🐆

With a chorus of breathless giggles and stomping feet, Lo’ak and Kiri came bursting through the kelku, colliding with the space, bringing the chaotic, wild energy of the rainforest inside with them. Behind them tumbled Spider, his smaller human frame practically skidding across the smooth wood before he unceremoniously dumped himself onto a pile of sleeping mats, making himself comfortable as if he owned the place.

Neteyam’s head were immediately up the moment they bounded into the hut, a habit natural to an older brother with siblings who always get into trouble. He drew the whetstone down the edge of the obsidian one last time before he fully gave the bunch his attention, but as he did,  his gaze caught on something, or someone, standing just at the entryway, framed by the morning light filtering through the giant branches of Hometree.

You looked hesitant, just hovering at the entrace, looking entirely awkward as you swift your weight from one foot to the other, your hands nervously tucked behind your back. Yet, to a twelve-year-old boy who had spent the last two years looking only at targets and hunting trails, you were unexpectedly, captivatingly breathtaking.

Neteyam’s hand froze on his arrow.

He had never seen you around. He reasoned, with a sudden and strange analytical focus, that you must live in the higher branches, among the families that don’t have a single warrior in them, and thus needed the protection of height. You were from the quiet parts of the clan. And because Neteyam had traded his childhood games for training drills, your paths had simply never crossed.

Until now.

Spider, sprawling out on the mats, raised a hand lazily toward the entrance. “Come inside, Y/N! It’s just Neteyam,” he said in passing, his voice cracking slightly with age. But Spider didn't care to elaborate, or to even properly introduce the two of you, because he was already turning his head toward Kiri, who was aggressively digging through a woven basket. “Did you check behind the sleeping furs?”

Neteyam’s mind repeated the syllables of your name. The name felt light, it sounded like bells... And it suits your face well. His eyes locked onto you, tracing the way a few stray leaves were bounded into your slightly messy, tangled hair. You had clearly been running through the brush, wild and unbothered by the state of your hair.

An unfamiliar prickle of annoyance flared deep in Neteyam’s chest. He didn't like how his chest felt. He didn't like how his eyes refused to move away from you, glued to the soft curve of your jaw and the nervous way your eyes are looking anywhere but him. He was a warrior in training; he was supposed to be hyper-aware of his surroundings, yet right now, the entire world had shrunk to the perimeter of the doorway where you stood. He felt a sudden, fierce need to know what was going on, to regain control of his own senses, but he couldn't even bring himself to look at his siblings to demand answers.

“What’s going on?” Neteyam asked aloud. His voice was transitioning, cracking slightly but holding the firm, steady cadence he practiced to sound like his father.

As he spoke, he forcibly turned his head toward the alcove where Kiri and Lo’ak were currently tossing mats around. But even as his head turned, his eyes lagged behind, stubbornly remaining on you for a second longer.

And because he spoke, you finally looked in his direction.

Your gaze widened slightly, startled by the intense, unblinking focus of the boy in front of you. To you, it felt like an interrogation. Because he had been looking directly at you when the words left his mouth, you felt the sudden heat of his attention, even as he hastily looked away toward his siblings.

“We're going to the river!” Lo’ak announced loudly, emerging from a pile of tapestries with a triumphant grin. In his hand, he brandished a pair of old, scratched human goggles. “We decided to swim, and I told Y/N she has to try the goggles. It makes things way clearer underwater. You can see the fish before they bite your toes.”

“And we found them! Let's go, let's go, she hasn't seen the deep pools yet!” Kiri cheered, already darting past you out into the branches.

Lo’ak didn't wait either. He grabbed Spider by the arm, dragging the boy up, and the three of them rushed back out of the kelku in a whirlwind of laughter. You gave Neteyam one last, lingering, bewildered look before turning on your heel to sprint after them.

Neteyam didn't think. He dropped the whetstone. The arrow clattered against the floor as he stood up, drawn to the edge of the platform by a magnetic pull he couldn't comprehend.

He stepped out onto the wide branch of the kelku, his hand gripping the guide rope tightly as his eyes tracked the group. You are all moving fast, navigating the massive, winding branches of the Hometree with the ease of children who spent their days laughing.

But Neteyam’s eyes only tracked one person.

He watched as you suddenly accelerated, a wild, unbridled smile breaking across your face. With a burst of chaotic energy that rivaled Lo'ak's, you threw your weight forward, bodyslamming into Lo’ak’s shoulder just enough to knock him off balance. He let out a dramatic yell as you used the momentum to leap, catching a dangling vine and swinging yourself over a gap in the branches, sticking the landing perfectly and leaving Lo'ak eating your dust.

“See that dust? Eat it!” your voice chimed and Neteyam tilted his head.

Look at that, he thought. You were so shy earlier, and now, your laughter is  echoing back up through the trees, bright and untamed.

Standing high above, his brows furrowed deeply. A strange, tight sensation bloomed in his chest, hot and demanding. He looked down at his calloused hands, hands that were being trained to hold a heavy bow, to kill, to lead.

For the first time in two years, as he watched you disappear into the green expanse of the jungle, Neteyam didn't want to be a warrior. Suddenly, desperately, he just wanted to play. The feeling felt foreign, yet it pulled at him too hard that he ended up turning back inside to rush through the final inspection of his arrows with uncharacteristic speed. He shoved them into his quiver, dropped his whetstone, and practically bounded down the massive, spiraling branches of Hometree. For the first time in years, he wasn't running toward the training ground or a hunting lesson. He was running toward the sound of laughter.

He almost made it.

“Neteyam.”

The melodious voice of his mother followed him as he ran and Neteyam skidded to a halt on a wide moss-covered branch, his tail twitching in sudden disappointment, knowing the fun would have to wait. Neytiri stepped out from a shaded walkway, her eyes assessing his hurried stance.

“Get Lo’ak and Kiri. Mo’at requires them for the midday ritual. Do not let Lo'ak wander off,” Neytiri ordered, her hand gently patting Neteyam’s head.

His shoulders slowly sank, the warrior's mask locking back over his features. “Yes, Mother.”

By the time he tracked them down to the shallow banks of the river, the fun was in full swing. The water was crystalline, kicking up sparkling droplets as Lo’ak, Kiri, and Spider splashed each other. You were right in the center of it, Jake’s old, scratched human goggles pushed up onto your forehead, your face lit up with a brilliant, breathless grin that made him sigh.

Neteyam stepped out onto a low-hanging root over the water, his hands on his waist. He hated the role he had to play. He hated being the one who always brought the shadow of responsibility over their sunlit days.

“Guys,” he called out, his voice carrying the firm weight of an elder brother. “Mother said we have to go back. Tsahik is waiting for the ritual.”

A collective groan echoed from the water. Lo’ak threw his arms up, splashing the surface in frustration. “Are you serious, Neteyam? We just got here!” Kiri rolled her eyes, muttering something about how he was always ruining things.

Usually, Neteyam wouldn't give a damn about their complaints. Duty was duty. But then his eyes shifted to you.

Your brilliant smile vanished. Your lips pulled down into a small, disappointed pout, and a soft, genuine aww slipped from your mouth. In an instant, Neteyam felt about two feet tall. A hot wave of embarrassment and fierce regret rushed down his neck that he actually found his shoulders hunching slightly under your gaze, desperately wishing he hadn't been the one to snuff out that wild spark in your eyes.

“Look,” Neteyam cleared his throat, offering an uncharacteristic concession. “I can give you half an hour more. I'll tell Mother I had trouble finding you.”

Lo’ak stopped his splashing, glaring up at him with a deep frown. “You're being weirdly lenient today, bro, but it's annoying to play when you know you have an ultimatum ticking down. Let's just go.”

The walk back to Hometree was a somber affair. Lo’ak and Kiri marched ahead, still dripping wet and grumbling under their breath. Because they were unified in their annoyance, Kiri suddenly draped a comforting arm around your shoulders, and Lo’ak did the same from your other side, pulling you into their tight-knit circle of rebellion.

Spider walked right alongside them, jumping to wrap an arm on Lo’ak’s shoulder. “Wow, thanks guys! Leave the alien out, it's fine!”

Neteyam walked a few paces behind the group, watching all of you tightly grouped together. Talk about it... he thought bitterly to himself, his ears pressing flat against his hair. Spider felt left out for mere seconds, while he was literally outside the circle. He was the guard, the soldier walking behind the captives, totally isolated from the warmth of the friendship you shared with his siblings.

And then, for some reason, you looked back.

It was just a quick glance over your shoulder like you were checking on him. Your wide eyes locked onto his solemn face, as if you suddenly remembered there was a quiet, looming presence trailing behind the group. The moment your eyes met his, you flustered and immediately snapped your head back around, staring straight ahead. But that tiny, fleeting acknowledgment broke the ice in Neteyam’s chest. A small, genuine smile tugged at the corner of his lips. You knew he was there.

He didn’t know then, but he will eventually understood that this day would make him understand what his father meant about love at first sight.

Years bled into one another. Over time, you became a permanent fixture in the Sully kelku, as natural and expected as Spider. You were the sister Kiri never knew she needed, and Lo’ak’s closest confidante. And while Neteyam was off becoming a prodigy of the hunt, he always knew when you were around. He’s somehow always home when you’re hanging out with his siblings, despite the grueling demands of being an aspiring warrior.

You had grown into your own path, too. No one in your family was a fearsome warrior or a great weaver, but you had found your purpose in the rhythm of the clan's ceremonies, aspiring to be one of the dancers.

Today would be your first ever ceremony, but you don’t feel as excited as you thought you would have been in this situation. Today was the unilatron, the Dream Hunt for several aspiring young warriors, including Neteyam. The central communal area was a beautiful mess of energy, pulsing with drums and the chatter of nervous families. Dancers were weaving through the crowds, hands stained with ceremonial dyes.

You were adjusting the woven band of your iridescent arm wings when a tall shadow fell over you. You turned, expecting Lo’ak to steal your prop feathers, but instead, you froze at the sight of Neteyam. He had grown staggeringly tall over the past few years, his shoulders broad and corded with lean muscle, his skin bearing the faint, proud scars of his trainings.

He already looked like an accomplished warrior, a man, in your clan’s sgandards. And looking up at him, you suddenly felt like that awkward ten-year-old kid in the doorway again.

You had grown closer over the years, sure. You talked when you were both stranded in the kelku by heavy rains, or when Kiri forced everyone to sit together. But you still couldn't shake the deep shyness that hits you whenever he looked at you. Half the girls in the higher branches spent their days begging you to introduce them to him, but how could you tell them that you barely knew how to look him in the eye yourself?

In his large, calloused hands, he held a small wooden bowl filled with thick white paint.

“Sorry to bother,” Neteyam mumbled, his voice deep, vibrating in a way that made your skin prickle. He shifted his weight, looking uncharacteristically flustered. “I just need—”

You blinked, snapping out of your daze, and accepted the bowl from him with a quick smile. “Sure,” you agreed easily.

You tried to ignore the fact that his golden eyes were suddenly darting anywhere but at your face. He was usually so poised, so perfectly calm, but right now, his ears were twitching nervously.

“You... you’re part of the performances?” he asked, his voice stammering slightly as your fingers dipped into the smooth paint.

As you stepped closer, closing the gap between you, you reached up and let your fingertips glide across his collarbone, leaving a bright white streak behind. Neteyam’s breath hitched. He tried so hard not to stammer, trying to keep his chest from heaving, but the sensation of your soft fingers tracing patterns across his warm skin felt like raw electricity.

“Yes, I’m included this time,” you boasted, trying to distract yourself from the closeness. You chuckled, shaking your head. “I would have debuted in the festival last great moon, but I got injured.” You added, and then you paused, realizing how ridiculous that sounded. “Sorry. That sounded like one of Lo’ak’s excuses.”

You laughed, but as you kept your eyes trained on his chest, mapping out the ritual lines, you didn't notice how his smile suddenly faded.

Neteyam’s jaw tightened slightly. It was always like this. Whenever you two spoke, whenever you were alone, the ghosts of Kiri and Lo’ak were dragged into the space between you. He didn't know why, but lately, hearing his brother's name fly so easily from your lips was starting to get on his nerves. He wanted you to look at him. Just him.

“Now... your face,” you said casually, wiping your hands on a leaf before dipping two fingers back into the bowl.

Neteyam didn't say a word. He simply lowered his head, bending his knees slightly so you wouldn't have to strain to reach him.

The shift in proximity was sudden and overwhelming. Now, you were almost face-to-face. You could feel the soft whisper of his breath against your skin, and you could smell the mint herbs that always clung to him. A sudden rush of heat flooded your cheeks that your fingers trembled slightly as you began to paint the intricate, swirling lines across his cheekbones.

You were doing fine, holding your breath, until your fingers glided gently down the curve of his nose, brushing close to his lips. At the exact second your fingers glided on his lips, your eyes snapped up to his and your eyes locked.

The intensity in his gaze made your heart leap straight into your throat. The drums around the clearing seemed to fade into a distant, muffled thumping, completely drowned out by the roar of blood in your ears.

“G-Good luck,” you stammered, quickly smirking to cover up the sudden crack in your voice. “Try not to die.”

Neteyam huffed a soft laugh, his eyes never leaving yours. “Wow, thanks. For you, I’ll think about that.”

“Seriously...” you murmured, your playful facade slipping away as you narrowed your eyes at him in genuine concern.

The unilatron was terrifying. It was a deadly rite of passage, even for grown men, involving venom, vivid hallucinations, and spiritual trials that some never woke up from. Neteyam was the youngest among all the aspirants this year, even with the council delaying his schedule too many times because he was too young for the venom, he was still so young right now.

Seeing the real, raw worry in your eyes, Neteyam’s expression softened. The tension in his shoulders melted away. “Serious. I’ll come out alive,” he mumbled softly.

He reached out, his large, warm hand gently gripping your forearm. He gave it a slow, reassuring squeeze, his thumb brushing against your skin. It was a gesture meant to comfort, but it felt so heavy, so deeply intimate and private amidst the busy crowd, that your cheeks burned all over again. You ended up just nodding, praying he couldn't hear the frantic drumming of your heart.

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

“Bro, I saw that!” Spider smacked your hand away when you made a cheating move when you he wasn’t looking.

You bursted into a booming laughter, putting your piece back on its original place. “If you’d just pay full attention instead of looking at Kiri...”

Kiri groaned. “What?!” she bayed. “That’s it! I’m quitting, I’m getting us some food!”

You watched her stand up, her tail swaying calmly despite her outburst. Spider followed closely behind her, as per usual. The years that had rolled by had treated you all kindly, shedding the remnants of awkward lankiness in favor of firm, lean frames.

You sat cross-legged on a woven mat, meticulously arranging the wooden carved tokens on the board. Your hangouts are not as frequent now as it was before, with Kiri being occupied with the heavy responsibilities of her training as a Tsakarem and Spider glued to her side.

Beside you, Lo’ak sighed for the nth time since he sat down to play. He was uncharacteristically silent, staring at the game board with a heavy, distant frown. Your brows furrowed, your elbow pushing Lo’ak’s propped arm off his knee, causing him to lose hold of his face.

“What’s wrong with you?” you asked, your head angling a little and saw him rolling his eyes.

“Nothing,” he muttered, his tail flicking defensively as he knocked over a wooden token with his finger.

“Said by the Olo’eyktan of Nofun clan,” you rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. “You haven’t made a single smart-ass comment in twenty minutes. It’s creepy.”

Lo’ak let out a long, defeated sigh, his broad shoulders slouching. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his golden eyes filled with a raw, brewing frustration. “I overheard some of the hunters near the lower pens today,” he murmured, his voice tight. “They were talking... Comparing my tracking drills to Neteyam’s. Saying I’m still struggling to master maneuvers that Neteyam could do asleep when he was ten.”

You sighed, feeling a surge of deep sympathy for him. You knew exactly how heavy that comparison weighed on him. Lo’ak was sixteen, and the fact that he hadn't earned his cummerbund yet was a constant source of gossip among the council and the older warriors. It meant Lo’ak, even at his more matured age, had no match to a younger Neteyam who passed his iknimaya and unilatron with flying colors.

What made it so much worse, and so much harder for Lo’ak to process, was that Neteyam wasn't an arrogant bloke who rubbed his success in his brother's face. In fact, Neteyam was maddeningly kind. He routinely covered for Lo’ak’s mishaps, taking the blame or smoothing things over before Jake could even find out. Neteyam was a shield for his brother, too understanding and graceful, which only made Lo’ak feel smaller. He couldn’t even hate his brother for being perfect.

“Well... for what it's worth, I think they are all losing their minds for expecting you to be just like him,” you said firmly, picking up a fallen game piece. “Or even half of him. I mean, let’s be real, that man trains like he knows the demons are going to drop from the sky tomorrow. No one can measure up to him, and they know that.”

You pursed your lips when you saw Lo’ak look as if you had rubbed salt to the wound.

“I mean... if you want to at least be half of him, you should probably start training more,” you nudged his foot with yours, offering a soft, teasing smile. “At the moment, you have more fun than the literal toddlers in this clan. That’s something Neteyam had to entirely give up at an early age to get to where he is now. That’s exactly why he’s... well, no fun and ever so serious!” you whispered the last part conspiratorially, casting a playful glance toward the empty entrance.

A genuine crack of laughter broke through Lo’ak’s somber expression. He shook his head, the tension leaving his jaw. “Yeah. I suppose I need to train better.”

You shrugged, a fond smile breaking across your face. “Yeah. So you can finally go through your unilatron without your mother worrying whether you’ll survive the venom or just die.”

“Hey, I’d survive,” Lo’ak protested, rolling his eyes even though a bit of his usual bravado had returned. Then, his smile softened into something deeply grateful. He looked at you, leaning back on his hands. “I guess it's alright, too, that I’m not as good as him. At least there’s something I have that he doesn’t.”

“Which is a sense of fun,” you chuckled.

“No, you, skxawng,” he clarified. “Think about it. Ninety-nine percent of the young girls in this clan have a massive, pathetic crush on him. He is their perfect, mighty, can-do-no-wrong handsome prince. Every time he walks past the weaving circles, they practically trip over their own looms. And you belong in the glorious one percent who don’t give a damn about him. Thankfully.”

Your fingers, which had been manipulating a carved wooden token on the board, faltered. You quickly looked away with a nervous laugh, staring intently at the game as a sudden, traitorous image flashed in your mind. Neteyam, his intense golden eyes locking onto yours. You didn’t even know when that memory happened.

As Lo’ak’s partner-in-crime, you’ve always found Neteyam’s eyes on you. You knew that it was because he needed to make sure that you two are behaving the way you should so he wouldn’t have any trouble to cover up for... But he had only grown more devastatingly handsome as years passed by, possessing a quiet, mysterious depth that made your heart do backflips whenever he chanced to look your way.

“Right...” you laughed nervously, your voice tight as you forced a casual shrug. “But I think your brother wouldn't want to have me anyhow, so that’s not a very good consolation prize for you. You should still train. Seriously.”

Before Lo’ak could question your sudden blush, the woven curtain rustled. Kiri and Spider are back, carrying a wooden platter laden with dried fruit and sweet roots. Just in time, the main entrance of the kelku darkened and your eyes snapped upward. Your heart practically leaped straight into your throat when you saw Neteyam step inside.

He unslung his heavy bow, placing it meticulously in the weapon rack. He was breathtaking. He had the sharp, striking features of his mother and the towering, commanding presence of his father. He was already a man grown, a skilled warrior, yet he carried an air of quiet mystery that made him entirely captivating. And the absolute worst part? His golden eyes were already fixed directly on you the moment he crossed the threshold.

You felt the 99% of the clan's girls entirely in that single, breathless second. You get them. You sighed. So sorry, Lo’ak...

You bit your lip, smoothly tearing your eyes away as you felt your cheeks burn. He let a soft huff of breath through his nose when you looked away, feeling disappointed that you had to break the contact. You knew none of it, but the space in his chest had long since ceased to belong to the hunt because his quiet attraction had only deepened into something consuming, something permanent, as the years bled by.

He had never spoken of it, bound by his duties and his own fierce restraint, but his heart had stubbornly molded itself to the exact shape of you. To him, the girls in the weaving circles or the training grounds didn't exist. There was only the girl who would body-slam his brother for the the piece of pie... The girl whose laugh sounded like the wild wind.

“Neteyam!” Kiri greeted, setting the food down. “You’re just in time. Come sit, join the game. Lo’ak is actually losing for once.”

Neteyam’s gaze lingered on your face, tracking the faint, lingering flush on your cheeks before he nodded. “I will,” he said, his deep voice sending a familiar prickle of electricity down your spine. He gestured vaguely toward the back of the hut. “Just wait a moment. I need to wash the trail dust off.”

“Bro, it’s just us! Who cares if you’re dusty. Your fan club isn’t here!” Spider’s bellow followed after him.

“Neteyam doesn’t care about the girls who like him,” Lo’ak pointed out.

Spider blew air out of his pursed lips, sending it vibrating. “Right. So, why is he always washing up for whatever whenever we’re here. Trust me, he’ll come back smelling so good—”

“Stop it, you two!” Kiri said and your eyes snapped up to look at her, seeing her purse her lip just as she was looking away from you.

Neteyam did come back, smelling like a mix of strong mint and faint floral. Spider widened his eyes at Lo’ak when Neteyam plopped down beside you, the haired tip of his tail curling dangerously close to your thighs, tickling you a little. Your breath hitched a little and Neteyam, too aware of you, immediately pulled his tail away.

“Sorry,” he mumbled and you nodded without looking at him.

Spider widened his eyes at Lo’ak again, but everything happened too fast at once that it all flew over his head. Meanwhile, you were staring down at the board, your mind a complete blur, completely unaware that the boy beside was currently taking a deep breath of his own, his heart hammering against his ribs just from being near you.

One moon bled into the next, and before any of you could truly grasp how fast the seasons were turning, more than a year had swept through Hometree.

Time really had a way of bringing change and a proof of it was currently taking place at the center of the communal grounds. Lo’ak had finally, fortunately, survived his unilatron. He was a warrior of the clan now, a man recognized under the eyes of Eywa, and the entire clan was pulsing with a fierce celebration.

Wrapped in shimmering, iridescent feathers mimicking the majestic span of a beautiful ikran, you were right in the heart of the performance, spending the evening leaping, spinning, and losing yourself to the booming rhythm of the drums. But the moment the ceremonial fires settled into embers, you broke away from the dancers to join the familiar circle of your friends.

You slid onto a woven mat beside Kiri and Spider, but the scene unfolding before you immediately made your brows furrow.

Because it was Lo’ak’s day, Neteyam, in a rare, uncharacteristic display of brotherly indulgence, had actually agreed to a competition. A match to see who could drink more of the heavy, fermented brew and hold their alcohol better.

By the time you sat down, the damage was already done. Neteyam looked incredibly flushed, his skin carrying a dark, warm violet tint beneath his lingering paint. His jaw was clenched, his broad shoulders tense as he forced himself to down another small wooden shot-glass, looking like a man marching into a battle he was drastically losing. Lo’ak, on the other hand, just grinned, looking completely at ease. You knew for a fact that Lo’ak could handle his alcohol remarkably well from his secret late-night escapades with the lower-branch boys, while Neteyam was someone who practically never drank for fun.

When Lo'ak reached for the pitcher to pour another round, you finally had enough. You slammed your hand over the wooden cup in front of Neteyam, effectively intervening.

“That's enough,” you said firmly, your voice cutting through the chaos.

The moment you intervened, Neteyam nodded completely, not even speaking to argue. But as he tried to shift his weight away from the drink, his heavy torso swayed violently, his balance entirely lost. He could barely keep himself upright. With a startled breath, you quickly slid closer, letting him lean heavily against your side, your shoulder and arm propping up his massive, muscular frame.

You snapped your head up, glaring across the mat. “What would your mother say if she saw Neteyam like this, Lo'ak?” you scolded sharply.

Lo’ak lazily waved a hand, his grin splitting wide. “It's not always Neteyam gets in trouble, so don't worry, he won't be scolded. We're all celebrating anyway!" He leaned across the table, pointing a proud finger at his older brother. "Besides, I just learned that there's something I’m better than Neteyam at!”

“Yeah, and it's in drinking, which is literally the most annoying vice anyone could ever have,” you hissed back at him, tightening your grip around Neteyam’s arm as he let out a soft, heavy groan against your temple.

“Oh, come on, bro,” Lo’ak snorted, rolling his eyes. “I know your dad’s a drunk, but a competition like this won’t make us drunks.”

The atmosphere instantly cooled. Spider’s jaw dropped, and he aggressively smacked Lo’ak’s arm. “Lo’ak,” Spider warned, his voice low and sharp. “Skxawng.”

“That’s enough, Lo’ak. Don’t be stupid,” Kiri followed, her eyes narrowing into a dangerous, protective glare.

Lo’ak’s cocky grin vanished as the weight of his own words hit him. He looked at your tensed shoulders, his eyes softening with immediate regret. “Sorry,” he murmured, his voice suddenly small. “Seriously, Y/N. I didn't mean it like that.”

You rolled your eyes, taking a breath as you kept your focus on the heavy warrior leaning against you. “I wasn't offended. It’s true anyway,” you said quietly. “I’m bringing Neteyam back to your hut.”

Kiri nodded immediately, her expression shifting to one of deep sympathy. “I’ll go with you.”

Getting Neteyam out of the celebration grounds was a feat in itself. Surprisingly, he could still walk, though it was an incredibly zigzaggy, clumsy endeavor. You and Kiri each held one of his large arms, steering him through the winding, illuminated paths of Hometree.

Along the way, the alcohol seemed to unlock a completely hidden side of Neteyam. He began to yap about the most ridiculous things, slurring out complaints about a stubborn direhorse that wouldn't cooperate during his hunt, and how the younger hunters didn't coil their ropes correctly. It was so entirely petty and unlike his perfect persona that you couldn't help but burst into a soft laughter.

As your laughter echoed through the quiet walkway, Neteyam’s slurred rambling tripped to a sudden halt. He stopped walking, forcing you and Kiri to stop with him. With heavily drooped eyes, he pointed a shaking, clumsy finger toward the distance, where the nearby bioluminescent river could be seen like a ribbon of liquid starlight.

“That... that looks so beautiful,” he slurred in a thick, gibberish tone, his head lolling to the side, his glassy eyes zeroing in on you. "It’s... it’s just like you."

Your heart gave a violent, sudden thud. You quickly looked away, your cheeks instantly bursting into a furious heat. He is completely wasted, you reasoned frantically, refusing to let yourself believe he actually meant you.

But as you kept walking, a sharp, bitter prick of annoyance bloomed in your chest. You thought about the sheer possibility of him having that smooth side in him. Did he say unprompted, poetic lines like that to the pretty huntresses in the training grounds when no one was looking? The sudden, burning wave of jealousy was so intense that you felt a wild urge to just push him right off the branch.

When you finally reached their family kelku, the hut was entirely dark and empty, the rest of the family still down at the feast. Kiri quietly led the way to the back, pulling open the woven curtain of Neteyam’s sleeping alcove. The space immediately enveloped you, smelling richly of the distinct, comforting scent of him.

Together, you and Kiri guided him down onto his soft sleeping mat where he plopped down heavily, entirely deadweight, a stupid, lazy laugh bubbling out of his chest as he hit the furs.

Kiri quietly moved across the alcove, lighting a hanging firepot to cast a warm, flickering amber glow over the room. She returned with a small wooden bowl of water and a soft, woven cloth, handing it to you. “Help me wipe his war paint off before it stains the bedding.”

You nodded, kneeling beside Neteyam. As you dipped the cloth into the water and wrung it out, Neteyam blinked heavily, his eyes struggling to focus against the firelight. Slowly, his gaze zeroed in on your form. For a while, he was just blinking.

And then you saw his pupils dilate significantly the moment he realized it was you. Before you could even press the damp cloth to his skin, his large, calloused hand shot out, his fingers wrapping firmly around your wrist.

“Hi...” he slurred, a slow, incredibly lazy smile spreading across his lips.

You blinked a few times, your breath catching in your throat as you found yourself completely distracted by how breathtakingly handsome he looked in the dim light. “Uh... hello?” you hesitated, your voice a breathless whisper.

Neteyam’s golden eyes widened just a fraction, a spark of pure awe cutting through his drunken haze. “And she speaks...” his smile stretched into a genuine, radiant grin. He let go of your wrist, his hand traveling upward, his thick fingers clumsily reaching out to touch the iridescent feathers woven into your hair. “Damn, it’s so real.”

You looked up at Kiri in confusion, and her head tilted to the side as she hid a stifled a smile.

“Well... I am real,” you muttered back to him, turning your attention back to his face.

“Yeah, right. Could have fooled me,” Neteyam murmured, rolling his eyes away, muttering about some ‘then why isn’t she talking about Lo’ak, Lo’ak, Lo’ak now?’

Your head tilted. “What?“ you mumbled and you saw him roll his eyes again, moving his face away in a sulking act. “Neteyam...” you called softly, bringing the cool, damp cloth to his cheek.

His face snapped right back to you, his gaze back on your face, anchoring himself to your touch. “A year ago...” he mumbled, his deep voice carrying a sudden, raw gravity that didn't sound drunken at all. He reached up, his finger gently curling around a stray strand of your dark hair, twirling it softly. “You said... you said that you don't think I'd want to have you anyhow...”

Your hand froze against his cheek, your lungs completely locked as your widened eyes stare at him. He heard that...

“And you couldn't have been more wrong,” Neteyam murmured, his voice dropping into a soulful, intense register as his golden eyes burned into yours. “Because I want you...” He closed his eyes for a moment, squeezing it like he was wishing for something. “Fuck, I want to have you. Will you let me have you? I promise... I promise I will take care of you. So good...”

He let out a soft, breathless huff, his lazy smile returning as his strong, heavy arm suddenly snaked around your waist. With a gentle but unyielding tug, he pulled you closer to, his eyes drooping heavily under the weight of the alcohol.

“I’ve never wanted anything in my life... as much as I wanted you, Y/N...” he mumbled against your hair.

You stared at him, your eyes wide with absolute shock, your entire body trembling as his uttered your name. Behind him, Kiri looked completely flabbergasted, her jaw slightly slack as she witnessed her stoic, fiercely guarded older brother completely unraveling his soul.

Neteyam closed his eyes for a few minutes, his breathing heavy as you forced your trembling hands to finish wiping the paint from his face. But just when you thought he had passed out, his eyelids peeled open again, staring up at you through the dim firelight.

“You are so beautiful...” he murmured with that same stupid smile. He let out a contented sigh, his grip on your waist loosening just a fraction as sleep finally claimed him. “I’ll pray to the Great Mother...” he slurred. “I mean... I prayed. So she might just give... To me... If I begged her right...”

A few moments later, his arm went entirely limp, and his deep, even breathing filled the quiet alcove.

You sat frozen on the mat, the damp cloth clutched tightly in your fist. You didn't know what to think. Your heart was pounding so violently against your ribs that your chest physically ached, and your face was burning with a fierce, suffocating flush. You wanted to cry. You desperately wanted to believe he was just talking out of his mind because of the brew... but his eyes had been so sincere. So deeply truthful. It felt as though he had been holding that heavy, consuming confession inside of his chest for far too many years, and the seal had finally broken.

Slowly, you turned your head to look at his sister.

Kiri was staring at her sleeping brother, and then her wide, stunned eyes slowly shifted to you.

“What...” she whispered. “What just happened?”

“He is out of his mind,” you choked out, your voice trembling as you frantically pulled your hand back, though your cheeks were still burning a furious, violent crimson. “He’s completely wasted. He probably thinks I’m a tree sprite or a... an I don’t know. He’s just bullshitting because of the brew.”

Kiri narrowed her eyes, completely unconvinced. She crossed her arms, her head tilting with that sharp, analytical look she inherited from their mother. “Girl, he literally said your name. He didn't say oh, pretty tree sprite. He said your name.”

“Probably because I am sitting right in front of him!” you argued, your voice rising in a panicked hiss before you quickly clamped a hand over your own mouth, glancing down at Neteyam’s rising and falling chest. “He opened his eyes, saw my face, and his brain just grabbed the nearest name it recognized. You know how he is. He’s always tracking us to make sure we don't break our necks. My name is probably permanently etched into his subconscious as a hazard.”

Kiri stared at you for a long, quiet moment. The hanging firepot cast dancing shadows across her face. She wasn't fooled for a second, but seeing the genuine, absolute panic radiating from your posture, she sighed and let her shoulders drop. “Fine. If that is what you need to tell yourself to sleep tonight.”

You didn't stay long after that. You hurriedly finished wiping the last traces of the blue and yellow paint from his jaw, refusing to look at his lips again, and practically fled the Sully kelku.

The walk back to your own family’s hut was a blur. The jungle was alive with its usual nocturnal symphony, but all you could hear was the deep, soulful register of Neteyam’s voice echoing in your ears: “Because I want you... Fuck, I want to have you.”

In the dark safety of your family’s hut, staring up at the thatched ceiling, your mind spun in vicious circles. You tried so hard to dismiss it, but as you lay there, you started to remember things. The way his eyes always seemed to find yours across a crowded pavilion. The way he would suddenly appear to help you carry heavy bundles of river reeds, only to leave without a word once the task was done.

The way he listens to you and does all your requests faster than a leaf could land when it falls, or whenever he relents to whatever trouble Lo’ak is planning to do once you start pouting about it. The way he had held your arm so tightly during his unilatron preparation. You groaned. How could you have been so blind?

You understood. Or, at least, you thought you did. Your heart ached with a terrifying, sweet realization. You liked Neteyam. Of course you did. He was the golden heir of the Omatikaya. Strong, fiercely loyal, and devastatingly handsome. But what did he mean by all of it? What were you supposed to do with a confession whispered in the dark by a boy drowned in alcohol?

The answer, it turned out, was to run.

In the days that followed, you became an expert at avoiding him. It wasn't entirely difficult; he had duties with the scouts, and you had your dance practices. But Neteyam was a master tracker, and you should have known you couldn't hide forever.

He cornered you on a quiet walkway leading down to the lower branches. He started smooth, his expression perfectly calm, though his ears were pulled back slightly in an uncharacteristic show of nerves He called your name and stepped into your path. You froze, your basket of herbs you volunteered to gather held tightly against your chest as you prepared to speak with him, properly this time.

“Kiri told me... well, she told me how wasted I was the night of the festival. She said I was completely out of it and that I should have controlled myself better,” he rubbed the back of his neck, his golden eyes looking genuinely apologetic. “I wanted to ask you... did I say or do anything to make you uncomfortable? If I did, I am truly sorry. I really can't remember anything after the eleventh cup, and Kiri keeps cryptically telling me I have a loose mouth when I drink. I didn’t mean anything I said.”

You blinked, standing there as you felt your heart drop. Oh. You nodded, feeling as if he had forcefully shoved a giant boulder down your throat. Perhaps, you were right that he was simply just drunk. Like how your father promise things when he’s drunk and then forget it by the morrow. Your head tilted for a moment, surprised with how a very little thing got you aligning Neteyam with your good-for-nothing father.

“Uh,” you managed, forcing a tight, hollow smile onto your face though your chest felt like it just got fractured. You swallowed past the massive lump in your throat. “No, it’s all cool. You didn't say anything important or bad, Neteyam. You were just yapping about a stubborn direhorse... Don't worry about it.”

“Are you sure?” he pressed, stepping a fraction closer, his eyes searching your face.

You stepped back instinctively, making him stop. “Completely. I have to go, Kiri is waiting,” you lied smoothly, quickly darting past him before he could speak again.

That night, in the quiet darkness of your sleeping alcove, you actually cried in frustration. You felt so incredibly stupid for overthinking his words, for letting yourself daydream about what would happen if you talked sober. About the future. But then he was just drunk. It was just that stupid brew talking. It was so unimportant that he didn’t even remember it.

You groaned and sat up on your mat, forcefully rubbing your face and promising yourself that you won’t trust whatever comes out of his mouth about anything regarding what he wants.

More years passed, bleeding into a steady, familiar rhythm. And by familiar, that includes Neteyam who stayed exactly the same. His intense gaze that you once thought meant something still followed you everywhere. He watched you like you had personally hung the stars in sky, as if you were the absolute center of his universe.

Whenever you needed something done, he was there. Whenever you needed anything at all, you already have it. Whenever a stray leaf caught your hair, his hands were already reaching out. But you dared not read into it anymore. You had learned your lesson. In fact, you grew defensive, occasionally ignoring his quiet presence or sharply dismissing his help. “I can carry it myself, Neteyam,” you would say, and he would simply nod, his eyes darkening with a quiet, patient glint before he stepped back.

Now that you were fully of age, the older women of the clan was beginning to look at the youth with matchmaking eyes. Specifically, they were looking at you and Lo’ak.

One afternoon, a group of elders stood near the communal hearth, watching as you sit on a woven mat, aggressively swatting Lo’ak’s hand away as he repeatedly tried to pull a loose thread from the blanket you were weaving. You two were laughing, bickering like the chaotic children you had always been. Neytiri sat nearby, calmly rocking Tuk in her arms.

Neteyam was standing a few paces behind his mother, cleaning his bow, when one of the elder women gestured toward you and Lo'ak.

“Look at them,” one of the women murmured to Neytiri, a fond smile on her face. “Usually, friendships between girls and boys gradually fade with adulthood but those two have only grown even closer.”

They chuckled and another woman spoke, “A man and a woman cannot truly stay as just friends forever. Eventually, they will see each other for what they truly are. See, this will make a beautiful love story. The two troublemakers finally settling down together.”

Behind them, Neteyam’s entire body went rigid.

A sudden mental image of you and his brother ending up together and building a family flashed in his mind. Little kids with Lo’ak’s eyes wearing little loinclothes that you made yourself. He closed his eyes as a fierce, blinding fury erupted in his chest, so hot it nearly choked him. His grip tightened on his bow until his knuckles turned a lighter shade of blue. He hated hearing it. He absolutely loathed the images that popped in his mind unbidden.

He had spent years patiently growing into the man he believed you deserved. He didn’t want to impulsively decide on things that would ruin things for you, he didn’t want a fleeting, immature romance that could break, he was thinking about the future where he could already provide for you, protect you, and offer you everything before he spoke for you under the Great Mother.

He had a whole timeline mapped out in his head. He wanted it to be endgame.

But he had taken Lo’ak’s presence for granted, knowing you two were strictly platonic, but hearing the elders start to babble this nonsense made his blood boil. If you or Lo'ak heard this gossip, it might give you two silly ideas or coerce you into romance that was not real.

Neteyam stepped forward, his towering frame casting a shadow over the elders. “Respectfully, elders,” he began, his tone smooth but carrying an edge that made the old women blink in surprise. “The two of them have a bond of siblings. Pushing such expectations onto them will only ruin a good friendship. It is wiser to let them both find their own paths without the pressure of the imagination. Let them be.”

Neytiri glanced up at her eldest son, a knowing, quietly amused spark lingering in her eyes, though she remained silent. She adjusted Tuk in her arms, her sharp eyes sliding from the bickering pair in the clearing directly to her eldest son. She had always known. It was not her wild, reckless second-born who held a silent devotion for you, but her disciplined, fiercely guarded firstborn.

Neteyam ignored his mother’s perceptive stare, turning his gaze back to the clearing, watching you finally launch a small fruit at Lo’ak’s forehead. His jaw relaxed, his heart swelling with that same, consuming vow he had kept for years. He would wait, and when the time was right, he would make sure everyone knew exactly whose heart you belonged to.

Then came the festival of the New Moons.

The communal grounds were a brilliant, swirling chaos of heat, smoke, and pounding drums. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meat and sweet herbs. You were in the center of the performance circle, your body moving with a fluid, mesmerizing grace, letting yourself sway like a piece of cloth caught in a wild wind. The iridescent feathers of your costume caught the firelight, casting shimmering fractures of light across the crowd.

As you spun, dipping low to the rhythm of the drums, your eyes instinctively swept over the crowd, and caught on a shadow.

Neteyam was standing beside a thick column, a wooden cup held loosely in his large hand. His head was slightly bowed, but he wasn’t looking at the floor. His eyes were peering up at you through the fringe of his lashes, and the sheer, raw intensity of his stare nearly made your heart jump straight into your throat.

The tension in the air between you instantly became palpable, thick and suffocatingly hot. He wasn't even blinking, his eyes tracking your every move, tracing the curve of your waist as you bent, the sweep of your arms, the flash of your bare skin under the firelight. There was a profound, unbridled awe in his expression, but beneath it burned something much darker, a hungry, possessive edge that made your skin prickle with raw heat. For a breathless second, the rest of the clan vanished. The roaring drums became nothing more than the frantic beat of your own pulse.

You nearly missed your next step, your breath hitching as you forced yourself to spin away, breaking the heavy spell of his gaze.

Once the performance finally concluded, the tension dissipated back into the chaotic energy of the crowd. You made your rounds through the clearing, socializing with your friends from the higher branches, laughing at their endless conversations about the warriors, and grabbing small bites of food. By the time the night began to wind down, you made your way toward the back alcoves to get a refreshing drink of sweet water, but you came face-to-face with Neteyam.

He was leaning heavily against a carved wooden pillar, his chest bare, his skin flushed with a warm violet under the remnants of his festival paint. You could tell by the slight glaze in his eyes and the relaxed slump of his usually rigid shoulders that he was drunk.

Of course, you thought bitterly, a familiar wall of defense slamming up inside your chest. You ought to just ignore him. You didn't want a repeat of years ago. You didn't want to swallow another boulder.

You gripped your wooden cup tightly, ducking your head to smoothly walk right past him. But before you could clear his shadow, his large, warm hand shot out, his fingers wrapping firmly around your elbow.

He murmured your name, his deep voice thick and slightly slurred, but carrying a desperate, heavy weight. “Wait. Please.”

You froze, your back tense. “Neteyam, you're drunk. Go sleep it off.”

“Can we talk?” he pressed, his thumb brushing against the skin of your arm in a slow, pleading motion. “Just for a moment. Away from the noise.”

You closed your eyes, a heavy sigh escaping your lips. You shouldn't. You knew you shouldn't. But the raw vulnerability in his tone pulled at you, dangerous and magnetic. “Fine,” you muttered, pulling your elbow from his grasp.

You led him out of the chaos of the communal space, stepping onto a thick, quiet branch that overlooked the bioluminescence of the forest down below. The cool night air hit your face, but it did nothing to cool the burning frustration in your veins.

Neteyam followed you, stopping a few paces away, the moonlight catching the sharp angles of his face, making him look devastatingly handsome that you had to look away. He took a slow breath, his posture suddenly shifting, shedding the clumsy weight of the alcohol as he looked down at you.

When he spoke, his voice went incredibly smooth, completely devoid of his usual restraint.

“I have wanted to tell you this for so long,” he began, stepping closer, his eyes locking onto yours with a terrifying intensity. “But... I didn’t want to go through it prematurely... I wanted to make sure that I am a man worthy of you... Because it has always been you, the Great Mother knows. Since the day you stood in our doorway with leaves in your hair, it had been you, and if you’ll... If you’ll have me, I want to... court you.”

You stared up at him, but the romantic rush you might have felt years ago didn't come. Instead, a cold, bitter wave of disbelief washed over you. You rolled your eyes, letting out a sharp, sarcastic huff of a laugh as you stepped back, shaking your head.

“You are unbelievable,” you spat, your voice dripping with sudden, defensive anger. “You really think you can just stand there and say whatever you like to me, don't you?”

Neteyam blinked, looking genuinely caught off guard. “I am serious—”

“No, you're not!” you cut him off, your fingers curling into tight fists at your sides. “You can tell me whatever pretty, cruel lies you want to say right now, Neteyam, because it doesn't matter. You’ll just forget it all by morning anyway.”

A lump rose in your throat, hot and painful, but you forced the words out, determined to finally empty the heavy chest of secrets you had carried alone for years. If he was going to forget, then you could finally be honest.

“You want to know something funny?” you scoffed, a bitter tear threatening to spill over. “I liked you, Neteyam. I liked you so much. And I almost stupidly fell for your cruel jape the last time you got drunk and told me the same cruel things. I spent days overthinking it, thinking about all the things I want to say to you, only for you to look me in the eye and tell me you didn't remember a single thing and that it didn’t mean anything.”

Neteyam’s jaw slackened, his eyes widening in horrified shock as the slurred fog in his brain desperately tried to process what you were saying. “What... what do you mean?”

“It doesn't matter,” you said fiercely, taking a deep breath to hold your tears back. You looked at his beautiful, flushed face one last time, knowing that by tomorrow, his temporary memory loss brought by the alcohol would wipe his slate completely clean again. He wouldn't remember your confession.

“Good night, Neteyam,” you said quietly.

Without waiting for his response, you turned on your heel and walked away. Neteyam stood frozen on the thick branch, the cool night breeze rustling the leaves around him, but he couldn't feel it. The heavy warmth of the fermented brew vanished from his veins in a single, terrifying heartbeat, replaced by a cold, hollow dread that settled deep in his chest.

He stared at the empty space where you had just been standing.

The echo of your voice, cracked and furious, rang in his ears like the strike of a drum.

“I liked you, Neteyam. I liked you so much. And I almost stupidly fell for your cruel jape the last time you got drunk and told me the same cruel things... Only for you to look me in the eye and tell me you didn't remember a single thing and that it didn’t mean anything.”

His hand slowly dropped to his side. His fingers curled into a tight, trembling fist. He didn't know what to do. For the first time in his life, he was entirely paralyzed by a past action he couldn't even recall. The last time he had allowed himself to get horribly drunk was years ago, on the night of Lo’ak’s unilatron. He remembered waking up the next morning with a pounding skull, only for Kiri to look at him with a disappointed, cryptic glare and warn him that he had a loose mouth when he drank.

He had been terrified. He had seen how you avoided him in the days that followed, how your shoulders tensed whenever he walked by. He had genuinely believed he must have said something horrible, something reckless or possibly creepy that had scared you away. So, when he finally cornered you on that walkway, his only instinct had been damage control. He had desperately wanted to smooth things over, to ensure you didn't think he was a threat, blindly blurting out that he “didn’t mean anything he said.”

A choked, bitter sound escaped Neteyam’s throat. He pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes, dragging them down his face in pure, unadulterated frustration. He wanted to beat himself up. He wanted to find a solid stone wall and bump his head onto it repeatedly.

He hadn't scared you. He had broken you. He had coaxed a confession out of your heart, left you to mourn it alone for days, and then unceremoniously forced you to swallow a boulder by telling you his words were meaningless. And because your father was a man who drowned his life in a cup and spun empty promises by the campfire, you had aligned Neteyam right alongside him.

Neteyam turned and marched back into the clearing, his steps purposeful, hunting down his sister. He found Kiri at the back of a giant root, quietly sipping on a bowl of sweetened brew. She didn't even look when his heavy footsteps thudded against the floor, though her ears twitched.

“Kiri,” Neteyam called out, his voice raw, completely stripping away his usual stoic composure. “At the night of the unilatron festival... Years ago. What did I really say to Y/N?”

Kiri paused, “When you got really drunk?”

Neteyam closed his eyes for a moment before nodding, “Yes, when I got really drunk.”

She slowly turned her head, her sharp eyes taking in his flushed face, his panicked stance, and the sheer desperation radiating from his posture. “I think you already know,” she said quietly.

“Yes, she just told me,” Neteyam blurted out, the words tumbling out of him in a nonstop, uncharacteristic babble. He stepped closer, his hands gesturing wildly. “She just... Kiri, I didn't know what I said. She told me that I basically confessed to her that night. And if I said I loved her, if I said I wanted her to be mine, that was true, believe me. Every word of it was true, but I was so drunk, I didn't remember. And because you were so cryptic to me, because you told me I had a loose mouth, I thought I said something bad. I thought I insulted her and it will ruin whatever we had, so I told her that whatever I said, I really didn’t mean it.”

Kiri stared at her older brother, her jaw slightly slack. She had never seen Neteyam, the golden, perfect son, so completely unravel like this.

“Oh,” Kiri managed to say after his breathless rant. She blinked. “Is it my fault?”

“No!” Neteyam snapped softly, his tone hard but small, his ears pinning back in remorse. “No, it is not your fault. It is my fault. It is entirely my fault. But I need to know exactly what I said, Kiri. Tell me. I need to know so I can affirm it, tell her none of it was a lie, so I can make it up to her.”

Kiri let out a long, heavy sigh, putting her hand holding the bowl down. She looked at him with a mixture of pity and exasperation before she began to recount the night. She told him, in a dramatic recounting, how he had pulled you down by your waist, how he had twirled your hair, and how he had slurred out that he would beg the Great Mother to give you to him if he only prayed right.

As Kiri spoke, Neteyam let out a low groan, burying his face in his large hands. His shoulders shook with a silent, frustrated curse. He was so corny! But at least, he had been sincere. All of it were true, even though he cannot remember them at all.

“Fuck it, Kiri,” he muttered into his palms, his voice muffled. “I am a loose mouth when I’m drunk. I... damn. This is all going so wrong.” He dropped his hands, staring blankly at the wall, his chest heaving. “I wasn't planning for it to unfold this way. I was thinking... I was thinking that there should be a timeline to things, you know? That when I finally told her about what my heart really wanted, we would be grown. I wanted to be better. So I could provide for her. I wanted to have my own status, to make sure things would go perfectly from there, and that—”

“Neteyam,” Kiri called out calmly, cutting through his spiral.

He stopped, looking at her with wide, inquiring eyes.

“I think I know exactly where things went wrong,” she said, her voice dropping into that grounded, old-soul tone she often carried. “It’s when you allowed your micromanaging self to take over your heart. There isn’t a timeline for love, brother. And what you want, or how you think things should perfectly line up, isn't the only thing that's important here.”

Neteyam felt the words hit him like a physical blow. The absolute certainty he had carried for years. His meticulous plan to be your “endgame” suddenly felt incredibly selfish, incredibly foolish. He had fumbled. He had fumbled big time, and he had absolutely no map for the uncharted territory he had stranded himself in.

He thought about you. He thought about how you had admitted, with tears in your eyes, that you had liked him too. You had been looking forward to discussing your feelings with him. You had been ready to step into his arms, and he had blindly, stupidly ruined it before you could even speak.

“Bother,” Kiri called stepping forward to place a comforting hand on his rigid shoulder. “Just as a sisterly advice. The next time you try to speak with her, don't drink. Her father is a drunk, Neteyam. Her first experience with you being stupid was you being drowned in brew. I think you need to start from there.”

Neteyam's breath hitched. Her father. The comparison made a sickening wave of guilt roll through his stomach. He was doing everything wrong. He had strived his entire life to be the perfect son and the perfect warrior, but to the one person who mattered most, he had been nothing but a source of unpredictable, forgotten promises.

Neteyam did not sleep that night. He spent the remaining hours of the darkness washing his face with freezing river water, scrubbing the festival paint from his skin until it burned, and shedding every single ounce of his carefully constructed restraint.

The timeline was dead. It had done nothing but ruin everything, so if he were in a situation he didn’t know how to navigate, the only thing he could do is to fight. If he had to tear down the high canopy of Hometree to prove himself to you, he would do it sober, completely awake, and with a ferocity that would leave no room for doubt.

He had served you quietly before, but he will make sure everybody will not mistake his actions for anything but devotion for an intended mate now. He started the very next day, and you woke up that morning to find massive stacks of perfectly cut firewood that could provide warm for your family for the succeeding moons neatly piled outside your family’s hut, bound with a flawless hunter's knot.

“Who could have possibly left this here?” Your mother asked, her hand clutching at your arm.

You gritted your teeth as your eyes narrowed. “I don’t know...” But you do know. You have a hunch, at least.

“Should we get it inside... Or should we leave it there? In case someone mistakenly put it there?” She angled her head to look at you, but both of your attentions were snagged by your father walking on the branch leading to the hut.

Drunk. And walking remarkably straight enough to keep himself alive.

“Wondering where they came from, eh? I saw the Olo’eyktan’s eldest boy put them there. I’d say it was a tough task, getting all those piles of heavy wood up here,” he slurred before his eyes snapped to you. “That boy owed you?”

You closed your eyes to hide you eyes rolling, but before you could speak, he spoke again.

“Or is that boy courting you?”

“Vatu, what nonsense?! Neteyam is the Olo’eyktan’s heir. He will be paired with a strong and fierce huntress one day soon, or with a chief’s daughter from a different clan. Are you sure you didn’t mistake Lo’ak in your drunken haze?” your mother clarified, stepping outside.

You bit the insides of your lower lip, feeling a slight pinch in your chest at the words your mother uttered about Neteyam’s possible pair. She didn’t say anything wrong, and you knew that her words are completely true, but the fact still felt suffocating.

“No, I can tell those two apart. The taller one was definitely the one who brought these here... I’d ask him next time he does this, so I can be sure.” he walked past your mother and you, walking into the hut to sleep.

“There will be no next time,” you mumbled. You’ll put an end to this. Now.

But when you went to the communal clearing to gather breakfast to bring up to the high branches for your mother, you found a wooden tray with bowls of porridge, a leaf of honeyed hexapede, and the sweetest, rarest deep-forest berries still glistening with morning dew already resting on your usual place during communal meals.

“I can help bring it up, if you’d like,” a deep baritone sounded behind you, almost making you jump.

You knew exactly who it was.

You spunned around with sharp eyes. “What are these for?” you asked, your voice cold.

“Breakfast?”

Your lips pulled back to bare your fangs quietly and he looked at you as if you were a baby nantang showing its fangs for the first time. “I mean, why is this here? And were you the one who left firewood by our hut? Why are you doing this?”

He smiled, “One question at a time, beautiful. I’ll answer that all later, but I think we should really get that tray up before the food gets cold.”

Your eyes narrowed when he leaned forward to gather the tray, and you swat his hand. “I’ll do it. And get all the firewood back!” you groaned and lifted the tray up.

“I can’t,” he said and your head snapped at him.

“What do you mean you can’t?” you frowned.

He stretched his muscled arms with a little drama. “Because my arms are sore from getting them up there. I can’t get them all down anymore,” he pouted.

You hissed, “Stop doing all of these. I don’t need your charity.”

Neteyam didn't flinch at your hiss, neither did he give you that patient, sorrowful nod he used to give. Instead, he smoothly stepped directly into your personal space to take the tray from you. The sheer size of him cast a shadow over you, but his eyes were terrifyingly clear, burning with a fierce intensity.

“It is not charity,” he said, his deep voice smooth. “But you need to get used to it.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You stepped back, your heart hammering against your ribs as you watched him walk with your tray of food. You followed him immediately at the winding ramps leading to the higher branches though, determined to get your tray back.

“I can do that on my own. Give me that,” you pressed as you blocked him on the ramp, reaching for the tray but he kept it away.

“It’s heavy even for me, Y/N. There’s no way I’ll let you take this,” he said, his eyes serious on you. “Let me, okay?”

You blinked, feeling the urge to push him away because you suddenly realized how close his face was, but you know it was you who needed to move because you're blocking the path. He was quick to move, reaching the higher branches in no time, telling you that his excuse about his arms were a lie.

“Daughter?“

Your mother stood completely frozen by the entryway, behind her, the flap was shoved aside, and your father emerged, squinting against the bright morning light.

He rubbed his eyes, letting out a rough, gravelly grunt as he looked at Neteyam, and the tray he was holding. “I told you,” Vatu muttered knowingly. “It was Neteyam I saw.”

Katrey quickly snapped her head toward her husband, her eyes flashing with a warning glare, but Vatu ignored her. He stepped closer, leaning his heavy frame against the doorpost as his glassy eyes zeroed in on the warrior standing in front of their hut.

“Boy, are you courting my daughter?” Vatu asked bluntly, his voice carrying the rough edge of a man who didn't care for formalities.

“Vatu, be quiet!” your mother hissed, her face flushing with immediate embarrassment. She quickly stepped between them, offering Neteyam a deeply apologetic, polite nod. “Please ignore him, Neteyam. Thank you for the breakfast. I apologize for my husband's boldness to ask you things he knows nothing about. He is still out of his mind from the brew he drank.”

“It is nothing, Katrey,” Neteyam replied smoothly.

He didn't step back, nor did he look embarrassed by your father’s blunt interrogation. Instead, he straightened his broad shoulders, his towering frame carrying an unshakeable dignity as his golden eyes shifted from your mother directly to your father.

“And I do intend to win your daughter’s heart,” Neteyam said, his deep baritone ringing clear and steady in the morning air. He dipped his head in a respectful, formal gesture. “This is me asking for your permission, Vatu, Katrey.”

Your mother’s jaw went completely slack. Her eyes snapped up to you in a sudden panic, her breath catching in her throat. Neteyam politely extended his hands, smoothly transferring the weight of the heavy tray into your father’s grip. The sharp, piercing look your mother gave you told you everything. She wanted a full explanation.

Realizing the situation was spiraling entirely out of your control, you quickly grabbed Neteyam by his elbow, firmly pulling him away from the entrance of your hut and leading him down the walkway.

“Thank you, Neteyam...” your mother called out weakly behind you, her voice full of stunned disbelief as she retreated inside.

The moment your parents were safely out of view behind the woven fkap, you rounded on him, your hand dropping from his arm as you hissed fiercely, “What are you saying?!”

“Which part?” Neteyam asked, a boyish, devastatingly handsome smile flashing across his lips. His ears gave a playful, teasing flick. “I said quite a lot.”

You widened your eyes at him, your hands balling into fists at your sides. “You know exactly what I am talking about!”

Neteyam bit his lower lip, his playful demeanor instantly softening. His golden eyes began to roam across your face, slow and deliberate, as if he were completely feasting on your features. Beneath his skin, a bright violet flush crept up his neck and into his cheeks, so intense that he had to look away toward the canopy for a brief second to catch his breath.

When he looked back down at you, the boyish charm was gone, replaced by a raw sincerity.

“Well, I meant what I told your mother,” he said softly, his voice dropping into a low, intimate tone. “I am going to win your heart. You told me you liked me once... but now, you don’t, because I was stupid. I know I ruined it. But I will work very hard to turn it all back around. If you’ll allow me...” He paused, his gaze turning deeply pleading as he took a half-step closer. “But please, allow me.”

You let out a long, heavy sigh, the defensive anger in your chest suddenly feeling exhausting. You looked away from him, staring down at your feet so you wouldn't have to see his face fall. “I don’t know, Neteyam... it’s really not a good idea.”

A sharp, sudden edge cut through his tone. “Why? Because of Lo’ak?”

“No!” you whisper-shouted, your head snapping back up to glare at him. “I do not care for Lo’ak that way, and you know it! It’s only that... you are you,  and I am me. You are destined for great things, Neteyam. The clan expects it. The right woman—”

“—is you,” Neteyam interrupted fiercely, his voice rising with a sudden, hot flash of anger that made your breath hitch. He stepped directly into your path, his shadow completely enveloping you as his jaw clenched. “Never speak that way about yourself. You are you, and you are the only woman I have always held close in my heart. If the clan knew how long I have burned for you, they would think it a no-brainer that I should chase after you now until you tire of running away from me.”

He caught himself, realizing his intensity was surprising you. He took a slow breath, his expression softening into something deeply tender as he reached out, his hand hovering just inches from your cheek, desperately wanting to touch you but restraining himself.

“You are what I want, Y/N. You are what I have always wanted,” he said, each word perfectly clear, perfectly sober. “And I am saying this to you now, sober and clear of mind, and I will never forget it again, even if Eywa strikes me down.”

Your lips pressed together into a tight line, your heart pounding so violently against your ribs that it physically ached. You let out a slow, trembling breath, your eyes drifting toward the vast, emerald forest stretching out beyond Hometree.

“Yeah... maybe don’t be that dramatic,” you mumbled quietly, your voice losing all of its biting ice.

Neteyam bit his lip again, his eyes tracking the subtle softenings of your expression. A quiet spark of triumph flared in his chest. It wasn't a no. You weren't yelling, and you weren't as angry as you had been. He was a skilled hunter, he knew exactly when to press an advantage, and he knew exactly when to slip away before his quarry recovered their senses and put up another wall.

“I have to join the morning patrol,” he said softly, backing away a single step while keeping his eyes locked onto yours. “I will see you later.”

Before you could gather your thoughts to give him a proper rebuttal, he turned on his heel and moved down the winding ramp, disappearing into the lower branches with a fluid, effortless grace.

You stood alone on the walkway for a long moment, your face burning with a fierce heat. Finally, you forced your legs to move and walked back to your family's hut. The moment your hand touched the woven entrance, the flap flew open, and your mother pulled you inside, her face tight with intense curiosity.

“What is going on between you two?” Katrey demanded immediately, “What did he mean by that?”

From the back of the hut, your father let out a loud yawn, stretching his arms as he walked back toward the hearth. “Didn’t you hear her, Katrey? The boy said he’s burned for your daughter for so long—”

“Couldn’t you have said that more properly?!” your mother snapped, throwing her hands up in utter exasperation.

“What, that's exactly what he said!” Vatu defended himself, completely unfazed as he collapsed back onto his sleeping mat.

You groaned loudly, burying your burning face in your hands as the chaotic bickering of your parents echoed around the small hut. Neteyam had completely broken down your defenses in less than ten minutes, and based on the look in his eyes, he was only just getting started.

In the next days, everywhere you went, Neteyam was there.

If you were planning to go down to the riverbanks to gather fibers for your costumes, you would turn to find a basket already filled with the finest, smoothest iridescent fibers from the deep forest. If a sudden midday downpour caught you near the low-hanging nurseries, a thick, dry woven cloak would materialize over you, smelling faintly of sweet mint and rain, before the first drop of water could touch your skin.

The clan, naturally, did not miss a single beat. The Omatikaya thrived on the shared breath of the community, and the sight of Toruk Makto’s eldest son carrying out manual chores for a single family’s hut became the premier spectacle of the high branches. The firewood had just been the beginning, he had also took it upon himself to check the structural sinews of your family's shelter after a heavy wind, climbing the high bark with his knife between his teeth, completely oblivious to the lingering stares of the elders below.

“He is stubborn,” your mother noted one evening as she watched Neteyam from the small triangle of the tent's opening. He was sitting cross-legged on the common walkway outside, thoroughly cleaning your family’s blades with fine sand and oil. “He has the Neytiri’s blood in that way. When they choose a direction, they do not turn around.”

“We will see,” you mumbled, twisting a fiber thread between your fingers.

“We will,” Katrey turned, her eyes searching your face with a softness you hadn't expected. “You know... Your father is many things, daughter. He is loud, he is foolish when the brew takes his mind, and he leaves the gathering to the women. But Neteyam... He looks at your mother's hearth before he seeks your hand. A man who honors the nest before he claims the mate is not playing a drunkard's game.”

The words pinched your chest, sweet and agonizingly sharp. You didn't answer her. You knew that Neteyam is far from your father. Too far your father wouldn't even make the cut for contention, and you felt a little shamed at how you came to a point where you’d aligned him with the likes of your father.

You were sitting by the lower root-pools one day, letting your bare feet dangle in the cool, glowing water while you sorted dried feathers by color when a sudden, heavy thud shook the branch behind you. You haven’t even turned around to see who it was when you heard Lo’ak’s flat voice calling your name. It was completely stripped of its usual teasing lilt.

You tilted your head back, looking up at him. His ears were pulled back slightly, his eyes wide and stormy as he stared down at you with his hands locked firmly on his hips.

“What's wrong with you?” you asked, setting down a blue fiber. “Did your ikran kick you?”

“Why am I hearing from the lower-branch boys that my brother asked your parents for permission to court you?” Lo’ak blurted out, stepping closer, his long tail thrashing behind him in a sharp, agitated arc. “Why am I hearing from the elders at the hearth that you and Neteyam are an ‘intended pair’ under the eye of Eywa? Since when do you and my brother even talk like that?"

You blinked. “Lo’ak... Well, your brother has asked my parents for permission to court me... And he is courting me—”

“And I never heard of this from the two of you? How long had this been going on?” he barked, though he quickly lowered his voice when a group of passing children looked over.

You sighed. “I didn’t tell you because we haven't really talked that way yet, but—”

“No? Oh, what, did he just come up to you one day and was like, ‘hey, I wanna court you—” he was in the middle of his suave reenactment when you groaned.

“No, no! Not like that,” you said. “I don’t know how to explain this to you, Lo, but years ago—”

“Years ago?! Oh, Great Mother! Am I the only one left in the dark about this—”

“Will you listen without cutting me off?!” you snapped, glaring at him and he rolled his eyes, letting himself fall to sit on the nearest root. You sighed, “Well. As I said... Neteyam is courting me. But I haven’t answered it yet.” you said, your eyes falling on the fibers in your hand.

“But you will answer it?” he asked.

Your eyes snapped up to him before you slowly nodded, “Yes,” you answered quickly. “Lo’ak, I will not lie to you. I have longed felt for your brother... I love him...”

He starded at you, his expression softening. “You’re my best friend, Y/NA. We tell each other everything. If you liked him even then, and if you knew he was looking at you differently, why didn't you tell me? Why did I have to find out from the others?”

The hurt in his voice made a heavy wave of guilt settle in your stomach. You reached out, placing a hand on his forearm. “Lo'ak, I swear to you, I was planning to tell you once I have answered Neteyam... You see, a few years ago... something happened, and I thought he was just playing with me. I wanted to test his sincerity...”

Lo’ak stared at the floor as he processed your words. “Perhaps I was just blind... Because, looking back to it all now... I think there had been signs,” he let out a rough huff, shaking his head. “I should have known the first time Neteyam acted all lenient because you were around.”

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks warmed with that familiar, traitorous violet flush as you remembered. “So... It's cool?” you asked.

“That my best friend and my older brother are going to do yucky stuff to each other? Not really—”

You threw a small pebble his way. “Shut up!” you groaned.

He laughed but then fell silent a few seconds later. “Listen to me,” he said, his tone suddenly turning incredibly serious. “He’s my brother, and I love him, but he’s also a hard-ass. He takes everything too seriously, and he thinks he knows what's best for everyone. If he makes you cry, Y/N... if he does something stupid and uses that Olo’eyktan-in-training excuse to justify it... I don't care if he's the eldest. I'll take his longbow and drop it in the bog.”

A soft, emotional smile curved your lips. “Thank you, Lo'ak.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, standing up and brushing the bark-dust from his legs. “I’m going to go find him now. He owes me a match for keeping this a secret. I’m gonna hit him in the ribs.”

Lo’ak did indeed find Neteyam, but the match didn't go quite as planned. According to Spider, who watched from the high branches, Neteyam had simply taken every single one of Lo'ak's aggressive strikes with a calm, unyielding defense, eventually disarming his younger brother with a swift sweep of his leg.

When Lo'ak lay groaning on the dirt, Neteyam had merely extended a hand, pulling him up before saying quietly, “I did not tell you because I had not earned her yet. I am still working on it.”

And working on it, he really was. You should have known, that to be on the receiving end of his relentless pursuit and focus, meant to have your resistance slowly worn down with every attempt. Even as a child, his focus to get what he wanted, which was the mastery of a warrior, was never weakened by any outside forces like the lure of playground fun.

And now, what he wanted was you and it’s not in him to relent. If anything, as the days lengthened, his devotion only grew more intricate, more deeply woven into the fabric of your daily life.

During the third moon of his courtship, you were assigned to lead the young girls of the clan in the ceremonial dance of the first blossom. It was a complex performance, requiring you to leap on high, narrow branches while keeping your balance on slick, moss-covered bark. You had been practicing for hours, your thighs aching and your fingers raw from holding the coarse training ropes.

When the sun finally dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in deep bruises of violet and orange, you sat alone on the edge of the high platform, rubbing your aching calves with a sigh.

A soft, familiar whistle cut through the quiet air.

You turned and saw Neteyam dropping down from a higher vine, landing with feline grace, no longer wearing his scout gear or his longbow. In his large hand, he carried a small wooden bowl filled with a thick, pale ointment that smelled strongly of crushed mint and wild ginger, the poultice the old healers used to soothe pulled muscles.

“Long day?” he murmured as he sat next to you, his large, calloused hand reached out with an almost terrifying gentleness.

“I told you, Neteyam,” you said, your voice tired, lacking the fierce venom it had carried months ago. “You don’t need to do this.”

His fingers wrapped around your ankle, lifting your foot to rest against his thigh. “Nonsense. I love doing this,” he smirked. “I’ll be doing this for the rest of my life, you know.”

You kicked his hand gently. “You are awfully confident.”

“A man can’t be hopeful now?” He dipped his thick fingers into the cool ointment and began to rub it into your calf.

Your breath caught in your throat as he worked with a meticulous, quiet concentration, his large thumbs tracing the tight knots in your muscles, applying just enough pressure to make you let out a soft, shuddering sigh of relief.

You leaned back on your hands, watching him through the fringe of your lashes. The dimming light caught the high, sharp angles of his cheekbones, the long line of his throat, and the muscular planes of his shoulders. He looked every bit the future leader he was born to be, yet here he was, holding your feet and treating your tired muscles as if they were the most sacred duties of his leadership.

“Neteyam,” you whispered, the quietness of the forest wrapping around you both. “Aren’t you tired?”

Neteyam didn't stop his hands. His thumbs made a slow, soothing circle around your calf before he spoke, “The scout didn’t take that much strength, nor was training the young. I bet you exceeded more energy in your practices—”

“In this courtship, Neteyam,“ you cut him off and his hand on your ankle stopped for a moment.

“Tired of what? I’m having the time of my life,” he said softly. He shifted his grip, his large hand sliding up to rest gently against the side of your knee, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin there. He looked up, his eyes burning with a devastating, quiet ferocity. “I would spend ten more years split-logging the forest if it meant I will have you, but I am not rushing you. I have all the time the Great Mother will give me.”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat feeling less like a boulder now and more like a warm, melting knot of wax. You pulled your leg back gently, and this time, he let you go, his hands returning to his lap as he watched you with that same, consuming patience.

In the succeeding moons, all the defenses you had built out of hurt and embarrassment had been worn down to dust by his continuous, unyielding presence. You found yourself looking for him during the communal meals. When he’s out with his scout party, you found yourself standing in the entryway of Hometree, your eyes fixed on the clearing, until the familiar, large silhouette of his direhorse finally broke through thicket.

Today, it was similar, but you were now standing on the high walkways of the roost, looking at the horizon to wait for the large wings of his ikran to fly over the fog when you heard the horn blew, a sharp sound that made your chest seize. Within minutes, the news tore through the high branches: Neteyam’s aerial patrol had run directly into an ambush. They had broken off to aid a Tlalim airship that was being swarmed by savage Mangkwan raiders.

The roost became a blur of movements. Jake, Neytiri, and a group of warriors mounted their ikran, the massive beasts screeching as they dived into the open air. Lo’ak was buckling his chest strap when he caught sight of you running onto the ledge, your hands trembling.

“Hey!” Lo’ak grabbed your shoulders, his eyes wide but steady. “He radioed. He’s fine, don’t you worry. They just needed reinforcement, but Neteyam got it, like always.” He rolled his eyes before mounting his beast, disappearing into the sky with the others.

His words should assure you, but it couldn't stop the suffocating weight that settled over you. For hours, everything was too quiet. You stayed at the high roost, your fingers digging into the rough bark, eyes watching the skies for any movement. Every minute felt like a moon. You thought of his unyielding presence, his quiet smiles, and how foolish you had been to let a single second go to waste.

Finally, the distant, rhythmic thumping of leather wings broke the silence.

The war party returned and as soon as his ikran touched down, you were moving. Neteyam unclipped himself, his body tense, his face and broad shoulders smeared with thick black soot and the dried blood of the raiders. He looked lethal, exhausted but still terrifying.

But the moment his eyes found yours, the hardened warrior vanished. His large steps ate the distance between you and you welcomed him halfway, throwing your arms around his shoulders. Neteyam let out a low, ragged growl, his strong arms instantly wrapping around your waist and pulling your body flush against his chest, lifting you slightly off the ground.

“I was so scared...” you mumbled against his neck, the scent of smoke and rain filling your lungs.

He reared his head back just enough to look at you, but because your arms were locked around his shoulders, your faces were scant inches apart. His eyes were burning with a fierce, possessive intensity while yours dropped to his lips, and the moment you angled your head, Neteyam closed the distance.

His lips came crashing down on yours as if that was the only thing that had kept him alive through the battle. It was instantly deep and devastatingly thorough, as opposed to a tentative and careful kiss you had imagined he would give you once you allowed him to kiss you. You supposed you should have known...

He consumed you, his hands pressing into your back, holding you so close you could feel the frantic, roaring beat of his heart against your own. You kissed until your knees felt hollow and the air left your lungs.

“Oh, come on!” Lo’ak’s loud, groaning voice broke the spell from a few paces away.

You pulled away from Neteyam’s lips and he groaned, his forehead falling against your temple as he murmured curses for his brother. You saw Lo’ak was wiping dirt off his own arm, rolling his eyes dramatically.

“Get a room, you two! This is basically an incestuous view to me!” he barked.

A few nearby hunters chuckled, and your face immediately burned hot. Neteyam moved his face to hide yours, leaving one possessive arm wrapped firmly around your waist. He glared at his younger brother, though a breathless, boyish smile tugged at his lips.

“Go clean yourself, Lo'ak,” Neteyam called back, his voice thick and deep.

Turning back to you, his expression softened back into that soul-stirring tenderness. He gently took your hand, his thumb rubbing the back of your knuckles. “Come,” he murmured, his eyes locked on yours. “Help me wash this off.”

You raised a brow, grabbing his hand to hold it before pulling him away from the bustling roost, heading down the winding ramps and out of the Hometree.

“I was thinking of the root-pools,” he said as he fall into step behind you, but you chuckled and stepped past him.

His large steps ate away at the distance you created, his fingers touching the tip of your tail. You yelped, swatting his hand away as you broke into a sharp laughter and began running away. He chased after you until you reached the bioluminescent river. You threw yourself into the cool water unceremoniously, wading into the deep.

When you broke the surface minutes later, you saw Neteyam a few paces away, having already washed away the ash of the battle, his eyes immediately finding you. You waved your fingers, biting your lips before a shy smile cut through your lips. His head tilted, wading into the water but you backed away, luring him.

“Stop moving away from me,” he said, his deep voice making you breathless.

“Can’t catch me?” you teased, wading further away, relishing the way his eyes darkened at your challenge.

“Let’s see...” he trailed, wading in the water and looking so dangerous you knew he meant to catch you.

You turned and dove into the waters to escape him, but you haven’t made it far when a massive, silhouette loomed over you, and a moment later, a pair of large, fiercely strong arms wrapped securely around your waist, hoisting you to the surface and pulling you back against his broad, solid chest.

“You must never turn your back on your pursuer, beautiful,” he whispered against your ear, his deep baritone vibrating directly through your skin as you gasped for air. His lips immediately began pressing hot, burning kisses along the curve of your shoulder and up the sensitive side of your jaw.

You felt utterly breathless as you laughed, “Maybe I just slowed down so you could catch me,” you said, letting your head fall against his shoulder.

Your knees weakened under the water when you felt his kisses on your neck. He easily maneuvered your body around to face him, his eyes dark with a sudden, heavy hunger.

“How magnanimous of you,” he mumbled before his lips crashed down on yours again, deep and possessive, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with a wild, commanding rhythm.

He waded through the water while your kiss deepened, and before you could even register the shallows, he hooked his hands under your thighs and hoisted you straight up onto the soft, mossy bank.

You yelped at the sudden rush of air, your hands immediately flying to grip both of his thick, muscled forearms for balance. Neteyam didn't give you a second to breathe. He followed you up onto the bank, crowding over your body as his lips crashed down on yours again. The grass pressed against your back as you lied back, your arms naturally wrapping around his neck to pull him down closer, matching his desperate, urgent rhythm.

His large hand cupped the back of your head, his long fingers winding tightly through your damp hair, anchoring you to the earth. You smiled against his lips, whimpering softly as you kissed him harder, more urgent and more desperate.

“Your lips are so soft...” he whispered, pulling back a little, his chest heaving as he stared down at you.

“So then keep kissing me...” you breathed, your fingers tugging at his braids.

“There’s something else I want to do...” he whispered, his voice dropping into a raw, gravelly register that sent a shiver straight down your spine.

You pulled away slightly, your eyes searching his face. “What is it?”

Neteyam swallowed hard, his jaw clenching as he looked down at your body. “I don't know. Maybe it's too early for that...” he murmured.

“It’s probably not as fast as what I'm thinking then,” you said, raising a brow with a teasing, breathless smirk.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, his ears twitching as he looked down at you, momentarily distracted and thoroughly caught off guard by the implication.

“What are you thinking?” you countered, pulling his head down to press a firm, lingering kiss against his lips.

He shook his head, a dark, heavy flush creeping up his neck. “You will be disgusted. Well... I am disgusting. It is disgusting...” he muttered, his deep voice thick with a raw, primal lust that he was desperately trying to fight.

“Try me,” you mumbled, your voice dropping into a quiet challenge. “I want to know. What is it?” You squeezed his shoulders, anchoring him above you.

Neteyam bit his lower lip, his breath hitching as his gaze drifted downward, settling between your thighs. “I want to... I want to touch myself... and come... here,” he whispered hoarsely. As the words left his mouth, his large thumb slid down, pressing firmly through the damp fabric of your loincloth, finding the highly sensitive, swollen center of your heat.

Your breathing hitched in a violent wave of excitement, your eyes lighting up as a hot jolt of electricity shot straight to your core. “Let’s do it,” you whispered without a shred of hesitation. “And by the way... what I wanted was for you to... to put it inside me.” You spoke the last words so quickly, your face burning, that it almost got lost in the rush of the river.

Neteyam froze, choking on his own breath. “To what?”

You bit your lip, your hand shooting down between your bodies to palm him right through his loincloth. A sharp breath hissed out of your own mouth when you felt the immense size of him, entirely rigid and hard against your palm. “I want you to put your... I mean this... inside me.”

His golden eyes darkened into something utterly primal. “I’m trying to be so good, my love,” he groaned, his voice a strained, desperate rasp as his tongue darted out to wet his dry lips. “I want to do things the right way. I want to honor your family...”

“I don’t care. We will be mated soon under Eywa anyway, and we will be doing this for the rest of our lives,” you said, pulling his face down to kiss him fiercely, staring straight into his soul. “You get me?”

He let out a low, breathless chuckle, a deep snort escaping him as his forehead defeatedly hit the crook of your neck. “Yes... yes, I do.”

You angled your face to bite gently at his neck, your hand already moving to his tail to unfasten the intricate ties of his loincloth. “Take it out,” you whispered.

Neteyam didn't need to be told twice. With a low growl, he stripped away his loincloth and quickly reached down to shed yours away. He shifted his weight, kneeling between your thighs, his towering frame casting a massive, protective shadow over you. You were too busy looking at his hard length that you were uncaring of him firmly pressing your thighs apart, exposing your bare, glistening heat to the cool night air.

You saw his large frame stoop down, his head aiming for your center and your thighs instinctively threatened to shut close, but his hands were holding it so strongly you couldn't even move when his lips pressed against your softness. He groaned against the folds as his mouth opened to kiss it as he kissed your lips.

“Neteyam...” you groaned, bucking your hips, but he only coupled his lips with his tongue to lap at your wetness.

A few swipes and the folds parted to give him more of what he desires. You grabbed a handful of his braids when he suckled on your sensitive nub before his tongue licked another swipe from bottom to top, doing all of it instinctively as his own hand gripped his girth to stop himself from spilling prematurely.

He was trying so hard to hold out, but you taste so fucking good he can’t even think properly anymore. He gave himself a few pumps as he sucked and licked at your softness, occasionally nipping at your velvety folds, letting himself indulge in the sounds of pleasure you were making.

Your thighs were already trembling when he surfaced, kissing your thighs as he did. You were gasping for breath when he towered between your legs again, gripping his length, thick, heavy, and already crowned with drops of his own desire. He began to stroke himself right above you.

You watched, completely transfixed, your chest heaving as he pumped his hand up and down the length of his shaft. And this sight of him, the golden boy, the perfect, disciplined heir of the clan, completely unraveled, his jaw clenched, his hand working frantically on himself as he looked down at your naked body, was the hottest thing you had ever witnessed.

“Oh, baby...” he gasped out, his pace quickening until his entire body began to tremble with the oncoming release.

He let out a loud, guttural groan, his free hand grabbing the back of your thigh to push your knee back almost to your chest, exposing your pussy to him even more. You watched with wide, heavy-lidded eyes as he came directly onto your bare pussy, the thick, white heat of his release splattering warm against your sensitive skin.

You watched the essence come out of him in spurts and how he guided the wide head of his cock to part your folds, nudging at your entrance so he could spill inside you, too.Your hips bucked slightly at the sheer sensation, a soft whine escaping your throat as the warmth coated you every where. Neteyam’s chest heaved violently as he rode out the final, trembling waves of his release, his hand shaking against your thigh.

For a few seconds, the only sound was the rushing river and his ragged breathing. His eyes were busy watching you, darker and more intense than before. The edge of his release had cleared the frantic desperation from his mind, leaving only a deep, calculated hunger.

“This is so much better than all of my fantasies...” he croaked, leaning down to kiss you.

His large hands gripped your hips, lifting your firmly and ploppling you on his thighs. He was still incredibly thick, already hardening again as he aligned the tip of his length against your wet, coated opening. His arm wrapped securely around you, while the other held your waist. With a slow, possessive push, he slid in, careful not to hurt you.

But you were too impatient. You held onto his large bicep and pulled yourself up a little before you decidedly impaled yourself completely on his length. A deep groan left his chest as your heat tightly enveloped him, mingling with your sharp moan.

“Fuck,” his hand on your waist sought to pull you away but you wrapped your arms around his shoulder and ground your hips against his.

He caressed your back instead, his lips pressing soft kisses on your jaw and neck, distracting you from the throbbing discomfort of the stretch. It took a while of just you moving your hips in small circles against him, getting yourself comfortable, before you actually moved differently. Neteyam let out a fractured, warning growl into the crook of your neck as you ground your hips against his, the raw heat of your center completely swallowing him whole. He tried to hold still, his large hands anchoring your waist with a bruising grip to keep you from moving further, but the tight, pulsing squeeze of your walls was driving him insane.

“Wait,” he gasped, his forehead dropping against your shoulder as he forced his breath to slow. “Let me... let you get used to it, baby.”

“I am used to it,” you whimpered, your fingers digging into the thick muscles of his back, urging him to move. The slight ache of the stretch was already melting away, replaced by an demanding, empty itch that only he could fill. “Please...”

That was his breaking point. The last of his rigid restraint snapped like a brittle vine, and with a low, possessive grunt, his hands shifted from your waist to the backs of your thighs, pulling your legs up before sending a devastating, relentless rhythm of his hips rolling into yours with a heavy force.

Every upward thrust of his hips was deep and unyielding, his hard length sliding against your sensitivity. A loud, shameless moan tore from your throat when you felt his rough thumb rub the sensitive nub he had suckled just minutes earlier. Neteyam caught the sound with his own mouth, leaning down to capture your lips in a messy, bruising kiss, his tongue mirroring the deep, frantic rhythm of his lower body.

“I love you so much, baby...” he murmured against your lips.

“I love you, Neteyam...” you moaned, deepening the kiss.

The pace then became animalistic, stripped of all the careful gentleness of his courtship. His chest heaved against yours, the smooth skin of his torso slick with sweat and river water as he drove himself into you over and over, burying his length completely into you until the wet sounds from where you were connected were in contention with the rush of the river.

“Neteyam... Neteyam!” you cried out, your vision fracturing into white streaks as the tension tightly coiled in your stomach suddenly snapped. Your walls clamped down around him in violent, rhythmic spasms, a heavy wave of pleasure crashing through your entire body.

The intense, crushing squeeze of your climax was the final trigger he couldn't fight. Neteyam let out a loud, guttural groan as his fingers dug into the soft grass beneath you. He thrusted deeply one last time, pinning your hips flat against the grass as his own release tore through him, spilling his hot, thick essence deep inside your core in heavy spurts.

He trembled violently above you, his muscles locking up before he slowly collapsed forward, burying his face in the damp hollow of your neck. His breath came in ragged, burning gasps, his chest heaving against yours as you both rode out the lingering waves of your high.

For a long time, neither of you moved. The only sounds were the gentle lapping of the river against the bank and the rhythmic hum of the forest life. Neteyam remained buried deeply inside you, his heavy frame relaxed but still fiercely protective, shielding your bare skin from the cooling evening air.

He shifted slightly, letting out a soft, contented purr as he nuzzled his nose against your jawline, trailing lazy, wet kisses up to your ear.

“We will mate tomorrow... Can’t risk you hitting your head and running for the hills once you grasp just how crazy I am about you,” he murmured, his voice incredibly deep and hoarse from all the groaning.

You let out a weak, breathless chuckle, your fingers idly tangling into the loose braids near his neck. “I don't think I have the strength to run even if I wanted to, Neteyam. You completely ruined my legs.”

He snorted, a boyish, rumbling laugh vibrating through his chest as he finally pulled back just enough to look down at your face. His eyes were soft now, completely clear and filled with a warmth that made your chest ache. He raised a hand, his large thumb gently wiping away a stray tear from the corner of your eye.

“You know,” he murmured, a thoughtful, lazy smile tugging at his lips, “I was actually planning to play with you all here years ago... When I came to tell Kiri and Lo’ak to go back for Mo’at’s rituals.”

You smiled a little, “When I used goggles for the first time in my life and you came to tell everyone the party’s over?”

He let out a deep laughter, “See? I knew I was bad news to everybody! I bet I made a really bad first impression on you...“

You pushed your lips forward. “You were really serious, even then... So I didn't know how to act.” You pulled his face down for a kiss. “But things change anyway...”

He a raised a brow, “Mine didn’t. I liked you the first time I saw you,” he mused, his eyes feasting on your features. “Even then, I knew I wouldn't see you simply as a friend. My siblings are stirring up trouble again and I couldn't take my eyes off you. It actually annoyed the hell out of me.” He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Annoyed you?” you questioned, blinking in surprise.

“Yes,” he admitted, a faint purple flush creeping into his own cheeks. "I was supposed to be playing the big brother role, interrogating my siblings about what they are abouy to do, but all I could think about was how cute you looked. Your ears were twitching, and you're trying to look everywhere but inside the house... Suddenly, I understood why boys my age had crushes.”

A soft, emotional warmth bloomed in your chest. You bit your lip, looking up at his handsome face, realizing just how long he had carried that quiet awareness of you.

“Well...” you mumbled, shifting your hips slightly beneath his, enjoying the way his breath hitched at the small movement. “If it makes you feel any better, you were secretly my crush anyway.”

Neteyam’s ears gave a sharp, skeptical flick, and he narrowed his golden eyes at you, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “Nice try, beautiful. But I call you out on that.”

“It's true!” you protested, swatting his shoulder.

“It definitely is,” he countered smoothly, leaning down until his nose brushed against yours. “I was incredibly aware of you, Y/N. If you had looked at me with even a fraction of a crush, I would have known. You were always so quiet and formal around me, acting like I was just the strict older brother who was going to report you to my father.”

“Because I was terrified of you!” you confessed, your voice rising in a defensive laugh. “You were always so perfect and disciplined, standing right next to the Olo'eyktan. And besides, I had absolutely no one to tell! All the girls in the high branches were constantly whispering about how strong and handsome you are, and my only friends were your siblings. What was I supposed to do? Go up to Lo'ak and say, ‘Hey, I think your older brother is so hot’? He would have teased me until the next eclipse!”

Neteyam quieted down, his smirk softening into a look of pure, unadulterated tenderness as he listened to you ramble. He leaned down, catching your lips in a slow, sweet kiss that cut off your frantic explanations.

“You really thought that?” he whispered against your lips.

“Of course I did,” you murmured, your eyes melting into his. “There was no one else better than you, Neteyam. There never has been. You were the only one I wanted to look at.”

A deep, rolling purr erupted from his chest at your confession, a sound of absolute, victorious satisfaction. He tightened his arms around you, pulling you as close as physically possible, burying his face back into your neck as the bioluminescent plants around the riverbank began to glow brighter in the deepening night.

Lying there on the soft moss, connected and warm, the painful memories of the past years finally felt like a distant, faded dream. There is, indeed, no perfect timeline, and as he held you in the quiet dark of the forest, he knew that the future he had spent years yearning for was finally, beautifully alive.

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 mike is a vampire in the apartment. you’ll be in the kitchen at 2am, thinking you’re alone, only to turn around and find him sitting at the dark dining table, just..watching you. he doesn't turn the lights on. when you jump, he just gives a slow, lopsided smirk and says, "did i scare you?" in a voice that’s way too calm.

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 he’s helpful to a fault. you’ll come home to find your laundry has been moved from the washer to the dryer, but it’s the way he folds it that’s off. Your personal items, especially the more delicate ones, are always at the top of the pile, perfectly smoothed out. if you mention it, he just shrugs and says he didn't want your things to get wrinkled.

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 mike has a habit of "forgetting" you’re in the bathroom. he never knocks. even after you’ve started locking the door, you’ll see the handle jiggle, followed by a long silence where you know he’s still standing right on the other side of the wood, waiting for you to come out.

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 you start noticing small things missing. a hair tie, a single earring, a hoodie you haven't seen in a week. then, you’ll catch a whiff of your own perfume or detergent coming from his room. when his door is cracked open, you can see he’s got a shrine of sorts on his desk, mostly polaroids and scraps of paper, and you’re terrified to look close enough to see what’s on them.

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 the worst part is the feeling of being watched while you sleep. you’ve woken up a few times to the sound of the floorboards creaking right outside your bedroom door. once, you saw his shadow under the door, perfectly still for twenty minutes. when you finally gathered the courage to call out his name, the shadow just drifted away without a word.

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 the wall between your rooms is paper thin. you’ll be in bed, just trying to sleep, and you’ll hear the rhythmic, slow creak of his bed frame. he doesn’t try to be quiet. in fact, sometimes he whispers your name just loud enough for it to carry through the drywall, a low, wet sound that makes your stomach flip in the worst way. he wants you to know exactly what he’s thinking about.

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 he’s a cleaner but only for your things. you’ll come home to find him in your room, always with a flimsy excuse like “the window was leaking”, but he’s usually hovering by your bed. he’ll be sitting on your mattress, his hand slowly smoothing over your pillows, and he won't get up when you walk in. he just watches you with his big brown eyes and asks if you’ve changed your sheets recently because they “smell like you.”

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 the bathroom situation is a constant power play. he likes to leave his door cracked when he’s showering, knowing you have to pass it to get to the kitchen. if you catch a glimpse of him through the steam, he doesn't cover up, he just stares back, tracing the water droplets down his own chest while holding eye contact until you’re the one who has to look away.

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 you find a folder on his laptop that isn't password protected, almost like he wanted you to find it. it’s filled with candid shots, but they aren't of your face. they’re highres closeups of your hands, the curve of your waist when your shirt lifts, your bare feet under the coffee table. the file names are just dates and timestamps of when he took them while you were alone…or at least you thought you were.

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 he talks about your body like it’s something he owns or is studying for a final. if you’re wearing something even slightly revealing, he’ll comment on it with clinical perversion. “that bra doesn't fit you right,” he’ll say, his eyes fixed on your chest, “the straps are digging in. do you want me to adjust them for you?” he says it so casually, like it’s a perfectly normal thing for a roommate to offer.

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 the sleepwatching takes a darker turn. you’ve started waking up to the smell of his specific cigarette smoke(🤤) or his cologne in your room, even though you locked the door. you’ll find small gifts on your nightstand that he definitely shouldn't have been able to place there, a ring you thought you lost, a single flower, or a note in his messy scrawl that just says “you look so peaceful when you aren't fighting me.”

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 he’s techsavvy, and it shows in the worst ways. you’ll find your laptop or phone has been moved slightly, or the battery is drained. he doesn't just look through your photos, he installs remote access.. just in case you lose it, of course. he likes to sit in his room with his headphones on, watching the green light on your webcam flicker to life, just so he can watch the way you bite your lip when you’re focusing on homework.

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 he’s obsessed with your reactions. he’ll "accidentally" spill water on your shirt just to watch the fabric turn translucent, and he won't look away. he’ll stand there with a paper towel, offering to help pat it dry, his eyes burning into you as he moves his hand dangerously close to your skin. he wants to see you flustered. he wants to see you scared.he wants to see you want it.

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 he uses logic to gaslight you. “it’s efficient to share a blanket while we watch this, the heating bill is too high,” he’ll say, pulling you flush against his side. he’ll tuck his cold nose into the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. if you try to pull away, his grip tightens just enough to be a warning. “don’t be difficult,” he’ll mutter, his voice dropping an octave. “i’m just trying to keep you warm.”

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 you finally find it, a hidden partition in his closet or a locked digital drive. it’s not just photos, it’s everything. recordings of your voice when you’re talking on the phone, a list of your favorite meals, even a calendar marking your cycle.(so romantic honestly.) when he catches you looking, he doesn't apologize. he just closes the door behind him, locks it, and says, “now you know exactly how much i think about you. do you have any idea how exhausting it is, keeping all this inside?”

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 he uses his height and his slim, deceptively strong build to pin you against the wall of his cramped room. he doesn't go straight for your clothes, he goes for your head. he’ll cup your face with both hands, his thumbs digging into your cheeks just enough to force you to look at him. “stop shaking,” he’ll whisper, his eyes blown wide and dark. “you’ve been playing this game with me for months. don't pretend you're scared now.”

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 he narrates every single reaction your body has. he’ll press his face into your hair and describe the exact way your breathing has changed, the way your heart is hammering against your ribs, the way you’re "leaking" through your clothes. he makes it feel like he’s inside your skin, knowing your body better than you do. it’s a mental overload that makes it impossible to think, leaving you with nothing but the feeling of him.

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 he’s a master of making you feel like the aggressor. when he finally puts his hands on you in a way that’s undeniably sexual, he’ll stop at the most agonizing moment. he’ll pull back just an inch and wait. “tell me to stop,” he’ll challenge, his voice a low, raspy command. “tell me you hate it. tell me you want me to leave you alone and never touch you again.” he knows you can't, and the silence that follows is your "yes" in his eyes.

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 when you finally stop fighting, when your body goes soft and you lean into him because the tension is just too much, his demeanor changes. he becomes almost worshipful in a sick way. he’ll sink to his knees, his hands roaming over your hips with a desperate, shaky reverence. “there she is,” he’ll murmur against your stomach. “i knew you were in there.”

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 he’ll pull your clothes off slowly, not with romance, but with the focused intensity of someone finally opening a package he’s been staring at for months. he’ll make you stand there under the harsh bedroom light for a minute, just so he can take you in, his eyes roaming over every inch of you.

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 there’s a specific kind of suffocation he likes. pressing his chest hard against yours so your heartbeats have to sync up because there’s no room for anything else. he likes to feel you struggling for breath beneath him, your lungs working double time as he whispers about how small you feel in his hands.

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 he’ll get you right to the edge, where you’re arching off the sheets and your head is back, and then he’ll just... stop. he’ll hover there, his weight braced on his elbows, watching you fall apart. he won't move another inch until you say his name, until you admit that you’re begging for him.

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 he’s handsy in a way that feels like he’s trying to memorize your texture. one hand is always anchored, wrapped in your hair to pull your head back, or clamped firmly around your waist, while the other explores with a terrifyingly slow precision. he’ll find the exact spots that make you lose your mind and he’ll stay there, watching your face transition from shock to total, mindless bliss with a smirk that says “i knew it.”

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 he wants the world to know what happened, even if it’s a secret. he’ll leave souvenirs all over your body. dark bruises on your inner thighs where his fingers dug in, or a row of neat, stinging teeth marks along your collarbone. he’ll spend the last few minutes just admiring his work, tracing the marks with his tongue, making sure you’ll be sore enough to remember him with every step you take the next day.

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 once it’s over, he just stays draped over you, watching you try to catch your breath. he’ll reach out and wipe a stray tear or a bit of sweat from your forehead with a thumb, his expression terrifyingly calm. “that wasn't so bad, was it?” he’ll murmur, his voice completely back to normal. “i told you we’d be good together.“

He's relentless. Uncaring for how loud he's causing you to be, breaking the silence of the bedroom with ease, tongue buried deep inside of you while his nose, simply existing, prods at your clit in a deliciously delicate way. He eats messy, tongue licking in uncoordinated movements with no effort to change it. It's almost teasing, fleeting, and he pays no mind to it.

His arms tighten around your thighs, pulling you down the expanse of the messy bed and closer to his mouth as if he wasn't already as deep and close as he possibly could be. The sheets bunch up around the two of you further, but all you can focus on is the tremble of your thighs and the tightening of that coil in your stomach again.

"'m close," you murmur the words to Finn, tugging at his hair to get his attention, watching his eyes flit up from your navel to your half-lidded, fucked out eyes that have spent half of the night knit tightly shut. Thank god the only light in the room was the bedside lamp, the soft glow helping your mind.

"I know, give it to me," he breathes out, barely an inch away from your clit as he speaks, "I got you."

"It's too much," you whine when he returns to eating you out messily like before. The oversensitivity only comes to life when you get a break, which he instead takes as you telling him to not stop.

Grinding into his touch and trying to meet the deep thrusts of his tongue, his nose digs into your clit satisfyingly and all you can think of is how perfect he is, down to the curve of his nose. And you're his drunk craving. It's a privilege, almost, that you get to reap the benefits of a night out like this and make a slick mess of his face.

He doesn't stray away from what he's doing in the event that you're approaching your climax. His tongue stays buried inside of your pussy and his fingers thumb circles into your inner thighs while he encourages you to grind helplessly against his nose. When he's drunk, his efforts know no bounds.

"Are you gonna cum for me?" He breathes out, taking in a breath before continuing onward like before, persistent, "cum on my tongue, baby, I got you. 'm right here."

His erotic words combined with everything else is enough to send you into your fourth orgasm of the night, and all you've done is lie there and look pretty. The waves of pleasure rush over your senses, flooding them all too quickly and making your thighs tremble in his grasp from the power of it. Power you didn't even know your body had after the last three.

Cursing under your breath throughout it all, your babbling slows and words fail you. You're completely worn out.

But, restlessly, and relentlessly—he starts at a slower pace with his lazy tongue pressed flat against your clit, slowly lapping at the sensitive bud as if setting you up for another orgasm you didn't think you had in you. A mix of his saliva and your slick have coated his lips, a mess matching the way he sloppily eats you out. Nevertheless, he's trying. Hard.

"Finnie—" your eyes shut tight and you grip at his messy hair once more, trying to pull him from between your thighs.

"One more, one more, I promise." He pleads, eyebrows furrowed convincingly as he ogles up at you with wide, puppy dog eyes. He's begging, half gone, and you're weak. Not to mention, he lacks much of a filter with the alcohol coursing through his system, and he's far more persistent, too.

"Baby..." you whine, as if he'll even consider it unless you're pulling him away and stopping him for good. So long as you're playing along, he sees no harm in indulging.

"I know, you're probably so sensitive, aren't you?" He mutters, almost muffled against your skin, "it's just one more, 's gonna go away. I've wanted this all night, honey, please." Those pleads combined with that puppy dog look in his eyes has your resolve weakening.

Biting your lower lip, you feel the overstimulation take over as you instinctively sit up to try and pull away from his mouth. He looks up at you through long lashes, as if checking on you, before following you up with uncoordinated movements.

He just won't stop, and you're not sure how alcohol alone could've caused this. With every swipe of his tongue on your clit, your body twitches, and with every breath he lets out, the smell of beer runs through the air. That mixed with the heated aroma of sex... Intoxicating. Invigorating. For him, at least.

"Just one more and we can go to bed... But I wanna go down on you again in the morning, baby." He slurs, finally opting to circle your clit with his thumb when words find him, "god, I love you. All of you." Sighing, he replaces his thumb with his lips and stares up at you with those wide eyes.

"Love you more—oh, f-fuck, that's—" too much, you wanna say. But you don't want him to stop. Not when you finally feel that fifth orgasm ebbing weakly in your core even though it's so far from you, nor when he looks like a lovely mess.

"...One more." You reluctantly agree, body relaxing back into the bed, sighing as if you'd both lost and won. Lost the short-lived feud, won another few orgasms into the morning.

Without a second's delay, he licks his way between your thighs eagerly, the noises he's making as he does downright pornographic. But you'd be lying if you said his devotion wasn't turning you on. So long as he stays just as drunk on your pussy as he is now, you'll be his indulgence any day.

But god, is he a messy eater.

"A scratch? Neteyam, you are literally leaving a trail across the floor!" You step closer, your hands hovering near his chest, wanting to touch him but afraid of causing more pain. The heat radiating off his body is immense, a furnace of adrenaline and stubbornness. "You went out with your sempul (father) and Lo'ak, and instead of reporting to the healers, you come here?”

He chuckles, a sound that quickly turns into a pained hiss as he shifts his weight. "You are very beautiful when you are angry. Your eyes... they spark like the Great Mother is looking right through me."

You don't give him the satisfaction of a blush. Instead, you grab his uninjured arm and begin hauling him toward your sleeping quarters. It is a small, secluded nook shielded by heavy woven tapestries, filled with the comforting aroma of dried herbs and the faint, sweet smell of the tea you’d brewed earlier. You push him toward a low-slung bench covered in hexapede skins.

"Sit. If you will not go to the healers, you will stay here while I fix your stupidity," you snap, turning to rummage through your basket of medicinal pouches. You pull out a bundle of crushed teylu paste mixed with heyoang leaves, known for its numbing properties and ability to knit flesh back together.

Neteyam groans as he pulls his chest guard off, letting the leather straps fall to the floor with a heavy thud. The injury is worse than he’d admitted—a jagged tear runs across the breadth of his shoulder blade, likely from a stray piece of shrapnel or a sharp ridge of rock. The wound is angry and red, the edges weeping as the cool air hits the exposed tissue. His back is a map of muscle and sinew, his shoulders broad and powerful, though they sag now under the weight of his bravado.

You sit behind him, your knees brushing against the backs of his thighs. The proximity is overwhelming; you can smell the woodsmoke on his skin and the underlying musk of him.

"Hold still," you command, scooping a generous amount of the green paste onto your fingertips. The moment you touch the edges of the wound, his entire body jolts. A sharp, guttural sound escapes his throat.

"Sss-ah! Watch it," he gasps, his fingers digging into his own knees, the tendons in his neck standing out in sharp relief.

"Stop being a prrnen (baby)," you mutter, though you soften your touch, spreading the cool mash over the raw skin. "If you had gone to Kiri, she would have been much less gentle. You deserve the sting for being so reckless. What was Lo'ak doing? Why did he let you just walk away?"

Neteyam turns his head slightly, looking at you over his shoulder with a mischievous glint that defies his physical state. "Lo'ak was busy being lectured by my father. I took the opportunity to disappear. I knew you would be waiting. I could feel your worry from the forest floor."

"I wasn't worried. I was annoyed," you lie, your thumb tracing the uninjured skin near his spine. His skin is smooth but firm, the texture of a river stone warmed by the sun. You can feel the slight tremor in his muscles, the way he is fighting to stay upright for the sake of his pride.

"You were terrified," he counters, his voice dropping to a low, teasing hum. "You think I do not know your heart by now? It beats faster when I am near. Even now, I can hear it thumping against your ribs like a trapped ikran."

He shifts, rotating his torso so he is facing you more directly, despite your protests. The movement causes a fresh smear of blood to ruin the work you had just done. You huff, your brow furrowing as you try to push him back into place.

"Neteyam, stop! You are making it worse!"

"And you are making it better," he whispers, his hand reaching out to catch your wrist. His grip is large, his fingers wrapping nearly all the way around your arm. His palm is calloused and warm, a stark contrast to the medicinal paste on your other hand. "I missed you today. Every time we went into the brush, I thought about the way you look in the morning light."

"You are such a skxawng (idiot)," you say, your voice losing its edge, replaced by a weary affection you can't quite hide. "You go out there and risk your life, and then you come back here and try to charm your way out of a scolding. It is manipulative and dangerous."

"Is it working?" He leans in, his face inches from yours. You can see the golden flecks in his irises, the way his pupils also dilate in the dim light of the tent. His breath smells of mint and the wild air of the mountains.

You press the remaining paste firmly into the center of the cut, causing him to wince and pull back with a sharp intake of air. "No. It is not. You are going to sit here, you are going to let this dry, and you are going to sleep. No more raids for a week."

He laughs, a rich, vibrant sound that fills the small space and makes the shadows retreat. "A week? My father would have my head. And you... you would miss me too much."

"I would enjoy the peace and quiet," you retort, though your hands remain on his shoulders, your fingers instinctively kneading the tension out of his muscles. The heat between you is rising, a heavy, electric pull that makes the air feel thick and hard to swallow.

Neteyam reaches up, his hand cupping the side of your face. His thumb brushes over your lower lip, his gaze dropping to your mouth. The teasing smirk vanishes, replaced by a look of raw, unadulterated hunger that makes your heart skip a beat.

"You talk too much when you are scared for me," he murmured.

Before you can respond with another sharp remark, he lunges forward, capturing your lips with his. The kiss is a desperate, crushing contact of a man who has stared death in the face and needs to feel the pulse of life beneath his fingertips. He tastes of salt and sweetness, his tongue seeking yours with a confidence that leaves you breathless.

You melt against him, your hands moving from his shoulders to the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in his dark, intricate braids. He groans into the kiss, a deep, vibrating sound that rumbles in his chest and echoes in yours. He pulls you closer, his uninjured arm wrapping around your waist to haul you flush against his heated body.

He breaks the kiss for a fraction of a second, his forehead resting against yours as you both pant for air. He is smiling—a genuine, triumphant smile that reaches his eyes.

"Better?" he whispers.

"I still hate you," you breathe, even as you pull him back down for more.

"I know," he says against your skin, his teeth grazing your jawline before he finds your lips again.

You moan in the kiss, a soft, involuntary sound that vibrates through your chest, and for a second you totally forget he’s injured. Then, his weight shifts, his wounded shoulder catching the edge of the bench, and he lets out a tiny, pained grunt.

You break the kiss with a gasp, your lungs burning, and your eyes narrow as you glare at him. He’s still smiling stupidly, that lopsided, arrogant grin that says he’d do it all over again if it meant getting another taste of you. His pupils are blown wide, nearly swallowing the gold of his irises.

"Stupid!" You hiss, your voice cracking with a mixture of arousal and genuine fury. You grab him roughly by the uninjured shoulder, shoving him back into a seated position. Your hands are shaking as you reach for the bowl of teylu paste. "Sit. Still. If you move again, I will leave you to bleed out on this floor and tell your sa’nok (mother) you were being a nuisance."

Neteyam ignores the threat entirely. As you lean in to inspect the jagged tear on his back, he tilts his head, catching your cheek with a quick, wet kiss. The contact is unexpected and warm, making your skin prickle.

"Watch your language," he teases, his voice a low, vibrating hum that makes the hair on your arms stand up. "Is that any way to speak to the future leader of the clan?"

"Pxasìk (fuck) the clan leadership right now!" you snap, the curse word feeling sharp and jagged in the air. "You are acting like a child. You could have lost enough blood to pass out in the forest. Do you have any idea what that would have done to your mother? To me?"

He laughs, a rich, melodic sound that bounces off the cave walls. The sound is infuriatingly carefree. "But I did not pass out. I found my way to you. And you kissing it... it makes the pain go away.”

"That is not how medicine works!" You glare at him again, your teeth gritting so hard your jaw aches. You dip your fingers into the cool, thick paste and smear it across the weeping wound with more force than necessary. "It does not matter how many times you kiss me, your flesh still needs to knit back together. You are not invincible, despite what your ego tells you."

He winces as the herb stings the raw tissue, but he doesn't pull away this time. Instead, he turns his head just enough to catch your eye. "I never said I was invincible. I said your touch heals me. There is a difference."

"The difference is that one is a lie and the other is a poetic excuse to be reckless," you counter, your fingers working the paste into the deep crevice of the wound. You can feel the heat of his blood, thick and viscous, mixing with the herbal mash. 

"You worry too much," he says, and before you can protest, he’s twisting around, his hand snaking out to cup the back of your head. He pulls you down, his lips crashing into yours again. This kiss is shorter, punchier, a punctuating mark on his argument.

You push him back, your heart hammering against your ribs. "Stop! Neteyam, I am serious. You are losing blood. The paste needs to set."

"Then let it set," he murmurs, his eyes dark and hungry. He reaches out, his fingers tracing the line of your collarbone, his touch light as a feather but heavy with intent. "But we can talk while we wait. Tell me more about how much you hate me."

"I hate that you don't listen," you say, your voice dropping to a whisper as you try to refocus on his back. You pick up a strip of clean linen, starting to wrap it around his torso. The fabric is rough against your palms. "I hate that you think every mission is a game. I hate that I have to sit here and wonder if the next time someone comes to my tent, it will be to tell me you are with Eywa."

"It is not a game," he says, his voice suddenly grave. He reaches back, catching your hand and bringing it to his lips. He kisses your knuckles, his gaze never leaving yours. "I know the stakes. But being with you... it is the only time I do not feel the weight of the sky on my shoulders. Can you blame me for wanting to be here?"

"I blame you for being a martyr," you argue, pulling your hand away to tuck the end of the bandage into place. "You try to carry everything. You try to be the perfect son, the perfect warrior. But you are just a man, Neteyam. You bleed just like anyone else."

"Do I?" He grins again, the gravity vanishing as quickly as it appeared. He leans closer, his chest brushing against your knees. "I thought I was special. You certainly treat me like I am, even when you are shouting."

"I am shouting because you are a skxawng!" You throw the leftover bandage roll into the basket with a huff.

"A skxawng you love," he points out, his hand sliding down from your shoulder to your waist.

You are so busy formulating a scathing rebuttal, so focused on the way his brow furrows when he's being particularly cheeky, that you don't notice the subtle movement of his other hand. His fingers, calloused and dexterous from years of handling a bow, hook into the waistband of your loincloth.

"I don't—" you start, but the words die in your throat as you feel the sudden, cool draft against your hip.

You look down, eyes widening as you realize he has partially tugged the fabric down, exposing the curve of your thigh and the dip of your hip. The blue of your skin looks vibrant against the dark shadows of the tent.

"Neteyam!" you gasp, reaching down to pull the garment back up, but he moves faster, his hand pinning yours against your leg.

"You were saying?" he asks, his voice dropping an octave, becoming a low, dangerous purr. His eyes aren't on your face anymore; they are tracked on the skin he's uncovered. "About how much you hate me?"

The air in the tent suddenly feels like it’s been sucked out. Your breath hitches in your throat as his thumb begins to trace slow circles against your hip bone.

"You... you are injured," you manage to choke out, though your protest sounds weak even to your own ears.

"The pain is gone," he lies, his smile widening as he watches the way your pulse jumps in your neck. "I told you. Your touch heals everything."

You’re about to flick his forehead due to his audacity, your fingers already coiled for the strike, but he moves with that fluid grace that makes him one of the best hunters in the clan. Before you can even blink, he slips off the hexapede-skin bench and drops to a crouch on the packed earth. The height difference puts his face directly in front of your cunt, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the view he just forcibly revealed. You squeal, a sharp, undignified sound that echoes off the stone walls, and your legs fly up, heels aiming to nudge his head away roughly.

"Neteyam! Move!" you bark, your face burning a deep violet.

His hands, large and calloused from a lifetime of bowstrings and forest climbing, reach out and catch your thighs. He anchors you in place, his grip firm but careful not to bruise, though the strength behind it is undeniable. You can see the fresh, dark blossoms of red leaking through the white linen bandages on his shoulder—a vivid, wet stain that mocks your attempt at being a healer. You whine, a low sound of distress vibrating in your throat, and try to pull your legs back together.

"Stop it, you are bleeding again! Neteyam, please, look at your shoulder," you plead, your voice cracking.

He doesn't look. He doesn't even flinch. Instead, he leans forward, his hot breath ghosting over your sensitive, damp folds. The air is cool in the tent, making the sudden warmth of his exhale feel like a brand.

"You are surprisingly wet for someone who is supposedly scolding me," he murmurs, his voice a gravelly rumble that vibrates right against your clit. He looks up at you through his lashes, his expression a devastating mix of arrogance and adoration. "Your mouth says one thing, but your body... it tells a much more honest story."

"I... it is just the humidity! And the... the adrenaline from you being a skxawng!" You stammer out the excuses, your hands fluttering uselessly at your sides before you grip the edge of the bench so hard your knuckles turn white. "You are dirty, Neteyam. You are being filthy and you seriously need to rest. If your father walked in—"

"My father is busy. And this?" He gestures with his chin toward your opening, where a thick, glistening bead of your desire is clinging to the tip of your hood. "This will make me feel wayyy better than sleep ever could. Better than any herb you have in that basket."

Before you can protest again, he lunges forward, his tongue darting out to swiped across your clit in one long, firm stroke.

You slap a hand over your mouth to stifle the shriek that wants to tear out of your throat. You’re squirming, your hips bucking instinctively against his hold, your thighs tightening until they are practically crushing his head. Your tail is going wild, thumping against the skins of the bench like a frantic heartbeat, and your ears are pinned flat against your skull in a mix of overwhelming pleasure and acute embarrassment.

Neteyam makes a loud, wet slurping noise on purpose, his eyes tracking your reaction to further humiliate you. He wants you to hear it. He wants you to know exactly how much he’s enjoying the taste of you. He begins to eat you out like you are the last meal he will ever have on this moon, his tongue working with a clinical, relentless precision. He find the most sensitive spots with ease, his tongue curling and flattening, alternating between broad strokes and sharp, flicking motions that send sparks of white-hot lightning up your spine.

The sound is so graphic, so unrepentantly carnal, that you feel like you’re going to shatter. You can feel the vibration of his throat against your inner thighs as he moans into you, a deep, satisfied sound of a predator who has found exactly what he was hunting for. He’s thick-tongued and greedy, his nose buried in your folds, inhaling your scent.

"Mmmph," he grunts against your skin, his hands sliding up from your thighs to grip your ass, pulling you even closer to his ravenous mouth.

You can feel the shape of his mouth, the way his lips wrap around your clit as he begins to suck, creating a powerful vacuum that makes your vision blur. The suction is intense, focused, and utterly devastating. You feel the build-up starting deep in your core—a heavy, aching pressure that demands release.

"Neteyam... stop... I can't..." you sob into your palm, your eyes squeezed shut.

He doesn't stop. He doubles down, his tongue darting deep inside you, tasting the slick walls of your entrance before returning to the swollen nub of your pleasure. The bandage on his shoulder is half-unraveled now, a strip of bloody linen trailing on the dirt, but he is lost in the heat of you, his own breathing coming in ragged, wet gasps between his laps.

The smell in the tent is intoxicating now—the copper of his blood mixing with the heavy, floral musk of your climax, a scent combination that is primal and overwhelming. You can feel the sweat slicking your skin, making you slide against the leather of the bench.

"Please," you whimper, your fingers tangling in his braids, alternately trying to push him away and pull him closer.

He looks up for a split second, his face smeared with your juices, his eyes glowing with a dark, triumphant fire. "Say it," he commands, his voice a low hiss. "Tell me you want me to make you come."

"I... I want... please!" You cry out, your resolve finally snapping like a dry twig under a heavy boot.

He grins, a flash of white teeth, and then he dives back in. This time, he doesn't hold back. He uses his fingers to spread you wide, his tongue a blurring muscle of pure sensation. He laps at you with a ferocity that borders on violent, his head bobbing as he devours you.

The orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, a sudden, ecstasy contraction that starts in your toes and washes over your entire body. You arch your back, your muffled whines dying in your throat as your thighs clench around his face.  

Neteyam doesn't pull away. He stays there, lapping up every last drop of your cum, his hands holding you steady as you ride out the storm. He is a mess—bloodied, bruised, and covered in you—but as he finally sits back on his heels, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, dragging a smear of your slickness over a fresh split in his lip that begins to weep a bead of dark, indigo blood, yet he looks entirely reborn. 

"I told you," he murmurs, his voice a satisfied rasp as he stands with a fluid strength that defies his injuries, "your medicine is the only kind that actually works."