and tiptoeing to press your lips to his. He kissed you back instantly, a soft, purring rumble in his chest. “Good,” he mumbled against your mouth. “Good.”

You smiled against his lips, pulling back slightly. “Listen,” you whispered, your expression turning serious. “I don't want to hide this... but I don't know how to tell my brother. Or my father. Or anyone, for that matter. Do you understand?”

Neteyam looked deep into your eyes, his gaze overflowing with tenderness. “I'm not complaining,” he smiled, leaning down to press another soft kiss to your lips. “We’ll do whatever you want. At your pace, baby.”

“Y/N?”

You jumped away from Neteyam instantly, spinning toward the entryway of the clearing to see Kar’ek standing there. His sharp eyes immediately narrowed into suspicious slits as he watched Neteyam stepping back into the shadows.

“Kar'ek,” you greeted, trying to sound breathless from walking, not kissing.

“We were just looking for you. It is time for the dancing!” Kar’ek said, dynamically swaying his hips to the distant rhythm of the drums.

“Right! I'll be there with you guys soon,” you grinned.

“Oh-kay...” Kar’ek dragged out, his eyes narrowing further as a massive, knowing smirk spread across his face. He shot a heavily loaded look toward Neteyam's shadow before turning on his heel and sauntering away.

That night was only the beginning. What followed was a succession of secret, thrilling rendezvous that left your heart permanently racing. You two were practically compiling your own list of offenses: like hiding beneath the massive roots of Hometree, your muffled giggles pressed against his chest while a hunting patrol walked mere paces away; the midnight flights on your ikrans to the highest, mist-shrouded cliffs just to share a single, stolen blanket from Tuk to take a nap; the hidden moments behind the weapon racks where he would boldly press you against the wood as he kisses you, his hand anchoring your hip while your brother is looking for him in the training grounds; and the quiet dawn swims in the river, washing the dirt from your skin while his hands mapped the curves of your body beneath the water.

You felt like you were living out one of Kar’ek’s scandalous escapades, and you couldn't help but laugh out loud whenever you recounted your friend's wild gossip to Neteyam during your hidden hours.

“Who exactly are these anonymous hunters?” Neteyam asked one afternoon, sounding thoroughly scandalized but chuckling warmly as he adjusted you comfortably on his lap. You were hidden deep within the hollow of an ancient tree.

“I won’t give any names,” you teased, sticking your tongue out at him. “But let’s just say he is definitely not running out of boys to play with.”

“May Eywa give those poor boys strength,” Neteyam laughed, his chest rumbled against your back. “The same way she giveas me strength...”

You smirked, shifting your weight and swinging your legs over his thighs to straddle his lap completely. “I think there is a very low supply...” you whispered, cupping his strong jaw and leaning down to press a deep, teasing kiss to his lips.

Neteyam let out a low groan, his hands immediately finding your hips. You pulled away just an inch, chuckling softly against his skin.

“See? Low supply.”

“You are entirely unfair,” he growled playfully. His large hand came up, clamping firmly around the nape of your neck to pull you down into a deeper, far more breathless kiss. His other hand caressed your waist up to your breast, fondling gently. You smiled against his lips, grinding your hips against him as the heat between you flared.

In the succeeding weeks, the atmosphere in the communal gathering was heavy with an entirely different kind of tension. Gossips from the younger bunch spread after the elders discussed the latest news from the upper branches: a young, unmated woman had been discovered to be carrying a child, and her lover was a hunter from an outside clan.

Apparently, the two had been sneaking out for moons without anyone knowing.

Instantly, a wave of territorial protectiveness rippled through the Omatikaya men. They thought it an offense that the hunter should do it that way when he could have courted the woman. Your brother, on the other hand, knowing how many of the young hunters harbored quiet infatuations with you, issued a cryptic, booming warning to the circle.

“If any man thinks he can disrespect my sister in the dark, sneaking around behind my back,” Sak’nur growled, his eyes scanning the crowd like a hawk, “he will lose a hand before he ever sees the dawn.”

A sudden, nervous silence fell over the younger hunters. Several of them shifted uncomfortably, their faces tightening with guilt that they looked as if they were the ones actively sneaking out with you. You couldn't help but look across the fire, your eyes instantly landing on Neteyam and finding that wasn't sweating at all.

In fact, he had a deeply humored, incredibly cocky smirk playing on his lips as he raised a single, challenging eyebrow at you. Your lips twisted, and you aggressively rolled your eyes at him, though your heart gave a violent, uncontrollable flutter against your ribs.

Later that afternoon, the heat of the day had finally begun to break. You had just finished instructing a group of younger hunters in advanced archery, watching them disperse before turning back to the targets to hone your own marksmanship. You drew an arrow back, the tension of the bowstring resting against your cheek, when the distinct, soft crunch of footsteps sounded behind you.

You let the arrow fly, hitting the exact center of the target with a sharp sound, and smiled before you even turned around.

Neteyam stepped into your space, his large hand instantly snaking around your waist from behind, pulling your back flush against his chest. He lowered his head, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the bare skin of your shoulder.

“Not done yet?” he murmured, his fingers giving your waist a firm, possessive squeeze.

“Done,“ you said, unstringing the bow. "I was just practicing my aim."

"So modest, my baby..." he scoffed softly, a lopsided smirk gracing his lips as he took the bow from your hands and set it aside against the weapon rack. "As if she weren't already one of the finest marksmen this clan has ever seen. Come on. I’ll meet you up at the roost."

Your lips twisted into a small smile. You gathered your things and climbed the rocky, winding paths up to the high ikran ledges, arriving just a few minutes before him. By the time Neteyam walked up, his own saddle in hand, the sky had already begun to bleed into a bruised violet, the forest below waking up with its first faint glimmers of bioluminescence.

You both mounted and took to the sky, diving off the cliff into the open, cool air. Up in the darkening heavens, the weight of the clan entirely disappeared. You raced each other, your ikrans dipping and diving, their wings nearly brushing as you performed dizzying aerial maneuvers, laughing like children as you pushed each other higher into the clouds.

Eventually, the sky turned darker, and you guided your ikran down onto a secluded, floating mountain, a mossy grotto you both had claimed as your own secret sanctuary.

The moment your ikrans found their footing on the stone, you slid off your mount and threw yourself into Neteyam's arms. He caught you seamlessly, his large hands immediately locking around your waist to pull you flush against him. Your head was thrown back as he captured your lips, kissing you with a fierce, burning intensity that left you utterly breathless.

Your arms found purchase around his broad, powerful shoulders, matching the desperate hunger of his mouth as he slowly guided you down onto the soft, glowing moss of the grotto floor.

You let out a soft chuckle against his lips as his mouth migrated down, trailing hot, damp paths down your jawline and into the sensitive crook of your neck. You caressed his shoulders, your fingers tracing the hard muscle of his back.

"Have you not given what my brother said a single thought?" you asked breathlessly, cradling his head against your neck.

Neteyam reared his head back, looking down at you with a lazy, lopsided smile that made your stomach flip. "I am not afraid of your brother," he murmured, his golden eyes turning dark, yet carrying a sudden, wistful depth. "The only thing I am afraid of... is you waking up one day and deciding you’re completely done with me."

Your forehead creased, your heart aching at the raw vulnerability in his voice. You reached up, cupping his sharp, tattooed jawline with both hands. "That would never happen," you said with absolute emphasis, locking your eyes with his. "I love you, Neteyam. I love you very much."

Neteyam froze. His golden eyes widened a fraction, and then, a brilliant, blinding smile lit up his face, an expression of pure, unadulterated joy you rarely see on his stoic face.

"I love you more, baby," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he leaned down to devour your lips in a soft, deeply tender kiss. "I love you so much more."

You looked up at him, smiling at the faint, unshed tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. "Isn’t it quite funny?" you chuckled softly, tracing his bottom lip with your thumb. "You’ve kissed me everywhere, we've broken every rule... but I haven’t actually told you that I love you until tonight."

Neteyam let out a deep, booming laugh, burying his face back into your neck, hugging you so tightly your ribs ached, peppering your skin with hot kisses. "I should have told you moons ago," you murmured, angling your head to give him better access.

"It doesn't matter," he breathed against your skin, his hands sliding down your body. "You love me now, and that is more than enough for me."

You smiled, pulling him down by his neck for another deep kiss. With a practiced, heavy motion, Neteyam’s long fingers brushed the soft, woven petals of your top away from your chest. His lips trailed a path of fire down your throat, moving lower until you arched your back with a soft gasp, completely offering yourself to him.

He suckled deeply on one breast while his large hand fondled and squeezed the other, his thumb rubbing the sensitive peak until a ragged moan tore from your throat. You let your head fall back against the cool, damp earth, your fingers tangling in the moss as he kissed his way down the flat plane of your stomach.

Neteyam slid down, his hands firmly pressing your thighs apart. You instinctively lifted your hips, allowing him to untie the leather cords of your loincloth, pulling it free from your tail. Once you were fully bare beneath him, he lowered his head between your legs.

His tongue was relentless at licking, sucking, and swirling against your slick center, guided entirely by the needy, desperate sounds leaving your lips. He held your thighs pinned against his shoulders, driving you closer and closer to the edge until your body violently shuddered, a loud cry echoing through the quiet grotto as you came against his mouth.

As the tremors slowly faded, Neteyam rose, kneeling between your parted legs. The pale bioluminescence of the floating mountain washed over him, treating you to a breathtaking view of his heavily muscled frame, his broad chest heaving, his shoulders squared as he untied his own loincloth. His eyes were fixed on you with a dark, predatory intensity. He lowered his upper body down, pinning you beneath his weight as he kissed you again, and you wrapped your arms tightly around his neck, kissing him back with equal fervor.

Wanting a change, you prepared to flip your positions, aiming to slide on top of him. With a sudden shift of your hips, you successfully rolled over, though Neteyam definitely helped guide your waist, letting out a low grunt as his back hit the mossy ground.

Your lips twisted into a dark, confident smirk as you straddle him. Reaching down, your fingers wrapped around his large, thick length, looking down at him with heavy, hooded eyes. Neteyam smiled lopsidedly, his hands resting loosely on your hips as he watched you gather your own wetness, deliberately lathering it along the shaft of his cock.

His hips gave an involuntary, desperate buck as a low whimper escaped his throat. You immediately pressed a firm hand against his tense abdomen. "Relax, baby..." you whispered.

In retaliation, his grip on your hips tightened, his fingers bruising your skin. You lined his head up against your velvety lips, slowly brushing the wide, sensitive tip against your wetness, intentionally pleasuring yourself first. Neteyam watched you, completely incapable of closing his eyes even as the sheer pleasure made his jaw clench.

Finally, you guided him to your opening, adjusting the angle of your thighs to accommodate his familiar, staggering girth. You bit your lower lip as the wide head began to slip inside, knowing it would take a conscious effort to take all of him in.

You began to lower yourself down with agonizing slowness. Neteyam’s hands were firm on your waist, keeping you steady, but your own impatience suddenly got the better of you. With a sharp exhale, you sank down in one sudden, heavy motion, completely impaling yourself on him as a loud, ragged cry tore from your throat.

"Shit," Neteyam groaned, his eyes snapping shut as his arms instantly flew up to gather your upper body, holding you tight as you weakly collapsed against his chest like a broken branch hanging to a tree for dear life. "Baby..."

He wrapped his massive arms around you, his hand tilting your chin up so he could kiss you, soothing the sudden, overwhelming fullness. You kissed him back deeply, your walls tightly squeezing and suffocating his girth. You stayed entirely still, kissing and breathing together until your body finally adjusted to him.

Once the ache turned into a thrumming heat, you pushed yourself up, beginning to move rhythmically on top of him. You pushed and pulled, your hips, grinding against his as you anchored one hand firmly against his chest. Neteyam’s hands returned to your waist, guiding your pace as the speed picked up.

Your breathless moans and his deep, guttural groans echoed off the stone walls of the little grotto. In the middle of a heavy upward stroke, Neteyam's thumb found your sensitive nub, rubbing it in perfect sync with your movements. The sudden, intense friction made your entire frame tremble.

“Shit...” you quivered and he applied pressure on your nub.

“Aww...” he mumbled mockingly, his other hand fondling your breast. “You feel so good, baby...”

He was incredibly talkative even in the heat of sex, whispering praise, groaning your name, telling you how good you felt, and you absolutely loved it.

Your internal muscles clamped down hard as a violent wave of completion took over, your body shaking as you came for the second time, hugging his neck tightly while he switched your positions and lay you back on the moss to continued pounding into you. He kissed the sweat-slicked skin of your shoulder as he thrusted, finally let out a low, roaring groan, spilling himself deep inside you.

The sheer exhaustion of the night finally caught up to you, and you passed out cold in his arms and when you finally blinked your eyes open, the cool violet of the night had been replaced by the bright, piercing light. You were still tucked securely against his side, your cheek resting comfortably against his broad chest.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Neteyam whispered, a soft chuckle vibrating against your ear. “I thought we were only staying for a few hours, but then... you slept straight through the night and half the morning.”

You huffed a quiet chuckle, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his chest. “Morning to you, too, handsome,” you mumbled, propping yourself up on one elbow.

Your long braids cascaded beautifully over your shoulders, framing your face in the bright daylight. You watched as Neteyam’s golden eyes instantly dilated at the sight. "I suppose I do love sleeping in," you teased.

"I love you sleeping in, too..." he whispered, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "You look so innocent when you're asleep."

You grinned, a wicked light entering your eyes. "And when I’m awake?"

"When awake... you’re my naughty little huntress," he whispered hoarsely, leaning in to playfully nip at your earlobe. "But right now, the naughty is going to have to be reined in. We need to go home. Your family is definitely looking for you by now."

You pouted, shifting your weight. "I’m a big girl, Neteyam. My father won’t care about that anymore. Or... are you suddenly scared of Sak'nur?"

Neteyam scoffed, though a confident smile quickly broke across his face. "I can handle your brother."

You smirked, your hand slowly traveling down the flat plane of his stomach until your fingers wrapped around his length, which was already hardening at your touch. "So then we can definitely stay for one more."

He groaned, allowing you to take control. He sat up, kneeling on the moss and rounding you. On normal days, you would lie on your back, but this morning, you turned your back to him, dropping down onto your hands and knees, arching your spine invitingly.

Neteyam let out a low, guttural growl, his large hands clamping onto your hips. You looked back over your shoulder, catching sight of his chest heaving, his golden eyes blown wide and wild, looking exactly like a predator ready to pounce on its prey. The romance of the previous night was entirely gone, replaced by a wild, frantic, and primal morning coupling that left you both shivering.

By the time you both got ready and mounted your ikrans, it was already midday. You flew back toward Hometree, racing each other through the canopy and laughing like idiots, but the moment you neared the high roost, the laughter died in your throat.

Standing right at the edge of the ledge, arms crossed tightly over his chest, was Sak'nur.

You weren't necessarily scared of being found out, but the timing couldn't have been worse. The moment your ikran’s feet touched the branches, you slid off, quickly stepping in front of your brother and pressing a firm hand against his chest to force him back.

Sak'nur looked absolutely murderous, his eyes locked entirely on Neteyam, who landed smoothly a second later and descended from his saddle with a calm, steady grace.

“Were you with my sister the entire night? She didn’t come home,” Sak’nur demanded, his voice a low, lethal growl.

“Sak’nur, stop,” you pleaded, shoving against his chest.

"I was," Neteyam answered simply, his golden eyes unblinking as he stepped forward.

"Motherfucker," Sak’nur hissed, pouncing forward. You threw your entire weight into your brother to hold him back, but he was far too strong. He overpowered you, shoving you aside to get to his target.

Neteyam’s eyes widened at the sight of you being pushed. "Fucker!" he hissed, all restraint vanishing as he launched himself at your brother.

The two of them collided heavily, grappling and tearing into each other, throwing raw, heavy punches that echoed through the trees. They were fighting like you had never seen them fight before. Two elite warriors tearing the ground apart out of sheer, blinding rage.

"Fuck you, asshole!" Sak’nur roared, catching Neteyam by the throat and slamming him against a mossy root. "Out of all the men here who would go behind my back and disrespect my sister, I didn’t think it would be you! You sneak around in the dark like a coward! Are you toying with her?!"

Neteyam threw a vicious elbow, breaking Sak’nur’s grip and forcing him back a step. His chest was heaving, his face smeared with dirt and sweat, but his eyes were blazing with absolute, unyielding conviction.

"I am not toying with her!" Neteyam shouted back, his voice tearing raw. "I have loved Y/N my entire life! I’ve never been with anyone else, not a single soul, because of her! I love her more than my own breath, Sak’nur! And I knew that if she ever showed me even just a single drop of love, not even our friendship would be enough to keep me away from her!"

Neteyam wiped a smear of blood from his lip, stepping right back into Sak’nur’s face.

"And she does. She loves me. So I can't stay away, and I won't. I intend to mate with her before Eywa. I intend to make her my wife!"

Sak’nur stared at him, his ears pinning back in a mix of fury and sheer, stunned disbelief. "Make her your wife?! You say you honor her, yet you disrespect her by sneaking her out into the jungle for only Eywa knows what?!"

"I am a grown woman, Sak’nur!" you screamed, your chest heaving as you glared fiercely at your brother. "It is not your business where I go, or who I choose to lay with!"

Sak’nur looked at you, his chest rising and falling heavily, the protective fury in his eyes still burning but slightly wavering under your fierce defense.

Neteyam stepped up right behind you, his large hand coming down to rest firmly on your shoulder, anchoring you to his side. He looked at your brother, the raw anger in his face softening into something deeply earnest, yet entirely uncompromising.

"Sak'nur, look at me," Neteyam said, his voice dropping into a steady, intense rhythm. "What Y/N and I have... it is entirely separate from the brotherhood between us. You are my best friend. You are my brother in arms. But your sister and I... We love each other. I love her with everything I am, and nothing is going to change that. Not even you."

Your brother grappled with him again, they punched and tore into each other like wild animals. It was a brutal, bloody spectacle, but to your absolute, utter confusion, the raw violence slowly devolved into heavy panting, and then... a sharp burst of laughter.

You stood there, your jaw practically dropping as you watched them lie on the ground, bloody-faced and bruising, laughing like two boys who had just finished a friendly sparring match.

"Brother," Neteyam began, wiping a smear of blood from his lip as he sat up. "I do not mean to go behind your back... but like I said, what I have with Y/N is ours alone. No one knew about it until now. We were keeping it low... but I won’t apologize for loving her."

Sak'nur shook his head, a lingering, humored smirk on his face as he accepted Neteyam’s hand to pull himself up. "I don’t expect you to apologize," your brother said, wiping his own nose. "But I still expect you to be a better man. You will court my sister properly now... and the mating will be in a year."

"A year?!" you and Neteyam echoed in unison, your voices cracking.

Sak'nur scoffed, a teasing glint in his eye. "What, not man enough?"

"Fuck you," Neteyam replied smoothly, standing to his full height and casting a wicked, incredibly cocky wink in your direction. "All right. I will do all of that. I wanted to court her openly anyway. I want everybody in this jungle to know exactly who I belong to."

Your brother scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Please. I’m still her brother, and I’m still your best friend. If you don’t want me to kick you in the gut, you'll stop the sweet talk."

Neteyam rolled his eyes, offering him a playful shove. "Whatever."

The three of you walked back down the winding pathways toward your family’s kelku. Every single person you passed stared in utter bewilderment at the two elite, bloody warriors limping and holding their bruised sides. They had beaten each other to an absolute pulp, and it was honestly hilarious to witness.

Your father was standing just outside the entryway of the kelku when he spotted the procession.

"Y/N, where were you?!" he called out before his eyes landed on the two battered men. "Great Mother... what happened to you two?"

Sak'nur merely jerked his head toward Neteyam, a smug grin splitting his bruised face. "This asshole is going to court my sister."

Your father stopped. He looked at you, then at Neteyam's heavily bruised but triumphant face, and let out a heavy sigh. "Oh, well. Finally."

"Finally?" Sak'nur echoed, thoroughly confused.

"Son, you are completely blind," your father muttered, throwing a heavy hand over Sak'nur's shoulder and leading him inside the kelku to get treated.

Left alone on the path, you walked up to Neteyam, entirely uncaring of the remaining eyes watching from the clearing. "Oh, baby..." you murmured softly, your fingers gently rising to touch the massive, purpling bruise forming on his sharp cheekbone. He winced slightly at the contact. "Let’s deal with that inside."

"Hmm," Neteyam hummed, a lazy, victorious rumble vibrating in his chest. His large hand snaked around your waist, pulling you tightly against his side before he lowered his head, pressing his lips to yours in a hard, deeply public kiss.

“The trick is to release early,” Eykan said, arms coming up behind you to guide your own. He placed a hand on yours and the other around your waist, making sure to be respectfully gentle about it. Neteyam scoffed. His hand placements were clearly unnecessary.

Neteyam could hear the sharp intake of your breath, right before you released the string, and quick as lightning, the arrow struck right through a fish in the water, and as if you’d never caught a fish before, you gave a gleeful grin to Eykan at the catch, to which he mirrored before helping you set it aside. Neteyam had taught you to use a bow, of course, but that never stopped other males from eagerly wanting to teach a trick of their own to get up close with you.

“Alright, I think she’s had enough,” Neteyam interrupted, placing himself between you and Eykan.

“What about the fish?”

“Keep it.” Neteyam gave a tight, polite smile to the warrior before leaving with you in tow.

You were going to say something, maybe mention how disappointed Eykan looked when he pulled you away, but the tense set of Neteyam’s jaw and the hard look in his eyes kept your mouth shut. It was safe to say Neteyam looked absolutely pissed as he dragged you through the forest.

You were supposed to be training with him today, but instead, the whole male population of the clan had apparently decided they’d like to do the same. And Neteyam, ever the patient Olo’eyktan’s son he was, had allowed them to indulge themselves with the pleasure of your attention, until there was no more room for him. He was left to stand to the side as young warriors of the clan attempted to impress you. They thought nothing of the Olo’eyktan’s son, not because they didn’t respect him—you knew the respect the Omatikaya held for him, but because you’d grown up closely alongside his family. So really, there was no reason for the males of his clan to think of you as anything less than a sisterly-figure to him.

But the more Neteyam grew, the more he grew tired of the constant attention you got from the young males of his clan as you came of age.

It didn’t always come, but today seemed to be one of those days where they couldn’t help but shower you in stares and unspoken intentions.

“It’s almost eclipse. You should head home, we can train another day,” Neteyam suggested halfway through the forest like the gentleman he was and you frowned. Something in his face told you he didn’t really want to take you home.

“But we haven’t spent any time together and I know you’re upset.”

He sighed. “It’s alright. We have plenty of other days.”

“I have to help Kiri and your grandmother tomorrow, and you have a hunt the next day.”

“Alright, we have some other days,” he corrected.

Sparing yourselves some pity, you wordlessly grabbed his hand and tugged him towards you. He stumbled at first, legs moving on their own accord, then Neteyam followed without much resistance as you led him in a different direction through the thick trees.

“Where are we going?” He asked, tail swaying hesitantly in curiosity.

“Not home. We haven’t gotten to spend much time together and that’s what friends do, is it not?”

Neteyam shook his head, laughing as he jumped over some vines he almost tripped on. “I suppose it is.”

The clearing you’d found yourselves into was secluded, far from the path towards home. And it also happened to be your favorite place, one that Neteyam hadn’t been to in years. The trees were just as he remembered it, large trunks enclosing the area from any outside predators. It glowed where moss and vines clung to it, and the carvings on them were still intact after years. On one bark was his name under yours, along with a bunch of scratches trying to remove it. It was like a memory unlocked for him, one he hadn’t thought about for a long while. He almost forgot about Eykan. Almost.

“You’re angry.”

“I’m not.” He huffed, looking anywhere but at you. “Maybe I am.”

He reached out to toy with a strand of flowers hanging from a branch, and you couldn’t help the way your eyes practically glued to his strong fingers as they ran through the soft petals. His hand ran down the vine, all the way to the fruit at the tip before plucking it from its stem.

“I hope it’s still sweet,” he said, plopping the small fruit into his mouth.

“You’re deflecting. Stop doing that.” You swatted his hand and the flowers fell, petals adorning the ground beneath him. His ears pulled back and he almost looked offended.

“I’m not deflecting,” he sighed. “Why don’t you show me around?”

“You’re doing it again!” you protested. “And you know your way around. You don’t need me to show you. Now will you tell me what I did wrong?”

“You did nothing wrong.” He paused, eyes cast to a distant branch.

“You don’t always have to spare my feelings, you know. You never tell anyone what’s bothering you, but I thought we were past that. You can tell me, Neteyam.”

He considered you for a moment, tail hanging low as it swayed to his contemplation at your truthful words. His brows furrowed, which you could only guess was from the unpleasant thoughts in his head, and then he finally released a long, drawn-out exhale.

“Look, I know I don’t have a say in your life,” he started, taking a slow breath. “Who you chose to spend your time with is not my concern, nor should it ever be, but if I have to watch another male rub himself on you while I just stand there, I’m going to-” he cut himself off with a frustrated hiss, turning away.

Oh.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” you apologized half-heartedly yet earnestly all at the same time. You weren’t daft, but you weren’t sure either. He could be uncomfortable, but why would he get so upset if he were anything but… jealous? You didn’t want to assume.

“That’s not… It’s not that. It is, but that is not what I meant.” Neteyam laughed pitifully at himself.

“Then what is it?”

He was fully turned to you now, picking at his own arm. “You’re smarter than that.”

The air was thick with something you couldn’t quite place, and a new emotion welled up inside you. Neteyam had always known how to be soft and gentle all over despite the rough toll his training had taken on him. He was calloused hands with gentle touches, a perfect mix of a warrior that would make any woman swoon. Yet here he was, worked up about you spending more time with males that were not him.

“Are you… jealous?” you asked in a whisper, almost inaudibly. His ears lifted at the word, cringing slightly. Neteyam finally looked at you, catching your eyes with his as he took a step forward.

“Is that so hard to believe?” he questioned, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. The unexpected touch made you shiver, a gasp threatening to spill from your lips. Neteyam’s gaze fell to his fingers hovering over the skin of your collarbone, then to your neck, lingering on your lips, then back to your face, and you subconsciously backed away as if his very stare burned you.

“...Yes,” you answered after almost having forgotten to. He smiled.

“I’m sure I can help you think otherwise.” He traced the shape of your jaw with his fingers, gently tilting your face upwards so he could look into your eyes again. “Pretty.”

If you weren’t blushing before you certainly were now. Neteyam’s attention was all over you. Eyes roaming the features of your face, fingers playing with your jaw, tail occasionally brushing your thigh, and you were hyper-aware of all the things he was making you feel. You didn’t know whether to look away or step closer.

“I mean it, yawntutsyìp. You’re very pretty,” he repeated. “There’s a reason why males trip over themselves when you look at them.”

Now you were really overwhelmed to the brink of malfunction. Fortunately for you, Neteyam took notice of your lack of words and continued to speak.

“I might be one of them,” he admitted softly. “In case you haven’t noticed.”

You hadn’t. Maybe you had, but you’d always brushed it off, the line between friendship and something else entirely blurred. Every time he’d stare at you for too long, every little smile he gave, and all the subtle touches he’d given you, you’d brushed it off as something that Neteyam just did. But, oh you were so wrong. You realized that now. You realized as Neteyam eyed you nervously, tail flicking anxiously close to the ground.

“I didn’t mean to make you jealous,” you said honestly, holding the side of his jaw with your hand. He closed his eyes and leaned into your touch like he’d been deprived of it.

“I know.” By the time he opened his eyes, your faces were mere inches apart. And for the first time today, it was his breath that hitched.

“We’ll still be friends, right?” you whispered and Neteyam’s chuckle was short-lived as you pressed your lips to his. His arm immediately winded around your waist, pulling you close as he kissed you with equal softness and want.

You felt your stomach flutter as you tugged him closer, kissing him deeper as your teeth grazed his lips. Neteyam almost groaned when your tongue melted against his, his fingers curling on your waist. He had to contain the images running through his head, most of them involving you and things his family would definitely not approve of. He could just take your right here, in the middle of the forest where no one would see. Or better yet, right here where young warriors making their way back could possibly stumble upon. He’d make it known that you were his, that they needed to lay off when you were spending time with him.

He wanted you, very badly. Especially when you made those little noises, the soft moans you let out as his tongue stroked your own. He could barely keep his head straight with the way your little hands tugged at him, trying to pull him closer. He’d been wanting you for a long time.

But he also treasured you. You meant many things to him and he cared too much of a great deal about you to let his desires cloud his actions. So instead, Neteyam slowly pulled away, breath ragged as he gave you room to breathe.

Your chest heaved, dazed in the aftershocks of the kiss as your mind whirled around it. Never in a million years would you have thought that you’d ever get to kiss him. Neteyam had always been a good friend, as his whole family was. To cross a line like that was reckless, too reckless. Yet you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it. No. After getting a taste of him, you wanted more, and that was probably the most dangerous part.

“We’re definitely not friends after that.”

‧₊˚.ೃ ࿐

Messengers spoke of their arrival in passing, of the Omatikaya seeking refuge among the reef people, of a man who had ridden legend itself into war. 

It was a week before your eyes finally found them.

When you returned, the village greeted you as if you had never truly left. Voices rose at the sight of you along the woven paths, hands brushing your arms and shoulders in brief, familiar greetings. That night, your father and mother prepared a larger meal than necessary. It was tradition—one you did not remember beginning, only that it had always been done for you.

Between mouthfuls and murmured approval, you shared what you could, voice steady despite the fatigue still clinging to you. And in return, they told you everything you had missed.

And as always, being home did not mean rest.

“I am certain you have heard of Toruk Makto’s family,” your father said as his gaze settled on you. 

You nodded once. Of course you had heard.

“Your brother and sister have begun teaching the children,” he continued. “They do well—but the Omatikaya learn differently. Their roots are in forest and stone, not tide and current.”

You feel your mother’s gaze settle on you, your sibling’s attention following soon after. You busy yourself with another bite of fish, chewing slowly, as if it might delay what is coming. You wondered, briefly, what your mother truly thought of Toruk Makto’s family, and tucked the question away for later.

“They will adapt faster with your guidance.”

There it is.

“I am sure Ao’nung and Tsireya have done well,” you said at last, lifting your gaze toward them. “They know the ways of the water better than most.”

Ao’nung let out a quiet huff at that, rolling his eyes. The sight drew a small chuckle from you before you could stop it.

Tsireya, ever gentle, smiled and leaned forward. “They try,” she said. “They listen. Some learn fast and some forget to keep breath when water grows deep.” She glanced at you then, you could almost see the hope in her expression. “But they wish to learn, That is good beginning.”

You smiled at Tsireya, pride settling warm and familiar in your chest. 

“As if,” Ao’nung scoffed before the moment could linger. “They are still like babies. I bet even you cannot teach them how to be better.”

“Yeah? Maybe you’re just a bad teacher,” you shot back, tilting your head to further tease him.

Tsireya joined in before anyone could stop her, a quiet, lilting laugh. “They listen, yes… but sometimes—ehhh.”

Ronal’s hand lifted, a soft but firm shush that cut through the teasing. “Enough, all of you.”

The three of you exchanged glances, chuckles softening into quiet smiles.

“Tomorrow, you will show them how to ride an ilu. You guide them carefully.”

You inclined your head once, shoulders settling under the weight of responsibility that always seemed to arrive with home. “I understand.”

Morning comes with salt on your skin and the sharp tang of the ocean in your lungs. You kneel beside the baskets, sorting the catch you caught earlier that morning with the hunting party. 

The catch had been large that day, plentiful enough that the baskets groaned under its weight, scales glinting like liquid sunlight.

“We have missed you, tsmuke,” one of the older hunters called, balancing a particularly large fish. “Big fish come in plenty when you are here.”

“I have missed you too!” you replied lightly, laughing. “Maybe Eywa is kinder this morning, or you are just a really good hunter.”

The group agreed, the sound rolling like the tide over the reef. Your attention, however, was caught by a familiar voice calling from across the sand.

“Sister! Come quickly!”

Tsireya jogs toward you, water dripping from her hair, eyes bright. Behind her, farther back along the edge of the shallows, you could see the Sully children, their skin a darker, richer blue than yours. 

“Ready for your lesson?” Tsireya called, slowing as she approached. “They’re waiting, and I think they are quite curious about you. They keep asking.”

You hesitated, hands still tangled in the nets, the baskets of the morning catch at your feet. The warmth of routine tugged at you—the familiar weight of the day’s work, the laughter of friends, the steady rhythm of the reef under your skin. It felt good to return to this, even if only for a moment, and part of you wanted to linger, just a little longer.

Tsireya, patient at first, let her frustration show in the softest way. She stepped closer and tugged gently at your wrists, removing your hands from the nets. “Please,” she urged, voice light but firm. “Come now. They will not wait forever.”

You looked back at your friends, offering a small, fleeting smile. “I… will be back soon,” you promised.

With nothing left to stall you, you set the nets aside and began walking with her, feeling the subtle pull of responsibility settle over your shoulders once again. The Sully children shifted slightly, curious eyes fixed on you, and you allowed yourself one last glance at the morning’s catch and the laughing hunters.

The Sully children greeted you in unison, their hands moved in the careful gesture of “Oel ngati kameie.” You returned the greeting, offering a smile.

From their vantage, it was easy to see why Tsireya had spoken of you with such excitement. Like her, you were beautiful but where Tsireya’s beauty was open and bright, yours carried a quieter maturity. Even before you spoke your presence held authority, it reminded them of your mother when they first came. And unlike her, whose sharpness was well known, you had shown them no hostility at all.

Some features mirrored your siblings, but one mark set you apart unmistakably. The tattoo, black and intricate, traced one half of your forehead and extended toward your cheekbone, earned first as the eldest upon completing your iknimaya. It marked your seniority, a quiet sign that you had already walked the path your younger siblings were just beginning.

Ao’nung’s voice cut through the quiet moment, impatient as ever. “We going or not?”

You exchanged a glance with Tsireya, and both of you let out quiet chuckles.

“Alright,” you couldn’t help the small smirk that tugged at your lips as your eyes flicked to Ao’nung. “Looks like someone is the most excited.”

The Sully children fought to suppress their smiles, chuckles spilling out despite their best efforts. Ao’nung finally stomped forward, muttering something under his breath, and you laughed at him softly.

You lingered a moment, letting them move ahead, their footsteps stirring the sand beneath the shallow water. Only once they had gone a few paces did you follow, letting Ao’nung take the lead.

A small sigh escaped you, soft enough that only Eywa could hear. Grant me patience today. Today would be long, you knew, but necessary.

Your siblings moved with practiced ease, each stepping toward one of the Sully children. The group slowly divided, voices overlapping with quiet instruction and encouragement, until you found yourself standing apart.

The smallest of them lingered near the water’s edge, eyes darting between her brothers and sisters as they were led away. Excitement practically spilled from her—fidgeting hands, bouncing steps, a tail that betrayed her eagerness even as she tried to stay still.

Warmth bloomed in your chest at the sight.

You beckoned her closer with an open hand. “Come here, little one,”

She hesitated only a moment before padding toward you, bouncing slightly to move faster. As she reached you, her hand lifted instinctively, fingers stretching toward yours. You caught it, steadying her before she could stumble, her grip small but eager in your palm.

She looked up at you then, eyes bright, breath quick with excitement.

“Fyape syaw fko ngar?” you asked. What is your name?

“Tuktirey,” she said proudly, then quickly added, softer, “But you can call me Tuk.”

She proved to be an eager student from the start, curiosity spilling from her. You answered each question without hurry, never growing tired of her wonder. There was no fear in her, only excitement, and it made the lesson flow easily.

“See how it circles first?” you said softly, nodding toward the ilu gliding nearby. “Ilus are very curious beings. They are trying to know you.”

Tuk’s fingers curled in the water as she watched it, eyes wide. “Is it looking at me?”

“Yes,” you smiled. 

She nodded solemnly, then whispered, “What does it like?”

“Kind hands,” you replied. “Slow breath. And respect. Ilu are not tools, they are partners. They help us hunt, travel, protect the reef. Without them, the ocean is harder to listen to.”

You clicked your tongue and whistled. The ilu’s head lifted slightly, turning toward the sound.

“They also like gliderfins,” you added.

Tuk glanced at the ilu again, awe softening her features. “Do they like playing?”

You laughed. “Some do. Especially the young ones. I think this one is just as young as you.”

She reached out again, more careful this time, brushing the ilu’s skin just as you showed her. The creature responded with a low, pleased trill, and Tuk’s face lit up.

“It likes you too now,” you said gently.

Her smile grew impossibly wide. 

For a while, it was easier than you had expected. Once Tuk had grown comfortable with the ilu, you began teaching her how to ride, guiding her through each step. 

You soon called Roxto over from where he had been teaching Kiri, thinking the youngest should stay within reach of her older siblings. He joined you without fuss, and Kiri followed easily. She was good company—quiet at first, then comfortable with a few exchanged words. You noticed how at ease she seemed around Roxto, and you couldn’t help thinking he was one of the few good friends Ao’nung kept.

“You’ve been very kind,” Kiri said as she glanced between her brothers then back at you, eyes bright with barely-contained amusement. “But I think… my brothers might need you more right now.”

She tipped her chin toward them, lips pressed together as she tried not to smile. One was struggling to find balance, slipping again and again, while the other had already gone rushing off too fast only to tumble into the water. Kiri ducked her head, a quiet laugh escaping despite her effort to stay composed.

You winced as one of her brothers was promptly rewarded with a splash of water straight to the face when the ilu darted away. Even you had to turn your head for a moment, shoulders shaking with restrained laughter.

“I see” you said, still smiling as the laughter faded from your breath. Your eyes flicked briefly to Roxto, a silent understanding passing between you, before you looked back at the girls.

“You’re in good hands,” you told Tuk and Kiri gently, giving them one last reassuring nod. Then you turned and waded toward the others, already bracing yourself as another splash and a string of complaints rang out from the group ahead.

That’s how you find yourself in charge of the oldest Sully, Neteyam—whose name you’d learned from Kiri. Tsireya had told you so much about Lo’ak the night before that you wouldn’t dare steal her chance to spend time with the other boy.

“You are not in the forest anymore,” you said softly, surfacing through the water where Neteyam had just fallen from the ilu. Your eyes swept over him quickly, taking in his posture, the set of his shoulders, checking for any real injury.

Frustration seeped through his expression despite himself. His nose scrunched, gaze shifting away from you as you called for the ilu to return. The tilt of his jaw and the tension in his arms told you he was used to control and was not used to being unseated so easily.

“I know,” he snapped, wiping the water from his face with a quick swipe of hand.

You went silent, tending to the ilu instead, letting him work through it without adding pressure. The water lapped quietly against your arms, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

After a moment, he spoke again, quieter this time. “Sorry… I’m just not used to this.”

You looked back at him then, and heat crept into your chest. It was embarrassing to admit, but you found him… personable. Even now, after only knowing each other for a while, there was a weight to him—different from any Metkayina you had known. His sharp features and darker skin marked him as not one of your people, and yet, somehow, that made him easier to watch, easier to notice than you had intended. You caught yourself looking at him more often than you liked, a small, guilty awareness settling in your stomach.

“It’s alright,” you said, eyes steady on him. “But you are trying to fly. Ilus do not fly.”

He scrunched his face at your words, and you allowed yourself a small, amused smile.

“It is like your ikran, yes,” you continued. “But flying isn’t the way with an ilu. You do not fight against the water, as it would only pull you under. You go with it. Feel the current, its weight, its flow. The water is the ilu’s home; try to make it yours.”

“Again,” you mentioned for him to mount once more. He hesitated only a second before obeying, settling onto its back with more care than before—but still too  stiff.

“No,” you nagged, moving into his space. “You are holding yourself like you expect to fall.”

Before he could respond, you reached out. One hand pressed lightly between his shoulder blades, encouraging him to lean forward just enough, while the other adjusted his grip—fingers loosening, then settling where they should be. 

“And remember,” you added, “tsaheylu is trust. That is more important than holding tight.”

The moment tsaheylu is formed, the ilu stilled. He drew in a slow breath, shoulders relaxing, and then he looked at you as if he’s waiting.

For a heartbeat, his world seemed to hold. Salt air, sun on water, the way light caught the planes of your face just right. 

You met his gaze and gave a single nod.

“Go,” you said simply.

You stepped back, giving him space as the ilu surged forward once more. This time, he moved with it, posture aligned, body following the current instead of fighting it. Water parted cleanly around them, and he stayed mounted.

You had spent the past month helping the Sully children adjust to life among the reef—teaching them your way of living, showing them how to move with the ilu, guiding their eager hands through the unfamiliar waters. It had been exhausting in the best way: laughter, splashes, and small victories marking each day, and yet, you still cherished moments where no pressure or responsibility rested on your shoulders.

Later, when the sun dipped lower and the lessons were done, you found yourself sitting cross-legged beside Tsireya in your family’s marui pod. Strands of dried kelp and polished shells spread between you. Your fingers worked from habit, weaving and knotting as easily as breathing, the familiar rhythm easing the last of the day’s tension from your shoulders.

Tsireya hummed softly as she helped you thread a line of shells together, passing them to you one by one. “You always choose the prettiest pieces,” she said, smiling.

“They last longer,” you replied. “And they sit better against the skin.”

She nodded, watching your hands for a moment before glancing up at you, eyes bright with something playful. “So,” she began carefully, as if it were only a passing thought, “what do you think?”

Your hands slowed, just slightly.

You resumed your work after a moment, fingers tightening a knot before moving on to the next strand. “They are… fine,” you said evenly. “A handful, but that is nothing new to me.”

It was the truth. You had stood beside your mother and the elder clan members when voices rose and patience thinned, when children pushed limits and learned the weight of correction. Compared to that, the Sully children were spirited—yes—but hardly unmanageable.

Tsireya huffed a quiet laugh, tilting her head. “You know what I mean.”

“Do I?” you asked innocently. “You asked about the family. I answered.”

She narrowed her eyes at you, a smile tugging at her mouth.

You finally glanced up at her then, a soft chuckle slipping past your lips. “Just ask what you want to ask, Tsireya.”

She opened her mouth, then hesitated.

You smiled wider, unable to resist. “Or maybe you cannot,” you added lightly, “because you know I will ask something in return.”

Tsireya groaned, half-laughing as she shook her head. “You are impossible.”

You shrugged lightly, a small, knowing smirk tugging at your lips. You had learned long ago that your little sister would never be able to stop herself from asking.

“Neteyam,” she finally said, “I noticed… you always seem to go to him first.”

You let the moment hang for just a beat, then replied, tilting your head slightly, “Well, I am more fit to teach the most difficult of them.” Your lips curved into a teasing smirk. “But you seem to handle him… quite well already.”

Tsireya flushed slightly, averting her gaze. “Don’t make this about me!” 

You tilted your head, smirk softening into something gentler. “Well, he is easy to teach. A fast learner,” you said, fingers brushing lightly over the shells as you continued working. “And, we seem to relate to each other more.”

She peeked at you from the corner of her eye, curiosity breaking through her flustered expression. “So… you’ve talked a lot to each other then?”

You paused, brow lifting in mild confusion, standing to grab more shells from your mother’s basket—always the bigger, more useful pieces. “What’s with the questions?” you asked, a hint of amusement in your voice.

“Just curious.” “Right…”

You can see her hovering before she then leaned a little closer, lowering her voice. “He is handsome, no?”

You rolled your eyes, chuckling. “Just help me with this, ‘Reya,” you said lightly, returning your attention to the shells.

Of course you wouldn’t say it.

Not after all the times you had teased Tsireya about Lo’ak—about the way her eyes followed him even when she pretended otherwise, about how quickly she volunteered to help whenever his name was mentioned.

And it was not as if it were a bad thing to admit he is handsome.

You had heard it from Kiri, as she told stories from when they were in the forest, that many of the na’vi girls admired him, that Neteyam Sully had always drawn attention without ever seeming to seek it. You supposed that made sense. 

Handsome, yes, but more than that, simply… good company.

That was all.

And even that truth stayed tucked behind your teeth, because saying it aloud would tell Tsireya more than she was asking. It would tell her about how lessons sometimes stretched past their ending, how paths crossed again when everyone else scattered to their own corners of the reef.

At first, it had been a coincidence.

You had been tasked with cleaning the dishes after the evening meal, your hands submerged in cool water near the shallow edge, your thoughts far away. You hadn’t noticed him at first, only the faint shift of movement in your periphery.

When you looked up, he was there. Sitting on one of the larger rocks half-submerged by the tide.

You did not know what possessed you to call out to him. Perhaps it might help him feel more at ease here, in a place that was not yet his.

You called his name then, standing and lifting your arm higher so he could see. “Neteyam!”

He looked up then, surprise flickering briefly across his face.  After a moment, he rose from the rock and made his way toward you, careful steps sending small ripples through the shallows.

As he drew closer, you could see his bioluminescent markings better for the first time. It’s something you had seen on countless others, yet something about his made your chest tighten. It was a foolish thought, you told yourself. You had grown up surrounded by Na’vi; there was nothing new in this. And still, you found yourself admiring it just long enough before he could notice.

He stopped at your side and glanced down at the dishes, then back at you. “Do you… need help?” he asked, gesturing toward the stack. 

“Ah, you do not have to,” you shook your head slightly, the question catching you off guard.

He smiled anyway, already lowering himself into a squat. “I don’t mind.”

You tilted your head, watching the ease of his movements as he reached for one of the bowls. “I am guessing you do this often?”

He let out a quiet huff of a laugh, rinsing the dish with a practiced swirl of his hands. “Too often,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “At this point, I just volunteer before anyone can tell me to.”

That earned a small smile from you. “I wonder how many times I would need to be told before I start volunteering myself.”

“It is better that way,” he replied, grin softening. “Less arguing. And it is nice to have time alone, if you are into that.”

It should have ended there. You both were there at the same time during that night and you weren’t expecting it to happen again.

Instead, it became routine.

There was never an agreement spoken between you, no glance that lingered long enough to promise anything, no words exchanged when the lessons ended and the others drifted away to their own activities. And yet, somehow, you would find him again. Near the shallows. By the rocks. In the ocean.

The reef was wide, but somehow your paths crossed easily. And you thought it was because he was new here, after all, still learning where to belong.

One evening, he had asked about your tattoo. You had been sharpening your speargun’s bows atop a rock set slightly apart from the clustered marui pods. The sun had dipped low, painting the reef in golds and soft purples. You didn’t bother asking how he had found you.

His eyes lingered on the dark ink tracing one half of your forehead as he sat beside you, your knees knocking into each other when one moved. He hovered his hand close, almost brushing the skin above the tattoo, the heat of his skin radiating toward your cheek made your face tingle. You were startled by the sensation, and yet you didn’t move away.

You told him of your iknimaya, how you earned the mark after taming your tsurak, your first great hunt, and the bonding with your tulkun spirit sister. Your words carry all the pride of that path you had walked. And he listened, attentively, eyes widening at each detail, absorbing it as though it were a story meant for him alone.

“The fish was nearly bigger than me,” you said, hands stretching apart in the air. “It could have dragged me through the water.”

Neteyam let out a low, impressed sound, eyes following the movement of your hands. “You caught it anyway,” he said, something warm in his voice. “That takes strength.”

You shrugged, though a small smile curved your lips. “And multiple tries.”

He smiled back at that. “Still,” he added, glancing once more at the tattoo before meeting your gaze, “you earned it.”

You asked for his story in return, and he had told you about it, his first hunts and the rituals in the forest, the taste of water after it had flowed from the leaves, the way the sunlight would peak from the branches, the wind tangling his hair as he flew between big rocks of Ayram alusìng. 

You found yourself imagining it all, the brightness in him when he was truly in his element, bathed in sunlight and shadow, how he looked among the trees, and a quiet, selfish wish that you could see it for yourself.

Then you noticed the waiting. Oh, how much you disliked it. The way your eyes would drift toward the water’s edge before your hands were even dry. The brief pause in your steps when the sun dipped low, anticipation settling in your chest before you were fully aware of it. You found yourself expecting him—half-listening for the sound of careful footsteps, half-watching for the familiar silhouette against the tide. How he slipped into your evening as naturally as the tide returning to shore.

And, quietly, almost shamefully, you wished he suffered from it too.

You told yourself it was nothing more than familiarity. That it had been a long time since you’d had company like this. That Neteyam was a good friend. With him, your words did not need to be softened or guarded. You spoke, and he understood. You existed, and he did not ask you to be anything else.

“You work too hard.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, seated in your usual place—the far side of the reef where the marui pods thinned and the waves struck the rocks hard enough to leave salt in the air. A large stone jutted from the shallows there, smoothed by time and tide, where you and him have told stories long enough for it to finally become yours without ceremony.

You were rubbing a thick, pale salve into your palms, the scent of crushed leaves and rendered fat clinging to your skin. It was a simple mixture of soothing oils and ground kelp you helped your mother make, meant to ease the sting left behind by too many hours of handling rough nets, and hauling, knotting, weaving alongside your father and brother.

That was before you heard his steps before you saw him, the soft scrape of feet against stone and wet sand so familiar now that it made your shoulders ease even before you turned. When you did, he was already close.

You flinched when he reached for you, instinct tightening your shoulders before you could stop it. For a heartbeat, you considered pulling away.

But he didn’t rush you. He waited—close, quiet, clearly wanting to help. You were close enough that you knew he’d scold you if you refused, and you were tired enough that you didn’t want to argue. Your hands throbbed anyway.

So you let him take them.

“I had to,” you said quietly. “You know why.”

He looked up at you then. Just understanding. The kind that came from being the eldest, from carrying expectations that were never asked for but always assumed. From being told, again and again, to be steady, to watch, to protect. His hands never stopped moving, thumbs pressing the salve into your skin.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be ready,” you admitted, words tumbling out before you could stop them. “No matter how much I learn. The chants, the rituals, the histories—I memorize them, repeat them until they sit perfectly in my mouth, and still…” You exhaled, shaky. “I look at my mother and all I feel is how small I am next to her.”

You swallowed. “They say I will make a good tsahìk someday. That it is only a matter of time.” Your fingers curled faintly in his hold. “But I do not feel driven. I feel afraid. And I hate that—because I should want it. I should be ready.”

Neteyam stayed quiet for a moment, covering the last exposed part of your hand with balm. Then, carefully, he brought both of your hands into one of his own. You hadn’t realized how close you were sitting, but as he scooched slightly neared, any remaining distance vanished. You kept your gaze on your hands, feeling the heat of his palm spread into yours.

After a long breath, his other hand hovered for a heartbeat above your hair, which had fallen to the sides of your face as you looked down, hiding a little of yourself. Gently, hesitantly, he brushed the strands back, tucking them behind your ear. 

“Being scared does not mean you are unworthy of what they see in you,” he murmured, voice low and steady, as though he were speaking to himself as much as to you. “It means you understand how much it matters.”

He gave a small squeeze of your hands. “Your mother stands where she does because she walked through that fear. Not because she never felt it. And you do not need to be her—not now, not ever.”

At that, he lifted your chin gently between his fingers, tilting your face so you could meet his eyes. There was a telltale flicker of nervousness in the way his jaw tensed and the corners of his mouth twitched, but it was subtle, and you barely registered it. You only noticed the warmth of his hands, the care in his touch.

Neteyam’s gaze held yours, as if to remind you that nothing was demanded beyond this moment. “When the time comes, you will not wake up ready. You will step forward afraid. And that will not mean you are failing. It will mean you are brave.”

“You only have to keep going,” he said, finally placing both of his hands over yours, encasing them between his. “ And you do not have to do that alone.”

Your eyes flickered from his gaze down to your hands, still held in his, before returning to him. He tilted his head slightly, a small, playful smirk tugging at his lips.

“Come on,” he said your name softly, teasing, “let me see your smile.”

It took a moment, but you allowed yourself a slow, reluctant smile. “Where’d you learn that?” you asked, amusement in your voice.

“My mother,” the pride in his tone was unmistakable.

You couldn’t help but admire him then, as you have been doing quite often, bathed in the silver glow of the moonlight, his bioluminescent patterns tracing faint dots across his skin, the crinkle at the corner of his eyes as he spoke. 

“Is something wrong?” he asked softly after a moment, concern in his voice. His hand lifted, brushing gently over the space between your eyes, as if to soothe the lingering tension there.

You let out a light laugh, gently pushing his hand away. “No,” you said, meeting his gaze. “I’m fine.”

Your eyes held his for a moment longer, steady and sincere, before you signed the word carefully—hand moving from your chin outward in the motion for thank you. “Thank you, Neteyam.”

He followed the motion with his gaze, eyes flicking to your mouth for a brief second as your hand reached forward, and a small, appreciative smile tugged at his lips.

“Always.”

You knew someone would eventually notice why it sometimes took you longer to wash the dishes, or why fetching something your parents had asked for seemed to stretch on forever. You’d been careful these past nights, cautious when returning from your meetings with Neteyam, pausing at the edges of the marui pods to make sure no family member was lingering outside.

But that night, you hadn’t been as discreet as you thought. Carrying the balm back to your pod, a smile tugging at your lips and a lighter step in your pace, you froze when you heard your father’s voice calling your name.

“You’ve been gone a long time,” his voice carrying that quiet edge of concern that always made your stomach tighten.

“Just… busy,” you said, shrugging lightly, “thinking.”

Internally, you let out a small sigh of relief as you saw him nod slightly, seeming to accept the excuse. He stepped closer, placing both hands gently on your shoulders, his thumbs brushing against your skin with a familiar, grounding touch.

Then, unexpectedly, he knelt down on one knee, letting go with one hand as he waited, gaze intent on yours. Confusion flickered across your features.

“You can tell me anything, maite,” he said softly, voice low but full of warmth.

A small, soft smile tugged at your lips, and you chuckled quietly, not surprised by his theatrics.

“I know, sempu,” you replied, touching one of his hands resting on your shoulder. “You always tell me that.”

He straightened, smiling now, the weight of the day easing from his expression. “Good. I was just worried. Now, come inside. It’s late.”

You nodded, though a pang of guilt tugged at your chest. You hadn’t told him about Neteyam, about the small stolen moments that made the days feel lighter, the hands brushing balm into yours. But it wasn’t something your parents needed to worry about—at least, that’s what you told yourself.

Your relationship with him and with the rest of the Sully children had grown in these past weeks. There were long afternoons spent chatting with the girls about everything and nothing, weaving strands of kelp and shells into necklaces, bracelets, and little adornments inspired by the reef. 

You had been especially proud when Tuk finished her first necklace entirely on her own. She pressed it into your hands proudly, and you couldn’t say no. It was a delicate little thing, shades of purple and blue catching the fading light, and you wore it with a smile that carried your pride.

Kiri’s progress was slower but steady, and you were happy to hear she was doing better—though not without complaints, especially when it came to your younger brother. You could only do so much as his older sister, after all.

And then there were the moments teasing Tsireya about Lo’ak, which never failed to make her blush.

“Lo’ak’s been making me teach him how to make a necklace,” Kiri said one afternoon, half-annoyed, half-amused. “It’s probably to impress you, Tsireya.”

You laughed, the sound easy and light. “How sweet,” you said, watching them fumble with threads and shells, the reef sun glinting off their hair, their smiles, and their earnest attempts.

As for Lo’ak, he was just as difficult as Kiri had made him out to be, but at his age, it was hardly surprising. You saw too much of your younger brother with him: the quiet desire to be seen and admired even when it came out as trouble. Still, there was something almost endearing about it.

You only hoped he wasn’t giving your younger sister too much headache.

And, you almost took the thought back one day as Tuk came barreling toward you, breathless and wide-eyed, tugging at your arm and babbling about her brothers fighting other metkayina. 

Sure enough, when you followed her and looked at where she pointed at, you found ruckus sprawled out on the farther edge of the village—sand flying, voices raised, bodies tangled in a way that was far more chaotic than threatening.

“Ao’nung!” you shouted, stopping at the edge of the mess.

Your eyes caught Kiri on the sidelines. She only shrugged at you, utterly confused as well, before calling out, “Stupid!” and laughing like it was all entertainment.

You sighed, rolled your eyes, and shouted Ao’nung’s name again, louder this time. It finally pulled a few heads your way—just long enough for someone to get yanked backward by the tail and another to catch a careless punch for losing focus.

You might have laughed if you weren’t painfully aware of the scolding waiting for you later. After all, you were supposed to be the one watching out for them.

Luckily, or perhaps mercifully, their father arrived before things could spiral any further. His presence alone was enough to cut through the chaos, his voice sharp and commanding as he stepped in, hands separating bodies, pulling his sons back with Kiri on their tail.

You didn’t catch the look Neteyam sent your way then. Your attention was already on your own brother, grabbing him by the arm and hauling him upright when he nearly stumbled back into the fray. He tried to wrench himself free, teeth bared, clearly mistaking you for one of his friends.

You hissed sharply, grip tightening. “Skxawng,” you snapped under your breath, eyes narrowing. “What did you do?”

Before your brother could answer, one of Ao’nung’s friends spoke up from behind him, voice loud and indignant. “Lo’ak started it—”

“I didn’t ask you,” you cut in sharply, turning to look at his group of friends. Your tone was calm, but it carried enough bite to make him falter. “Go. Get yourself treated by tsahìk.”

They hesitated, exchanging glances, clearly unused to being dismissed so easily. When none of them moved, you rolled your eyes and stepped closer to Ao’nung instead.

Your fingers brushed lightly beneath his eye, where a bruise was already darkening. He hissed and jerked back on instinct, and you finally released your grip on his arm.

“Why do you assume it was me?” he demanded, scowling. At your silence—at the way you only frowned at him, confused more than accusatory—his expression twisted. “Don’t tell me you’re going to side with those freaks.”

“Ao’nung,” you snapped, his name a warning all on its own. “Enough. Come with me. That bruise will swell if you leave it.”

He scoffed, turning away and starting off in the opposite direction.

“Ao’nung,” you called again.

He didn’t stop—but neither did any of his friends move to follow him. You glanced back at them, lifting a brow in silent challenge, daring any of them to speak. None did. One by one, they started to follow your brother.

You watched him walk away and for a brief moment you wondered if there had been something you could have said to stop him from spitting those words.

The thought didn’t linger long as your mind was already racing ahead of the inevitable, your mother’s voice, sharp with disappointment, the weight of it settling heavier than any bruise. With a quiet exhale, you turned back toward your marui pod.

You felt as though you were walking on eggshells as you stepped inside your mother’s marui pod.

Her back was turned to you, shoulders relaxed but purposeful, hands busy sorting through bundles of dried leaves and woven pouches. The familiar scents of herbs and ocean-salt clung to the air, usually comforting—now making your chest tighten. You moved slowly, carefully, each step measured as if the floor itself might betray you.

Quietly, you crossed to her storage chest and lifted the lid just enough to peer inside, fingers hovering over the neatly arranged jars of healing balms. You held your breath.

“What are you doing?” she asked without turning.

“Just—checking,” you said, voice soft. “Seeing if we still have enough healing balm.”

She finally glanced over her shoulder, eyes sharp but calm. “For what, child?”

You paused, shoulders sagging slightly as you exhaled. “Ao’nung and his friends… they got into trouble. With Lo’ak and Neteyam.”

Her hands stilled.

“What happened?” she asked, tone leaving no room for deflection.

You felt the fight drain out of you at once. There was no point in circling it, so you had told her of what happened. You didn’t know what caused the fight, but you told her everything you know.

The words settled heavy between you, and you waited for whatever would come next.

Your mother let out a long, tired sigh, the kind that carried more weight than anger ever could.

“Get whatever you need,” she said, “then come sit with me.”

You did as you were told. You gathered the jars of balm and set them aside before lowering yourself to the woven mat across from her, legs folded neatly beneath you. You knew better than to look anywhere else when she spoke like this. So you lifted your chin, met her gaze, and waited.

“Why did you let him go without treating him?” she asked.

You didn’t answer. You also knew better than to argue, sitting in silence as the weight of her words settled over you.

“You know your brother tends to seek trouble,” she continued, her hands frantically moving. “You should have been there to stop him.”

Even though you knew it was impossible to be everywhere at once, the blame sank into your chest like a stone. You promised yourself silently that you would do better next time. You thought back to the look your brother had given you before walking away—the hurt, the accusation—and it stung more. You wish to know what you could have done differently.

After a long moment, you lowered your gaze and whispered, “I’m sorry, mother… I’ll do better. I promise.”

For a moment, she said nothing.

“When they first came to us,” she began at last, voice calm but edged with honesty, “I was hesitant. They are of the forest. What use are forest skills in the reef? What could they offer our people, other than more mouths to protect?”

“Your father feared something else,” she continued. “That Toruk Makto would bring his war with him. That his enemies would follow. And you know this—your father and I are charged with keeping our people safe. Even when kindness is costly.”

She looked at you then, truly looked, and something softer entered her expression.

“But that is not why we turned them away,” she said quietly. “Nor why we chose to welcome them in the end.” Her voice lowered, thoughtful, measured like a lesson meant to last. “We gave them a home because the ocean does not ask where the rain was born. It only knows that all water returns.”

Her hand came to rest over her heart.

“They came seeking refuge, willing to learn, willing to bow their heads to ways not their own. And people who can do that are not weak.”

You felt something loosen in your chest as she spoke, answers to questions you had carried far longer than you realized.

“As Tsahìk,” she said, “I do not look only at who someone was. I look at who they are trying to become. And Eywa listens to those who choose growth over pride. Your brother does not realize it yet. He is young. But you, you can let him know.”

Her gaze softened, but it did not waver. “Remember that, child.”

You let her words settle, each one sinking deep, weaving itself quietly into you. For a moment, the sting of blame eased, softened by her steady presence, though it still lingered faintly at the edges. You marveled at how she could turn even this into a lesson, how every moment with her became a stepping stone rather than a reprimand. With her, nothing was wasted. Every mistake, every fear, every conflict was shaped into something that could guide you forward.

You realized, with a warmth that spread through your chest, how grateful you were to have her as your mother. To be taught not just how to heal wounds, but how to see people.

You nodded, a small hesitant smile forming as you met her eyes. “Yes, Mother. Thank you.”

She returned the smile then said, “Now go on, call them. I will be out for a while.”

Helping her to stand, you offered your arm, mindful of her pregnancy as she rose slowly. She brushed a hand over your head once more, a gentle, lingering caress, before letting you go.

“Be careful,” she added.

“You too, Ma,” you said as you stepped back outside the pod.

It didn’t take long to find Neteyam. He was seated on the walkway in front of their marui pod, one leg swinging lazily over the edge as he gazed out at the water. 

When he saw you call his name, his face brightened instantly. Without hesitation, he pushed himself up, legs folding neatly beneath him for a moment before standing fully. Careful, measured steps carried him toward you, the familiar rhythm of his movements making your chest ease despite the tension still lingering from your earlier conversation with your mother.

You reached up slowly, hands resting on his shoulders as you studied him, eyes travelling over the tense line of his jaw and the slight swell of his bruises. “You don’t look fine,” you said, a mix of concern and exasperation in your tone.

He tilted his head, smirking, a trace of humor lighting his features. “Well, I look better than your brother’s friends.”

You couldn’t help it, a soft laugh escaped you as you smacked the top of his head playfully. Then, grabbing his wrist, you tugged him gently back toward the tsahìk’s pod. “Doesn’t seem like you regret what happened earlier,” you said, glancing at him briefly before turning your attention to weaving through the Metkayina passing by.

Neteyam shrugged, his grin widening. “Only a bit,” he said, his eyes never leaving the back of your head as you led the way.

His wrist, which you still held, eased slowly until his hand finally rested on yours. You didn’t look back, but the warmth of his hand and the pressure of his fingers fitting against yours made your own smile widen. You didn’t let go, and neither did he.

Once inside the pod, Neteyam settled onto the woven mat, shoulders slumped just enough for you to see the tension in them. You knelt in front of him, jars of salves and cloths spread around you, the soft scent of herbs filling the small space.

You dipped a cloth in the water and began gently cleaning the dried blood along his cheekbones. He flinched away just a little at your touch. Frowning, you held his face lightly with your hands to keep him from moving. 

“What happened?” you asked softly, eyes scanning his bruises.

“My brother… he was being a skxawng,” he replied shortly.

You paused, raising a brow. He said nothing further, his gaze flicking to the floor.

“You’re not going to tell me more?” you prompted gently.

Neteyam shook his head, offering a small, reassuring smile. “You don’t have to worry about it. I’ve got it handled.”

You rolled your eyes at him but didn’t respond, bending closer to continue cleaning the stubborn bruise along his cheek. Every so often, his gaze caught yours, steady and curious, and each time you quickly dropped your eyes back to the cloth, pretending to be entirely absorbed in the task.

You only notice the slight tremor of your hand, and the faster beats of your heart when you finally reach the dried blood at the corner of his lips. Carefully, you dabbed at the skin, very much aware of the small space between you.

Don’t you dare speak. You chant in your head as you do, because you know that if he speaks, it’s over—

“You’re very gentle,” he murmured in a low, breathy tone. His breath fanned across your knuckles, sending a shiver through you. Your eyes instinctively move toward his lips. And, you suddenly became conscious of him adjusting the loose pearl accessory of your necklace with quiet fingers. Just right above your heart.

It was all too much, every sense alert, but you didn’t pull away. This was your responsibility; as a future Tsahìk, you would not let it unnerve you! You swallow, forcing yourself to stay focused on the task at hand, determined to finish tending to him before your thoughts betrayed you further.

When you finally pulled back slightly, you felt his hand graze your collarbone as he let go of the pearl. Taking a quiet, internal pep talk, you grabbed the balm and faced him again. The small, teasing smirk on his face irked you—you could almost see him enjoying this torment.

Finally, you broke the silence as you pressed the balm gently into the abrasions along his skin. “Why did you join them?” you asked, your voice quieter than before, but edged with something sharper. “I thought you were supposed to be the responsible one.”

Neteyam’s jaw tightened. For a moment, you thought he might pull away. Instead, he stayed still, eyes flicking anywhere but your face. “I… had to,” he said, the words barely more than a breath.

You felt something twist in your chest. You pushed, unable to stop yourself. “No,” you said, firmer now. “You didn’t have to. If you had stopped your brother, it wouldn’t have escalated. None of this would’ve happened.”

The moment the words left you, you wanted them back.

He finally looked at you then. Not angry. Not defensive. Just tired. Hurt. “So you’re saying it’s my fault?”

Your hands stilled, the cloth hovering uselessly between you. The air felt too tight to breathe in. “That’s not—” You swallowed. “That’s not what I mean.”

But the damage was already done.

He nodded once, slowly, as if accepting something he hadn’t wanted to hear. His shoulders eased—not in relief, but resignation. “Right,” he murmured, and his gaze dropped again, shutting you out.

Silence settled heavy and suffocating between you. You forced your hands to move, to finish what you’d started, even as your chest ached with every careful touch. Neither of you spoke. The tension didn’t fade—it pressed in, filling every corner of the pod.

When you were done, you pulled away and returned the cloths, jars, and balm to their places. The soft clink of pottery sounded too loud in the quiet, each noise echoing like a reminder of what you’d broken. You straightened, drawing in a slow breath, foolishly hoping that he might say something. Anything.

Instead, you heard him rise behind you, the woven mat shifting beneath his feet.

“I have to go,” he said quickly, as if staying even a second longer would undo him.

You didn’t turn around. You only exhaled, the breath leaving you heavier than it should have. His footsteps faded, and with them went something fragile you hadn’t realized you were holding onto.

And somehow, despite knowing better, a sharp, unwanted pang of disappointment bloomed in your chest. You didn’t know why you’d expected him to stay after that.

The truth struck you all at once, merciless in its clarity: you had taken your own fears, your own sense of responsibility, and placed them squarely on his shoulders. You had expected him to be steady when you were unraveling, to bear the weight of expectations that were never his alone.

The guilt settled deep, sour and crushing, curling tight around your heart.

You let your shoulders slump, fingers curling uselessly at your sides. The pod felt smaller now, the silence louder, pressing in from all directions. And you couldn’t shake the thought that maybe, just maybe, you had made this harder than it needed to be for both of you.

If things couldn’t get any worse, your brother took Lo’ak beyond the reef.

The news reached you as the sun dipped low, the sky bruised with fading light. The earlier confusion over Ao’nung’s words resurfacing at the back of your mind, along with Neteyam and your mother’s words. It all tangled together until it curdled into something raw and frustrating.

By the time dinner was served, your patience was already threadbare.

“So,” you said at last, not looking at him, “did it ever occur to you that you put his life in danger when you brought him there?”

He shrugged. “He seemed fine. You’re overreacting.”

That did it. You finally looked at him then, eyes sharp. “You don’t get to decide that,” you said quietly. “Not when everyone else has to deal with the consequences.”

He pushed his food away, irritation flashing across his face. “Why are you suddenly on my back about this?”

Tonowari’s voice cut cleanly through the air before you could answer.

“That is enough.”

His gaze moved between you and your brother, heavy with expectation. “Your mother has already told me you were to tend to both Neteyam and Lo’ak,” he said. “So I will ask plainly—how did the boy end up with Ao’nung?”

The question turned, subtly but unmistakably, toward you.

You felt it then—the weight of it settling squarely on your shoulders.

“I didn’t see him earlier,” you said quietly. 

Ao’nung scoffed. “Maybe you didn’t look.”

The words struck sharper than you expected. A hiss slipped past your teeth before you could stop it, your hands curling in your lap. “That’s not—”

Tsireya murmured softly beside you, your name spoken like an anchor. Her fingers wrapped gently around your arm, not restraining, just there.

“Enough.” Tonowari’s voice was harsher now, steel beneath the calm. He said your name once, firmly, a warning more than a reprimand.

It burned, being looked at like this, like the fault might belong to you simply because you were there, because you were supposed to be watching, healing, fixing. As if you could be in all places at once. As if responsibility meant omniscience.

You lowered your gaze, jaw tightening as something sharp lodged in your throat, barbed and unforgiving. You swallowed hard, but it did nothing to ease it. 

It was not fair, and you knew it, but fairness had never spared anyone before. Still, the sting lingered, because somehow, again, the blame had found its way back to you.

And you wondered if this was how Neteyam had felt too.

Over the week, you made yourself scarce.

You stopped teaching the Sully children, stopped lingering by the shallows or sitting in on their lessons. When asked, you said your guidance was no longer needed. They had been here long enough, learned enough. Other times, you claimed you had more important duties to attend to. Things only you could help with.

Tsireya could attest to it. Whenever the Sullys asked after you, she found herself answering honestly: that you were almost always at your mother’s side now, as you had been before they arrived. That even before them, you rarely had time to simply be with your own siblings.

She remembered fondly that when the Sullys first came, you had changed just a little. You had stayed longer by the water with them. You had laughed more easily. You had been less rigid with yourself, allowing small reprieves you rarely took. And Tsireya had been happy then, happier to spend more time with you than she had in a long while.

She wasn’t sure what had happened in these past few days to send you retreating back into yourself.

Her eyes often drifted to Neteyam, who’s quieter now, more reserved, his presence dimmer than it had been. She wanted to believe it was coincidence. She wanted to believe it had nothing to do with you.

But you had never told her anything. And so she assumed, as she always did, that it might be many things at once or something else entirely.

But, Tsireya could see it—feel it, almost, whenever the two of you were in the same space.

Not side by side. Never that. Just… near enough for the air to grow tight, for conversations to stumble and quiet. Even with others around, the tension clung stubbornly. It frustrated everyone, though no one said it aloud.

You barely looked at Neteyam anymore.

When you had to interact, it was efficient and clipped. A tool passed into his hand without your fingers lingering. A short instruction. A single sentence, nothing more. And then you would turn away as if there were nothing else to say.

Neteyam, on the other hand, kept looking at you.

Not openly, never enough to draw attention, but with a quiet, aching focus, as though his eyes kept finding you without permission. Like there were words lodged somewhere in his chest, pressing hard against his ribs, waiting for the smallest opening. Like he was memorizing the way you moved, the way your shoulders stiffened whenever you sensed him near, the way you avoided meeting his gaze as if it might undo you both.

Tsireya noticed every time.

And each time she did, she rolled her eyes, more often than she had all week, exasperation bubbling beneath her calm. Because whatever this was—this silence, this careful distance—it was unbearable to watch. For everyone.

And Tsireya was this close to doing something about it.

So, inevitably, she turned to the only other person who had front-row seats to the mess.

Lo’ak.

And honestly? He didn’t even need convincing.

From his point of view, Neteyam had been absolutely insufferable.

Not loud-insufferable. Worse. Quiet. Hovering. Always somehow in Lo’ak’s space—too close, too present—like he was searching for company the way someone reached for noise when they didn’t want to think. Like if he stayed busy enough, surrounded enough, he wouldn’t have to notice the one person who was suddenly missing from his orbit.

It was stupid. Lo’ak knew it was stupid.

Still, he couldn’t help laughing about it.

Because at some point, he’d snapped.

Cornered Neteyam face-to-face, hands on his hips, incredulous. “Bro. Go find her or something. I can’t hang out with you all the time.”

Neteyam’s reaction had been priceless.

Blank. Tight-jawed. That painfully neutral look he got when he pretended not to know what the hell anyone was talking about—like he’d swallowed a rock and was trying to pass it off as dignity. Not defensive. Just uncomfortable in the most obvious way possible.

Lo’ak had almost lost it.

Because yeah, Neteyam could pretend. But Lo’ak wasn’t blind.

He’d seen the difference. Felt it, even.

Neteyam had been happier since you arrived. Lighter. Like something in him had finally loosened. The responsible son who suddenly laughed more, who snuck out at night thinking no one noticed. As if Lo’ak didn’t know exactly where he was going.

So, when Tsireya brought it up, he didn’t argue. If this kept up—this avoiding, this yearning, this walking-in-circles-around-each-other thing—someone was going to have to intervene soon. 

It was a few days later that you found yourself tasked once again to travel. South, this time, to another clan where you were to study under a different Tsahìk and lend your help to their village.

Oddly, there were no complaints from you this time. You accepted the decision quietly, almost gratefully, even if you had protested to Tsireya before every time this happened. It was a convenient excuse to distract yourself from the lingering ache in your chest every time you thought of Neteyam, from the tension that tightened around your ribs whenever his gaze brushed yours, and the gnawing guilt of knowing he was likely still mad at you.

No matter where you went, your eyes betrayed you, constantly flicking around, searching for him even when you knew you shouldn’t. You realized you couldn’t continue like that—not while you carried the weight of unspoken words and bruised pride, not while every shared space felt charged with what you refused to say. The distance, you told yourself, was necessary.

That was why you didn’t understand why you stayed out so late the night before you were meant to leave. You found yourself perched on the smooth stone you and he had claimed as yours. You waited.

Waited for the scrape of his feet on stone. Waited for any sound, any movement that might tell you he still thought of you—that you had not been so easily set aside, that the space between you still meant something to him.

And yet, you knew the truth—you had no right to expect him to come. 

The frustration burned away. Part of you wanted to be angry at him: for leaving so quickly without letting you explain yourself, for allowing silence to stand where words should have been. You clung to that resentment for a while because it was easier than facing the other truth. That you had built the distance yourself and then recoiled when it widened.

Sitting there alone, the night pressing in around you, it stung to realize that you had wanted him to cross a distance you had created. That you had wanted reassurance without risking vulnerability. That you had wanted him to stay, while making it impossible for him to know how.

The space beside you stayed empty.

“Do not forget to bring extra pots and knives. And do not stray from the path without telling someone.” Ronal’s voice guided you through the last minutes before departure.

You nodded along, murmuring your responses where appropriate. “Yes, it is already there. I know the path.”

“Do not forget your herbs and your healing salves,” she added, leaning closer to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “And remember to eat. Do not let yourself weaken.”

“Yes, Ma,” you said softly, forcing a smile.

The clan had gathered to see you off. Some of the Sully family were there, eyes bright with curiosity and concern, and a few older members of your own clan had come to accompany you on the journey. You put the last of your belongings into the canoe, your hands lingering over each item as if to memorize it.

It was your sister who approached first, pulling you into a firm hug. You smiled into her shoulder, but it didn’t reach your eyes. One by one, your family followed, each embrace warm and heavy with unspoken love. You stepped back, giving small nods to the clan members gathered along the shore.

Finally, you turned toward the Sully family, standing together on the opposite bank. Your eyes swept past them, still avoiding his. You offered a polite nod to the group, forcing your gaze elsewhere, though your mind—and your heart—betrayed you, tethered to the figure you could not seem to fully ignore.

Even as you climbed onto your tsurak and felt the bond take hold, your muscles tense with anticipation, you couldn’t stop the pull of curiosity. The way your heart ached with the need to know he was still there, watching, waiting. Your breath caught slightly as you dared, at last, to glance toward him.

And there he was—already watching you. The sharp awareness in his gaze mirrored your own, a silent acknowledgment of the same pull, the same unspoken hesitancy. A flicker of shock hit your chest and you masked it immediately, offering a small, careful smile instead.

You could feel the subtle shift in the way he held himself as if waiting for any sign from you. And though your mind told you to look away, to stay composed, there was a strange, almost terrifying comfort in knowing that he was as present in that moment as you were, that your absence did not erase you from his thoughts.

They would pull you into hangouts, and you’d always find yourself scowling because you had no idea what they were talking about. It felt as if they were speaking a foreign language, especially since you couldn’t get any of the details whenever they visualized their moments together with their mates.

All you could do was zone out every time they brought up their relationships, listening to them giggle, sighing during the overviews of their dates, groaning whenever their topics got even more ambiguous.

There were even times when they pushed your patience to its limit, convincing you to come along for a swim at the river. You always agreed, thinking it’d just be another day spent with your friends, only to let out a groan the moment you realized they had invited their boyfriends too.

Like right now.

it felt like a slap in the face because they knew better than anyone how awful your luck had been when it came to finding someone, yet they always seemed to pull this on you. Still, you couldn’t exactly call them insensitive when they insisted they were only trying to make sure you weren’t left all alone.

It was frustrating since your best friend, Neteyam, spent most of his time away from the village on patrols and scouting missions. As much as you hated to admit it, the girls were right about one thing, if they didn’t drag you along, you’d probably end up sitting alone with no one to keep you company.

And you definitely didn’t want that.

“And then tonight, Re’kitan and I will go to the Tree of Souls… you know what happens beneath the glowing tendrils, right?” Kxira giggled, her fingers cupping her boyfriend’s jaw to pull his lips back to hers.

The girls laughed along, but your forehead only wrinkled at the sight tht was taking on you. What you were witnessing felt obscene, with your friend soaking in the river right beside a man, letting him touch her like that in broad daylight.

“Girl… you’re a wild woman, letting the Greatmother witness such things,” Meya teased with a shake of her head.

“Out of everyone here, I believed you would understand me,” Kxira pouted, leaning back against Re’kitan as he washed the water down her spine. “You mated with Tritxo just last week, when your blood ran hot during the season… so who’s really the wild one?”

Meya’s mate bit his lip, “She is wild. It’s sexy.”

“Darling, don’t expose me!”

So much for not wanting me to feel left out, you thought bitterly, sitting there physically while your mind detached from the conversation.

Eytsing grinned, splashing the water with her tail. “Meya, tell me what it feels like! I think Awngìn and I will do it soon… he has just been so busy with the tasks, we can never seem to find alone time lately.”

“It’s beyond words, sister. Everything becomes clear the moment your queues twine together and you see him through the Greatmother’s eyes. You feel the beat of his heart, the rush of his thoughts, and how deeply he wants you. It’s like your spirits are walking in the same body, and the warmth of it never truly leaves your blood… Ever since we mated, we just stopped arguing.”

You watched as Meya pulled Tritxo into a deep kiss, her cheeks rising as she smiled against his lips. You didn’t fail to notice the way they lingered after breaking apart, staring into each other’s eyes for what felt like an eternity before you forced yourself to look away.

There’a no way you had just been subjected to that.

“I cannot wait to finally claim Awngìn as my own! The day he returns from the hunt, I’m dragging him straight into the deep forest to taste him until he forgets his own name,” Eytsing giggled the girls broke into laughter.

“As if you two haven’t already been doing exactly that,” Meya teased, splashing water om her way.

“If you’re already acting like an unchained animal in the bushes, what more when your kurus are connected?” Kxira rolled her eyes, she hissed when Re’kitan accidentally pressed a thumb into an aching spot on her shoulder. “Watch your grip, babe.”

“My bad…” Re’kitan kissed her shoulder.

Eytsing only grinned wider, leaning her chin on her knees as she watched the ripples in the river. “It’s different now though, the tension is driving us mad… he looks at me during the evening meals like he wants to tear my loincloth off right there in front of the Olo’eyktan.”

“Awngìn has always been impatient,” Tritxo chimed in from behind Meya as he caressed his hands over his mate’s hips. “A hunter who starves for his woman always catches the best prey. I’m sure he will give you a good bonding night, Eytsing.”

“What about you, Y/n?”

You glared at Kxira, your chest tightening. “I don’t know. What about me?” You crossed your arms, the water splashing around you. “I don’t have anythjng! A mate or whatever! I don’t even have a boy who wants to court me because every time I try, it always ends the same way with oh, I’m not ready, oh, I only see you as a sister, oh, I was just being kind, I didn’t think you’d fall. It’s exhausting!”

“Oh, dear… you will find the right one soon!”

“You don’t have to rush it… just wait for the right season.”

“The Greatmother sees you!”

Of course they would say things like that, their pity only damaging your ego further. It wasn’t even about rushing; even if you wanted to, you couldn’t force someone to want you the way you wanted them to.

You had already stopped whispering prayers to Eywa after the fourth time a boy broke your heart, giving up hope that someone would ever step forward to claim your soul, or that you would ever experience the things your friends so happily shared.

Recognizing the sudden drop in your mood, Meya cleared her throat, “Eytsing, speaking of… the village has been too quiet without the main party around.”

“Tell me about it,” Eytsing pouted. “I miss my boyfriend so much my chest hurts… it’s so unfair that he gets to fly around the mountains while I’m stuck here waiting.”

Your hands sink beneath the surface to grip the river rocks. Your fingers traced the hard edges of the stone, opposite to the way Tritxo’s thumbs were drswing slow circles into Meya’s waist, or the way Re’kitan leaned down to rest his chin against Kxira’s damp shoulder.

You pulled your knees closer to your chest, the hollow ache in your own stomach widening as you witnessed the instinctual gravity pulling the couples together.

“That reminds me, when exactly do they even come back?”

Eytsing leaned on the rocks. “Awngìn didn’t tell me anything before they flew out, he was too busy packing his gear…”

Then pairs of yellow eyesnmoved across the water, all locking onto you. You raised an eyebrow, your ears twitching. “What?”

“When are they coming back?”

“How am I supposed to know, genius,” You muttered, rolling your eyes as you leaned back against a larger boulder as well.

“C’mon, you’re attached to the hip with their team leader, Neteyam,” Kxira pointed out, a smirk playing on her lips.

“That doesn’t mean I have the right to know their scouting schedule,” you said, splashing a wave of water toward her direction.

“Looks like we’ll just have to wait for the horns to tell us they’re back then,” Meya sighed, her fingers playing with Tritxo’s braid.

“Whatever, the longer the hunt takes, the more goods they offer to the clan anyway,” Kxira shrugged, resting her head back against Re’kitan’s chest.

Re’kitan’s gaze went over to you. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask… how did you and Neteyam even click? He’s like usually swallowed up by his duties or training with the elders but he somehow always finds time to track you down.”

“We’ve known each other since we were small nodes on the same branch. My mom is away trading with the neighbouring clans, father would drag me along when he visited Neteyam’s family to share the evening fire. That’s how I bonded with the Sullys, i guess.”

The others nodded, their ears perking up, “That’s something. To walk so closely alongside the chief’s bloodline!”

“What does it feel like?”

“What does what feel like?” You crossed your arms under the water. “Being close with Neteyam! Isn’t he rigid with you? He carries himself with such manners whenever he walks through the village. I cannot picture anyone actually having fun with him.”

You shrugged, “He’s simply himself. You guys view him that way because he’s carrying his weight well, he has the reputation of a future leader to uphold after all.”

“Is he still without a mate?” Kxira asked, her eyes twinkling. The question hit you, ears pinning flat against your skull, and your tail ceased its swaying beneath the surface. Every single one of them was staring at you again, leaning in.

“Why are you guys looking at me like that? I don’t know,” you muttered, pulling your knees tighter against your chest, wishing the water would just swallow the ache growing in your throat.

“Oh, Y/n, you’re better than that! You literally spend half your suns tucked away in his shadow. Surely you’ve noticed if any of the females have caught his eye. Hasn’t he mentioned anyone while you two are whispering by the fires? Not even a word on who he might choose to walk before Eywa with?”

“Why would we speak about such things?”

“I find that hard to believe,” Tritxo chuckles, tightening his grip around Meya’s waist. “A warrior at his peak, carrying the weight of the clan on his shoulders... he must have a hunger in his blood. If he’s not talking about women to his closest friend, he’s either a metal made of stone, or he’s hiding it very well.”

“Can we kindly not speak of him right now? It feels wrong to dissect his life behind his back,” you frowned, looking down at the water.

“We’re only speaking the truth, sister,” Kxira smirked, resting her chin back on Re’kitan’s shoulder. “If he’s still walking alone out there, he’s for the people to see. If you want to take your shot with the future Olo’eyktan, you better do it before the next hunt, or someone else will claim him.”

A few suns later, the blast of the hunting horns jolted the community awake. The men had returned from the eastern canyons. You found yourself pushing past the gathering crowds as they flooded the ground to welcome the party home.

Your eyes went over the incoming ikran and the goods they carried, searching through the sea of broad shoulders and braided hair for a glimpse of one specific warrior.

“Y/n!”

You turned your head at the sound of your name, a grin creeping onto your lips as Neteyam broke through the crowd toward you. You raised a hand to wave, but before you could even say a greeting, he lunged forward, pulling you into a headlock.

“Hey!” you gasped, reaching up to pinch his exposed waist, but his quick reflexes kicked in, he dodged away before your fingers could even brush his skin. “You demon.”

“Where my hug at?” he asked, opening his arms wide. You launched your weight forward, catching him off guard. He lost his footing, his tail flailing for balance before you both went crashing down onto the soft grass.

“Get off me, lady,” he groaned, you pinched his striped cheeks with a smirk before finally scrambling off him. Standing up, you offered him your hand to help him up, but the moment his fingers wrapped around yours, he yanked you right back down into the dirt.

Before you could even yell, Neteyam was already on his feet, vaulting toward his ikran. “The first one to our spot gets their request granted by the loser!” he shouted over his shoulder.

“You— skxawng!” you hissed, pushing yourself up from the grass and letting out a whistle to call your own mount.

Your laughters sung across the open air as the wind whipped against your face, the thrill of the chase burning in your veins. Cornering him near a jagged rock formation, you leaned into your ikran’s flank, guiding its massive wing to clip against the side of his banshee.

Neteyam’s mount let out a startled screech, veering slightly off course and forcing him to pull the reins to stabilize their flight. Seizing the moment, you dug your knees in and urged your ikran forward, rocketing past him and diving straight toward the secluded cliffside that marked your spot.

The moment your ikran’s leather wings touched down, you slipped out of the saddle and ran a hand down her smooth snout. “Good girl out there,” you kissed her skin, a grin breaking across your face as the silhouette of your friend’s arrival blocked out the sun.

He landed his mount beside yours, instead of stomping over to you, he stepped to the front of his ikran, checking its body for any signs of injury from the mid-air collision you had just pulled off.

You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “Don’t be so dramatic, man. I’m not an unchained woman, I wouldn’t wound him.”

Neteyam clicked his tongue, his tall frame blocking out the view of the valley as he stood over you. “You cheated, lady.”

“Nope!” You popped the syllable, tilting your chin up and leaning right into his space. “You’re simply a loser.”

“That was cheating. You startled my mount on purpose.”

“That’s called strategy! And a clear weakness on your end for not anticipating what I could pull!” With a toss of your hair, you turned your back on him, folding your hands behind you as you strolled toward the edge of your cliffside spot, skipping.

Neteyam let out a chuckle, trailing just a step behind you. “I didn’t know you were hiding such foul moves.”

“Perhaps, but they’re the exact reason you lost!” You threw a smirk over your shoulder before turning around. “What did you say again? ‘The first one to our spot gets their request granted by the loser.’ What now, warrior?”

Neteyam let out a laugh and sank onto the grass, leaning his back against the wide trunk of the ancient tree you two had claimed as your own. “Name it then, lady.”

You smirked, tapping your chin in a show of thinking before letting yourself settle down on the grass to his left. You left a gap between your hips, a lingering habit from days of feeling like an outsider to affection, but he didn’t let the space live.

He reached out, his large hand wrapping around your waist to yank you close to his side. A shared laughed bubbled between you as your shoulders collided, the warmth of him seeping straight into your skin.

“I think I might keep this request for future purposes…” you said, winking at him. “Y’know… for when you’re finally the leader. I could use it to make the whole village work for me for a whole cycle! I’ll have the weavers craft all my garments so I never have to touch a loom again, the hunters can bring me the rarest cuts from the deep forest, OR I can just have the communal cooks serve me hand and foot.” You flashed him an exaggerated grin.

Neteyam rolled his eyes, “I would do all of that for you for free. You don’t need a royal decree, nor do I need my father’s title to spoil you.”

“I’m not spoiled!” You gasped, shoving his shoulder with your hand. “Whatever you say, pretty,” he murmured, his tail lashing against yours in the grass.

The two of you spent the entire afternoon tucked away on that cliffside, watching the sky bleed into bruised purples and deep oranges. It felt so nice to just talk after a week apart.

He walked you through every detail of his mission, leaning back as he described getting cornered by a pack of viperwolves. He puffed out his chest, bragging about how his superior strength saved his skin then admitting that he didnt actually fight them off, but rather scrambled up a rock face like a startled hexapede.

You had traded the talk for village gossip, your thighs were draped across his lap as you had guided his hand on your inner thighs, arguing that since his surprise race forced you to sprint and mount your ikran without stretching, your muscles were aching to the bone. He hadn’t even protested, and did what you asked.

With your back resting comfortably against the massive stone beside the huge tree, Neteyam rested his right elbow on his knee while his left hand massaged the tense muscles of your thigh.

“I’m telling you, she was looking at him during the dinner,” you continued, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “She has taken a liking to him. A man who’s literally twice her age!”

Neteyam’s hand paused on your leg, his eyes widening as a genuine gasp escaped him. “Seriously? He has grandchildren training with the younglings!”

“I know! And I think the communal cook has taken a liking to her too. I mean, can you blame him? His mate left his hammock for another hunter last-last season. I guess he hasn’t been receiving any attention since he’s like an elder now.”

“Still… it’s strange to me,” Neteyam mumbled, a frown tugging at his brow. His thumb pressed a little deeper into the tight muscle of your thigh, making you sigh at the pressure. “The gap between their cycles is literally the span of our entire lives, Y/n.”

“It’s whatever. It’s her life anyway,” you shrugged, leaning your head back against the stone. “She’s old enough to choose her own path. And to be honest… if I were desperate enough, I’d probably do the same.”

Neteyam’s hand went still on your leg, he looked up at you, his ears twitching forward. “You’d bind yourself to a man twice your age?”

“Yes! Would you not?”

“Why would I?” He rolled his eyes, looking away from your gaze. He looked offended that you could even conceive of him doing such a thing.

“That’s why your life is so boring, Neteyam. No thrill.”

“I’m simply saying that I have no intention of ever sharing a hammock with someone who has seen the same number of eclipses as my parents.”

You scoffed, letting out a loud laugh. “That’s not what I meant! See? You’re just proving my point. Why did your mind leap to your mother and father the moment ‘twice your age’ is even mentioned?”

“Because it’s ridiculous,” he argued, his eyebrows furrowing as his ears flattened. “I don’t see why anyone would pursue an elder when there are plenty of unmated people our age.”

“Because older people are mature and they can provide without struggle. I actually don’t see the problem,” you teased, a wicked grin spreading across your face. You crossed your arms, leaning closer to whisper. “In fact, I’d go after your father!”

Neteyam yanked his hand away from your inner thigh, snapping his arms across his broad chest as he glared at you, you burst into a fit of giggles at his reaction.

“He’s a happily mated man, lady. Dont even let your mind wander there,” he warned. “I’m kidding!” You smacked his bicep before grabbing his large hand and dragging it right back onto your aching thigh. “Do you think so lowly of me? I’m not that desperate!”

His hand settled back against your skin, but his fingers tightened. “Many haven’t found their one in our generation, Y/n… you don’t need to look backward. I mean… unless older men are your preference, then I won’t stand in your way… but I just— I-I don’t know.”

You let out a chuckle, but it withered into a frown. He was right, there were plenty of unmated people your age in the clan. You knew their names, their faces, and how their laughter sounded when they turned you down. If any of them actually wanted you, they would’ve stepped forward seasons ago.

Your gaze drifted down to the grass, your voice trailing off. “You’re acting like you don’t know my history among the men of this village, Neteyam…”

“Sorry,” he whispered, his voice dropping into that raspy voice reserved only for you. “That’s not what I meant.”

The silence that followed was filled only with the sound of forest insects as the first bioluminescent veins began to wake up across the surrounding leaves.

He moved beside you, sliding closer until his chest was pressing flat against your shoulder, both of you now resting your backs against the cool stone, your legs still on his lap. His thumb began to move in smooth strokes against your thigh, apology written in his palm as he watched your lips pull into a pout.

“I know how they’ve treated your heart,” he began, his golden eyes fixed on you, refusing to let you look away. “They were stupid, Y/n. Every single one of them. They’re blind to what’s standing right in front of them.”

You swallowed hard, that ache rising in your throat as the memory of your friends’ pity back at the river flashed through your mind. You stared down at his large, blue hand on your thighs, your fingers twitching with an urge to lace themselves through his, just to feel that bond Meya had gushed about.

A wave of heat rushed up your neck as Neteyam’s tail found yours beneath the grass, wrapping itself in a tight spiral around your own.

“Don’t let their blindness make you think you must settle for an elder, or anyone who doesn’t see you. For the right person won’t tell you his spirit is unready. He won’t treat your affection like a burden. And he certainly won’t touch your skin for days only to claim he treats his sister the same way… that’s disgusting.”

A chuckle escaped you. Hearing him list the exact nonsense those boys had pulled made you realize just how foolish it was that your heart had broken over them in the first place.

“...I know you hate it when the others tell you not to rush your path... I know you’re not rushing, you’ve been too patient with those boys, Y/n. But as your friend, I only want the best for you, and I believe Eywa will provide when the time is right. I don’t want you to give your trust to someone’s sweet tongue, only for him to reveal his true colors once he got what he wanted.”

“Really now?”

“Really. If that ever happened, he’ll taste his own blood on the wind,” Neteyam hissed. You let out another laugh, rolling your eyes at his statement. “You’re just so violent, aren’t you?”

“Only to those who deserve the strike.”

“Enough about me,” you sighed, shoving his shoulder to break the mood. “I don’t want to waste our time talking about them. What about you?”

Neteyam tilted his head, his ears twitching as he looked down at you. “I obviously don’t wanna waste my time on those too.”

“I meant… well— how do I say this…” You trailed off, looking away. You swallowed hard, running your tongue over your lip before your eyes drifted down to his hand. His fingers were still touching the lines against your skin. Just below his palm, your tails were still entwined, making you bite the inside of your cheek to fight off a smile.

“Tell me,” he whispered as he noticed your hesitation. You looked back up, meeting the gaze of his sparkling eyes. “It’s just that… my friends and I were talking about you a few days back by the river.”

“What were you saying about me?”

“It’s…” You scrunched your nose, you wanted to hear his answer, but you didn’t wanna cross a line. “quite personal. You don’t have to answer if it makes you uneasy. I just… perhaps a part of me wants to know too, because lately, I feel like there are parts of you I barely know.”

“Hm?”

“So… do you have anyone? Like… any women in the village you desire, or maybe men?”

Neteyam blinked, the forest around you seemed to fall silent since he didn’t say a word, his eyes searching your face, trying to read the motive hidden behind your words.

“Sorry… I knew it was a weird question,” you mumbled.

At your sudden bashfulness, a devastatingly gorgeous smile began to tug at the corner of his lips. The tension in his shoulders melted away as he leaned his head down toward yours, his breath fanning across your cheek. You instinctively tilted your face back, your heart beating fast as you tried to maintain a safe distance.

“Why do you ask? Are you looking to clear the field for yourself, or are you just hunting for more gossip to bring back to your friends?”

You scoffed, trying to swallow down the heat rising to your face, but the way his chest was so close to yours made it a losing battle. “I’m doing neither,” you said, forcing your eyes to stay locked onto his, even as your chest tightened. “It was just a question. You don’t have to get all… self-satisfied about it.”

“Me? Self-satisfied?”

You rolled your eyes, attempting to regain your composure. “Yes. Mhm. Look at you, I only asked because everyone in the village talks about the Olo’eyktan’s eldest son and then I realized there that I actually have no idea what your tastes are. Or if you even have them.”

“My tastes,” he repeated, the words rolling off his tongue. He let his eyes drop to your lips for a heartbeat before looking back up to your eyes. “And what do you think they are, y/n?”

“I don’t know, that’s why I asked,” You gave his shoulder a nudge, though you didn’t move his hand away from your leg. “Stop answering my questions with more questions. It’s annoying. Just tell me if there’s someone during all those long missions, or if your head is just filled with responsibilities.”

Neteyam grinned, his shoulders shaking against yours. He looked away for a second, watching the bioluminescent moss on the tree trunk glow brighter as the darkness deepened, before his gaze settled back on you.

“No one on the hunt. And no one in the village either. My mind is usually too loud for that kind of distraction.” He paused as he watched the way your breath hitched. “But that doesn’t mean I’m blind to what’s right in front of me.”

“What that mean?”

Neteyam only hummed, an attractive sound that vibrated against your shoulder. He didn’t give you the satisfaction of a straightforward answer. He tilted his head back against the stone, his eyes tracking the waving trees above.

“I mean exactly what I said,” he whispered, his thumb resuming that stroke against your inner thigh. “Those boys… they have eyes, but they don’t see. They look at the sky, they look at the tracks on the ground, but they miss the most obvious things.”

“Neteyam, be direct,” you warned, glaring at him.

“You wanted to know my tastes, lady. I’m telling you. I value someone who has fire. Someone who doesn’t back down from a challenge, who can mount an ikran even when their muscles ache, and who doesn’t mind sitting on the moss to talk about the village fools with me.”

Your heart did a flip. He was describing you, or at least, everything you had done today, but he was keeping it just broad enough that you couldnt technically call him out on it without sounding delusional.

“That’s still vague,” you said, crossing your arms and puffing out your chest to mask how fast your heart was beating. “You’re just describing a dedicated person...”

“Maybe you’re right. I do want a dedicated woman. One who makes me forget about my responsibilities for a whole day just by laughing. A woman who’s just so beautiful it makes you wonder why men aren’t fighting over her,”

Your heartbeat stopped for a second, chest rising and falling against his shoulder, but he didn’t break eye contact. “Y’know… I watched those boys walk away from her seasons ago and thought, how stupid must an individual be to turn his back on a grand prize like that? To look at that woman, of all people, and see nothing?”

He smiled, his gaze dropping to your lips again. He had basically admitted it, yet he still hadn’t given you a name, leaving you suspended in the heat of his words.

“But as you said,” Neteyam grinned, his tail giving yours a squeeze beneath the grass, “perhaps you just don’t know my heart as well as you think.”

Your jaw tightened as you tried to process what he had just admitted. Your brain was scrambling, trying to find a clever retort, anything to keep your cool. But with his fingers still pressed against your skin, the words died in your throat.

“You’re infuriating. If you have something to say, just say it. Don’t hide behind those words.”

Neteyam’s grin widened, showing you his fangs. He loved this. He loved when you fought back, when you didn’t just faint into his arms like half the other girls in the clan.

“I’m not hiding,” He chuckled, then his hand slid upward from your thigh, his large palm resting against your hip, his thumb hooking into the strap of your loincloth.

“But if you want a name so badly,” he whispered, “why don’t you tell me whose name you want to hear?”

“...What about… Lläna?” you asked, gulping as you watched his face for any sign. “She’s one of the entertainers. She can make many lose their breath from laughing too much.”

“I may not be part of that ‘many’ if that’s the case,” he said. He lifted his hand, his fingers tucking a stray lock of your hair behind your ear, his touch lingering on your cheeks.

You swallowed the flutter in your chest, scrambling for another name to throw his way. “Maybe Neyza? She’s a warrior, she never gives up even though her whole body is already aching from the hunt. She’s very dedicated.”

“She’s a fierce one, but her stubbornness belongs on the training grounds.”

“Then… what about Sa’eyla?” you pressed. “She crafts the most beautiful pieces in the clan, and everyone says her voice can soothe an angry thanator.”

“Sa’eyla’s songs are for the gatherings,” Neteyam grinned as he watched you struggle. You clicked your tongue, frustrated by how he was shutting down every option while keeping his focus pinned on you.

“You’re being too difficult. What about Txewì then? She’s—”

“No,” he interrupted. “You’re running out of names, y/n.”

He leaned in, his nose almost brushing yours, closing off the rest of the forest until it was just the two of you in the bioluminescent glow.

“Why won’t you ask about yourself?” he whispered, “Why do you keep offering me to everyone else, when yours is the only name I want to hear?”

One thing led to another, and you found yourself biting down hard on your lower lip, trying to silence any sound as his lips pressed against the sensitive skin of your neck.

The heat of his mouth oh so intoxicating sent a wave straight down your spine. He stirred his weight, pinning you gently as one of his strong arms braced against the smooth stone behind you for balance.

His other hand slid lower, the side of his hand close against the heat between your thighs, dangerously close to your sore core, sending your thoughts into a panting spin.

He pulled back from your neck, an uneven breath leaving him as his right hand retreated from your thighs. His hand slid up your torso until he was cradling your jaw, angling your face up to force your eyes to meet his.

With his left arm still resting behind your back, on the stone, he swallowed hard, his chest heaving against yours. His thumb moved, dragging across your lower lip to part them.

He tracked the slow drag of his thumb before locking his eyes back onto yours. He drank in the sight of you staring up at him, your expression consumed by a blend of deep devotion with starving desire.

Unable to hold back for another second, he leaned down and pressed his lips against yours.

You hummed against his lips, rubbing your thighs together. You lifted your right arm to rest on his shoulder, while your left hand wandered, walking its path from the curve of his neck down to the center of his chest.

His hands slid down your arms to grip your waist, lifting you near him. The movement made you gasp as he slipped his tongue past your parted lips to tangle with yours. A moan escaped your throat when he groaned into your mouth, the sound shuddering against your chest.

Your thighs rubbed together, looking for any kind of brush to lessen the ache between them. His large hand moved down from your stomach, sliding past the edge of your hips to cup your pussy right through the fabric of your loincloth. You bit your lip hard, hips rolling against his palm.

You pulled away from the kiss, head rolling back as you adjusted your posture. You scooted into a proper seat against the stone, widened your thighs to give him better access. His fingers began sliding up and down against the damp cloth, making you whine.

You gulped as you rolled your hips in circles, lifting them to move more freely. You wrapped both arms around his shoulders, hiding your face in his neck as his fingers slid under your loincloth and rubbed your pussy. He circled your clit with his fingers, making you moan against his skin.

“Oh, keep going… ’teyam,” you whimpered beside his ear, rolling your hips in an eager circle to match the heavy lean of his weight.

You felt two of his thick fingers parting your wet skin, stretching you wide before his thumb made a dragging swipe right across your throbbing clit. Neteyam let out a grunt, a grin tugging at his lips as he bit his own down, watching the way your body melted around his touch, leaving his fingers slick and dripping with your heat.

“What do I get in return?” he murmured, watching your hips move. “Just… let this be my request,” you moaned against his neck, sinking your teeth into his skin to swallow the loud noise.

Neteyam snickered, his thumb striking over your sensitive peak once more. “Hmm… I would do this for free though, baby.”

Neteyam grinned at how you tried to keep quiet, even though he could hear every moan right by his ear. He lifted your head by your hair with his left hand, capturing your lips in another deep kiss and swallowing your sounds. His tongue tangled with yours as his fingers kept rubbing your wet pussy.

He opened one eye to see your thighs trying to close around his hand. He pulled his fingers away for a second, using his leg to keep yours open before diving back in. You arched your back when he sped up, then slowed down again, making you lose your breath. You gasped against his mouth and pulled away to watch his fingers pleasure you.

“Lift it, pretty,” he said in that deep voice. You bit your lip and did what he asked, lifting your top and massaging your left breast while he licked the other.

He kept eye contact with you as he sucked on your nipple, tongue swirling around it. You threw your head back against the stone, moaning loudly. His fingers never stopped rubbing your pussy, making you wetter with every stroke.

Your eyes rolled back every time he teased your entrance before returning to your clit. He pulled away from your chest and took your left hand from it, sucking on your fingers, he settled so he could reach your tits better.

He let out a wince when he felt you palming his cock through his loincloth. He looked down at your hand before you pulled away. “S-Sorry…” you stuttered.

Neteyam scoffed and grabbed your hand, pressing it back on his hard cock. He used your palm to stroke himself through the fabric. “Faster, Y/n,” he hissed, eyes closing as you did what he asked.

He returned his fingers to your pussy, rubbing your clit while his other hand caressed your hair. He went back to sucking on your breasts, humming against your skin. He was trying not to make too much noise, wanting to hear you more than himself.

He couldn’t believe what was happening. You were touching his hard cock, and he was fingering your wet pussy.

It was so arousing to do something like this together.

So this was what the other girls in the clan were always whispering about, giggling over their hut when the elders weren’t looking.

No wonder they spoke about it like it was the greatest gift from Eywa, because the heat pooling in your lower stomach was unlike any hunt or flight you had ever experienced.

“You close?” Neteyam whispered against your ear before biting your earlobe. You sighed, nodding fast. “Mhmm… please, right there.”

You whined when he pulled his fingers away from you. You bit your lip as you watched him stretch his arms before sitting up straighter against the tree. He patted his lap. “C’mere.”

You crawled over him shakily, straddling his legs, your hands rested on his chest to help you balance. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closer, making you sit right on his hard cock before kissing you impatiently.

Both of you moaned into the kiss as he started thrusting up against your tewng. You met his movements by grinding back down on his hard on. Your hands moved idly, going from his chest to his shoulders, then pulling his hair and lightly choking his neck.

Neteyam groaned into your mouth, hands squeezing your ass as he kept grinding up against you. “You feel so good. Keep moving like that,”

“You’re so… so hard,” You whimpered, rolling your hips faster, feeling how hard he was through the fabric.

He pulled away from the kiss to look at you. “And you’re so wet. I can hear it,” You blushed but kept grinding on him, needing more friction. “Neteyam… please. I need you.”

He kissed your neck, sucking on your skin while his hands guided your hips. “I know, babygirl. I need you too. But let me feel you like this first…”

You whined loudly, head falling back as you kept riding his clothed cock. Neteyam pulled away from your neck to watch both of your hips moving together. He licked his lips, hs brow creased deeply as he stared down at you grinding on him.

His hand tickled your skin as it moved from your stomach up to cup your breasts. He lifted your top higher so he could hold your bouncing tits properly. He squeezed them gently, making you moan louder as you rode his hard cock even harder.

Neteyam groaned softly, thumbs brushing over your nipples. “You look so good like this, princess. Riding me so beautifully,” You whimpered, hips rolling faster against him. “it… feels so good.”

His hands moved up to your breasts, squeezing and pinching the sensitive peaks while you continued to move on top of him. His own hips thrust up to meet your downward pressure, driving his clothed cock harder against your throbbing core.

“Oh.. just like that,” Neteyam rasped into your ear, his voice rough and strained. He tightened his grip on your chest as he surged against you again, whispering, “This is what those morons missed out on.”

You moaned his name again, hands gripping his shoulders for support. The friction was driving you crazy, making you grind down harder. Neteyam watched your face, biting his lips. “You’re so gorgeous, fuck.”

His hand slid down from your nipples, his fingers curling to roll his knuckles over your clit through the fabric. You threw your head back against his shoulder, gasping out a breathless, “I’m so close…”

“Mhm, we’re gonna cum in our clothes?” Neteyam teased, before he slid his palm up and down your waist, drawing a line down to your ass before delivering a smack, making you cry out uncontrollably as the slap sent you right over the edge.

You came right into your loincloth, collapsing forward to lean against his collarbone as your body trembled through the intense orgasm. Neteyam kept his grip tight, squeezing and letting his palm collide against your ass as his own release hit him, his hips thrusting up slowly one last time to press his hard length against your pulsing core.

The day concluded with the two of you resting within each other’s embrace that night, the heat of the moment never crossing past the boundary of humping each other dry. There was still that shy distance between friends that kept both of you from initiating anything far more intimate.

That was exactly why you made the asinine decision to avoid him throughout the next week.

You simply couldn’t take it anymore.

Every single time you caught a glimpse of him, your heart would thump so hard against your chest, feeling like it was trying to rip itself right out of your ribs.

And just seeing him laugh across the camp was enough to make you feel like you were melting, your knees weakening so badly that you had to actively avoid him at all costs during the nightly dinner gatherings.

It only made things worse that your friends were actively pushing you toward him, and after everything that had happened at your spot, you couldn’t help but see him as a different person, and definitely not just a friend anymore.

Ever since that night, you began noticing his features in a way you never had before, caught up in how handsome he really was. It made you wonder how he had never courted anyone or even had a girlfriend before this.

You knew he was popular with the girls in your clan, heck, even the boys. You had always thought you were privileged to be his closest friend, getting a lot of his attention for free and never having to work for his affection the way everyone else did.

Every single time he returned from his duty, he always brought back reserved goods just for you. Whether it was the sweetest fruit or a smooth bead for your hair, he always made sure you got the best pieces before anyone else could even ask.

You only mentioned it once, about wanting a specific type of shell for your top that could only be acquired when the Tlalim clan came to trade. Yet, right after his very next hunt, he walked up and handed them to you, having gone out of his way to look for it himself.

You felt ashamed realizing that while he gave you the world, the only thing you ever really gave him in return was your endless clan gossip. He would sit there for hours, listening to you ramble, content just to have your full attention.

That’s why you found yourself hiding in your kelku, skipping your weaving lessons just to make something for him on your own. Neteyam had complained a few days ago about growing taller, mentioning that his loincloths were starting to feel too short and uncomfortably tight around his hips.

As you measured out the fabrics, your face suddenly flushed a deep, burning indigo, a breath catching in your throat as your mind replayed what happened in your spot.

Just remembering how you had literally ridden his hard on to a screaming climax, with nothing but your loincloths separating your bare skin from his, made a wave of embarassment wash over you. You squeezed your eyes shut against the memory, feeling shy for showing wildness to your best friend.

He was really big, though…

A fact that made your stomach flip. You hadnt actually seen it, but you had definitely felt that, the thickness pressing through his fabric every time his hips had thrust up into yours.

“—Y/n!”

Your thoughts were cut off by a loud voice calling out from just outside your hut. You scrambled to hide your weaving tools beneath the blanket, standing up to pull back the entrance curtain only to find all your friends standing there. Before you could even ask, your eyes widened as they glared right at you, shoving past your shoulders to let themselves inside.

“Hey!” you snapped, pulling the curtain shut tight as you turned to watch them start snooping around your space. “What’s going on?”

They looked back at you in bewilderment, hands on their hips as one of them scoffed, “I don’t know, Y/n! Are you hiding something from us?”

“Pardon me?” You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms defensively against their sudden interrogation.

“You heard us,” Kxira sighed, tossing her braids over her shoulder as she stopped pacing your small living space. “You’ve been ghosting us, skipping the weaving circles, slipping away before the evening fires are even lit.. you’ve been hiding in here like you’re harboring some scandalous secret!”

Eytsing stepped forward, grinning as she peeked toward your bed hammock. “Are you sick? Or are you just avoiding a certain son? Because just so you know, your fine warrior has been looking for you!”

Your heart skipped a beat at the thought of him looking for you but you forced your expression to remain blank. “I’ve just been tired. The hunting season has been long.”

“Well, your resting days are officially over,” Meya declared, marching over to grab you by your wrists and pulling you toward the exit. “The communal dinner is already beginning, and Eywa knows you’re not spending another night brooding in the dark. You’re coming with us right now.”

“I’m not hungry—”

“We don’t care if you eat or not, you’re coming for the company!” she interrupted, a grin spreading across her face as she leaned in close. “The Tsahik just welcomed visitors from the Tayrangi clan who have arrived for a celebration. Their ikran riders are legendary, Y/n. And the warriors— we’re going to introduce you to them.”

The others giggled, already pushing you out past the woven curtain into the evening air. Your stomach twisted into an anxious knot. The last thing you wanted was to be paraded in front of strangers from the coast, especially when Neteyam would undoubtedly be sitting at the head of the gathering, watching your every move.

It was indeed packed with people, the air thick with the smell of roasted meat and sweet woodsmoke. The sounds of drums thumped against your chest, matching the beat of your own heart as children dodged through the crowd, laughing and running around.

“We’ll be back, girl! You sit your pretty ass right there and we’re gonna go get you some food!”

You quickly reached out, grabbing at her hands before she could scatter into the crowd. “Wait let me come with—”

Kxira caught you by the shoulder, using her weight to push you back down onto the carved wooden log. “No way. You’ll save us a seat!” With a wink, she and the rest of the girls dissolved into the crowd, leaving you stranded in the open.

You let out a loud groan, pulling your knees tight to your chest to keep from being ntoiced by the passing people. Every time a warrior with tattoos of their clan walked by, you looked down at your hands, terrified your friends would actually drag one of them over.

But it wasnt the strangers making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Across the campfire, sitting among the clan elders, was Neteyam.

He was listening to an older Tayrangi rider, nodding along and gesturing as he spoke. He wore his riding visor pushed up, his cummerbund snug against his waist, and his armguards and armbands gripping his muscular limbs, making him look more like a seasoned warrior than you could ever find words to describe.

It made him look so commanding, and it was so hot.

Afraid he’d catch you staring, you wrenched your eyes away and buried your face against your legs, resting your head on your knees. You could no longer deny the effect he had on you.

“Hey, woman.”

You looked up to find an unfamiliar male leaning over you, he smiled down at you, the gesture so confident that you found yourself flashing a polite smile back. “Hi.”

“Such a cute girl to be sitting all by herself,” he grinned, gesturing with a flick of his tail toward the empty space beside you on the log. “May I?”

You shifted to the left to give him room. “Ah, sure, my friends just went to get some food and I was about to go look for them, so...”

He sat down anyway, “That’d be a shame for I’d love the chance to get to know a beauty like you.”

You let out a nervous laugh, the blunt flattery making you break eye contact as you scanned the clearing for your friends. You really had no desire to continue the conversation, but you didn’t wanna seem rude to a visiting warrior.

“The name’s Atan,” he said, leaning in. “Yours?”

“Uhh, Y/n.”

“A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”

“Thanks...” you mumbled, your throat tightening under his intense gaze, though you kept your eyes trained on the dirt to avoid encouraging him further.

“You don’t seem to talk much,” Atan mentioned, his voice dropping as he reached out to brush a stray braid behind your ear, his fingertips lingering against your skin. You flinched away from his touch, your ears flattening backward in warning.

“Uh—”

“Sister!”

You both looked up at the call, spotting a trio of Omatikaya girls marching toward your log with smug grins. You didnt bother waving, your brow furrowing as they stopped right in front of you, their eyes darting between you and Atan. He leaned back with a smirk, resting his elbows on his knees as his eyes darted between you and the newcomers.

“We just wanted to say congratulations!” Fhey’ri squealed, clapping her hands together while the two behind her chuckled and nudged each other’s shoulders.

“For… what?”

“For securing another warrior so quickly! I mean, last week we saw you trailing behind Ze’ni, Virran, then Neteyam, and now you’re already ensnaring the visitors. You must really know how to pull them in… you should teach us. Anyway, y/n, just so if you ever get bored of this one too, make sure you pass him down to us.”

“Keep my name out of your mouth before you embarass yourselves,” you sat up, stepping right into her space with your tail lashing behind you, Fhey’ri tilted her head with a venomous smile.

“Oh, we didn’t mean to offend you, sister,” Fhey’ri purred, taking a step forward to match your height. “We just admire how... generous you are with your time, spending it so freely with every man who looks your way, even if you cannot seem to keep any of them for long.”

You let out a scoff, crossing your arms as you looked down your nose at her. “Are you done?”

The girl behind Fhey’ri stepped up, her eyes glaring as she tried to defend her friend. “You think you’re so above us just because the Olo’eyktan’s son throws you a scrap of attention? Neteyam’s just being polite, Y/n. A future leader must be kind to the less fortunate of the clan.”

“If being ‘less fortunate’ means I don’t have to resort to pathetic gossip just to get a man to notice my existence, then I wear it proudly,” you said as you leaned in closer.

Fhey’ri smile dropped as she hissed, “You think you’re so smart? everyone sees what you’re doing. You’re just a distraction.”

“Why? Are you distracted? If so then my bad,” you shot back, a grin playing on your lips as you gestured toward the open clearing. “The feast is that way. Go find a man who’s blind enough to tolerate your annoying screeches.”

“Excuse me?!” Fhey’ri barked. Behind you, Atan didn’t say a word, captivated by the exchange as he watched you put the girls in their place with an amused smile.

“You heard me,” you replied, you didn’t back down an inch, standing tall as you held her gaze.

”You speak boldly for someone who has accomplished nothing,” the girl on her left spat, trying to salvage their pride by sneering at your attire. “you hide away in your kelku while the rest of us contribute to the clan.”

“If you came over here hoping to make me look pathetic in front of our guest, you’ve failed. You only succeeded in showing him how insecure the Omatikaya women can be.”

Fhey’ri eyes twitched, her fingers shaking like she wanted to hit you, however the crowd was too thick and the elders were too close for her to throw a tantrum without consequences.

“What’s with this commotion?”

You looked to the side to see Neteyam approaching, his steps carrying a weight as his tail swayed behind him, his brow furrowing in irritation. Fhey’ri took a step back from you, turning toward him with a gasp that made your ears twitch in disgust.

“N-Neteyam! Y/n is being so cruel!” she wailed, putting on an act as she gestured at you. “My friends and I were just trying to greet her, but she started attacking us out of nowhere and saying the most horrible things—”

Before she could finish her lie, you surged and grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her forward so hard she stumbled toward you. But before you could land a blow, Neteyam stepped between you both, his broad chest blocking your view as his strong hands gripped your wrists to stop the fight.

You looked up at him with a scowl, your chest heaving with adrenaline as he gave you a look that told you to stop. You swatted his arms away from you, refusing to be handled, before throwing one last lethal glare over his shoulder at the trembling girl.

“Tell them to fuck off,” you commanded Neteyam in a whisper, shoving past his side to make sure he knew you weren’t asking. Neteyam didnt hesitate, turning his gaze back toward the trio.

“Everyone, to the feast,” he ordered. The authority in his tone broke their remaining confidence, forcing Fhey’ri and her minions to scurry away into the crowd, rolling their eyes in an attempt to save whatever dignity they had left.

From behind you, a man let out a sigh, breaking the sudden quiet. “Finally, that’s over. You girls were acting like you were in heat.”

You had forgotten that the Tayrangi man was even sitting there, but Neteyam’s attention snapped to him, his eyes glaring. “Brother, why didn’t you bother stopping the fight between the women of my clan?”

Atan just chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back against the log with an arrogant shrug. “I was just minding my business with this chick until those girls started fighting over me, like. I cannot believe my popularity follows me even into the forest.”

“Are you serious? You didn’t even step in like the warrior you claim to be?” Neteyam challenged, taking a step forward and using his height to tower over the visitor, feeling your hand wrapping around his wrist.

“Big brother, c’mon. Those are arguments between girls and I have no power over their tongues,” Atan stated, smirking. “You should know what they say, let the women lead. I was just doing what a gentleman is supposed to do.”

“If you were a gentleman, you would’ve protected the woman you were conversing with instead of watching her be attacked for your own amusement.”

“Neteyam,” you called, stepping up and shaking your head at him to put an end to it before he started a diplomatic incident, prompting him to finally take a tense step back from the boy.

He was following you deep into the forest as you walked away from the scene, a sulk written all over your face. Your friends had probably left you alone on purpose to give you space with that Tayrangi guy, probably oblivious to the fact that some girls had come over just to cause trouble.

You had no idea why you had suddenly grabbed her hair like that, pulling it so harshly, if Neteyam hadn’t stopped you, the girl would’ve probably ended up bald by now.

As you stormed through the brush, Neteyam was following closely behind and scolding you nonstop for your actions. He kept lecturing you about how you shouldn’t have put your hands on a fellow clan member, and that your outburst had startled the people.

“Y/n, c’mon. Talk to me.”

“Stop following me,” you snapped, throwing a glaring look over your shoulder as you pushed past the giant ferns.

“At least let me accompany you back to your place so I know you’re safe.”

“Just get back to your duties, Neteyam, I’m clearly not in the mood after dealing with those freaks,” you stated, picking up your speed while your tail swayed in frustration. “If you stay here, we’re just gonna keep fighting. I don’t wanna hear another word about how I’m in the wrong.”

“We’re not fighting, lady,” he sighed, his ears twitching as he matched your fast pace. “The peace of the festival has been interrupted over some argument, a weaver of the Omatikaya should hold more grace than to attack someone in public.”

“Oh? So now I’m lacking grace because I refused to let them humiliate me?” you hissed, stopping in your tracks and spinning around to face him, stomping your foot hard against the damp moss. “Maybe you should just go back and comfort her instead, since she clearly matches your perfect standards of how a woman should act!”

Neteyam hissed lowly, “This has nothing to do with her, Y/n.”

“It has everything to do with her!” you yelled, your voice echoing through the trees as your warfreak tendencies flared up. “She was watching my every move, talking about how close you and I have been!”

“She talks too much, everyone knows this, but you pulling her hair just makes it look like her words actually have power over you.”

“Or maybe you actually believe those rumors too!” you shot back, the toxic thought spilling out before you could stop it as you stepped right into his space. “Maybe that’s why you’re scolding me so much, Neteyam, because you think I’m indeed a whore who just throws herself at every visitor who smiles at her!”

“Don’t say that,” he commanded. He took a step closer, his tall frame shadowing yours. “You know exactly how I view you, Y/n, I’m simply telling you how your actions out there—”

“I don’t care about the others, Neteyam, I care about the fact that you assumed I was the one causing a scene!” you cut him off, your voice cracking with an upset as you shoved his shoulder with your hand. “You didn’t even see how she cornered me, you just saw me striking someone and decided I was a problem that needed to be managed!”

“Y/n—”

“Why do you even care so much about what happened back there? Huh?!” you yelled, your chest heaving as you glared up at him.

“Why?” Neteyam retorted, stepping so close his breath brushed against yours, his demeanor shattering as his tail lashed behind him. “I care because you were sitting there letting him touch your hair, letting him whisper in your ear, and you just smiled right back at him like it was nothing!”

“Atan was just talking to me! Unlike you, who only ever comes around to lecture me like a child!” you screamed back, your hands balling into fists as you refused to take a single step back from his tall frame. “You have no right to dictate who I sit with, Neteyam, you do not own me!”

“Really?” Neteyam let out a bitter laugh. “He stood there and did nothing while someone tried to tear you down.”

“And what were you doing, Neteyam?” you shot back, shoving a hand against his chest. “You only stepped in to stop me, not her. you saw a girl who had to be restrained, so don’t stand there pretending you’re any better than him!”

“I’m better than him because I care about you!” he shouted, making you hiss. “Then why are you acting like this, Neteyam?!”

“I’m jealous of him!”

You froze, your brows pulling together as his words settled over you. “Jealous?” you repeated in disbelief. “Why in Eywa’s name would you be jealous of him?”

“Because I love you!”

“And I love you too!” The words escaped before you could stop them, torn straight from your chest. Your eyes widened the moment they left your lips, your breath catching as the silence between you became deafening.

His mouth was left agaped as he stared down at you, his eyes dropping to track the movement of your lips as he couldnt quite process the sound. He couldn’t utter a single word after hearing the exact phrase that had just slipped from your mouth, a faint “Huh.” escaping his throat.

“I don’t know why you’re so worked up right now, Neteyam,” you snapped, your brows knitting together as you jabbed a finger against his chest. “You’re making my blood boil. You know exactly what happened between us at our spot. If that wasn’t enough to tell you how I really feel, then I don’t know what ever will.”

His lips parted, ready to answer, but no words came. He swallowed hard, his chest rising like his own heartbeat had lodged itself in his throat. You let out a shaky breath and looked aside. “Leave. I suggest you leave now... before I say something I cannot take back.”

“Say it again.”

“I said leave!” You shoved at his chest, forcing him back a step. Before you could pull away, his hand closed around your forearm, stopping you in place as his eyes searched for yours.

“Say that you love me,” he whispered. “Again.”

Your jaw fell open, your eyes widening in disbelief at his request. “Are you serious?” you snapped. “Don’t be so ridiculous. I’ve never been more furious with you.”

“Im completely serious,” he begged, his grip on your forearm sliding down until his fingers slid into the spaces between yours, locking your hands together. He stepped back into your space, biting his lips and gulping under the gaze of you. “I need to hear them from your lips.”

“I’m not saying anything to you while you’re acting like a stubborn man,” you hissed, your tail whipping behind you as you tried to yank your hand back from his tight grasp.

Your heart was beating so loud that you were sure he could hear it, the shift from a heated argument to this intense closeness making your head spin as a deep indigo blush crept up your neck.

Neteyam didn’t move, using his free hand to gently cup the side of your face, his thumb resting right over your cheekbone to lessen the tension bleeding out of you. “I’m sorry. I’m acting this way because I’ve been losing my mind for weeks without you… Just say it, please?”

Your jaw tightened as you looked up at him, your earlier facade crumbling under the weight of his vulnerability. You saw the slight quiver of his ears, the way his chest rumbled, and you realized that the future leader of the Omatikaya was trembling right in front of you over a handful of words.

“I… love you,” you said, the words spilling out in an exasperated breath. You didn’t look away from his gaze. “I love you, skxawng. I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you. Is that enough for your massive ego? Do you need me to shout it to the forest?”

A beautiful laugh broke from his throat, all the tension leaving his broad shoulders. You let out a chuckle at how silly he looked, you bit your lower lip, heart soaring at the sight of him smiling so widely just for you.

“Will you really do that?” he teased, eyes shining with affection as he nudged your shoulder with his palm.

“Oh, I will!” You turned toward the thick brush and cupped your hands around your mouth, shouting into the valley at the top of your lungs. “I love you, Neteyam! Everyone, I’m in love with this annoying man beside me, and I want him all for myself—”

Before you could finish your wild confession, his large hands slid down to grip your waist. You let out a surprised gasp as his lips captured yours, swallowing your laughter in a deep kiss. Your fingers found his neck, holding on as he lifted you off your feet and pulled you flush against his warm chest.

He spun you around under the glowing trees, both of your tails tangling together in a spiral as laughter bubbled between your lips. You finally pulled away from the kiss, gasping for air as you slapped his shoulder. “Put me down, skxawng!”

You found yourself smiling far more often after that, the heaviness that had clung to your heart over the past few weeks finally lifting. There was no more taking the longer paths around the village or pretending not to notice him whenever your eyes met.

The girls in your circle noticed the change, nudging your shoulders whenever you caught yourself smiling for no reason or staring blankly at the loom with flushed cheeks.

The evenings became your favorite part of the day again. Whenever you sat together during communal meals, his tail would find yours beneath the grass, curling around it while he casually told you about the day’s patrols, difficult hunts, or whatever dumb thing one of the younger warriors had done.

Even your spot felt different now. You still draped your legs across his lap while rambling about the latest village gossip, but now his hand would settle naturally against your hip, his thumb stroking slow circles as he listened to every word you had to say.

Making out was often all you could do together now, neither of you ever feeling like you had enough of each other’s lips, or enough of the addictive way your bare skins pressed so hungrily against one another.

He would pin you against the cool stone, his mouth ghosting from your lip down to the sensitive skin of your neck just to hear the sounds you made. Your voice had become music to his ears, a melody that drove him crazy and made his discipline disintegrate whenever you whispered his name against his skin.

It had gotten to the point where the two of you, especially Neteyam, would wake up craving each other after dreaming of what more could be.

The erotic dreams would leave his skin hot and sweating, his loincloth straining against the heavy ache of his desire, while his heart drummed tightly in his chest within the quiet of his family’s hut. His mind was completely consumed by the vivid memory of your hands sliding across his chest, fueling a desperate need to finally bridge the gap between you.

The boundary of only humping dry was beginning to feel like a sweet torture, and every morning he opened his eyes, the hunger in his blood only demanded more of your bare skin. He could still feel the way your body had moved against his, the way you had moaned his name, and it made his cock throb every single time.

Neteyam sat up in his hammock, breathing hard as he ran a hand through his braids. He looked around to make sure no one in his family was awake before slipping out quietly. The forest was still dark, but he knew exactly where he was going.

He needed to see you.

He moved through the trees until he reached your home, he hesitated for a moment outside, ears twitching as he listened for any sound, before he slipped inside and found you sleeping.

You stirred when he knelt beside your hammock, eyes fluttering open. “’teyam?” you whispered, voice sleepy. He leaned down and kissed you softly. “Sorry. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I needed to see you.”

You sat up slowly, rubbing your eyes before clasping his face with your palms. “It’s late, baby...”

Neteyam climbed into the hammock with you, pulling you into his arms. “I missed you. I keep dreaming about you. About us.”

You blushed, hiding your face against his chest. “You shouldn’t be here. If my parents find out…” You bite your lip before turning your head to see your parents wrapped in each other in their own hammock, exhausted from the expedition.

Neteyam held you tighter against his chest, his lips pressing a kiss onto the top of your head. “I know. But I cannot stay away, not when I want you this badly.”

Before you could answer, his large hand closed over yours, guiding your palm down the center of his stomach until your fingers rested directly against the throbbing hardness straining against his loincloth.

A blush rushed to your cheeks as your eyes drifted down. There he was, hard and straining against the fabric, and right over his heat was the very token you had painstakingly hand-sewn with your own fingers just a week ago. Knowing your handmade gift was framing his arousal made you rub your thighs.

Your nose scrunched in fluster as you licked your dry lips, the heat and thickness of him burning right through the fabric into your palm. Your fingers curled, giving a squeeze around the rigid length of him.

Neteyam’s breath caught in his throat, a moan escaping his lips as his grip on your waist tightened so hard his fingernails dug into your hip.

His hands slid down your skin, squeezing your ass. You whimpered softly, pressing closer to him and hiding your face in his neck. “Neteyam… what if they wake up?” He lifted your head to kiss your lips sloppily. You tried to hide your moans, nervous because your parents had high-hearing ears. “Let’s play the quiet game then?”

“Are you sure? I don’t think I can be quiet…” you murmured, looking up at him as you took his hand and placed it directly over your top.

Neteyam leaned down, pressing a peck over your breast before sliding his lips up to lick the sensitive skin of your neck, making you whimper. His boner grew even harder against your thigh at the thought of you losing control, unable to handle your own noises out here.

“Only if you want to, ofcourse…”

You whimpered, nodding against his chest. You laid on your back, putting your leg on his lap as you opened your legs wide, guiding his hand below as you kissed his lips. His fingers cupped your pussy, letting the loincloth press against your wetness as his fingers slid up and down to make you even wetter than you already were.

You opened your legs wider, rolling your hips slowly against his fingers as he teased both your core and tits. You pressed your lips into a straight line to keep from making sounds. You looked down to watch his fingers moving in circles on the fabric you were wearing.

Neteyam leaned his head to your hair, pressing a kiss before he dove into your ear, sucking on your earlobe since it had always been your sensitive spot. He skimmed his tongue down to your collarbone, grinning when he felt your fingers scratching on his biceps as he fastened the pace of his fingers.

He slipped under your loincloth, rubbing your cunt slowly. “So wet already,” he whispered. “Who’s this for?” You moaned quietly, hips rolling against his hand. “For you…”

Neteyam pushed two fingers inside you, curling them perfectly. “That’s my good girl. So tight around my fingers.” You bit your lip to stay quiet, thighs shaking. “Neteyam… feels so good.”

He kept fingering you, thumb rubbing your clit while he kissed your neck. “I want to make you cum, baby. Want to hear those pretty sounds.”

“Please… go on.”

He didn’t stop just then, he kept moving his fingers faster, whispering praises against your skin. “So beautiful… and needy.”

You were gasping for air as you neared your orgasm, lips drawing blood as you tried to contain your noises. You were afraid your parents might wake up at any moment and see your legs spread wide for the most respected warrior of the clan who kept fingering you.

“You like this? The thought of your parents hearing your noises and the wetness of your little cunt? It’s so wet, baby. I can hear it all the way,” he whispered.

You gulped, hiding your face in his neck before biting his skin to muffle your moans. Your nails dug into his biceps as he quickened then slowed his pace to tease your release.

“Fuck… ’teyam. C’mon, I’ll kick you here,” you whimpered. He chuckled and let you cum with a muffled moan against his skin. You clenched around his fingers as your body trembled. Neteyam kept moving his fingers through your orgasm before pulling them out.

He lifted your head from his neck and let you lick your release from his fingers. You were still shaking as you weakly wrapped your hands around his wrist to hold his hand in place. You licked your own cum off his fingers hungrily.

Neteyam groaned deep in his chest at the sight of you licking your own cum from his fingers. He pulled his fingers away with a hint of jealousy before holding your jaw to pull you into a wet kiss, letting him taste the blood. He pushed his tongue in to dance with yours, tasting your cum on your tongue that had been on his fingers.

His hands moved to your legs, turning you to face him and wrapping your leg around his waist. He pressed his clothes cock against your thighs. He held his cock, lifting his loincloth before rubbing the tip against your cunt.

He was teasing your entrance with slow thrusts but not letting it go inside your hole just yet. You were humming against his lips in the kiss, pulling tight on his braid as you rolled your hips in circles against his tip. He let the tip slip in for a second to tease you, making you squeak before he pulled it out again.

You pulled away from the kiss and bit his lower lip to scowl at him, sending him a glare. He licked his lip before stealing another peck from your lips. He looked down, rubbing his sensitive tip that felt like it was about to explode if it didn’t enter your pussy and feel your tight walls around it.

“Turn around for me, baby.”

You nodded and turned on the hammock. You felt him press a kiss to your shoulder before he groaned when you rubbed your ass against his pulsing cock.

Neteyam’s hands gripped your hips tightly as he pulled your lower body against his. He was breathing next to your ear, wanting more of you.

You could feel every inch of his length as he began to slide his cock between your inner thighs, using the tightness of your skin to pleasure himself. The movement forced his hardness to slide right against your swollen pussy with every push, making you open your mouth to let out small gasps as you felt the thickness of his size.

You whimpered, pushing back against him. “Neteyam… please…” He groaned, rubbing his cock along your wet folds without pushing inside. “I hear you. Let me do this first…”

He kept grinding against you, tip brushing your entrance over and over. Both of you were whimpering to each other, bodies moving together in desperation. The risk of your parents waking up only made everything feel more captivating.

Neteyam whispered against your ear. “You feel so good, Y/n. So wet for me…”

You moaned softly, pushing back harder against him. “I want you inside me…” Neteyam groaned but kept teasing, not giving in yet. “Let me prepare your body first, okay?”

He whispered against your ear before taking hold of your thigh, lifting it up so he could thrust against your pussy. He shifted so his cock could rub your clit, making you fold your knees and hold them as you watched his cock sliding against your cunt, letting him hold it again while you push your top to tease your nipples.

You turned your head to pull him into a kiss, then pulled away again to watch how he was thrusting against your skin. It was just like in the forest and the days before this, but now it was bare.

Before, you two couldn’t then get enough of each other, so you ended up fucking through your loincloths.

Now there was nothing between you.

Neteyam leaned down to capture your nipple with his lips, moving his tongue to wet it, making you arch your back as the feeling of his cock and mouth on your body made you even more aroused.

He returned to your neck, whispering in your ear. “I’m going to put it in now, baby… you want that?” You nodded frantically, begging him. “Yes… please, ’t-teyam. I need you inside me.”

He pushed the tip of his cock against your entrance, rubbing it up and down your wet folds. You whimpered, trying to stay quiet because your parents were sleeping just a few meters away.

Neteyam whimpered, still teasing your entrance. “Fuck… you’re soo wet...” You rolled your hips, trying to get him to push inside. “Please… I cannot wait anymore. Fuck me, Neteyam.”

He finally pushed the head of his cock inside you slowly, stretching you open. You gasped, biting your lip hard to keep from moaning too loudly. Neteyam stayed still for a moment, breathing hard against your neck. “Oh, that’s good… you’re so tight.”

You forced your palm flat over your mouth to smother your moans, your hips trembling as you tried to adjust to his size. “Move… please,” you whimpered against your own skin.

He began thrusting into you, pacing his movements to keep the friction from growing too loud. The mesh of the hammock swayed heavily with the momentum of his weight, causing the tight rope binding to creak against the bamboo post.

The sudden noise made you both instantly freeze in place, your breath catching in your throat as you strained your ears to listen if your parents had stirred awake.

As you lay there paralyzed with fear, the panic made your swollen pussy clench tightly around his cock, forcing a moan to catch deep in Neteyam’s throat.

He kept moving, slow and deep, whispering in your ear. “You’re so perfect, y/n. You’re hugigng me tight…” You moaned quietly. “Harder… but be quiet, damn it…”

He thrust a little faster, still trying to stay silent. You could feel every inch of him inside you, stretching you perfectly. Neteyam groaned softly, burying his face in your neck. “I… fuck… y/n.”

You rolled your hips to meet his thrusts, both of you moving together clumsily. The hammock swayed with your movements. You bit your lip hard, trying not to moan too loudly. “Neteyam, it’s so... Don’t stop.”

He kept thrusting, one hand on your hip while the other braced against the hammock. “Don’t clench too hard—” You whimpered, clenching around him harder. “Faster… please. I need more.”

Neteyam sped up, still careful not to wake your parents. You were both attempting to hide the gasps, trying to stay quiet while chasing pleasure. “You feel so good, Y/n. I could stay inside you forever.”

You moaned softly, pulling him closer by his hips. “I want you deeper… please, Neteyam.” He thrust harder, lifting your leg to the air, hitting that perfect spot inside you. Both of you were lost in each other, and it was overwhelming.

You couldn’t contain the pleasure, your hand dropping flat onto the floor to balance yourself as you used the leverage to thrust your hips straight back against his length. Your other hand remained clamped over your mouth, hiding the moans tearing from your throat.

Neteyam chuckled, pulling you back onto the hammock and sliding out of your wet cunt, making you let out a whine at the abrupt loss of his cock. Before you could complain, he sank down onto his knees on the floor, burying his face between your thighs and wrapping his lips around your throbbing clit to make you gasp.

You hooked one leg securely over his broad shoulder while the other braced against the floor, gripping the tight ropes of the hammock as you rode his face. His tongue flicked over your sensitive core, driving you wild with the waves of heat pooling in your body.

In a haze of desperation, you locked your fingers into his hair and pushed his head deeper into your pussy, suffocating him against your soaking heat, but he didn’t care an inch, for he would gladly die right there in your cunt.

“G-Gonna comee…” you mumbled, throwing your head back to surrender to his touch, but he suddenly pulled away from your clit, pressing a teasing parting peck right over the peak that made you scoff.

“This… fuck,” you breathed out as he pulled you to your feet, swapping places with you so that his tall frame now occupied the center of the hammock. You stepped over him, holding his jaw to press your lips against his as his large palms cupped your breasts, his thumbs sliding beneath your accessories to pinch and roll your sensitive tips.

You sighed into the kiss, dragging your body against his, your knees curling up while your fingernails dug into the muscles of his shoulders and neck. He squeezed your ass before slapping it, your torso against him as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss, his fangs grazing your lower lip.

Pulling away to catch your breath, you turned your back to him and ground your ass right against his face, making him swallow hard at the blatant invitation. His hands brushed over your hips, grasping the skin before pulling your cheeks wide to drink in the sight of your dripping pussy.

He leaned in and dragged his hot tongue over your entrance, making your thighs shake as you reached back to grip his thick braids for support. You widened your stance to give him more access, rolling your hips in tight circles against his mouth to gather every ounce of friction his tongue could offer.

You clamped a hand over your mouth to stifle a scream, looking over your shoulder to watch him devour your wetness in the dim light of the kelku.

You were unable to stay still, so you spun back around and lifted one leg, pushing his head down. He leaned down as his mouth found your clit once again, driving you right over the edge. “Oh… fuck… I love that, Neteyam,” you muttered, your toes curling at the pleasure of his tongue on your pussy.

He looked up at you while licking, “Mhm? I love this too… it tastes so good. You taste delicious.” He spoke while sucking your pussy, making you feel the vibration of his voice right on your folds. You opened your mouth to let out your breaths as you watched him lick your wetness.

You reached blindly behind your back to grab your own queue, watching its tendrils at the tip light up, glowing with a hunger for a connection. Your body knew exactly what it wanted, who it wanted, and why.

Your fingers sank into Neteyam’s hair, caressing his head as his mouth remained buried between your thighs. He let out a whimper against your wet skin when your hands slipped down to enclose around his kuru, letting it rest over his shoulder now. The contrast of your touch made him look up, his eyes dark with blown-out pupils.

Grasping his jaw, you squeezed his cheeks, lifting your thighs away from his face just enough to lean down and catch his lips in a soaking kiss.

You moaned aloud as his large hands gripped your ass, lifting your leg high over his shoulder once more to expose you completely. He broke the kiss, peppering a messy smooch along the corners of your mouth before diving back down.

Your breath was cut as his tongue swept over your throbbing clit, his gaze locked onto the sight of his own saliva slicking your slippery skin while his fingers parted your lips wide.

Tritxo wasn’t lying; Neteyam really did have a hunger running through his blood. You could feel it in the press of his hands and the way his eyes devoured you.

You gasped when he practically made out with your clit, flicking his tongue on it and making you shake, unable to hold your weight properly.

He noticed this and leaned back, rubbing his fingers on your cunt before he laid on the hammock, patting his thighs.

You bit your lip before climbing back into your sleeping hammock, straddling his legs. You leaned in seductively, smirking in the kiss as you opened one eye to find his cock, making him almost close his legs together at the touch. He whimpered when you held his cock and teased the tip on your entrance.

You pulled away from the kiss before sitting up straight to guide his cock throbbing for your pussy once again. At last, you hissed as you slid down easily on his cock, you began thrusting down on his size to chase your release since you hadn’t cum yet after the long session.

Neteyam watched you fuck yourself stupid on his cock. He lifted his head to glance at your parents who were still sleeping soundly before his lust-filled eyes returned to you. You dropped your hands on his chest as he leaned up to capture your lips.

“Look,” His hand went to your skin just above your pussy. “You see this? I can feel myself right through your skin,” he smiled at your shy expression as you looked down at your belly, slowing your thrusts to see the faint bump on your stomach from his cock inside you.

You grinned before speeding up your pace on him. You lifted his hand to your breasts, holding it tight against your skin while his other hand went to your hair and tucked it behind your ears. He leaned in to peck your cheeks, your nose, your forehead, your neck, and your collarbone, avoiding your lips.

You left your neck open for access as you looked up at the ceiling of your hut, jumping up and down on his cock. You felt his mouth clamp on your neck, licking your skin as you held him there. His mouth moved to your nipples again while his hands found your ass and squeezed it tight.

You placed your hand over his queue where it rested on his shoulder before grabbing your own, tilting his head up. When he gave you a nod of approval, you both slowed the thrusts of your hips. You watched, mesmerized, as the glowing tendrils of your braid flashed, reaching out to twist and wrap tightly around one another, locking you together.

Neteyam let out a broken sigh at the impact of the bond. It wasn’t just the tight, pulsing heat of your walls squeezing his cock anymore, now, your unadulterated pleasure was flooding into his nervous system through the connection.

Just as Meya had told you, everything became beautifully clear the exact second you were connected. You could feel th racing jump of his heartbeat as if it were your own. You could hear his raw thoughts, and the dizzying realization of just how deeply in love with you he was.

It was a rush, two souls walking in the very same body. Your chest tightened, your heart skipping a lot of beat at the weight of what this meant: you were now bound to this person for the rest of your life.

And it was Neteyam.

You licked your lips before pulling him away from your neck and resting your head on his collarbone, delivering lazy thrusts on his cock.

Neteyam felt your tiredness through the bond and laid back down again, moving his legs so he could thrust up into your pussy. He held your back and hair as he began thrusting up into you, the new angle making you wrap your arms around his neck as you let him take control.

You moaned right next to his ear, moaning as fast as his thrusts. Your pussy clenched down on his cock as you pulled his jaw down for a kiss.

A synchronized gasp tore from both of your throats as a blinding shockwave of pure pleasure detonated through the bond. The sensation struck like liquid lightning, shooting straight up your spines and blinding your vision into a haze of bioluminescent light.

Your bodies locked up in unison, the neural feedback loop amplifying your shared ecstasy until it was almost too much to bear. Neteyam buried his face into the crook of your neck with a groan, his fingers digging into your hips.

Sooner, you didn’t get the chance to warn him but he knew you were close because you couldn’t stop clenching around his cock.

You came around him so he slowed his thrusts, not wanting to overstimulate you, but still chasing his own release. Neteyam kept moving inside you, breathing hard against your neck. “You feel so good, baby. You get so tight when you cum.”

He then came inside your pussy from your desperate clenching, his heavy release filling your tight walls as his body shuddered with the force of his orgasm.

“Shit, Neteyam…” you breathed out, leaning back to admire his features, his bioluminescent dots flaring a light, indigo from the recent pleasure his body had just released.

You pressed grateful kisses over his cheeks before leaning your head down against his shoulder, your fingers stroking shapes over the skin of his chest.

You bit your lower lip to stop yourself from smiling, a sudden wave of heat rushing to your face as you grew conscious of the situation. You had actually just mated with him, had sex, got your cunt eaten out while your parents were sleeping just nearby, and to make your head spin even faster, his cock was still buried deep inside you, pulsating along your throbbing walls.

Neteyam caught the tail end of your thoughts through the bond. He bit his lip, a smile breaking through his shock as he reached up to pat your back, pulling you close.

He couldn’t believe it either.

He knew he lacked experience in these things, but he was far from clueless. A spike of irritation flared in his chest, not at you, but at himself. He couldn’t believe his brain had short-circuited so bad that he had ended up mating with you here, in such an unromantic place, instead of giving you the proper ritual you deserved.

You grinned at his thoughts and leaned up to press a tender kiss against his cheek. Your lips lingered against his warm skin for a long moment, comforting him before you slowly pulled back.

You swallowed hard as your eyes locked onto his. The intensity in his gaze was magnetic, holding you so much that it felt like you couldn’t tear yourself away even if you tried.

Neteyam’s gaze drifted down from your eyes to your lips, staying there for a second before rising back up. In the golden depths of his eyes, you could see a faint, desperate flicker of hope, mirrored by the rapid burst of his heart.

Magnetically drawn together, you both began to lean in, closing the distance in a slow motion. It was intimate. In that second before your lips finally met, everything about Neteyam, the warmth radiating off his skin, the gentle slack of his jaw, the affection in his eyes, felt like the very definition of love.

You both pulled away before chuckling, his chest rumbling with a satisfied sound. “That was… I’m speechless, my love,” he whispered, covering his eyes with his forearm in disbelief as his other arm wrapped around your waist, cradling your head securely against his chest.

You laughed along with him, leaning back once more to look up at his face. “Do you think… they heard us?”

Neteyam moved his arm from his face, a wicked smirk spreading across his lips as he shook his head. “I’m sure they did, baby. You weren’t exactly quiet, just like you said you wouldn’t be able to be quiet.”

You pouted your lip, letting out a hiss at his teasing. “You were louder,” you retorted, and to put him in his place, you clenched the tight walls of your pussy around his buried cock.

The sudden squeeze made Neteyam utter a startled whimper, a gasp escaping his throat before he covered his mouth with his hand, his golden eyes widening in shock at how loud he had just been.

You giggled at his panicked expression, pulling his hand away from his lips so you could lean up and kiss him. He kissed you back, the pace slowing down into a deep, tender embrace that was overflowing with the romance between two best friends who had finally become everything more.

Pulling back, Neteyam rested his forehead against yours, a smile tugging at his lips. “...I have to tell my baby brother that my biggest advice will be to ruin the friendship.”

You giggled, shaking your head as his large hand came up to cup your jaw. He gently pulled you back in for another kiss before you murmured against his lips,

“Tell him not to wait as long as we did.”

taglist - @k----a27s

"you better have a good fucking reason to dunk towards the blast. if you have a death wish so bad, tell me and i'll make the job easier for you" you sent a death glare at lo'ak's direction, making him shiver at the spot. you noticed the commotion back there, handling it before jake could even notice, but you weren't going to let this go.

"answer" your voice reverberates through the clearing, making even neteyam's spine chill. he steps forwards, hands up, trying to control the situation. "he was tryin-"

"did i ask you?" your voice cuts his.

"no-" "are you lo'ak? answering his question?"

"no, i-"

"then shut the fuck up."

neteyam instantly shuts his mouth. he should be mad at you for speaking like this to him, but he feels his body heat up, not from embarrasment, but from being flustered. he cannot stop looking at you, taking an absolute class of his brother. after all these years, he finally starts to understand why his father seems to be stuck in a trance when his mother yelled at him.

"next time i'm going to pull you by your hair and throw you directly in front of jake" you spoke, frustrated by lo'ak, failing to see how neteyam kept staring at you. he couldn't help but think of your hand under hair, pulling it to move him around. he felt someone staring at him, he turned to see at kiri sending him a look. get a fucking grip, brother.

he mentally slapped himself for thinking about such things, trying to focus- rather not focus only on you, but the situation.

"get the fuck outta here" you said at the end, rolling your eyes. but neteyam didn't miss your lopsided smirk, making lo'ak mirror one as well, who nods once and leaves with a small smile. tuk leaves with him, leaving only you and him left in the clearing.

"and you." you tilt your head, no warmth evident in your voice. he looks at you with wide eyes, embracing for whatever was coming next. you stand up from the boulder and walk towards him, invading his space, standing much closer than normal proximity.

"you need to stop using that pretty mouth of yours when you're not spoken to" you gesture with your palm, gritting your teeth, irritation evident.

"ye-yes, i'll keep that in mind"

"you just keep things in that pretty fucking mind of yours, but never say things that actually matter" you are inches away from his face now. he can feel the heat radiate from your body.

"i- what are you talking about?" he managed to say.

"yea, keep playing fucking dumb. i'm the dumb bitch" you move away, rolling your eyes.

"fuck off" you sneer before leaving.

neteyam puts a hand on his chest, his heartbeat is through the roof. as he turns to leave, he catches kiri, lo'ak and spider looking at him unimpressed.

"you've got to be kidding me" kiri mumbles.

"dude, are you a little, i don't know, blind?" lo'ak starts.

"or dumb? becuase he doesn't open his mouth in front of her" spider adds.

"what are all of you talking about?" neteyam asks anyways.

"bro, if you could, you would tie yourself on a leash for her" lo'ak speaks.

"i would actually kill myself before i catch myself falling for a person like her" spider mutters. "she's like nightmares but in real life"

"hey, do not speak of her like that." neteyam defends you.

"yea, and you will willingly get berated and beaten up by her" spider quips.

he thinks of the time you slapped a warrior, hard, for looking at a girl the wrong way. how you slapped him so hard that he lost balance, almost falling, before you caught him by his hair and yanked him, bringing his ear near your mouth. "do that again, and i will gouge these eyes out with my hands." your voice was low, before you pushed him hard enough to land him against a tree.

"i bet he's thinking about it. he didn't deny" kiri speaks. neteyam snaps back to reality.

"wha- what? no? what are y'all talking about? do you think i'm sick in the head or something?"

"yes." four loud voices came in unison. neteyam turned back to look his father agreeing with them as well.

"dad?"

"you have some nerve liking her. i mean, she's like neytiri, but a hundred times worse. even i don't dare to speak to her" jake shakes his head slightly, seeing how gone his son was.

"dad, i don't like her-"

a series of incoherent sentences erupt in the house. "do you think we're blind?", "this has to be a joke", "stop lying to yourself". he looks at his dad helplessly.

"boy, you gotta be honest with yourself first."

credits to the gif owner

The sun dipped low over the lush canopy of the Omatikaya forest, casting golden shafts through the leaves that danced across your azure skin like fleeting fireflies.

You sat cross-legged on a woven mat at the edge of the communal fire pit, your lithe frame relaxed after a long day of gathering herbs and weaving baskets. Strands of your dark hair, loosely braided with feathers from the hexapede you'd befriended, framed your delicate face, where wide amber eyes sparkled with quiet contentment. Your beauty was effortless, a soft curve to your full lips, high cheekbones flushed with the day's warmth, and a slender neck that led to the gentle swell of your shoulders, bare save for the thin straps of your beaded top.

You were known in the clan for your sweetness, always offering a kind word or a helping hand, your voice like a gentle breeze carrying notes of laughter that eased tensions among the hunters and weavers alike.

Neteyam approached from the treeline, his tall, athletic build cutting through the underbrush with purposeful strides.

His blue skin held a subtle sheen under the fading light, broader than the average Na'vi, he moved with fluid grace as any born of Eywa. His golden eyes, sharp and watchful, softened the moment they landed on you, and he carried a skewer of roasted yerik meat in one hand, the savory aroma wafting toward the fire. He had been out on patrol all afternoon, his lithe muscles still taut from the exertion, a faint sheen of sweat tracing the defined lines of his chest and abdomen, where faint scars from training marred the otherwise smooth expanse.

Without a word, he lowered himself beside you, his thigh brushing yours in a way that felt natural, protective like a shield woven from his very presence. The heat from his body mingled with the fire's glow, and you shifted slightly, making room, your tail curling idly against the mat.

"Here." He said, his voice deep and warm, laced with that attentive care he always reserved for you, extending the skewer. "You haven't eaten since morning. Take this."

His free hand hovered near your shoulder, as if ready to steady you, his fingers long and calloused from bowstrings.

You accepted the meat with a grateful smile, your lips parting to reveal straight white teeth, and bit into the tender flesh, juices dripping down your chin. "Thank you, Teyam. You're always looking out for everyone."

Your tone was light, sincere, as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, savoring the smoky flavor.

He watched you eat, his gaze lingering on the way your throat moved with each swallow, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

When you'd finished half the skewer, he reached over casually, his knuckles grazing the soft plane of your midriff just above your woven skirt. His touch was light, playful, as he poked gently at the slight give of your stomach, testing.

"Full yet?" He teased, his golden eyes crinkling with amusement, the firelight reflecting in their depths like stars.

You giggled, the sound bubbling up sweetly, your hand instinctively covering his for a moment before pulling back, the contact sending a warm flutter through you that you dismissed as simple comfort.

He poked your tummy once more, firmer this time, until he nodded in satisfaction, withdrawing his hand but not his proximity.

Leaning back on one elbow, his broad shoulders rolling with the motion, he grinned a full boyish expression that lit up his handsome features, revealing the dimple in his left cheek. "Good. I have to keep you well-fed, or else you'll be grumpy all evening, and no one wants that."

His words carried a fond lilt, protective undertone threading through like vines around a tree trunk.

You felt a flush creep up your neck, your cheeks warming to a subtle lavender hue, but you waved it off with a laugh, assuming it was just his way. Neteyam had always been kind, especially to you, like an older brother watching over the clan.

"I'm not grumpy." You protested softly, nudging his arm with your elbow, the muscle there solid under your touch. "But I appreciate it. Really."

The flattery settled comfortably in your chest, a quiet joy at his attentiveness, yet you chalked it up to platonic concern, the kind he showed to his siblings or close friends.

As the evening deepened, the camp buzzed with shared stories and laughter around the fire.

Neteyam stayed glued to your side, his knee pressing against yours whenever he shifted to gesture during a tale, his arm occasionally draping over the log behind you, fingers nearly brushing your hair.

You leaned into the space without thinking, your shoulder nestling against his, reciprocating the closeness naturally by tucking a loose strand of his braid behind his ear when it fell forward, or passing him a gourd of water with a soft tone. "Here, you look thirsty."

Each act felt easy, instinctive, like breathing in the humid air, unaware that to him, they were signals blooming in the silent language of courtship.

Neteyam interpreted your every response as understanding, as quiet acceptance of his intentions. He had never spoken the words outright. Why would he? In the ways of the People, actions wove the bond stronger than declarations. Your easy touches, the way your amber eyes met his without pulling away, filled him with a swelling joy, his heart pounding a steady rhythm whenever that purple flush colored your cheeks under his gaze. He believed you knew, that your sweetness masked a shared secret, and it made his protective instincts burn brighter.

The next morning dawned with mist clinging to the ferns, the air alive with the calls of ilu in the nearby streams.

You knelt by the riverbank, your slender fingers dipping into the cool water to rinse fresh fruit, your lithe legs folded beneath you, the curve of your hips accentuated by the morning light filtering through the leaves. Your beauty shone in these simple moments, skin glowing like polished sapphire, the gentle arch of your back as you reached for a low-hanging vine, full lips pursed in concentration.

Neteyam emerged from the path leading to the hunting grounds, his stride confident, a small woven pouch slung over his shoulder. He had risen before the sun, his mind fixed on you as always, seeking you out amid the clan's morning routines.

Spotting you by the water, he veered toward you without hesitation, his tall frame casting a shadow that made you glance up, your face brightening with that sweet smile.

"Good morning." You greeted, straightening with a handful of berries, droplets trailing down your arms like liquid diamonds.

He knelt beside you, close enough that his knee dipped into the damp earth next to yours, his scent earthy and spiced from the hunt washing over you. From the pouch, he drew a delicate necklace, woven from fine fibers dyed in deep indigo, threaded with small beads that matched the ones woven into his own braids, iridescent and polished stones, symbols of promise among the Omatikaya. Such gifts were no small thing, only those spoken for exchanged beads and jewelry, a quiet vow etched in adornment.

His golden eyes held yours steadily as he held it out, voice soft with earnest warmth. "For you. I made it last night."

Your eyes widened, fingers trembling slightly as you took it, the beads cool against your palm.

It was beautiful, intricate, and you traced the patterns with awe, slipping it over your head without a second thought. The weight settled against your collarbone, warm now from your skin.

"Neteyam, it's stunning." You breathed, touching it lightly, your voice laced with genuine delight. "Thank you so much. You're too kind."

To you, it was another gesture of friendship, a token from a dear companion who noticed your love for such crafts.

He watched as you adjusted it, his chest tightening with quiet elation at how it complemented the curve of your neck, drawing out the glow of your eyes.

Leaning in, his breath ghosting your ear, he murmured. "It looks pretty on you. Suits you perfectly."

His hand lingered near your shoulder, thumb brushing the strap of your top in a fleeting touch, protective and tender.

Throughout the day, he positioned himself near you effortlessly, standing at your side while you helped mend nets, his arm steadying yours when a knot proved tricky, the heat of his body a constant reassurance.

At midday meal, he claimed the spot beside you on the log, sharing bites of breadfruit from his own portion, his knee bumping yours under the pretense of passing a utensil. You reciprocated without reservation, feeding him a piece of fruit in return, your fingers grazing his lips accidentally, laughing softly at the juice that smeared his chin.

"Messy eater." You teased sweetly, wiping it away with your thumb, the act intimate yet innocent in your mind.

Neteyam savored these moments, his heart swelling each time you leaned into him or met his gaze with that trusting warmth. Your acceptance fueled his belief that you understood that this was the dance of courtship, unspoken but profound. He never pressed for words, in his eyes, your sweetness was the answer, and it made him seek you out even more fervently.

That evening, as the hunters returned from a brief foray into the woods, Neteyam was among the first to break from the group, his eyes scanning the camp until they found you seated by the weaver's circle, your fingers deftly threading vines into patterns. He approached with a small bundle wrapped in leaves, his lithe form still humming with the thrill of the chase, chest rising and falling steadily under his harness.

Kneeling before you, he unwrapped it to reveal a cluster of rare glow-fruit, their skins luminescent even in the twilight, plucked from a hidden grove.

"For you." He said again, his voice rich with affection, golden eyes locking onto yours as he placed it in your lap, his hand covering yours briefly, thumb stroking the back in a soothing circle. "Saw these and thought of your smile, they light up like you do."

You blushed, the purple tint blooming across your nose, and accepted the gift with a soft gasp, your free hand touching his wrist in thanks. "Neteyam, you didn't have to. But... I love them. You're always bringing me the best things."

Popping one into your mouth, the sweet burst made you hum in pleasure, and you offered him the next, unaware of the courtship ritual in the sharing. He took it from your fingers, his lips brushing your skin deliberately, a spark of joy igniting in his chest at your oblivious sweetness.