Windlover .𖥔 ݁ ˖༄

Grammar cop. "Actually, it's pronounced reh-KORD in this scenario, because you're using it as a verb and not a noun and-" BLAH BLAH BLAH. It's a wonder you haven't socked him in the face. (Or maybe you have. It's not gonna stop him though.)

Too smart for his own good. He'll finish those Ted-Ed puzzles and problems in seconds and you're just standing there dumbfounded like ??? SIR???

He loves carrying your things? Even if it's a giant stack of boxes taller than him he's like, "I gotchu," he says as he's struggling to keep his balance.

His face scrunches up whenever he's confused. It's so cute and adorable. Nobody expects it from him because his face is so composed, but then OPE THERE IT IS.

Not very good at giving advice. If you had a toxic friend who you were trying to sever contact with? "Just tell them that they suck ass and you don't wanna be around them anymore. Can't get clearer than tha." He does not give a fuck. He's learned from ex-friends that if someone is causing you pain or isn't understanding, you're better off without them.

Neutral on PDA. He's not gonna make out with you on the spot in front of anyone (especially not his family), but he enjoys staying near you in public and'll give you a light peck on the forehead from time to time. Maybe an arm around your solIt's a way for him to be intimate with you, without being vulnerable to anyone else.

Now if y'all are alone it's a different story. Blankets and matching socks n shit, he will be cuddling with you on the couch. Smooches and hugs and yada-yada-yada. (Not in a weird way guys. He's 15)

Very much a workaholic. He's buzzing around 24/7 doing chores, making plans and gadgets. Y'all will have to sit him down from time to time for a video-game or food break.

He's not good at sleeping, so when you're staying over and are asleep he'll write on your arms and legs. They range from, "This is the most enchanting person in the world," to pictures of dicks.

Absolute germaphobe. He keeps hand sanitizer on him at all times (probably in those fanny packs.) Every surface in the Morales house is wiped down almost obsessively.

Would get rid of spiders for you. Like, yeah, he's also terrified, but that thing needs to go. He traps it in a cup and napkin and takes it outside.

He listens to Buena Vista Social Club when he's making tech.

Feminist. Having a single mom has made him more aware of misogyny. Whether it's unfair dress codes or men's fake incompetence, he will call that out. Not only will he call it out, he will verbally (or physically) destroy a bigoted asshole. He's well read and versed on the topic, and is quite aware of social issues in general.

Speaking of arguing, he does not let people win arguments most of the time. He is so stubborn when he thinks he's right. Once he had a two week long feud with Ganke over how clean their room should be.

Despite that, he's not bullheaded and is good at realizing when he's wrong in a *somewhat* short time period. If he is wrong he'll come back groveling and handing over his pride to you.

He has such a fowl mouth when he's playing video games. Even Especially if he's playing Stardew Valley or Animal Crossing. Ganke has heard swear words he didn't even know existed. "TOM NOOK, YOU CAPITALIST PIECE OF BITCH-SHIT TANOOKI GARBAGE. I'D WIPE MY ASS WITH YOUR STUPID FUCKING FURNITURE LEAVES," he calmly says as he pays his taxes to the racoon.

He likes to lay on you and count your heartbeats as a way to help fall asleep.

Doesn't draw in his sketchbook much anymore, but he does doodle on his schoolwork and Uncle Aaron's blueprints. His teachers are now well aware of every detail of your face.

His smiles are like the stars that they write poems about.

His coffees are a paradox. They're so sugary and sweet that they don't really taste like coffee that much, but they have so much caffeine it's not even funny.

Loves popsicles.

Quite talented at MMA and co.

He's good at sewing, thanks to making his Prowler Suit, with help from Aaron ofc. He can now mend almost any article of clothing. He'll mend pieces of clothing for you.

Likes to slap stickers with his Prowler signature on all the people he takes down.

ISTJ-T

His love language is acts of service and physical affection. I've already explained the latter, but as for AOS, he loves to do things for you. It's a way for him to take a weight off your back. He finds words to be cheap thanks to ex-friends and doesn't always have time to spend with you, so it makes both him and you feel better.

👾 E-42 MILES G MORALES

💫 dating headcanons

🌙 time out; pt 1 (x gn!reader hurt/comfort)

🌙 time out; pt 2

Miles Morales makes boxing history. Your boyfriend isn't there to celebrate. [BOXING AU] — 2/2

🌙 earth-42 boxing au

lore lore and more lore — background information for the au "time out" is set in!

💫 general headcanons

📼 AIN'T NO LOVE (MINI-SERIES)

SUMMARY: Miles Morales is just a kid without a father; the Prowler is just a "rotten" vigilante. Both of them start coming into your life — one in the middle of the semester, and the other by total accident.

STATUS: complete!

🪀 PAVITR PRABHAKAR

tender (x gn!reader fluff)

It's the middle of summer, and Spider-Man caused a city-wide power outage; your friend Pavitr tries to make it up to you.

💫 general headcanons

henna hearts (x gn!reader fluff)

You never realised how long henna would take to do. Pavitr's got all the time in the world for you, though.

chocolate shaadee (x gn!reader fluff)

You go to a wedding with Pavitr. There's only so much chocolate two people can have before regretting it.

🎸 HOBIE BROWN

💫 established relationship headcanons

tag team (x gn!reader fluff)

Authoritarian regimes aren't immune to a bit of graffiti; you can't do it without Spider-Punk, though.

hobie green (x gn!reader fluff)

You never knew punks could be into gardening — or into you.

love our a.m. (x gn!reader fluff)

Hobie hates mornings, but the ones with you aren't so bad.

💫 general headcanons

'til the breath returns (x gn!reader hurt/comf)

It's hard to stay in your own body sometimes. At least Hobie's right there with you. (dissociation comfort)

happy birthday, hobie! (x gn!reader fluff)

It's Hobie's birthday! Or at least it's the day he told you was his birthday... Maybe it is, in a way.

🩰 GWEN STACY

PART 1; in the heart of the city

PART 2; in the heart of town

PART 3; and it's sure 'nuff a pity

PART 4; cause you ain't around

PART 5; ain't no love

EPILOGUE

It all happened so gradually, slowing unfolding over the course of many, many months, that Neteyam didn’t realize it was happening at first.

The duty of an olo’eyktan was to keep things from falling apart. Keeping the order that his father had set before him, while also following into Toruk Maktos footsteps to protect the people. Everyone knows this.

For Neteyam, that meant his day would begin long before the first rays of sunlight filtered through the canopy of hometree. Long before the elders could wake, shaking out their hammocks before they attended to their early morning prayers, he was already on his feet. Not because anyone had told him to, but because it felt wrong not to.

Neteyam had memorized these routines until they became automatic.

An olo’eyktan was meant to be visible. So, the very first hours of his days were usually spent just greeting his people.

He knew where to find the early risers without thinking about it. Hunters preparing their gear near the lower platforms, speaking in low voices so they wouldn’t wake the children. Young mothers who had not fallen asleep at all, cradling babies who were now finally asleep. Elders who came to the healers tent, before visiting the tree of voices to speak to ancestors, some even to their passed mates and long lost friends.

Neteyam greeted each of them by name. If someone looked tired, he noticed. If someone avoided his eyes, he especially noticed that too. And he kept count without meaning to. Who was present. Who wasn’t. Who had been absent the day before.

As an olo’eyktan, perfection wasn’t optional. It was expected. And to him, that meant upholding routines and structure.

After his morning walk, came his daily inspections.

Neteyam observed as his warriors checked each bow for tension, guns for malfunctions, the gatherers overseeing the supply baskets for rot or insects. He adjusted straps, retied knots, corrected things that didn’t technically need correcting yet, but it mattered to him that everything was ready before it was needed.

Problems were generally easier to deal with before they announced themselves.

Before he left, Neteyam would oversee hunting schedules and patrol routes too, adjusting them in case the humans of his clan needed safe passage or hunters would ask him to move further away from the village. Of course he walked those routes himself whenever he could, memorizing each new fallen branch and tracks that didn’t belong to him and his people. He also remembered which hunters preferred the eastern paths and which ones grew careless when paired together.

Living between the Omatikaya and the humans meant constant adjustment. As an Olo’eyktan, Neteyam knew that.

Attending meetings and councils was next on his schedule.

Some days, they were held mainly between the humans at hells gate and him, sometimes some of his best warriors were there too, other times even the elders of his clan or the olo’eyktans of neighboring clans, depending on the matter.

For an Olo’eyktan it might’ve been an unusual thing to do, but later on these days, Neteyam himself participated in training the young tsamsiyu [warriors] of his clan for their iknimaya. None of their training was ever considered complete unless he had been there to oversee it himself.

The humans at hells gate were as much part of his people as the omatikaya were. Respecting them was as important to him as it had been to his father before him, and he made sure to honor and respect his ways, even if he might not agree with them.

The humans came to him in the same way that his own people did. And Neteyam always made notes in his head about their complaints, about power usage, machines that sometimes malfunctioned, if they needed more weapons, medical supplies or even water. He double-checked their agreements, walked the fences of their camp after dark to check them for any safety concerns, and at the same time made sure nothing they brought in disrupted the land more than necessary.

This is what had been drilled into him since he was a child. Not in so many words, but in expectations. From a very young age, Neteyam had understood that mistakes were not meant for him. Others were allowed to stumble, to learn and to be corrected. But he was meant to know already. Neteyam had been raised on expectations, expectations that told him he had to be nothing less than perfection.

The love his father had for the sky people was an expectation to be carried on by him too. And while he himself wasn’t exactly fond of them, he had accepted this without complaint.

Many months ago, when a new group of humans had stood at his doorstep, begging to be left in after leaving their old lives behind to fight for the na‘vi and the resistance, he did not hesitate to aid them.

As per usual, Norm oversaw all the details when it came to his kind, but Neteyam was the one to check them. Rechecked them— twice, sometimes three times. He wanted to know who slept where, who worked best together, who struggled to adjust and most importantly, who made problems. He insisted they be given rooms at Hell’s Gate, not temporary quarters. If they were staying, they would stay properly. The omatikaya clan was now their home.

If one were to ask, Neteyam would say this was all part of his duty. He was Olo’eyktan after all. And this had absolutely nothing to do… with you.

Certainly not because you intrigued something in him. Because never before had a human female ever caught his attention in a way that you had on the day of your arrival.

Your hair had been a little messy back then. One side tucked back, the other falling loose, as if symmetry had never occurred to you as something worth striving for. Your laugh had been loud, with your head tipping back and hands moving as if your body didn’t know how to stay still. When you talked, you had this tendency of interrupting others and even yourself, changing topics mid-sentence. You would apologize, but then kept talking anyway, so eager to fill every space with stories that Neteyam had to wonder if there was even enough air in your mask for you to keep talking like this.

There was something so messy and careless about you too, in the way you would just let your stuff laying around if you didn’t need it, or when you didn’t care at all about the mistakes that you made, even if they disrupted your precious work. So far from perfection that it had Neteyam on edge constantly with the urge to correct them and take control.

Because opposites, he reminded himself, required management.

The Olo’eyktan made sure the humans were given purpose too, not just shelter. Some were immediately assigned to research under strict guidelines at the laboratories, others to maintenance, translation work, medical support or even safety patrols. Whatever they were useful at.

There was a good enough reason for him to give the new, pretty human female a task that permanently placed you especially close to him in the structure of the clan. Close enough to observe, but not so close that you would grow wary of his eyes on you, that was a risk he did not take. Although he was sure you didn’t even notice when he was around, too occupied in your own world. Because why would the busy Olo’eyktan himself even bother wasting his time and energy on an insignificant little human like you?

This was all just for practical, efficient purposes anyways.

Of course Neteyam came to check on the new additions of his clan more frequently than he would normally. Just to be sure the new humans could be trusted. No other reason. That didn’t mean he purposefully walked past your quarters, sometimes up to five times a day… for the last eight months.

He told himself it was just to check whether you were present, whether you were resting when you should be or working when you said you would be. It was useful information. Knowing people’s habits always came in handy.

And Neteyam visited often. More often than necessary, some might have said if they dared to say it to his face. He walked the corridors of the human base as easily as he walked the platforms of Hometree— like it belonged to him.

Technically, it did.

Nodding to familiar faces, stopping to ask questions he already knew the answers to. He checked on their sleeping conditions, their food supply and the air filters, if necessary.

To Neteyam, it came naturally to learn your daily schedule. Faster than he had thought it would take, not that you put up any real effort on hiding your tracks and making sure you were not followed. Just days after your arrival, he already knew when you would sleep, when you woke. He knew on which days you lingered too long at the clan, when you were working or spent time with your new friends. He also knew about your friends too, their names, their relationships. And he knew when you left early to take extra care of your hair on wash-days. It helped him plan meetings more efficiently, he reasoned. Avoid interruptions. Anticipate availability. There was nothing strange about planning ahead!

Needless to say, as chief of an entire clan made of na’vi and humans, Neteyam had to know all the passkeys to every single room in hells gate.

Every quarter, every office, even all the storage and the communal room. He was olo’eyktan— access was part of his responsibility. Emergencies happened, he always told himself. He needed to be able to get anywhere, at all times.

Months ago, when Neteyam had let himself into your room for the very first time, it didn’t feel like a disruption of your privacy. It merely felt like one of his routine checkups. He was simply being responsible!

He didn’t stop to consider why he couldn’t remember the last time he’d checked anyone else’s room personally. To him, it mattered little at the time.

Attentive, that’s what he was. And a man of honor and duty.

Neteyam never touched anything he didn’t have a reason to touch, that would’ve been against everything he stood for. It wasn’t his fault that your tendency to keep your quarters messy was forcing him to intervene.

If anything, this was all your own fault!

At first, it had started out with small, insignificant things, like picking up empty water bottles from the ground or sweeping the floors. Small things, that you didn’t even took notice of.

He emptied your trash when it got too full, even though it wasn’t technically overflowing yet. Food packaging attracted pests if left too long, that was just a fact. He replaced it with a clean liner, folded neatly, edges tucked the way he preferred.

So far, you had never commented on any of these things. Probably assumed you’d done them yourself and had simply forgotten. Humans were like that.

But the more time Neteyam spent fulfilling his duties here, the more he learned about the woman he found so intriguing, the harder it became for him to stop. And over time, things that had started out as insignificant and small, slowly turned bigger and more significant.

The books you read gave most about you away, specifically the ones he’d frequently had to pick up from all around your quarters.

Neteyam can’t read. Or, he couldn’t, not until a few months ago when you had started bringing more and more of them to your home and he was ultimately forced to teach himself how to interpret these strange drawings that he came to know were called letters, which ultimately made the words that he could read. The first couple of books you possessed were innocent at first. Normal ones, about plants and animals, just stuff you borrowed from Norms office.

But then one of your pink skinned friends had gifted other ones to you from their own collection. Fairytales they were called, about things such as kings, princesses and knights in shiny armor. Entirely made up stories, purely for entertainment purposes. When Neteyam read the first book in which two of the people in it had kissed, his hairless brows had raised all the way up to his hairline in surprise. Until then, he hadn’t known it was possible for a book to hold anything else than simple facts and small pictures of things that already existed.

But soon enough, he figured that these could also hold fantasies, made up stories to satisfy the readers desires. And then a simple kiss between a knight and his princess turned into a demon who found enjoyment in shoving his head between a nuns thighs, or an innocent woman taking a rich man’s cock in her mouth because he’d called her a good girl one too many times.

There was a clear pattern in all of this, he figured. About things you were into, things you were not. It seems, praise was something you were strangely interested in. Back then, Neteyam didn’t know one could find sexual pleasure in being called similar things one frequently said to his ikran or palì, but the woman in your books enjoyed them a lot. Therefore that meant, you did too.

'Good girl. You’re a very good girl. You’re doing such a good job for me.'

'You’re mine.'

The last one specifically was something he himself had grown to like very much.

Neteyam told himself he only meant good, that he was just trying to make you feel comfortable and content around him when he had started praising you a while go. Just over small actions, like whenever you picked up your things instead of letting them lay around carelessly while you worked. He slipped past with a hushed whisper of 'good girl', just to see you stumble over your own feet and blush in that deep shade of red as you mumbled a quiet 'thanks, sir'.

It had confirmed his theory and from then on, the praise came naturally, but only ever directed at you, and only if you truly deserved it.

Slowly but surely, the stories you read turned intense and explicit in a way he hadn’t expected you to be into either.

At the same time, the playthings that he had found in your nightstand drawer expanded in the same way you added each new book to your collection. They became bigger, more colorful, bolder. As if you were slowly figuring out what you wanted.

When he‘d first discovered them, he hadn’t known what they were for, until the obvious shapes had started to give it away.

And so, Neteyam figured, if you didn’t spent time at the clan, chatting with your friends, you found enjoyment mainly in books and also in playing with yourself.

It didn’t take long for him to learn which of these toys you used frequently and which ones were your clear favorites, more so because of the way your bed linen was especially messy the following mornings. The messier, the more you had enjoyed yourself.

Of course the ones that came closest in size to an average na‘vi male were the ones Neteyam figured you wouldn’t actually need. Because what for? To practice?

No, you and him both knew that a small human woman like you would be far too fragile to even try. Neteyam was simply being the reasonable one here, throwing them away so you wouldn’t get any ideas about trying out the real deal any time soon. None of the men in his clan would have been ideal suitors for you anyways, that much was clear.

Being the good Olo’eyktan that he was, it was Neteyam’s duty to take care even of these things. With practiced ease, he exchanged the batteries on some of your smaller toys every other day, the tiny ones that vibrated were certainly his favorites. He would’ve been lesser than a honorable male if he were to take away your pleasure entirely, but that didn’t mean he had to approve of your na‘vi-like toys and the ideas that could bloom from using them too much.

Neteyam knew he had to keep an eye on this. It was part of his job after all.

Carefully then, he would change your bedding for fresher sheets, before laying them out neatly on your bed.

Your scent was a mixture of things he could catalogue easily if he tried. It filled the air, especially whenever he shook out your bedding to soften the cushions.

Soap first, whatever the humans obsession was with those sharp and clean scents, meant to strip everything down to neutral. Thankfully, it took only two days before Neteyam had replaced your soap and filled the empty bottles with the same cleansing oils and herbs that he himself used. They would make you smell more like him— like a na‘vi, obviously. It would make living among his people so much easier for you, that was all.

Beneath that smell of soap, there was the scent of something sweeter, but it was hiding under all the other different layers of scents. It stuck to your clothes too, fabric that had absorbed whatever clung to your skin, sweat, a trace of recycled air from Hell’s Gate. Coffee. Dust. The faint metallic tang that clung to everything human-made no matter how often it was cleaned.

And so, he decided, your clothes were another problem entirely. Left in piles instead of containers. Worn once, then discarded as if they were already finished being useful. So wasteful. Neteyam told himself it was unsanitary, that this was the reason it was so hard for him to detect your natural scent. It was extremely important to the na‘vi to smell each other, free from soaps and other chemicals. It would also make it easier for him to detect and track your scent —in case you got lost, of course— if neither you nor any of your things would continue to smell like all the other humans.

From then on, Neteyam gathered your clothes carefully whenever he came over, separating colors the way Norm had once explained humans were supposed to. He washed them in the river, using only natural materials that were pretty much odorless. Dried them in the sun just as he did with his own clothes. Folded them with precision and placed them back where they belonged— or where they should have belonged, before you’d carelessly thrown them on the ground.

Naturally, Neteyam took the time to sort out any clothes that he figured you didn’t need anymore, now that you lived with his people. Those overly flimsy shorts and dresses, they were impractical anyways! You were now living in the forest, what use could lingerie even be out here? It wasn’t like you were actively wooing for a male— not without the Olo’eyktans permission, at least. You could have them back when you asked for them. Eventually.

Until then, these would go with him to his home.

As he folded your clothes, Neteyam noted the different textures. Your personal preferences, which fabrics you wore most often and which ones you avoided unless necessary. You liked soft things, things that didn’t itch and scratch, not too loose you might catch on anything, but not too tight either. Just right to be comfortable while you worked.

That, however, didn’t apply to your panties.

It was not his fault that especially your undergarments often found their ways into his hands, as they were often tangled between bed sheets, laying on the bathroom floor or simply discarded to somewhere next to your bed.

That’s how Neteyam had learned your favorite color was pink. That you liked them soft and tight around your curves.

It’s the color most of your slips are painted in, with little white bows on the front. Some of them looked more childish than others, most of them adorned with lace and see-through fabric, cute little hearts or no pattern at all. To him, these decorations mattered little.

What was important was, that these were the only pieces of clothing you possessed that truly smelled of you.

The Olo’eyktan told himself that it was normal. That it was unavoidable to not scent them when they smelled so potent of you. It was a wonderful scent, rich and warm. There was something floral and earthy about it too, a messy mixture of things that were so unmistakably you.

Neteyam, by all means, was no pervert. He had to know your scent, like he had to know the scent of everything else that lived under his protection.

The truth was, he could excuse the many things that he did for you, could reason with himself that these were all part of his duty, but what he did then— this he did solely for himself.

It was a reward for everything that he had done for you. For cleaning your quarters, sorting your things, washing your clothes, filling your fridge with healthier food, especially the fruit that you liked so much. For being a good Olo’eyktan.

This week he had even left a new book for you at your doorstep. Your friends favorite, the one she told you she didn’t want to lend you because it was so dear to her, he just had to take matters into his own hands. It was his duty to make his people happy after all.

And most importantly, for never waking you up.

Today he had been extra quiet. You had only stirred once, earlier, when he had slowly taken your blanked away. It was his luck that this time you were already sleeping on your back, so he wouldn’t have to carefully maneuver you around.

Each time, when Neteyam was done with his tasks, he would kneel at the edge of your bed. His hands would be slow and steady as his thumbs hooked under the waistband of your panties, before he pulled them down to your ankles.

Being the considerate male that he was, he would always watch your breathing for any signs of distress. When he deemed you ready enough, he would pull your panties off of you completely and replace them with a fresh pair. He would caress the little marks on your hips that the other pair had left on your soft curves, always too tight, and then settle back to sit next to you.

The slip in Neteyams hands was warm from soaking up the heat of your skin. He feels the fabric between his fingers, turns it over until the tiny wet patch comes into view. It’s the spot that had been pressed closest to your body.

A smile spreads out over his lips as he finally brings the tiny piece of fabric to his nose and inhales, deep enough that his eyes momentarily roll inside his skull and he’s left only with his sense of smell.

He would think of you then, how messy you were. Messy enough he could smell it on you. The way you had left your clothes laying around and your sheets all wrinkly again, as if you were begging for him to return and do it all over again. And then he would inhale again, letting your scent invade his body.

The sweetness of it made him shudder.

Neteyam can’t help his thoughts from running to different, darker places as he holds your underwear to his nose, nuzzling against its warmth. He imagines you wearing them earlier as you read your filthy little books. That sweet thang must’ve been your arousal as it soaked the fabric over hours.

"Such a messy, dirty girl…" he muttered quietly under his breath, shaking his head with tsk tsk. "Always in need of your Olo’eyktan to take care of you."

Leaning over, Neteyam then carefully pulled open your nightstand drawer and fished out a bottle filled with clear, thick liquid. Afraid of letting your underwear go even for a second, he pinched the fabric between his canine to hold it between his teeth while he slipped his loincloth down enough to free himself.

Turning the bottle over, he then squirts a generous amount of its contents into his palm.

He doesn’t know for sure what the humans were using this for, but he could use his imagination enough to think of it as the same sticky liquid that sometimes stuck to your slips and often covered your playthings before he’d cleaned them. A lubricant to make them fit.

With his cock slowly unsheathing at the thought of you trying and failing to push these na‘vi-sized toys into your greed little pussy, Neteyam leaned back on his elbows, your slip pressed against his nose while the other one worked its way over the length of him.

A shudder tore through him at the first contact of the rather cold liquid covering his palm and his cock that had been protected by the warmth of his sheath.

Neteyam lets his eyes flutter closed for a moment, just focusing on your scent right under his nose and his hand wrapped around his cock. The lube warms up quickly, and if he closes his eyes hard enough, he can imagine that the wetness surrounding him was something else entirely.

His head is so full of duty and expectations, that even now the first thing that comes to mind is punishment.

Neteyam thinks of bending you over his knee first, and his fist wraps a little tighter around his base.

"Hmm my dirty girl," he says in his head as he flips your skirt up to expose your pretty backside to him. "Did I not tell you to keep your quarters clean and tidy, hm?"

"Yes, sir," you would whimper. Your messy hair would obscure your face, so he would have to brush it behind your ears. He knows you would behave for him, that you would be obedient for your Olo’eyktan. But he also knows deep down you want this. There’s a reason you keep making a mess after all. You’re purposefully doing this because you want him to come here everyday, you need him to take care of you just like you need to be put in your place every once in a while.

The hand he has wrapped around his cock slides up, slick and tight, squeezing his tip just right, forcing the very first droplets of pre-cum to form and spill over his knuckles. Already, there was this tightness, a warmth that swelled inside him. It was only growing worse whenever he inhaled deeply, your scent filling his nostrils.

"Ah!" The noises you would make for him whenever his outstretched palm would land on your ass would be a mixture of a moan and a scream. One, two, three times he would spank you just to get his message across. "I’m sorry, Olo’eyktan! I‘m— sorry!"

"Sorry for what, paskalin [honey]?"

The look he imagines on his face as you would glance over your shoulder with those big doe eyes made his hand stroke faster, harder, and he groans against the soft cotton, his voice muffled against it.

"For being such a—"

"—dirty, dirty girl… fuck," Neteyam breaths. When he feels there is no more of your scent left in your panties, he switches his hands, wraps the cute pink fabric around the base of his cock and squeezes. He doesn’t know if he likes the friction against his sensitive length or if he hates it, but that doesn’t matter.

What matters is, that he would always make sure to reward you. A good Olo’eyktan knows how to treat his people right, what to do to reward them for doing their best.

Neteyams gaze wanders over your sleeping form, the steady rhythm of your breathing, the way your nipples poke through the flimsy top you’re always wearing to sleep. His hand moves a little slower, the cotton scratching his cock in all the right ways as he imagines those hard little pebbles in his mouth.

"Keep going, good girl," is what he would say, when his tongue wasn’t flicking over them. He would have to hold your pretty tits in his hands, the movement of your hips making them shake and bounce as you ride his cock. He knows how much you would enjoy the praise, your fluttering walls giving away just how much you liked it.

Riding him was no small feat. Your thighs would be shaking with the strain of raising yourself up and then sinking down his length, over and over, making yourself feel good. Sweat would bead in your soft cleavage from the effort of it.

"Feel this, sevin [pretty]?" Neteyam would ask, his hand brushing against the bulge of your tummy where your body struggled to hold all of his cock. "This is all for you, all for my good girl. Yeah, you like making yourself feel good like this?"

"Mhm, y-yes! Yes, sir, I do," you would moan, oh so sweetly for him. Then he would help you with his hands on your hips —it’s your reward after all. He would move you against him, slowly grinding at first, just enough so your neglected clit would get dragged over his pubic bone, the friction enough to make you clench hard around his throbbing length. Before he would hold you still and rock his hips against yours, bouncing you on his lap, thrusting with enough force you would have no choice but to come for him, again, again, shaking and sobbing from how good he would make you feel.

Neteyams hands were relentless as they worked every inch of his throbbing cock, twisting, stroking and massaging, as more and more images of you flooded his mind. The slip wrapped around his tip was so soaked with his pre-cum already that the cotton had started becoming see-through with how wet it was.

The friction of it all felt so intense, so good that it had Neteyam bite back a groan as his breathing came out heavier. Besides him, you stirred a little in your sleep, subconsciously curling in on your side and letting out a sigh of comfort.

You looked so peaceful in your sleep, not at all like that loud and chaotic woman that plagued his mind every waking hour of the day.

With his cock in hand, Neteyam imagined what would happen now, if you would wake. Would you scream? Or would you be good for him, letting him use that pretty body of yours to thank him for bringing order and routine in your life?

You should, he thinks. Even an Olo’eyktan deserves an outlet for all of this pent up stress, all the tension that sat deep in his muscles and his mind.

You were responsible for the most of it, he realizes. So, the least you could do was roll over onto your stomach and let him fuck all this stress out on your tiny little cunt.

Neteyam knows that this would be an honor to every woman, spreading yours cheeks for him as he pushed his length into your tight body. Slow at first, but harder over time. Deeper, deep enough until his name and title would be the only coherent words coming out your mouth as he fucked you into the mattress.

Some day, he would let himself get caught by you, just so you could thank him properly. Whether that be on your hands and knees, or with his cock down your throat, he’s sure you could think of a way. He’d seen the books you read, after all.

"You’re mine," he whispers through greeted teeth, "isn’t that what you want to hear, tawtute [human]? You’re mine."

It doesn’t take long thought, before Neteyam feels that familiar tightness in his core. The wet plap, plap, plap of his fist as it furiously strokes over his cock is almost too loud in the dimly lit room of your quarters. Any louder and he’s sure you would wake from it. His chest heaves with the pressure of trying to hold all these noises in.

With his last remaining strength, he manages to pull your panties taunt over the mushroom-like tip of him, before he doubles over and curses low under his breath. His orgasm shudders through him as if he had touched a live wire, toes curling and ears flattening. His cum shoots in thick, warm ropes of white, seeping through the cotton of your slip, soaking the fabric until it’s all messy and filthy.

There’s this urge that he has, as he watches his cum stick to your slip. The urge of wanting to put it back on you. To let you walk around in panties covered in his seed, his salvia, his scent, so the whole village could smell the Olo’eyktan on you. It would be for your own good, he tells himself. To protect you from evil eyes and greedy hands.

When Neteyam finishes, he feels lighter. His head clearer.

A final shudder raises through him once he manages to detangle his length from your underwear.

In all honesty, Neteyam doesn’t know why he does all of this. Why, when there is his seed sticking to his thumb, he leans over and carefully swipes it over your bottom lip with a smile, watches as you subconsciously swipe your tongue over it and he feels a sense of accomplishment at that.

He knows it’s not obsession. Of course that’s not it.

Neteyam tells himself that it’s normal, that this is what an Olo’eyktan does. It’s all part of his duty. He just needed to let off some steam, got caught off guard because the scent of an unclaimed female was something every male would feel attracted to, that is all.

Neteyam tells himself it’s not because of you. That his actions just meant that he cared deeply for his people, for all of them, even the humans among them.

He doesn’t know why, when this was all just duty to him, he got up from your bed then, stuffed your used, cum drenched panties in a pouch on his loincloth and walked over to your door. But what he knows, deep down, is that this is something he would not actually do for everyone.

This, Neteyam thinks with painful clarity as he closes the door behind him, already antsy with excitement of returning tomorrow, is something that is strictly reserved for you.

But he’s not obsessed with you, no, that’s not what this is. You are simply his duty. And a good Olo’eyktan should always be obsessed with duty.

"Everyone knows the story of Icarus, who Daedalus warned not to fly too near to the sea, nor too close to the sun.

Have caution, they are saying, because when they tell you this story they are Daedalus.

Have caution, I am saying, because when I tell you this story, you are Ikarus and I am the sun."

— ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ —

Ao’nung wasn’t always in love with you. And there’s nothing he wishes more, than for the time to come back where he wasn’t. That time, before that dumb arrangement.

It was a double edged sword.

It wasn't so much a friends with benefits arrangement as it was a assured destruction. Because Ao’nung hadn’t known what he was agreeing to.

“Nungy, would you do me a favour?”


You see, spending every possible second with you has taught Ao’nung to be cautious, to pick up on those minuscule changes in your voice, in your eyes. And the way you called him by this silly little nickname made goosebumps break out over his skin, because whenever you blinked up at him with those big doe eyes and that innocent little smile and then called him nungy, he knew that there was something that you wanted and he also knew that there was no way he could ever deny you.


“I’ll do you one too,” you promised, tilting your head, a mischievous smile tugging on the corner of your lips. Oh, you little…


“…alright. What do you want now, hm?”


Looking back, Ao’nung realizes that this was his first mistake. His next mistake was not getting up and running when you grinned at him like he was some prey that just walked into your trap. His biggest mistake, however, was not saying no when you proposed this strange arrangement.

"Please pretend that you… that you want me. That there’s something between us. Just for a while nungy, please. Maybe that would make him jealous, would make him realize that he wants me too."


Or maybe he made the first mistake long before that. Maybe his biggest mistake was to befriend that little girl he made fun of, twenty years ago. Or maybe it was making fun of you in the first place. Maybe he should’ve never picked on you, should’ve never made you cry, maybe he should’ve never went to you and apologize, because he has never apologized to anyone else ever before. Maybe he shouldn’t have blushed like an idiot when you accepted his apology, swung your little arms around his neck and pulled him into a hug, told him it was okay. Maybe, just maybe, he should’ve never made the girl cry that then accepted his apology so unconditionally that Ao’nung swore he would never let anything bad happen to you ever again, because you were the first person to accept him as he is, that could see through his façade and saw something good. Something worth to be loved.

He hadn’t known that he was agreeing to losing himself and becoming inseparable from you. Or maybe he had, he’d already known he needed you like his lungs needed air to breathe when it was just friendship between the two of you. He just hadn’t counted on how much his own helplessness to the whole situation would drive him crazy. How it would only be a matter of time before you sunk beneath his bones and nurtured this deep seated familiarity into a love so fierce that he would question if he had ever truly been in love before you came along.

But your love was directed to someone else.

Every single nerve-ending burned with the desire to haul a fist over and slam it into his face. It was on the verge of painful just to hold his muscles tightly still whenever he was around. If he did anything to this piece of shit, Ao’nung knew he would be the one to get punished for it.

Neteyam. He’s the one his tsawke was so head over heels for. The omatikaya prince that grew roots on his island a couple of years ago when his family sought otulu within his clan.

Ao’nung knew you had your eyes on him ever since you took part in training him for his second iknimaya with the metkayina. But he didn’t deserve your kindness. Neteyam didn’t deserve any of the things you did for him, the things you still do. Not with the way he had that filthy grin on his face when his eyes roamed your body. Not with the way he acted all innocent and kind in front of others, but his true nature made Ao’nung scrunch his nose in disgust.

Neteyam just wasn’t a good guy. Sure, he had this special talent in making others believe that he was, but he certainly wasn’t.

You’ve spent years trying to get his attention with courting gifts, fleeting touches and seductive words. But while Neteyam seemingly tried to leave his filthy fingertips on every women in the village, he barely paid you any mind. Just enough though, once in a while, to keep you wanting him, keep you on edge. Like this was all just a fun little game to him.

But what shocked Ao’nung most was, that you knew. You knew that he was a flirt, knew that he slept around, knew that he was playing with you, kept your hopes up for years on end but never returned any of these feelings or kind gestures to you and yet you still couldn’t peel your eyes away from him. It made his blood boil, because how could a smart little thing like you be so blind, so dumb to fall for him, of all people?

Truth be told, Ao’nung wasn’t even sure if part of the reason he agreed to any of this was that he was hoping it would work. Ao’nung was hoping this would get Neteyam jealous, he was hoping this would hurt him as much as it hurt you to find him flirting with another woman yet again, to find him wearing the bracelet you made while his hand was buried between another woman’s thighs. Yes, Ao’nung hoped it would hurt him. Even if he was hurting himself on the way.

But by eywa, could hurting himself feel any better?

The first time he gave in to you was intense. It left you with a noticeable, unplaceable stiffness in your walk the next morning, but aching to have him again. Ao’nung found himself unable to lean his weight fully against anything for three days, his muscles sore, feeling thicker than usual. There were gouges from your nails in his back, bruises from his hands on your body, marks from his teeth everywhere they could possibly cover. Marks that were normally meant for no one to see, yet you displayed them like they were art, meant to be noticed, to be seen.

"Louder, tsawke. Let him hear you."

He doesn’t know what drives him more insane. The feeling of your walls clamping down around his cock, squeezing him so painfully tight it felt like he might come undone at any second. Or the knowledge that you were doing this only now that he had mentioned him. Not that it actually mattered.

A wet rhythmic smack of flesh against flesh filled the air in your marui. Ao’nungs hands were at your hips in a tight grasp, your cheek shoved against the ground, ass high in the air as he pounded into you.

"Let him hear how good I’m making you feel", he whispered against the shell of your ear. "Moan my name."

Selfish, yes.

But you just sound so sweet when you gasp his name like that, with that whiny tone in your voice that’s halfway muffled into the sheets, little punched out moans garnishing the whole thing before his cock started throbbing inside you.

He made sure Neteyam heard every little noise you made, every moan, every whimper and every filthy squelch of his cock drilling into your wet heat. Ao’nung made sure he heard all of it. You were his, he let himself believe. Even if it was just for now, just for this.

"Ao’nung!" The name rolled off your tongue as a whimper, a gasp, followed by a choked-off moan as he gripped your hips and pressed himself closer against you, buried his face into the crook of your neck and lapped at the bite marks that he only recently put there.

Anyone could claim their mate with a courting gift, he thought proudly, sucking yet another hickey into your throat as he simultaneously trusted into you. But these bites and hickeys, they were an art that required precise observation from their presenter and the complete trust from their acceptor.

These weren’t cold, lifeless symbols of affection, no. You couldn’t just take them off. But they had short lifespans, often only a few days, a week if he was lucky. And this gave him the opportunity to continue to give you new ones over and over, of different sizes, shapes and colors; and if he didn't feel like putting them on your throat, then he could put them on your breasts, your hips, on your wrists, your shoulders or your thighs.

Your entire body was an available canvas for these markings and he took great advantage of this.

Ao’nung liked having the ability to move them and create new ones as the old faded and disappeared. He liked having the opportunity to accept and receive his own markings when your old ones had once again retreated from sight.

They were profoundly intimate, a powerful symbol that was physically felt each and every time it was given to an extent that any other courting gift never would be.

— ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ —

Yesterday night’s memories were still pretty much livid in front of his minds eye as Ao’nung not so subtle failed to listen to his so called friends about whatever they were talking about.

Nothing they weren’t used to. It’s not like he had ever actively participated in a conversation that wasn’t about him, anyways. And it’s not like he cares much about what that says about him. Ao’nung knows these guys aren’t really his friends. At least not like you are. They’re more like his goons, brainless little minions that have been following him around and would listen to every one of his orders since the day they found out he will be the next olo’eyktan. He’s almost certain that they wouldn’t stick to him if it weren’t for this fact.

Gentle waves rock him back and forth on his tsurak, the morning sun casting a warm glow over the vast ocean, his spear-gun strapped to his back as they wait for the rest of the hunting party to join them.

Ao’nung doesn’t need a mirror to know that he must’ve looked like he was ready to commit a crime when some of the younger hunters were accompanied by the Sully brothers, and he wonders which of these skxawngs had invited them so he knew which of them to exile from any hunts for the next month or so.

Neteyam greets the others first as he approches, polite as ever, but there’s a knowing, dirty little grin reserved just for him as he turns in his direction to reach a hand out for him to shake, like they’re friends. Ao’nung fights the urge to scoff and roll his eyes at that.

Reaching their chosen spot, he then signals the other hunters to prepare their fishing spears and nets. Each of them take their position, their eyes keenly scanning the water's surface for any sign of movement, while some others submerge into the deeper water.

However, Ao’nungs own eyes are unfocused. He has a hard time concentrating on anything other than that insufferable forest boy swimming only mere inches away from him. Like letting his five fingered freak of a brother participate wasn’t already enough of an insult to his warriors pride. No, now there were two of these demon spawns here with him. He knew Neteyam wasn’t even doing anything particular annoying, yet it felt like he was taunting him with every breath he took.

It was as if he could sense his thoughts, because a shadow suddenly casts over the spot Ao’nung had aimed his spear to, making it impossible for him to see through the waters surface. Looking up, Ao‘nung is then met with a pair of golden eyes and sharp teeth grinning back at him.

Any complain about Neteyam blocking out the sun so the man would hopefully move and bother someone else dies on his tongue, the moment his gaze lands on the shiny pearl that’s dangling over his shoulder, tidily braided into a strand of ink-black hair.

Ao’nung would probably recognize this white pearl everywhere. He was with you the day you had found the shell, had watched you crave and polish it for hours. He had wordlessly sat besides you, pondering if you even realized that a similar pearl garnished his songcord as a reminder of the day he had met you. That he had once sat where you sat, spent hours working in concentration to crave the pearl from such a filigree shell that his hands were hurting for days, hoping you would return the gesture to him one day.

"Neat, huh?" The omatikaya smiles, but it’s not a genuine one, before he brushes through his braids and twirls the pearl between his fingertips. It makes Ao’nung snap out of his thoughts, and he’s quick to advert his gaze to the sun, secretly hoping it will burn his eyes so he would never have to look at it on him again.

He just hums, barely a coherent response. While he wants to agree, simply for the fact that you had made it, he would also rather die than compliment the demons son. And he knows Neteyam just want to force a reaction out of him, so he chose to end the conversation right here and wordlessly swims a little further, where he then aims his spear to the waters surface, targeting a fish with precision and—

"Almost as pretty as the little thing that made it for me." Neteyam squints his eyes at him as he chuckles, and this time his amusement is sincere. Aimed to hit a nerve.

With a swift motion, Ao'nung hurles his spear into the water, but it completely misses the shimmery fish that had caught his eyes.

He turns to glare at the man that’s practically begging to be the next target. His Tsurak growls, making the water around him vibrate as it feels the anger radiating off his rider through the bond.

"I didn’t mean to insult you", Neteyam laughs and shakes his head, holding his hands up in surrender. "You two are awfully close, no?"

With a sigh, he regains his composure, takes a deep breath and, afraid that whatever might come out of his mouth would only start something that wouldn’t do him good, simply choose to nod instead, his eyebrows still drawn together tightly. Neteyams grin still hasn’t vanished, yet he seems to mimic the way Ao’nungs spine had straightened, which in return made him feel like he was under interrogation.

"How come I still haven’t seen any courting gifts on her then? Whatever it is called that you have with her, is that some kind of arrangement or…?"

"Nothing that should concern you, forest boy", he cuts him off.

"Hmh, right." Neteyam nods and Ao’nung can’t help but pray to eywa that this would finally be the end of this uncomfortable conversation. Unfortunately, it is not, as the forest boy then swims a little closer, his voice low as he says, "Well, by the sound of the moans you knock out of her", a look comes over Neteyams face, and it sickens him to realize it was arousal. "I may have to try my hand at her sometime too, just to see what all the fuss is about. Seems like she loves to spread her thighs for just anyone."

Ao’nung balled his fists, and ground his teeth together so hard, he was almost certain he could hear a crack. It took every last ounce of energy not to lunge at him.

Neteyams words whispered over and over and over in his head, a rolling loop that he thought might actually drive him insane.

— ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ —

Never had left him a hunting trip so tense before, Ao’nung realized, sighing as he lowered himself into the water. It was warm and relaxing, soothing his tense muscles and the ache he felt.

He seemed to get like this a lot lately, feeling stressed and tense and trying harder than ever to will himself to sleep, to concentrate and to stop thinking about this. But it was impossible. Ao’nung found his mind going back to the same problem over and over again and he found worry and jealousy rising in the pit of his gut more and more.

It had been some time since his last visit to the hot springs in the center of the island, and at least the waters were soothing on his overworked body. Not to mention the way your hands were gently running over his shoulders, as you positioned yourself to straddle his lap.

The hot spring was large, a natural pool that sat surrounded by smooth stones, leaving the air here steamy and considerably warmer than the rest of the forest. A popular spot to bath for the metkayina, but tonight it was calm and empty.

Long, ropy vines hung low and mingled with purple leafy plants above him. Bountiful beds of marigold, azure, blazing red, and creamy orange blossoms lined the space that the pool inhabited. Small particles of pollen danced in the steam that rose to the sky. Blue-green moss coated the rocks where their surface was wet and slick from the humidity.

You had both stripped out of your clothes, long past being uncomfortable with each other's nudity. Your warm, soft breasts now pressed against his chest, thighs framing his waist and his body finally relaxes as he deeply inhales the swirling aromas of both, the hot spring, filled with oils and herbs, and also your sweet natural scent.

Ao’nung rests his back against a rock that had been weathered smooth, his hands gliding over the soft skin of your back, up and down, as you continue to knead the tight muscles of his shoulders and neck. Through the upper canopy of the trees he could see night draw in and a soft rumble filled his chest as he pulled you closer.

"Still not going to talk to me about what happened today?"

Your playful voice is what makes him pry his eyes open and unfortunately return his mind to the moment and todays memories.

"Nothing happened today, tsawke. I already told you", he grumbles.

"You know I can tell when you’re lying", you push and Ao‘nung wants to roll his eyes, but he misses the strength to do so. Instead, he just buries his face into the crock of neck and makes a sound of annoyance. "And you’re never like this after a hunt. Normally, I can’t even get you to shut up about how you made the biggest catch and how you’re oh so much better than everyone else, how they’re all just a bunch of skxawngs and– ", you begin to mock him, but can’t finish the sentence as a teasing little giggle bursts out of you.

"That does not sound like me at all", he protests, yet can’t hide the lazy grin forming on his lips.

It’s moments like these that Ao’nung values most about your friendship. It feels so intimate and natural, the way you so playfully interact with him. How close you are, physically and mentally. You take care of each other, even if the ways in which you do, go beyond any normal friendship. It just feels so good to be in your presence, it makes him forget about the world around him for a while. Makes him forget why he was even so tense, what exactly had plagued his mind in the first place. There was just you now.

Ao’nung doesn’t even try to wipe the woozy smile from his face as he listens to your soft giggles and the joy it brings you to tease him, to know that you’re the only one allowed to do this and continue unharmed. Oh, how you loved to take advantage of the soft spot he had for you.

Your chest was still pressed firmly against his own, droplets of water running down your collarbone and collecting in a small puddle where your breasts are squished together. You wear your hair up in a bun, a few messy strands sticking to the sweaty skin of neck and forehead and Ao’nung thinks you’re the most beautiful woman he has ever laid his eyes upon.

Between soft laughs as you mimic his cocky way of presenting himself, he catches you off guard as he suddenly presses his lips against yours.

He knows there’s no reason to do this. You’re all alone out here, so there’s no point in trying to make someone jealous that wasn’t even there to witness it. But from time to time, both of you had sought the other out just to get some sort of relief, so this wasn’t really something new to either of you. This agreement had long become more than a means to make Neteyam jealous. Besides, if he had to pick something he would get out of this agreement, it was this. After all, you promised him a favor if he would agree.

Your lips are soft and your tongue tastes warm and sweet as he deepens the kiss, tilting his head and cradling the back of your head to get better access. It doesn’t even take a heartbeat for you to relax into the kiss, exhaling a soft sigh as your arms encircle his neck and pull him closer.

The gentle sway of the water fuses you tighter together, and soon you’re rubbing and grinding against each others wet bodies. His hands are everywhere on you, pushing and pulling and kneading every inch of skin until your cheeks are flushed red and you’re panting against his lips.

"Please", you whisper softly, and he feels your thighs squeeze around his middle. Your hands roam over the muscles of his chest, then down over his abs, between your bodies, until they reach the base of his cock. "Please, can you…"

"Can I what?", Ao’nung breathes against your lips. He plants open mouthed kisses from the corner of your lips to your jaw, down to your throat. "Talk to me, tsawke. Tell me what you want."

"Touch me", you say, and it’s so whiny it almost sounds like a complain. Meanwhile your hands begin to stroke and squeeze up and down the length of his cock. It makes him chuckle as he licks a wet stripe from your collarbone down to your breast, "But I am touching you."

You make a frustrated sort of noise and Ao’nung smiles, softly, fondly, and then he carefully closes his teeth around a nipple and tugs.

"Fu– Fuck, c-come…on", you pant, "You know what I mean! Just— please!"

His tongue traces from your breast back up to your throat, where he buries his face into your skin to inhale more of that natural sweet scent you release. Ao’nung let’s out a deep groan once you stroke him a little faster and it almost makes him forget what he was supposed to do with his own hands.

"Please, Ao’nung", you whine again, but what snaps him out of his aroused trance isn’t your pleading voice. It’s the sound of someone else approaching the hot spring with a low chuckle.

"It’s not nice to make a woman beg like this."

You inhale a sharp gasp, pressing yourself tighter against Ao’nungs chest in an attempt to shield your naked front from any unwanted viewers. His tattooed arms hold you close, encircled around your back and covering your skin as much as possible. With his eyebrows knit together, he glances over the top of your head to see who was stupid enough to interrupt his alone time with you.

"Oh, please don’t stop on my account. I was enjoying the show."

Neteyam. Oh isn’t this just great, Ao’nung thinks to himself, grinding his teeth as he watches toruk maktos eldest step into his direct view.

There’s a sharp grin plastered on his entirely too perfect face. And this man dares to call himself a warrior? There’s not a hint of a scar on his skin, not one tattoo adorning his body that could tell of his victories, his hunts. He might as well be a nobody.

"What are you doing here?" The grip Ao’nung has on you is possessively tight and for a moments he thinks he’s the reason for your breath has stopped.

"Well, what do you think?", Neteyam chuckles and the golden color of his eyes seems to glint in the moonlight as they rake over your exposed back. "I came here to bath, just didn’t know this spot was already… occupied."

It’s a reasonable response. But not even close to a good enough reason for him to stay.

"You can leave then."

Neteyam did not seem to share the same thought.

"Hm, I don’t think I will. Besides, that gives us the chance to continue our nice conversation from earlier, don’t you think?"

Ao’nungs growl rumbles from deep within his chest as he watches him step closer to the hot spring. Briefly, he remembers that he had very clearly warned the brat to stay away from you this morning, even if it was through gritted teeth and words that were generally much nicer than the ones he would’ve preferred to use.

Neteyams hands were already working to untie the knot that held his loincloth together, before he paused for a moment. A quick glance to your face and Ao’nung was met with the sight of your widened eyes, lips slightly parted as you were obviously trying and failing to proceed what was even happening. Neteyam then pauses.

"Unless you…", with a tilt of his head his eyes meet yours, a sly smile pulling at the corner of his lips, "want me to leave?"

Taken aback, your breath hitches in your throat. There’s a look of uncertainty on your face, as if you were struggling to express what you wanted. If you even knew what you wanted, Ao’nung thought. Your eyes then skipped between both men for a moment, a blush spreading over your cheeks so deep, they were almost turning purple now.

Ao’nung feels his chest tighten as you glanced from Neteyam to him, and then back to Neteyam. For a moment he’s scared you would tell him to leave, now that what must’ve been a dream to you finally seemed to come true. But you don’t. You just say nothing.

"That’s what I thought. You don’t mind if I do, right?" A soft rumble filled the man’s chest, almost a purr, as he untied his loincloth and then stepped into the water.

Your breathing had picked up rapidly, Ao’nung realized, feeling the way your chest pushed against his own as you inhaled quick, shallow pants of air. There’s a moment of very uncomfortable silence, made worse only by the tension that filled the air as Neteyam let out a content sigh after making himself comfortable, sitting with his back against a rock, arms sprawled out over the edge of the hot spring like he owned the place.

His abs tense just above the waters surface as he stifles a laugh, and he brushes a loose braid behind his ear while his eyes seem to be glued to yours.

"By the look on her face I assume you haven’t told her about our conversation from this morning?" He asks, his gaze moving for just a split second to look at him. You seem to follow his example and crane your neck up to look at him questioningly, your brows raised high.

Ao’nung can't think about what he's supposed to say now. If he thinks too much about it, he'll end up punching him in the face and it probably won't end there. It’s like Neteyam can read his mind, or maybe he’s just good at reading facial expressions, because he’s quick to give an answer to the confused look on your face before Ao’nung even has the chance to open his mouth.

"Sevin", Neteyam says and Ao’nung wants to vomit, "why don’t you turn and face me, hm? It’s rude not to look at the person that is talking to you, don’t you think?"

Ao’nungs arms tighten around you, so hard it’s like he’s afraid you‘ll float away if he won’t hold you close enough.

But then you whisper a soft, "It’s okay", and uncontrolled jealousy punched right at his gut as you wriggled yourself free.

It’s almost like he had forgotten for a moment that this was kinda part of the deal. That he’s not the one that’s supposed to be jealous. That if he were a good friend, he would’ve gotten up and left ten minutes ago, give the two of you some space, help you achieve the goal you’ve been working so hard for the past year or so.

Usually, Ao’nung could camouflage all and any feelings from anyone very well behind angry glares and scornful smiles. He was an impenetrable wall for those around him. Except for you, of course, who could normally read him like an open book. But now that your attention was entirely directed to someone else, you couldn’t even see the way a flash of hurt and jealousy came over his face for just a heartbeat.

Your hands trembled as he helped maneuver you to sit on his lap, facing Neteyam that sat opposite of you.

"That’s much better, isn’t it?" He grins and you give him a sheepish little nod, blushing even deeper as he purrs a whispered praise. Ao’nungs arms encircle your waist, pulling you flush against him. He feels the soft of your bottom pressed against his crotch, and if it weren’t for the current situation, he would’ve loved nothing more than to slide into you and take you just like this. Unfortunately, the omatikaya sitting right in front him then continues to talk and sets every single nerve inside him on fire with the urge to get up and push his head under the waters surface until he stops mov—

"I meant what I said, by the way." He says and all of those murderous thoughts inside his head come to an halt. "There’s no need to stop doing what you’re doing just because I’m here."

He wants to laugh in the forest boy’s face, but decides to shove it back down and manages to keep his expression impassive.

"On the contrary. I‘m very content with watching." A seductive little wink is send your way and Ao’nungs whole body tenses. Neteyams gaze then lands on him and Ao’nung suddenly knows that he wants him to try something.

Ao’nung has a temper. He‘s always had a temper, everyone knows, and Neteyam is just trying to be provocative, Ao’nung tries to remind himself. But now his temper already flares, bright and white-hot, and he almost doesn't care about a response, doesn’t care about what he could answer to this as long as it hurts, so he bites his tongue hard enough to taste copper.

It’s unfortunate for both of them, that Neteyam can’t seem to shut up, despite the fact that neither him nor you had said anything yet. He‘s confident in every word that leaves his mouth, not even caring about what the two of you would think of him as he goes on, "Oh, right, I almost forgot. Since your dear friend hasn’t told you yet, I guess it’s my duty to enlighten you."

One of his hands curls into a fist and he can't seem to relax it, before he realizes it’s your hip that he’s squeezing. Not hard enough to hurt, but he lingers for a long moment before he can force himself to loosen up. He apologizes with a fleeting kiss to your shoulder, making sure to hold eye contact with the man in front of him, like it’s two Pxazang‘s battling for territory.

"Ao’nung and I had a very nice conversation this morning, and he actually made the proposal to…", his lip curls into a dangerous smile, "share you."

Ao’nungs mind goes blank. He wasn’t prepared for this.

Share you? But he did not…

His mouth opens to object, but all words seem to fail him, his brain struggling to keep up with what was happening, while he simultaneously tried to understand what Neteyam wanted to achieve with this lie.

"If that is something you would want, of course."

There it is again, that act of fake innocence, pretending to be oh, such a good and caring guy. It breaks his heart to see it working so well on you.

You glance up at him with those nantang puppy eyes full of hope and anticipation, "You… You did?"

But there’s silence and Ao’nung just looks at you. He listens once Neteyam opens his mouth again, he has to listen because his throat feels too dry to speak.

"Oh, yeah", he responds for him. A white lie, like everything else he had told you so far. "He told me how good of a friend you are and that this would be something you would truly enjoy. And I know for a fact that you really deserve this."

No. No, you don’t deserve this, don’t deserve him. And sharing you like this was never part of the deal, it wasn’t part of the agreement to take a part in any of this, to watch his filthy hands touch you. Ao’nung was never one to share his possessions– he never talked about his feelings, he just acted, knowing what he wanted and going for it. That was how he did everything; with quick deliberation leading to a fast resolve, quite the opposite of Neteyams tendency to manipulate.

"You’re such a sweet girl, aren’t you? Letting your friend arrange this for you", Neteyam chuckles and Ao’nung realizes just now, how much you’re squirming on his lap. "Why don’t you show me just how sweet your are, hm sevin?"

He’s only playing a role, Ao’nung has to remind himself. As much as he prayed for it to become reality, you weren’t his. He was just your friend. But if being a good friend meant to participate in whatever this was, so be it. At least he could be here for you, take care of you even when you were in another man’s arms.

It was comforting, in a way. Comforting like rays of sun soaking into his skin, so much so, that he‘ll forget what damage they can do if he stays to long under her comfortable shine. He‘ll burn, sooner or later, feel the pain when it’s already too late. But it feels good now, so he tries to stop worrying about everything else.

The feeling of your slick rubbing against his thighs reached a point where it was impossible for him to ignore, even though it hurt to know he wasn’t the main reason for this.

His gaze never leaves its target sitting across from him, not even as he dips his hands below the waters surface and hooks the back of your knees over his forearms. The surprised little squeak you emit was kind of cute, he thought, as he lifted you out of the hot spring.

Your soft hands cling to him as Ao’nung makes himself comfortable, sitting down onto the flat rocks that enclose the pool of water, while he holds yourself up and open for Neteyam to see. Your legs are spread as far as they can go, and said omatikaya can be seen swallowing the salvia that pools in his mouth at the sight.

You were a piece of art; gorgeous, pretty and wet, droplets of water running down your curves, mixing with arousal that ran down your thighs. But you were also pretentious, greedy, and entirely spoiled and that was entirely his fault. And he knew how to play that card all too well.

Ao’nung nuzzled his nose against your cheek, up to your ear where he whispered, "You want him? Then show him", before licking the shell of your ear, making you shudder in his hold.

Even he felt the flush of dark embarrassment tickle up your spine, before you wriggled a hand free and lowered it between your spread thighs. A fingertip slid between your folds, teasing your slippery entrance with a quiet whimper.

"Don’t be shy", Ao’nung murmured, nipping on your throat. "C‘mon, tsawke. Be a good girl and put a finger in."

Nodding, you pressed your index finger against your slippery entrance, slowly pushing in to the last knuckle. Then, you wriggle a second finger in beside the first one, and start to ease them out together, then back in; a slow, slick push.

The moans that tumble from your parted lips are like the sweetest most familiar melody to him. To Neteyam, they are the reason one of his hands has disappeared below the surface, casting ripples in the water.

You curve your finger a little more and pick up the pace, thrusting them faster. The squelching sounds they coax out from between your thighs filled his ears, growing louder by the second. It was only overturned by the sound of his own ragged breathing, his heart thumping against his chest in the same rhythm his cock throbbed heavily, yearning for friction, for your hands to touch him, your tight cunt to wrap around his length and swallow him whole.

"Just like that, you’re doing so good", Ao’nung coos softly against the shell of your ear, "Look how much he’s enjoying the show. See what you do to him?" He tips his chin up and your eyes flutter open to get a glance of Neteyam. His ears are pinned back, eyes half lidded, with lips slightly parted and chest heaving as he strokes himself under the water. Ao’nung has to swallow back his own pride in order to play this role, yet he enjoys being the one that can touch you so freely while all Neteyam can do is watch as it happens. "He wants to touch you so bad", he chuckles lowly into your ear and your body decides to respond for you, hips canting forward to push your own fingers in deeper. "I bet he wants to know what you feel like, warm and wet around him. How tight you are. Fuck, if only he knew how good it feels whenever you come around my cock, the way you squeeze me. See his eyes? He’s hungry for you, tsawke. He wants to know how you taste like, too."

A helpless little whimper escapes you from his words and Ao’nung grins, the tip of his fangs sparking with mischief. "Should we make him watch, hm? Or do you want to invite him?"

"Nung", you mewl, plead with your eyes as you glance over your shoulder to meet his.

"I won’t do it for you", he whispers, tilting his head towards the other man with a sigh, "Use your words if you want him."

Your eyes follow his line of sight. Neteyam groans, then closes his eyes for a brief second and throws his head back in bliss, before he looks back at you with a dirty smile.

"What is it, hm?", Neteyam asks, "What do you want, paskalin?"

Your toes curl at the sound of his voice, raspy and laced with a certain type of hunger that could only be satisfied by one thing alone. And that thing is you. Breath hitching, you make a whiny little noise that almost sounds like a plea for the forest boy’s name, but that seems to be all you manage.

"Can’t get the words out, huh?", he chuckles, "That’s okay. Fuck, just look at that pretty pussy, doing all the talking for you. Look how she’s dripping, so eager to be filled, but your hands aren’t enough, are they? You need my help, pretty girl?"

Ao’nungs own fingers itch to help you out, to show him just how perfectly he can fill you with them. That there’s no need for this demons spawn here, that he’s the only one you need to satisfy you.

You seem to think otherwise, because you’re nodding quick and desperate, and Neteyam groans at the sight of your clenching hole once you had pulled your fingers out. A wordless inventions for him to take their place. So Ao’nung continues to hold your legs open wide as Neteyam pushes himself off the rocks and approaches slowly, gracefully walking through the waist deep water to stand before you.

With the way Ao’nung had hoisted you up and held you spread open as he sat on the flat rocks surrounding the hot spring, Neteyam didn’t even had to kneel or crouch to be eye level with what he craved most and the realization made him lick his lips in anticipation.

His hands find the soft of your thighs, caressing your skin before he placed soft kisses here and there, making you shiver in Ao’nungs hold. With his eyes entirely fixed on yours, Neteyam then runs the tip of his tongue through your wet folds and groans at the taste.

"Eywa, woman", he curses under his breath, then attaches his lips to where your slick oozes out in a clear, honey-like stream. "You’re so sweet, paskalin", it’s muffled against your cunt, before he withdraws and glances up at Ao’nung. "Does she always get this wet?"

You let out an impatient whimper and Ao’nung places a soothing kiss to your shoulder.

"For me?", he chuckles, the sound low and dangerous and he feels the goosebumps rise on your body. "Every single time, yes."

Neteyam grins. "Must be my lucky day then. Look how she’s dripping for me."

He takes his sweet time returning to you then, kissing and stroking everywhere but where you need him, but when he finally does, you gasp and moan as he nibbles at your clit, arches when he cups your ass and, with the soft sucking noises he makes, it felt he was drinking you in.

You moaned again, breathlessly, bonelessly, and your back arched away from Ao’nungs chest, or at least you tried to. Feeling so good, so stupidly happy, Neteyam then ran his tongue up and down your slit again and your moans turned into a wail.

He returned to lick and suck at your clit, alternating with a smooth up-and-down stroke with two of his fingers, teasing and circling your clit, then gently prodding them at your entrance.

"Mnnh– Fuck, ah, please, please", you whimpered breathlessly, hips bucking helplessly to get his fingers to slip inside, your head falling fully back against Ao’nungs chest. "Neteyam, p-please!"

But Neteyam only sped up, his tongue wet and rough and steady against your clit, groaning into you at the sound of his name from your lips, and pressing his face against your pussy like you actually taste of nectar or honey or any of those tooth rotting sweet fruit the Sullys enjoyed to eat.

Meanwhile, Ao’nung placed several open mouthed kisses from your throat to your jaw, enough of an hint to make you turn your head and claim your lips in a deep, hungry kiss. It was wet and filthy, just tongues and teeth as he devoured you, as Neteyam devoured your other set of lips.

You were moaning into the kiss, wanton and desperate, before finally, a set of fingers were pushed past your entrance and curled just right, while Neteyam kissed and sucked on your clit so passionately, Ao’nung felt the way your whole body tensed.

And then, then you were coming, bucking, crying out weakly even though it seemed you had no breath left in you. Shuddering and shuddering all through your body, shuddering between two hot bodies who worshipped you, who were holding you, staring at you like prey- beautiful, delicious prey, both of them so very hungry for you.

"Good girl", was murmured lowly into your ear, "Keep coming for us, c’mon let it all out. Let him taste how delicious you are."

Neteyams tongue continued to lap at your flowing arousal, groaning against your folds between filthy slurping noises. "Hmm, fuck. Is that all for me? So good, paskalin, you taste so good."

You kept your eyes closed and let the little tremors and aftershocks go through you, just breathing in tiny happy hums, because, eywa bless them to whatever heaven existed, they were both still touching you, gently and slowly. Neteyam kissing you softly, Ao’nung nuzzling his face into the crock of your neck, sucking on your throat, until eventually your breathing slowed, and you swallowed, opening your eyes.

Immediately, you were met with two golden eyes, looking up at you from between your thighs.

"Neteyam", you pant, "m-more. I want more. Please."

"Oh, do you?", he chuckles as he rises to stand on his full height, towering over you. "You’re such a cute little thing, so needy." He tips your chin up with a finger, then tilts his head as he grins down at you. "Think you can take both of us?"

There’s the sound of an audible gulp and neither Neteyam nor Ao‘nung himself can stifle a chuckle at this. You squirm in his arms for that one, grinding down against his cock that’s been trapped between his stomach and your lower back, making him grunt.

"I‘ll take that as a yes", Neteyam smiles wickedly, exchanging a look with Ao‘nung. He then stepped just a little closer, truly sandwiching you between them both before he hooked an arm under your thigh so Ao’nung could trace his hand down your spine and dip it down lower. Goosebumps run up your neck as his hand kneads one of your ass cheeks and then slides between them. Ao’nung expertly locates your dripping entrance from behind, fingers swirling in your arousal, dipping inside for good measure and he hums lowly at the sound of your weak little moans.

You’re always wet, always wet for him, beautiful and perfect, eywa, the way you just fit, it's like you plug into everything, everything that makes him high, incoherent, hard.

"You want this?", Ao’nung whispers into your ear, his tongue teasing your lobe. You clench around his fingers and give him a quick, desperate nod, so eager to be filled. He grins at that. His fingers retreat, covered in arousal he lets them glide between your cheeks to feel for your puckered hole.

"You want me in here, hm?"

Your whiny whimper of "Yes, please!" is completely satisfying to his ears. Your lack of surprise makes Neteyam realize you’ve done this before, and that mental image is a delicious one. One finger then eases into your tight hole slowly, fluidly. Neteyam watches with hungry, half lidded eyes as Ao’nung spreads you open on one and then two of his thick fingers, watches how expertly you take him in as he spreads your legs a little further to give the other man more space to work with. More slick is running down your pretty cunt, like a silent plea for him to fill it.

It's not long, though, before you’re squirming, the position you’re in making it impossible to push back against his fingers but they both know you’re trying to. It’s also not long until your moans turn louder, back arching, and you make a sound of protest when Ao’nung finally pulls his fingers out and deems you as loose enough. His cock is so painfully hard, leaking more pre-cum than he thought was even possible. He had to get inside you now, had to have you because in the back of his mind there still lingered this thought that after this, it could’ve been the last time he would get to feel you, to hold you, to fuck you, ever again.

So he wraps an arm around you, the other hand securing your thigh, while both of Neteyams hands hold onto the underside of your knees to spread your legs for them.

"Together then", Neteyam grins and Ao’nung can’t help but glare at him over your shoulder. Not even this situation could change anything about the grudge he’s holding against that forest boy.

A quick glance down your front reveals the sight of Neteyam pushing the length of his cock between your slippery folds, lubing himself with your slick.

The tremor that passes through your body seems more intense than usual, once you feel Ao’nung get into position too.

"Breathe, tsawke", he says, the tip of his cock nudging against your backside. You nod, inhale, exhale, and then they both push into you slowly, spreading you apart. Another whimper tumbles from your lips, your eyes squeezing shut and Ao’nung places a tender kiss to your temple as he slides further in.

"Good girl, just relax for me", he coos, "you’re doing so good."

For a moment it's too much, you’re way too tight and he thinks your body just can't reach that far, but then Neteyam seems to be fully inside while he slowly pushes deeper with minimal resistance. Neteyam groans, his grip on your legs tightening as he feels Ao‘nung move into place alongside him. You’re stretching around them both like you were made for this, and then Ao’nung glances at the space between your legs where you’re all joined, and there isn't a slither of space.

"Fuuck, look at that", the forest boy pants, smiling almost proudly. He gives the first languid thrust that makes you mewl. "That feel good, hm? You like being stuffed full of us, don’t you sevin?"

A whiny "Y-Yes", comes as a response, followed by a string of incoherent pleas for them to finally move.

"You sound so pretty when you beg, paskalin", Ao’nung says, granting your wishes with slow thrusts, making you feel every inch of him as he slides himself into you. Better adjusted now, your body welcomes him with every snap of his hips. Neteyam sets up a quicker rhythm, pistoning in and out of your body roughly, the tip of his cock brushing against your g-spot at just the right angle.

You flex your inner walls, squeezing his cock, until you feel him throb inside you with the change, moaning, and his gaze entirely fixed on where you are joined.

"Eywa, that little pussy is gripping me so tight. No wonder you kept her all to yourself. I wouldn’t share her with anyone, not even if she begged me to."

Their eyes meet for a second and Ao’nung’s breath is hot on your neck as he whispers, "you’re mine, aren’t you? He’s just lucky I can’t deny you any of your filthy wishes." Reaching to cup one of your breasts in his hands, he tweaks a nipple and earns a dirty little moan in response, your soft, velvety-like walls pulsating around their cocks.

"Oh f-fuck, make her do that again!"

Ao’nung was rubbing your nipples more roughly now, and your voice goes hoarse when Neteyam simultaneously thumbs at your throbbing clit. "Yeah, good girl", he praises you, thrusting into you faster, "so good, sevin. Shit, you feel so fucking good around me."

You’re close, Ao’nung can tell by the way you’re writhing, by the way your breath hitches when the tip of Neteyams cock brushes against your cervix, by the way your face twists with ecstasy when he fucks you harder, deeper.

He removes his hand from your nipple and slips it between your bodies, fingertips fighting for their place to rub against that swollen bundle of nerves alongside Neteyams, until your whole body is arching and your jaw drops.

"Nung", you moan like a prayer, "you’re– so big. M‘so full, gonna come!" It’s like you’re trying to finish him just with your words, and fuck, you might manage it if you carry on. His head falls to your shoulder and he presses his lips against your skin, then up your neck until your mouths are crushed together, a desperate thrashing of tongues and lips.

Words were entirely washed out of your system, your mind completely overtaken by the fullness of two cock sliding in and in and then all the way out just to slip back in, harder, tight body gripping and squeezing them.

It was all heat and pleasure. All those sensations, thoughts and emotions. Everything so close, but you just couldn’t reach it. Not yet. You felt like a puppet on a string, waiting for any of them to pull the right thread and help you to your release.

You’re right on the edge, right there.

The moment he breaks the kiss, Neteyam catches your lips in another, his tongue swirling around yours and a bitter part of Ao’nung hopes you still taste like him. If that is the case, Neteyam doesn’t seem to mind. His hips continue to snap hard against yours as he exchanges moans and spit through the kiss. It’s a filthy rhythm the both of them had set, various body fluids smearing between three tangled bodies.

Every time one thrusts in they brush over your pleasure spot, leaving you sobbing and writhing on their cocks, clutching on their arms so hard it hurts, chanting their names in between moans, hardly able to catch your breath.

"Let go, c‘mon I know you need it so bad", Ao’nung groans lowly into your ear, thrusting in just as the other man pulls out, which leaves you in a constant state of fullness, never empty for even a second. "Be a good girl and come for us."

It's a buildup of tension that arches your back and curls your toes and just when you think you can't take it anymore, something snaps. Your entire body tightens as you cry out their names, nails sinking so deep he’d be surprised if they haven’t drawn blood.

"There it is, pretty girl. Great mother, look at you creaming around my cock, gonna make me cum too", Neteyam groans, throwing his head back in bliss. He was thrusting into you so hard now, it knocked the very air out of your lungs, leaving you gasping for breath.

The little breath left in you was then stolen by a deep kiss, Ao’nung sucking on your tongue as he continued to pound into you, unable to think of anything else besides the way your walls tighten around his throbbing cock.

"Gonna cum inside you", he groans into the kiss, "Can’t hold back, I just need to fill you up, gonna fuck my cum into you and— hngh– shit!" He plunges into you, one, two, three more times and then comes with a grunt of your name.

Your legs were already shaking with the aftershocks of your own orgasms, twitching from overstimulation while Neteyam gave one last thrust, hips pausing, and then you felt it flowing— hot shots of cum pumped into you, filling you up nice and warm as he lost himself inside you with a low moan.

Ao‘nung wasn’t entirely sure if you could even hear him at this point, but he still kept the reassurance up anyway as they both gently lowered you back into the hot spring.

"Can't say that was a bad time, fish lips," Neteyam grinned, glancing at your relaxed face resting against Ao’nungs shoulder. Your eyes had fluttered closed a few minutes ago, as the metkayina man was carefully cleaning the sweat and other body fluids from your skin, holding you tight against his chest.

"Don't get used to it." Ao’nung warns in a hushed whisper, "I doubt I'll share her again."

"Wouldn't expect it. Worried I'll steal her away?"

"No. But I keep close tabs on what's mine," he counters, blue eyes cold as he watches the other man rearrange his loincloth.

Neteyams grin widens at this, and he shoots him a playful wink, "We‘ll see about that", before he leaves off to the village.

— ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ —

Ao‘nungs hammock might as well be carved from stone.

He hadn’t been able to get much, if not any sleep at all these past couple of days. Shifting restlessly, he’s forcing his eyes to close once more every time they inevitably drift open, but it’s not working. So he’s staring at the ceiling of his marui, at the woven walls, and out into the dark blue sky. It only makes his frustration worse. Days have gone by and now half the night has already passed, by the time he finally comes to terms with the fact that jealousy truly is an ugly emotion. But it somehow always reveals the truth. And it’s not like he didn’t already know the truth before. No, he knew.

He could joke about it all he wanted, whenever Tsireya made her teasing little comments about it. Could laugh it off and roll his eyes at his younger sister, tell her she’s just imagining things and that this is all just a means to get another man jealous. He’s just being a good friend. He turned these comments into jokes, because he‘s afraid to take anything seriously. Because if he takes things seriously, they matter. But it does matter. It matters so much, that it hurts now. Truth is, Ao’nung held his love for you so horrible discreet, that it was as persistent and almost as silent as bleeding from an unstitched wound. And now he was bleeding out. Painful and slow and irreversible.

Sharing you was a bad idea. Probably the worst he’s ever had, there was no doubt in it.

Ao‘nung tosses and turns in his hammock, unable to rest for any moment longer as his thoughts dared to consume him whole. Willing his body to get up before the sun was even beginning to rise, he found solace in the rhythmic crashing of waves down at the beach.

Ao’nung wishes that he could just have some kind of treatment to fix this problem. If only the tsahìk could cut his chest open and take his heart out to make it stop. Maybe eywa would bless him with a new one, one that wasn’t stained and stabbed and torn apart. Maybe it would take away the sick, knife-twisting pain he felt in his chest whenever he did as much as look at you. But in its own way, it was a good kind of pain. Like a constant reminder of just how much he was in love with you. How good it felt to love you. It was good, except for how it made him feel sick whenever you laced your fingers up together and squeezed his hand as though Ao’nung was something precious, something to be loved, and once again he catches himself wishing that you might ever look at him in the ways that Ao’nung looks at you.

It pisses him off to be reminded that he's supposed to be good at keeping his head, at keeping his distance, at not letting his lies consume him, the way that they're doing now. The way that they've done since this whole thing started. That this is all just a game of play pretend and you’re not really his.

Besides everything else he's doing that's completely unhelpful to this dilemma, Ao’nung’s overlooking one crucial detail: how can he stop pretending, when this is probably the closest he'll ever get to actually being yours, to you being his? How can he stop pretending when he's already made you this stupid, shiny little bracelet, because it would scandalize Neteyam in the entire, to think that Ao’nung and you are so into each other that you’re trading what could be mistaken as a courting gifts. And because it's the closest thing that Ao’nung will ever get to actually giving you a courting gift. He just has to take what little gifts he can from the world, right? So he can’t end it. He can’t end this arrangement. Not yet.

"Become my mate."

A simple statement. A straightforward question with a straightforward answer. But he would never actually ask that, would never receive an answer to this that wouldn’t hurt him, so he might as well continue to live in this perfect world that he lets himself envision.

Ao’nung turns the bracelet in his hands, thumb swiping over the carefully polished pearls. One of them sort of looks like the color of your eyes, as much as a simple blue pearl can emulate the deep ocean blue of yours and the way they sparkle when you look at him. The whole thing doesn't really capture your essence, it just made him think about you, and that's why he picked it out. He would give it to you today, he thought. He knows you would wear it for him, and maybe the thought of you wearing this for him, wearing something that would always mark you as his would make it enough for a little while longer. Maybe one day he would get his ass up and just ask you, would ruin your friendship just for the teeny tiny chance of you not turning his offer down. Maybe you would be his, one day. Truly his.

It’s when the first rays of sun begin to shine over the ocean, that he’s greeted by the sight of his own, personal warm solace. Sometimes that shines brighter and warmer than the sun herself. His ears perk up at the sound of you calling his name, waving your arms at him and a smile tugs on his lips. Always up early, he thinks, rising to his feet.

"It worked!" You squeak happily, jumping into his arms and Ao’nung continues to smile at you, albeit a little confused. You break away from the hug first, jumping excitedly and pointing to a piece of jewelry dangling from your wrist. He stares at it blankly, each breath making his lungs feel like they were filled to the brim with shards of glass.

His palm closed tightly around the bracelet in his own hand, tight enough he could feel the little shells cutting into his palm.

He knew this would eventually happen.

He could feel it in the back of his mind, lingering like a muscle he's held tensed so long that he can no longer remember what it felt like to be otherwise.

What Ao’nung didn't expect was, that it would be this soon. He really thought he still had time. More time. More time with you, before he would loose you to another man. Time to change his fate, time to–

"It worked! Neteyam courted for me, look!"

Ao’nung felt something in him shatter, breaking to the point of no repair. Breaking so violently that he wondered if it was possible for no one to have heard it. He felt it burn his skin, his eyes, the inside of his chest. Felt it burn like the sun burns, like it would burn if he tried to touch it. Ao’nung felt himself melt away and burn, and that’s when he reminds himself of the reason for the nickname he had chosen for you.

Tsawke. Because you are his sun.

And nothing feels as good and hurts as much as loving the sun. Because as well as she can make you feel good, as fast she can burn you.

He doesn’t even get the chance to think about sneaking up on you. Because as soon as you get a whiff of his scent, you clumsily turn to face him with a large grin plastered across your face.

Neteyam opens his arms and you crash into his body instantly. Even though it’s only been a couple hours since you last saw each other, he can’t help but rub his cheeks on the top of your head.

When he finally gets his fill, he angles his head and dives in for a kiss.

But instead of feeling the softness of your lips, he is met with the back of your hand as you pull away from him. At first he sees it as just you playing around, but when you reject him for the second time he whines.

His tail twitches restlessly, wondering why you are denying him your love.

“You stink, ma Neteyam” you state, pinching your nose between your fingers.

It is the same story every time.

He was in such a hurry to get to you, he didn’t think of washing himself first. His ears fold back and he looks at you with wide eyes, begging you to take mercy on him. You cross your arms over your chest and tilt your head, quietly asking him if he is trying to defy you.

A soft sigh escapes Neteyam’s lips as he starts to undress defeatedly, looking like a kicked thanator cub.

Before he leaves, he glances at you over his shoulder. “But when I come back I will get as many kisses as I want!”

“Just go!”

-

Neteyam sits by a stream not far from the hometree. He starts with his arms and slowly makes his way down, scrubbing his skin to rid himself of the sweat and dirt that has built up on his body throughout the day.

He has to admit, it does feel better when he is finally clean, even the bioluminescent markings on his body seem to glow brighter.

His stomach rumbles, reminding him he still has not eaten anything since returning from the hunt, he knows it’s time to head back.

He smirks, knowing that nothing can stop him from loving you now.

Hurried steps guide him back home.

Droplets of water are still dripping down his body, leaving a wet trail behind him. He did not bother taking an extra cloth to dry himself, leaving the job up to Pandora’s strong sun. With this hot weather, he will be dry in no time.

Neteyam clears his throat, preparing to announce that he is back, but the words die in the back of his mouth. With his ears pointed and tail rigid, he stops in his tracks.

Speechless, he gulps.

You stand in the corner of the room, your pupils dilated. Your tail is tucked between your legs as if you were trying to make yourself smaller or disappear completely.

The cummerbund that fits tightly around his waist, hangs loosely over your hips. You must have been planning on tying one of his armguards around your arm as well, since you are holding the woven piece in your hand.

"You weren't supposed to be back that fast," your voice is high. Still frozen in the act.

Neteyam wants to laugh at the scandalous look on your face. You look as if you were a child caught stealing food from someone’s plate.

He is glad he did not take his sweet time washing himself, otherwise he would be deprived of the delicious sight.

“Is this what you do when I am not around?”

He takes a careful step in your direction, acting like you would run away if he moved any faster.

“Sometimes..” you trail off, turning to look at the wall, avoiding his gaze, still gripping his armguard so it does not fall on the ground.

Neteyam thinks he might just burst. Heat spreads in his chest and heart skips a beat. His nostrils flare as he draws a sharp breath, amazed by the fact that his lovely mate likes to try on his clothes when he is not home.

Eywa help him. He is never letting this go.

“My sweet yawntu," he coos, extending his arms towards you.

Oh no, you know this look on his face.

There's nothing left for you to do than accept what comes next. You squeeze your eyes in anticipation.

Neteyam moves swiftly.

One of his hands wraps around your shoulders while the other comes up to hold the back of your head as he squishes you against his body. Cradling you so close you feel the vibrations coming from deep in his chest.

He dips his head.

The tips of his sharp fangs graze the side of your face, looking for the perfect spot before he bites the soft skin of your cheek, not hard enough to hurt, but just enough to leave a mark for the next few minutes.

“Gross,” you groan when he swipes his tongue over the same spot, pushing him away, trying to escape.

You stand no chance as he only tightens his grip in response, his fingers clawing into you.

"m gon eat you," he mumbles against your skin, a weak threat. He continues, moving lower, nipping at your neck and then shoulder.

And with the way his tails loops around thigh, you know you are not leaving his grasp any time soon.

a/n: no u dont see grammar mistakes or typos

“Shh, quiet,” he whispered to his ikran’s ear, rubbing the length of his neck to soothe his shrieks. Neteyam knelt against the grass, resting the ikran’s head on his lap. They were tucked away enough—hidden from any Mangkwans lurking nearby—, enough to spend a few moments to grieve his flying friend. “It’s okay. May your spirit be with Eywa, my friend.”

The creature huffed a breath as Neteyam murmured quiet apologies and connected their queues, sharing the pain and presence until the low screeching stopped, and the writhing stilled. His ikran now laid limp against his leg, eyes unmoving—nothing more than a ghost of the bond they once had.

He was going to call his dad, report Lo’ak’s last known position through the comms, but something stopped him. His hand hovered over the button on his throat, ears flicking once to the left.

A hiss.

Loud enough he could hear, but not territorial like an animal’s. Someone was out there. Na’vi. Neteyam unsheathed his knife, eyes glowing a cautious glint as he silently prowled through the grass, a skill he’d learned from perfecting his hunting. He gave his ikran one last stroke and moved towards the source of the sound, paying mind to where his foot stepped.

Then came another hiss, more of a whimper of pain than any signs of aggression. If it was Mangkwan, injured or badly hurt, he could easily make the kill—quick and clean—, and then hopefully slip away before he was spotted. But if it was one of the Tlalim, it would be a little more complicated than that. Getting help would be almost impossible with the battle around them, so he’d have to do it himself. But luckily, as he noiselessly approached, he caught a glimpse of the white ashen skin, peeking through one of the tall grass, and he quickly made his move.

Twisting the knife in his hands, Neteyam stalked towards the Mangkwan, brushing past leaves and bushes that blocked his path. His feet maintained their quiet, steady pace, a contrast to how his erratic heartbeat drummed in his ears. The closer he got, the more he noticed the blood seeping onto the ground beneath them, and the hair tousled in a tangled mess, back turned to him.

Quick and easy, Neteyam reminded himself.

The boy lunged forward, stepping into the clearing to kill the enemy when he spotted you. A young girl, bloodied and clutching your middle like some wounded animal. Neteyam hesitated.

The pale skin and streaks of red paint unmistakably made you Mangkwan, but you were so young and unlike all the other feral warriors he’d seen from your clan. And your eyes– they held so much fear. You didn't look bloodthirsty like the rest of them. You were afraid.

His knife slipped a little, grip weakening around the hilt.

In killing, there was no hesitation. A single pause could differentiate between life and death, and when hunting, being spotted meant losing the chance to make a clean kill. And as Neteyam stood there, stricken with surprise, you’d already managed to catch sight of him.

But you did nothing, so he quickly recomposed, bending low as he took a slow step forward that earned an immediate hiss from you. Your eyes were on him now, keen and unrelenting even through your pain.

“I am not going to hurt you,” he said softly, carefully. “I am-”

“Son of Olo’eyktan. Neteyam,” you spat, interrupting through clenched teeth. You were still clutching your wound, a big one that leaked plenty of blood to soak the grass beneath you. He wasn’t sure how you were still alive, or how you could even talk, but he knew you would die within minutes if you continued to bleed out like this.

“Get on with it,” you hissed, forcing a menacing smile through gritted teeth. “Kill me now.”

Maybe, if the roles were reversed and you’d been the one to find him injured, he would’ve been dead in seconds. But for whatever strange reason, Neteyam didn’t want to kill you. Instead, he kneeled, lowering himself to the ground to make a show of placing his knife down, all whilst keeping his eyes on yours the entire time. It was a tactic he’d learned at a very young age—a method to approach almost anything.

Your mouth kept shut—from the pain or from plotting his murder, he didn’t know—, but he’d think it was unusual behavior from someone like you.

You just watched as he unfurled the cloth covering his shoulders, bringing it forward with both hands to fold a few times. “It’s going to hurt,” he gently warned, inching closer towards you. A little too close and you lashed out at him, swinging your arm and baring your teeth to scare him away, then wincing when pain struck your side. Neteyam backed away in time to avoid your blow, looking purely unimpressed as he stared at your retaliating form.

“I can leave you here to die, or you can let me help you,” he tried again, bringing the cloth forward to hover near you at a safe distance.

Your face scrunched, holding his gaze like you wanted to bite him for even considering talking to you, but he didn’t back away, shifting and angling his body awkwardly to reach for your injury without crossing your personal space. And you, with all the resistance you’d put up, actually allowed him to get close this time, the fight slowly leaving your body from exhaustion. Or from blood loss, he couldn’t tell.

The boy brought his hand closer. His folded garment barely grazed your wound and you were already squirming in pain, arms coming up instinctively to protect, but he gently pried them away with a hand.

“You have to move your arm. Let me stop the bleeding and carry you somewhere safe.” You whined, once, but you were too tired to fight the insistent man, so you let him press on the wound and tuck an arm under you, carefully pulling you near.

“This might hurt a little more. Please try to be quiet,” he said and then started to lift you off the ground, earning a muffled sob as your teeth sank onto the closest thing it could find. He hissed, tail lashing at the sting as a trickle of blood rolled down his forearm.

For someone who’d just lost a lot of blood, you bit hard. He nudged your cheek with the back of his hand a couple times, silently pleading you to let go. And you surprisingly did. You released your bite on him and nuzzled your face to the space between his body and his arm instead, seeking what little bit of comfort you could find to soothe the throb in your abdomen. And Neteyam wondered how you’d become so pliant and obedient, but he figured that excruciating pain and nearly bleeding to death could do wonders even for Mangkwan.

He didn’t know how long he’d carried you for, or where he was headed, but he knew he had to get you somewhere he could really help you without the lingering threat of death behind each tree. He brought you away from the battlefield, legs taking him somewhere more secluded, somewhere safer, and along the way, you’d managed to slip in and out of consciousness.

Your eyes began to drift again, head weighing heavier against his hand and he gave little taps to your cheek to keep you awake.

“No, no. Do not close your eyes,” he mumbled, but even with the startled flutter of your lids, sleep eventually took you from him, making this a lot harder than it already was. His feet picked up their pace, eyes darting left to right for a spot—any spot he could set you down in. There were just trees and trees, and more trees; nothing of nature that could help him sustain your life.

Think, Neteyam. Think. What was he doing? He was not medically inclined. And he wasn’t sure why he was saving your life. In the midst of a battle against your people. When his parents might be looking for him, assuming the worst. He must be going crazy. Life saving first, grievances later—he thought.

Eywa must have pitied his distress, because he stumbled upon a stream nearby not long after his search. But most importantly, along the edge of the water lay dapophet plants—one of the most commonly known and used flora that could remedy almost any injury. He was glad he’d actually picked up some things from Kiri and his grandmother when he’d helped them at the healer’s tent back home.

Neteyam carefully set you down on the grass, making sure the pressure on your wound was still tight and nothing leaked out of the fabric he’d tied around you. Then he made quick work to gather the dapophet pods, eyes flicking back and forth to check on you.

‘Carefully, ma’itan,’ he remembered his grandmother’s words as he harvested the leaves. ‘You must ask the Great Mother to guide you. Healing is not only in the body, but also in the spirit.’

There were no healing salves or concoctions out here. It was just him and the little training he had on medicine, and right now, he had limited, limited resources—ones that would hopefully keep you alive long enough to get proper help.

Neteyam unwrapped the cloth stemming your bleeding and began to clean the wound with stream water as best as he could. Then he lathered the gel he gathered from the leaves onto your skin, just as he’d seen Kiri done once to an injured Metkayina warrior. It was messy work, but it was the best he could do. And Neteyam wasn’t sure how long he’d been gone—how long he’d spent tending to you away from his family—, but once he finished wrapping the cloth to seal your wound, he allowed himself to breathe.

Thoughts rushed to his head immediately. He wondered if he’d made a mistake saving you. No, no he did not. Neteyam was a warrior but he was no killer. He couldn’t have fought you even if he wanted to. You were wounded. Mangkwan, yes, but frightened and injured with no one coming to help you. He saw it in your eyes—how scared you were—and he couldn’t do it.

The boy huffed, slumping back against his propped arms, exhaustion kicking in as he took a minute to rest. He looked at you, eyes following the loose strands of hair framing down your face, tracing the curve of your eyes and nose. You were beautiful, he realized—and far easier to work with unconscious. He didn’t have time to pay attention before, but now, as you lay here, asleep and unguarded, he took a moment to appreciate just how soft your features looked.

“Eywa,” he cursed a breath, shaking his head. Neteyam prayed that his instincts had told him the right thing to do. He’d rarely heard of raiders so young. In fact, he’d never seen one this young, ever, and he was sure the Mangkwan clan barely had any children; maybe none at all. By the Great Mother, it must’ve been fate to get shot down the moment a Mangkwan girl his age needed his help on the ground. And to help the enemy? He wasn’t sure why he did, but it felt right.

His eyes flitted down from your face to your wound, then to the knife that clung to your hip. That was when he noticed a strand of beads tucked inside the sheath.

A songcord? He was almost certain the Mangkwan did not carry songcords with them, or have any to begin with. And you did not wear it around your wrist or tie it to your loincloth—it was as if you tried to hide it–

“Pathfinder, do you copy?” the static earpiece of his comms came to life. His dad. Neteyam blinked, forcing his gaze away. He pressed the small button over his throat.

“I hear you, devil dog.”

“Are the rest of your siblings with you?” came his father’s hurried question. Neteyam’s ears flattened, guilt flooding him from all sides.

“No, dad,” he answered quietly. The line was silent for a brief second—a second long enough for him to let his eyes flick over to you.

“I need you to meet me near the crash site. Keep your guard up; don’t let anyone follow you, son.”

Neteyam gave one last glance at your still figure, and—despite himself—traced the outlines of your features, drinking in the sight of your face like some precious artifact he was never going to see again. It did not help that you were breathtakingly pretty. He had to force himself to tear his eyes away before he decided to make sure you made it through the night, make sure you woke up and was able to fend for yourself. He had to stop himself from doing something stupid simply because you were pretty.

So he gave one last check to your injury before slipping into the woods, burning the image of your face from his head—your sharp eyes, the cute tip of your nose, and the delicate curve of your jaw. You were a vision committed to his memory, one that—for some strange reason—nagged the back of his mind in a way he couldn’t shake off.

Neteyam could not forget you. Not when he’d helped his dad find the rest of his siblings in the forest, not when they went to High Camp for refuge, and not when they returned to the reef weeks later.

His days were filled with quiet mornings and loud night festivals. He obeyed his mother when she needed his help, provided for the family when Lo’ak went running off with Tsireya, and did what was expected of him with no complaint. He was picture perfect, adapted quickly to whatever hurdle was thrown at him, and normally, it would’ve made him feel accomplished. But all he’d been feeling lately was empty; unsatisfied with the routine he’d set for himself. And he did not understand why.

It was as if his encounter with you had thrown him off his course, re-arranged the parts of his brain that made him focused and goal-driven, and instead, left him with a feeling of senselessness.

His mother often told him to consider finding a mate, to look for a purpose now that he was not next in line for Olo’eyktan. She told him stories of his father, and how he’d renewed her spark when they’d met—how he gave meaning to her life in a way that made her world much brighter.

But Neteyam did not understand. He always felt his life was filled with his family; his duties, bright enough as it was. He never needed the attention of a woman to fulfill his soul, and he wasn’t certain he’d ever thought about choosing one. If it weren’t for the hell-bent, duty-bound mentality of his, he probably would’ve listened to his mother.

Feelings were distracting. It was something he’d always told himself he’d figure out after the Olo’eyktan part, but that was before they moved. Before the reef stripped him of his status and usefulness to the clan.

He’d spent years with the Metkayina, re-learning their ways after his near-death incident at the Three Brothers Rocks. He lived up to his reputation, excelling at everything he’d learned, patient when he taught others. And he’d met many young women of the clan, all which had been eager to teach and befriend him, but his mind persistently lingered on the Mangkwan girl he’d met only weeks ago—one who’d messed with his head and wasn’t even conscious to be aware of it.

You barely spoke a full sentence to him. He didn’t even know your name.

You were like a constant ache in his head, an image he could not stop seeing when he closed his eyes. You invaded his thoughts day and night, without permission, and it was driving him damn near crazy.

So when he’d overheard his father say he was going to scour through the battlefield for scraps one day, Neteyam played the perfect part of the eldest brother, insisting he’d come along to help.

“Don’t go too far,” his dad advised as they landed near the fallen gondola. Neteyam nodded, stroking the snout of his newly-bonded ikran. He instructed her to stay as he looked around for the familiar path of trees he’d gone through when he was last here.

It took him some time until he was sure he was going the right direction. The grass looked a little different, and there was a faint sound of water that reached his ears. The stream was close, which meant you were close. Or– where you had been.

He could feel the blood rushing to his head, adrenaline coursing through him as he neared the clearing. Neteyam needed to know if you were alive. He needed to see for himself that you’d made it out because for whatever reason, he felt responsible for you.

He pushed through the forest, brushing aside leaves and vines in his path, until he saw the line of dapophet plants growing from the ground. They led to water, a small stream that flowed beyond the thick trees, right where he’d left you weeks ago. And sure enough, the spot was empty; no sign of Na’vi—aside from the evidence of your injury staining the grass. Neteyam released the breath he was holding.

You were alive.

And you were out there. Somewhere. Probably back with your clan, which he hoped meant your wound got treated.

Neteyam shook his head. He wasn’t sure why he was so worked up about this. He thought seeing for certain that you were alive would calm his restlessness and put ease to his mind, but if anything, it’d only burdened him with a twinge of loss. He was never going to see you again– which was not a problem. Why would it be?

But then he felt something underneath his foot as he took a step forward, something small and rounded in its edges. Neteyam shifted back, crouching to see the tiny piece of songcord tucked in the grass. It was blue, and brown; and it had a bone-carved bead on it—the same one he’d seen the other day when he’d been saving your life.

He let the thin line of threaded beads slip between his fingers. It was broken; ripped apart from the rest of the songcord, but the knots held firm so the beads would not fall. If he was never going to see you again, then he would keep a piece of you.

To ease his mind, he reminded himself.

Neteyam took the broken cord, keeping it near his own along his hip. Then he scanned the area again, looking for any more pieces you could’ve left behind. He spotted one near a tree, another beside a rock. He was sure these weren’t the scraps his dad had in mind when he’d brought him here to scavenge. But one man’s trash is another man’s treasure– or something like that. Human sayings. He barely grasped the concept of them.

Neteyam returned to the meeting point with some other things he’d managed to find, most of which weren't really useful. Spare arrows, spears, and… that was it.

But his father patted him on the back anyway, packing the haul of things they got inside the baskets on either sides of each ikran. And when they returned home with their loot, Kiri was the one to notice the shift in his mood instantly. He’d been slacking for weeks ever since the Mangkwan raid, and though she did not say it to his face, he could feel her stare and attention on him when he returned a little brighter than usual.

She loitered near where he and his father were unpacking the haul, idly tracing footsteps on the sand without really any purpose to what she was doing. Her presence was so distracting that Neteyam had to stop what he was doing to think. But he supposed if she was here, then he might as well ask her about the Mangkwan.

“Kiri?”

“Hmm?” she responded, both her ears and tail perking up as if she’d waited all week for him to ask her a question. She perched by the edge of the shore, waves lapping at her knees as she sat there, feet submerged in the water.

“Do you know if…” he hesitated, briefly glancing at his dad before lowering his voice. “-the Mangkwan carry songcords with them?”

Kiri frowned, slumping back against her arms. Probably not the question she was expecting, but she was the best person he could ask about this.

“No? They don’t have songcords,” she confirmed, tossing a chunk of sand forward. Neteyam’s hands slackened at his sides, arrows hanging loosely in his grip.

“Oh.”

“Why? Did you find one? It was probably one of the Tlalim’s,” she added. Neteyam shook his head, offering a faint smile to ease her thoughts. He placed the arrows away, turning back to finish the rest of his work.

“Yeah, probably.”

But not really.

Now he couldn’t really say that to her, could he?

He knew it was yours. He just didn’t know why you’d have one. Your people did not carry things of sentiment like the other Na’vi did; it was a symbolic act of rejection towards tradition as well as the Great Mother herself.

They had no respect for life or the great balance, so why would you, a Mangkwan, carry such meaningful artistry with you? It took him a few days to realize that the small string of beads was beginning to disrupt his routine—bother him a lot more than he would care to admit.

He began to think about it often—when he was away, when he hunted for fish—and along with it came the thought of you, the ashen-skinned girl who invaded his mind without meaning to. Your songcord was just sitting there on his rack, hanging from the string of twisted twine, broken. It took Neteyam a few more days to begin to feel restless whenever its bright colors caught his eye as he returned home, or passed by to leave. And at some point, he felt bothered enough to find the need to do something about it.

So when he returned from the deep parts of the island one afternoon, sweaty and spent; he came with more craft materials than he’d usually take from foraging. Along with the bag of fish he’d manage to catch, a smaller, less space-taking pouch hung from his arm, ready to be distributed to the clan. If it were any other day, he would’ve given most of the things he found to Tuk, have her create something with it, or trade it at the market. But Neteyam had one goal set in mind this time.

Fix your songcord.

He left a few pieces behind for his youngest sister in the village, then brought the rest with him after dropping off fish near their family home. There was a spot he knew of; one that would get him an undisturbed moment of privacy to fix your songcord without questions. And it had a nice view.

Neteyam walked towards the edge of the island, already coming up with patterns in his head to knot and all. He wondered if he should add a carved-bead of his own, or leave it as it was to keep its authenticity—it did not belong to him. But if it was going to stay in his possession anyway–

The steps he took were light against the sand, renewed with purpose as he headed to a secluded part of the beach, hidden by a row of thick trees. He came here often when he needed time for himself, or when he wanted to watch the tide change its course throughout the day. It was a spot he loved disappearing to when the burden of his family’s worry for him became too suffocating, especially after the battle at Three Brother’s Rocks.

Neteyam sat near the shore, breathing in the familiar scent of the ocean. He took the broken pieces of your songcord from his pocket, careful to collect every stray bead that he’d found, and placed them in front of him.

Normally, Tuk would help him with stuff like this. She’d always been the crafty sibling who’d butt into any of their homes to help out, but Neteyam wasn’t sure he wanted to come up with a lengthy reason as to why he was fixing some stranger’s songcord today.

So he did it himself—not that he couldn’t. He was skilled; just as much as his sister was, and he took his time to seamlessly blend the contrasting materials of your original songcord with the Metkayina plant fibers he used. They looked similar enough to work, but it still took a bit of meticulous planning.

He could only assume the order of the beads, matching what looked good together and avoiding what didn’t seem right, but he doubted he’d replicated how it was before. You probably used other knots, ordered the colors differently.

His fingers slipped a bead onto the thread.

What if you were looking for it? What if your songcord actually held sentimental value to you? He would be an ass not to give it back.

And just like that, the boy had the bright idea to return the thing. How? He wasn’t sure yet.

He supposed it was good that he was fixing it—before considering giving it back to you. Was he really going to?

He threaded another bead, one carved of bone this time. The shape was odd, bulky in texture, and it would likely cut his finger if he pressed hard enough onto its ridges.

He wouldn’t even know how to return it. Your people were violent in nature; he couldn’t just walk into your territory, offering friendship with a piece of beaded craft to a savage clan.

A gust of wind blew on his face.

But maybe- his tail swished in excitement. -maybe if he could somehow get you alone…

An idea struck, sticking to his head long before he could turn it down, and even with his hands occupied and his thoughts feigning disinterest, Neteyam had already made up his mind.

But first, he had to fix your songcord.

next chapter >

‧₊˚.ೃ ࿐

©nyctophicbtch 2026 — do not copy, repost, or translate

There was a possibility that this was a bad idea.

It had been in your dreams and fantasies for a while, and now the two of them were finally standing at the end of your bed, doing that thing where they're so close together they're nearly taking up the same space and they're talking, murmuring really. They're relaxed and smiling, and Neteyam tilts his head, angled towards Ao’nung so his mouth was near his ear, secrets whispered between them. 

And then their eyes flick over to you and a sharp grin tugs at their lips. 

You swallow nervously.

They're starting to strip off their clothes, eyes still fixed on you and you clench your thighs before you stop them. 

"This– This is all about me, right?"

Neteyam hums, "of course, sevin." His thumbs are hooked under the strings of his loincloth, ready to tug it down, as you lean back on your elbows and smile at them, cheeks turning into a hue of purple. "Undress each other. I want to watch."

They share a look and Ao‘nung scoffs, but neither of their grins falter for even a second.

Neteyam then pushes Ao‘nungs hands away and begins untying the cord that’s holding his loincloth together. They're both working open the other's coverings, slow and sensual, almost lazily discarding everything to the floor, before they pounce on you as soon as they're naked.

"Let us make you feel good" Neteyams lips brush your ear and the vibrations make the little hairs stand up on the back of your neck. "Just relax, paskalin", Ao’nung whispers and you nod dumbly. 

Ao‘nung gets into position first, laying flat down on his stomach between your thighs while Neteyam settles behind you, holding your legs and opening you up for the other man to get a taste of your already overflowing slick. They guide one of your hands to the top of Ao‘nungs head, fingers brushing through the loose curls and then he grins up at you, "just pull my hair if it’s too much, yeah?"

Again, you nod.

It’s not until you’re trembling and Ao‘nungs face is left drenched that Neteyam allows your legs to close and they give you a minute to breathe. They use the opportunity to sandwich you between them, seated on the metkayina man’s lap while Neteyam helps your body adjust to his size. His fingers are as skilled as the other one’s tongue, and so he coaxes another orgasm from you, with soft praises being murmured into your ear.

They're so cautious, so careful and tender with you that it's easy to forget what lives beneath the surface of those strong warriors until they let loose. You can't even come up with words for what they make you feel, they way they pin you between them, surrounding you.

You don’t know which one of them pushes in first, your vision too hazy and filled with lust to even see clearly for the first few seconds. It’s already a lot to take in, even with as much preparation as the two had let you go through, but it’s all nothing once the other pushes in as well, lined up against each tightly inside you. All three of you take a minute to catch your rapid breathing, the two man nuzzling their faces against yours like palulukan kittens, spreading their scent onto your skin and marking you as theirs.

And the moment they starting thrusting up and into you, coordinating their rhythm so you never go empty for even a second, you start to wonder why you had ever doubted that this was a good idea?