synopsis: you and neteyam have never had a particularly close relationship. as lo'ak, his younger brother,'s bestfriend you had always just kind of been.. there. it isn't until neteyam completes his Uniltaron [dream hunt] that he is faced with a vision that forces him to confront feelings he's managed to keep perfectly contained for 18 years of knowing you.
genre: smut with hella plot, lo'ak's bestfriend!reader, slight? slow burn (not really), virgin!reader (she is of age pls), neteyam somewhat differs from movie canon in this (this is much more comic neteyam accurate), he's just a bit of an ass toward lo'ak basically, fem!reader
warnings: fingering, um that's pretty much it lol
a/n: this is so long but if anyone wants a part 2 lmk cause i lowkey have a lot of ideas for a continuation of this plot
also this isn't proof read when have i ever proof read anything in my life
Boys were rude, arrogant creatures. They had to be a different species entirely, you were sure of it.
Lo'ak fared no better, though his kindness stuck out— empathetic in a way many other na'vi weren't, seeing the world for what it was while still keeping hold of that child-like lust for a life the two of you weren't even sure existed. Away from the cursed land you reside on, away from the futility of war, away from the weight that dragged his tail down since before he knew how to walk.
It's what drew you to him, to each-other.
When you were six years old and enjoyed playing in the mud together while the other younglings reached for carved wooden figurines. When you were 9 and preferred scaling trees, exploring the mountains and swinging across vines to practicing beading and bow etiquette. Even when you turned 14 and realised that girls your age were mean, Lo'ak stayed by your side, a guiding light that turned days filled with whispers of what a barbaric excuse for a female you were into memorable adventures spent goofing off wherever necessary.
Things started to get a bit serious at 18, an unspoken knot in the stomachs of teenagers turned adults that still didn't quite feel it yet, but despite this the two of you never stopped having what you deemed the only important thing in your sorry lives— fun.
The moss beneath your toes was moist with the late afternoon droplets that slid from doc leaves, squelching beneath your feet with every inelegant hop you took. The sun was beginning to tire, the sky waning into that burnt orange colour you adored and shooting beams of light through fractions in the tree line.
"How much farther?" You whined, making a point of rubbing at your sore thigh muscle, "I think my legs are going to give out." A grumble under your breath, but meant to be heard.
Lo'ak's ears flicked toward you, but his head stayed locked on target, skipping rather excitedly down a trail he had clearly already mapped out in his head— "Quit being such a prrnen, [baby] it's not that far." Despite the fact you could only see the back of his head, you felt the roll of his eyes and leant forward to stomp on the furry end of his tail, which was dragging along the thick trunk of the branch you two were running along.
He let out a noise similar to a howl and shot you a look over his shoulder, clutching his poor little tail in his hands. "Who's the baby now?" You laughed, smug, and took the chance to move in front of him, leading the way to a place you weren't even sure of the location.
"You don't even know where we're going!" He growled, jogging to catch up.
"It is easy enough to figure out!" You retorted, gesturing to the long and clear path ahead. Lo'ak slumped, ears drooping against his head and a singular braid swooping in front of his eyes. He grumbled something under his breath along the lines of 'know it all' but you didn't care to pick all of it up.
The trail wasn't much longer than any you typically walked, but the moon was 'spreading her joy' today as Mo'at said in the early hours of the morning while breathing in the crisp of dawn, and for once you think you actually agreed with her. Except, it wasn't necessarily so much spreading joy as it was heatstroke. The sun had miraculously managed to grow hotter as it set, and if the thick beads of sweat wetting your hair weren't enough, the trail in which you were walking had much less coverage from the lack of foliage as any other.
Therefore, unprotected and with a lack of hydration, when the two of you reached the riverbank you practically collapsed against the mud and allowed your violet-tinged skin a moment of rest in the shade. Lo'ak was panting beside you, laying on his front with his feet curled by your head and his arms in the river, shovelling cupped hands of water to his lips and groaning at the sensation.
His tail flapped in delight and the furry end swat your face a few times, making you scowl and sit up on your elbows, batting it away from you with your free hand. "Keep your tail to yourself, skxawng!"
He only gulped down a few last mouthfuls of water before turning to grin at you, drool and shine down his chin, "You sure you're not thirsty?"
"You pee in that part of the river."
"So? It's natures way, I'm drinking the way Eywa intended." He leans forward and takes another mouthful, you pull a face registered only as disgust to his back.
The sun is finally waning and you feel like you can breathe again, allowing you time to admire the view. The cliff edge to high camp was visible from here, seeing as the two of you had walked a half circle from your starting point to get to this part of the river. The shrub that grew along the rock was particularly alive today, livened by the sunlight and bleached slightly yellow in colour, winding down for miles until it joined the greenery at the opposite edge of the bank. You smile up at the crack in one of the thick branches, so big it's visible from here. The two of you, or mostly Lo'ak, had been the reason for such break and Lo'ak still scowled whenever you'd remind him.
He had climbed the tree in the hopes of diving into the water from higher up, but once he got himself up there had been too much of a syíl [small deer] to get himself down. Of course, you made your way up behind to rescue him, but the branch had broken beneath the weight of two na'vi and inevitably you had to throw him into the water to ensure it wouldn't send both of you flying straight toward the rocks below. He had been angry with you at first, but once you pointed out his completion of the task he set out to do in the first place he soon forgot his frustration and was found celebrating by splashing around in the water, wetting your brand new tewng [loincloth].
You spot a flash of blue in the horizon and sit up a little farther, making Lo'ak's head follow and he groans at the sight. "Of course, we leave high camp to find refuge from assholes and my brother finds his way here." He had appeared from within one of the floor level cave systems, a troublesome but do-able trek from high camp, and was fussing around one of the banks across the way where the water was clearer, more still.
Neteyam was the Suli's eldest son, Lo'ak's older brother, and decidedly your sworn nemesis since you were children. Though, you weren't exactly sure which of the three of you had decided it; Lo'ak, you, or Neteyam himself. He was in line to be Olo'eyktan, and in turn ever since he learnt how to speak he had been giving the two of you orders in place of your father's whenever given the chance.
He had never been close. When you were very young, he was kinder. Sometimes, if you willed yourself to think hard enough, you could remember a time where he was almost fun, too. Many times he'd have to step in to save your asses, a few times you went to him for help. One of your little hands, trembling with something so rare for you that you'd had to find him for comfort, wrapped around his arm and tugged ever so gently.
"Neteyam," Your lip would quiver, tears welling in your eyes, "Lo'ak is hurt! We were trying to reach the fruits high up in the bananut trees, but he fell and we need your help!" He wasn't even much older than you and yet your first thought was to ask him, not his father, not even your own, but your bestfriend's brother who still, at such a young age, was the mightiest warrior you knew. A silly part of you believed he was fond of you, always picking on Lo'ak, never you. When the two of you would be scolded, he almost always took the blame, allowing you refuge behind him from your Fathers' disapproving glare. Of course, he would later berate the two of you on his own, but there was something about the softness of his tone when it was directed toward you that always stuck out.
Lo'ak would only scowl, "He never yells at you!" dragging his feet and often taking his frustration out on various rocks along the riverbank while you only mocked him for his dismay.
"Perhaps he prefers me to you." You'd smile with pride. At the time, the teasing was a way to add truth to your claims. Looking back, it was silly now. You cursed yourself for it.
"My dad says he's just going through something called 'puberty' and that's why he's so mad all the time." That classic sniff, when he was trying not to let anyone see how much they got to him, a scuff of his toes against a lone rock. "I don't see why growing hair under his tewng gives him any reason to pick on me, though."He would later tease you for the blush that rose to your purple cheeks at the statement. You would rather die before admit to it.
But that was then, Neteyam was different now. A heaviness weighed in the air, duty dragging his shoulders down in this way that wasn't so present as a child, before the title of Oloeyktan loomed too close for anyone's liking and his tail stiffened in ways it hadn't before. You were still you, avoidant of any and all responsibility, which was more apparent now than ever and only created a better breeding ground for the resentment that grew between the three of you.
You didn't realise the distance until it stretched so thin it was barely there. He still watched you occasionally, waited to berate you for something or snap an order at you, but mostly he was never there. During the day, he was away training or performing whatever duties he had to perform. At dinner, he no longer sat with the older children, often allowing you and Lo'ak to sit just close enough beside him that you could gain whispers of conversation of things you didn't yet understand, though Lo'ak mostly just spent the time stealing fruit from his brother's bowl. Now, he sat with the warriors on the other end of camp, dressed in their fancy feathers and brown leather, hunched over bowls of protein packed broths and curries to ensure the muscles on their arms stayed taut. At night, he disappeared. Lo'ak said that he would walk off into the treeline once dinner was concluded to go wash off in the lake before bed, but there were a few times where he wouldn't return until morning. Neither of you pried, you told yourself you didn't care. You suppose you could understand why a warrior would sneak off into the night and wish to never return, yet he always did, with duty dragging him home and his cummerbund weighing heavy around his waist.
He had returned from his dream hunt a few days ago and was making it Lo'ak's personal hell with all the disguised boasting he had been doing. To make it worse, every corner you turned a new member of the clan was congratulating Lo'ak on his brother's achievement, which is why the two of you had devised a plot to venture off in the hopes of finding a slice of peace for the day.
Now, he was here. Ruining your short lived peace by taking the time to bathe in the one place he knew the two of you claimed as 'your spot' since the very day you were old enough to walk this far from camp on your own.
"Can't you just go over there and tell him to wash somewhere else?" You suggest, a desperate attempt to pull your eyes from the flex in his bicep as he pulled his warrior band from his arm.
"And have to suffer through another interaction with him today? No way."
You roll your eyes, "You are so afraid of him." Your crossed arms allow you to fall back against the ground, propped up by the slight incline of the bank and your head resting in its original position by Lo'ak's tail.
He turns to swat you with it, glaring at you over his shoulder, "Yeah, right! He still cries when he sees a viper wolf!"
A lie. He had fought off at least 3 in the last month in defence of the two of you. You don't say anything, best not to argue with Lo'ak when it comes to the topic of Neteyam's strength.
"Plus, he's not even that big." He huffs, turning back to face his brother and scowling at the sight of him removing the cummerbund from his waist and placing it neatly atop the rock beside him, leaving him bare except his tewng.
Another lie. You laugh this time and have to catch yourself with a hand covering your mouth, quickly bowing your head when he turns to shoot you a second look.
"He cannot help his physique, Lo'ak. It is quite impressive." You hum, watching quietly as he removes his tewng. Damn, had he always had that ass? He eases a foot into the water and you can't help the way your brow-bone raises at the sight of the constricting muscles in his legs, his entire back rippling as he slowly wades into the water until he's waist depth.
Lo'ak studies your expression over his shoulder for a few moments and, without giving you the chance to prepare for attack, fully sits up this time to swat you with the back of his hand, making you break out into laughter and roll him off of you. "Quit perving on my brother!" He growls, leaning around your stomach to jab you in your side and tickling you in a way that has you kicking and screaming.
"Get off me, you brute!" You squeal, kicking his legs apart until you can wrap one of your ankles around his shin, giving you enough leverage to flip the two of you over until he is flat on his back, stretching his torso out just enough for you to shove your fingers under his armpits as rough as you could, making him howl with laughter.
"Okay,okay,alright, I'll stop!" He screams but you don't let up until you're sure he's about to wet his loincloth, pushing at your shoulders as hard as he can to gain at least a moment of air. When you finally do, the two of you lay there for a moment taking laboured breaths and an occasional laugh as you stare up at the bruising sky, now a slightly darker shade of blue than it was when you arrived.
"Are you trying to kill my brother?" A deeper, smoother voice teases and the two of you sit up like a syíl [small deer] in the way of an arrow.
Lo'ak scoffs, propping himself on his elbows like you had before as you furiously try to dust some of the dirt from your chest piece. "Don't you have some fancy warrior event you should be attending?"
"Do not worry, little bro." He coos, still hip deep in the water, "They will allow you to become an official clan member as soon as you gain the strength to fight off little girls half your size." He eyes you when he says it, like the mocking is just as much directed at you as it is his brother and you scowl. He takes a moment to laugh at your sour face before turning back to his brother and addressing him directly, "Dad's looking for you. He wants you to attend the ceremony."
"No! No way!" Lo'ak jumps to his feet, still barely a few inches taller than Neteyam against the height of the river bank. "We're not going!"
Neteyam only shakes his head, yellow eyes landing on you, "You will come, yes little txep?"
Little fire. He had branded you with the name when you were young due to your quick witted and stubborn nature, you were hard to put out, 'like a fire', he said. At first, it seemed like a sweet compliment to your perseverance, but now it was more like a cruel take on your persistence.
"That depends, will you be there?"
"Of course, I have, as the other warriors, completed my Uniltaron." His brows furrow at you for asking a question with an obvious answer, and the two of you ignore Lo'ak's mumbled 'You hadn't mentioned it' beside you.
"Then you should tell your dad neither of us will be attending." You smile, falsely sweet and when his lips purse you quickly tear your eyes away from the way they send a droplet of water rolling from his jaw to cascade down the beautifully sculpted abs along his stomach.
"I will see you both there." Is all he says before diving into the water, showering you both in fresh droplets and making his way back over to his side of the bank. Lo'ak whines, child like, and smacks some of the water from his hair, groaning something about being a 'show off' again that you're not really listening to as you watch Neteyam's rapidly retreating back above the water.
"Eywa, he's fast." You mumble.
Lo'ak gives you a genuinely puzzled look and you smile, "Nothing." to which he nods, squeezing some more water from the ends of his braids as he starts to slowly make his way up the hill.
"C'mon, your Dad will skin me if I don't have you back before dark."
You were attending the ceremony. Obviously, you were. That didn't change the fact you wanted to slap the smug grin right off Neteyam's face when he had heard Jake announce it, though.
"It is Neteyam's Uniltaron celebration, you will both be in attendance." One of his beefy fingers switches between pointing toward one of you, then the other, then back again. You glare at Neteyam over his shoulder when you notice his lips twitch up into a smile and he only gestures toward his Father with the side of his head, indicating where your attention should be.
"Do I make myself clear?" Jake's tone is final and Lo'ak hangs his head in defeat, jabbing you with an elbow in your side to remind you this is when you're supposed to reply. You do the same, the both of you mumbling a quiet 'yes sir' and the Olo'eyktan clasps his hands together, reaching behind him to grab a saddle from the woven basket beside the tent and throwing it toward Neteyam, who catches it with ease.
"The two of you can help Neteyam saddle the ikran in preparation. I don't want to hear another word out of any of you until tonight, understood?" Another 'yes sir' and he's on his way, leaving the three of you alone together once more.
Neteyam brushes between the two of you in one swift movement and is already beginning the task Jake set for the three of you, placing the heavy leather on the bird's back and fastening it into place.
"Saddle the ikran?" Lo'ak grumbles, stomping toward the basket and snatching out a saddle for himself to get started. "They won't even be used, he's just trying to find shit for us to do." You follow suit, taking a saddle and making your way toward the animal beside him. It purrs at you and you smile, running a hand along the expanse of its' side.
"They will be ridden tonight. At the ceremony." Neteyam explains with little to no emotion and Lo'ak rolls his eyes.
"Don't tell me you're all making some grand entrance by flying in."
"It is what I saw in my vision." He huffs, but the clip in his tone sounds like he doesn't want to explain any more. Of course, you still push.
"You saw the ikran? Is one of them your spirit animal?"
"Are you a clan leader?" He snaps, but the look in his eye kills any fight in your body. Something unusual swirls in them, something raw and vulnerable and you don't like the way it looks on someone so strong. This mighty warrior, staring at you like you had touched an open wound and the look Lo'ak gives you confirms your expected silence on the subject.
"You're right. I will just find out at the ceremony, anyway." You almost wince at yourself. The equal sharpness in your voice hadn't meant to slip out and now you're receiving glares from both brothers and Lo'ak wearily pulls you a little closer toward your ikran, giving you a look that tells you to drop it.
Neteyam says nothing, just turns his back on the two of you and takes heavier steps than usual back toward the basket to retrieve another saddle before making his way down the end of the line to start on the furthest ikran and work his way up. You spend the rest of the time sneaking glances at the tension in his shoulders and not another word is said between the three of you until dinner.
Sparks that fly from the fire catch in the wind, blown by various horns and smacks of drums as high camp is alive with the sound of music. Crowds of clan members are filled with quiet chatter, wondering which new warrior will take their place reenacting their dream hunt first and Mother's watch their sons from afar with pupils like stars. The atmosphere is charged with anticipation and as much as you pretend you're not enjoying yourself, you feel the electricity in your finger tips when Lo'ak passes you a leaf filled with charred meat from the previous hunt, planned out for this very moment.
"When do you think they will begin?" You nudge him quietly, scanning the open space for Jake and Neytiri from your place within the circle. Lo'ak leaves his crouched position in favour of your cross legged one, grunting when his butt hits the floor and taking a moment to adjust before he speaks.
"I think my Mom said Neteyam's first—"
You try to sit up on your tail a little, looking for the unique beading at the ends of his hair in between the various paint covered bodies of new warriors. "They all look the same, it's hard to tell."
Lo'ak slumps, shoving another piece of meat into his mouth, "He's probably still with my Grandma in the healer's tent."
Suddenly, the sound of the drums wanes and the chatter dims to a total silence. Every back in the whole of high camp straightens at the appearance of Jake before the clan, dressed in his traditional attire as Olo'eyktan and scanning the crowd with that familiar tight lipped look.
"Tonight, we honour these young warriors and the task they went through to get here. The Uniltron is not an easy rite of passage, but they have now passed through the eye of Eywa and returned to us with a newfound knowledge and maturity fit for a true warrior."
Lo'ak snorts and is shushed by multiple people around him, the two of you bow your heads to hide your laughter at the ridiculousness of it all.
Jake ends his speech by introducing each of the new warriors, taking the time to great each of them properly, acknowledging them as newly adults and presenting their new title to the clan.
"Ixtäl." He announces after greeting the first of the men, turning him by his shoulder to face toward the clan, who raises one of his arms in triumph. The clan repeats, followed by a few cries sent out by family members or friends, before he makes his way to the other side of Jake, where he waits for the others to join him.
One by one they make their way, until finally, through the small crowd of similar men, Neteyam appears, that same hard look on his face to match his Father's. He's wearing traditional paint, the white coming off a little grey in the low light of the fire, and his cummerbund secured tightly around his waist. The two greet each other with the same formality, and he is introduced to the clan the same way as the previous men before him.
"Neteyam." You repeat, and almost like the sound of just your voice was audible to him through the crowd, those big yellow eyes land on you and your heart sinks when you notice the same look still resides in them as earlier. He's afraid. The realisation makes you queasy and Lo'ak eyes you with concern, meaning the look on your face must have made things evident.
"What's up?" He whispers, scooting a little closer to you.
"I—" you start, but something stops you. You could tease him, mock him for his fear and make yourself just as arrogant as any other man here. But for some reason, you can't. "Nothing. He just looks different in all that paint." You hum, forcing yourself to tear your eyes away from his through the crowd and find Jake instead.
Lo'ak elbows you, "Y'know pretty soon that's gonna be me up there, right?"
The reminder makes your stomach turn. You don't want him to, can't face the sight of him up there with all those other men who are so different yet so similar to him. You wish he could just stay at your side forever, not rushed off to become a young man as soon as he can hold a bow correctly, only to leave you as some lowly weaver who would never be expected to earn so much as a second glance from the warrior sons of Toruk Makto.
But you don't tell him any of that, just turn to face him with that tight lipped smile as you pretend none of this is making you want to throw up. "If you're lucky enough to finally beat me in a fight, skxawng."
The drums begin again, and as the last warrior, Neteyam doesn't take a place with the others. The other clan members rise, as do you and Lo'ak. A few of the women begin to sing, and the song shoots right through you.
"Is this the song he had played when he completed his Uniltaron?" Lo'ak's brow furrows and his takes a moment to listen, ears twitching and tail swatting the ground with each beat of the drum. "Mo'at used to sing this for us. When we were young. You don't remember?" You urge, but he shrugs in reply.
"Mo'at sings a lot of weird shit."
You shake your head, too immersed for an eye roll, and focus back on Neteyam. You notice the bow slung across his back and scan the other warriors. None carry their bow, only him, which must mean it is part of something he saw in his vision. The wind breaks the music and dirt from the ground flies upward, forming a sort of smoke and impairing your vision as you try desperately to flap it away with the palm of your hand. There's a cry of many ikran and one by one, a member of the clan painted in red and black land at Neteyam's feet, who is already taking aim at one as it descends toward him.
He releases the arrow and it's a purposeful miss, demonstrating what must have happened in his vision, and continues to do the same for each member before dropping his bow at his side, clutching his arm to stop its shaking. The na'vi continue to sing, the drums get louder, and one of them calls out before grasping one of his discarded arrows and running it through the fire, sending the entire thing up in flames and turning to display it to the crowd, jumping and chanting while Neteyam stands still.
His fear is evident, like even the reenactment is too close to the real thing, but he perseveres, forcibly keeping his eyes from screwing closed as they begin to surround him. A young girl around your age appears in the mix. You recognise her easily, Hiräya, the daughter of one of Toruk Makto's most loyal warrior's, clearly suggested to Jake by her family to play a vital part in the celebration. Her acting could use some work, but she portrays her fear well enough that it is evident, gripping onto Neteyam's discarded bow and throwing it into the fire, watching in false horror as it goes up in flames just as the arrows had.
The other clan members dance around Neteyam for a few moments longer, the crowd copying their movements and you watched silently as people began to chant, sing, drink and call out, indicating the true festival has begun. The vision is over, the group melt into the crowd and Neteyam is no longer seen, just the sound of the song concluding before a new one is played and clapping begins to welcome the new warrior for his reenactment.
The next day, Lo'ak is nowhere to be found.
You checked everywhere. His home, with Kiri and Mo'at in the healer's tent, with the warriors in training where he probably should have been, down by your spot at the riverbank. Yet, no sign of him.
Funnily enough, Neteyam was nowhere to be found either, but that was far from the top of your priorities right now, and the boy had a tendency to make himself as scarce from you as possible.
When he finally returned, it was already dark. Everyone was joined together enjoying a communal meal, as the clan did every night, and halfway through your second helping of what should've been the food you set aside for him, Lo'ak strolled over almost infuriatingly casually and walked right passed you to take a sit with a few of the training warriors you had asked about his whereabouts earlier that day.
It was safe to say you were pissed, and even more so when you confronted him, surrounded by prying eyes and shit eating grins, about where the hell he had been all day, he shrugged at you. "Been busy."
"Busy doing what exactly?" you seethe, one hand on your hip and a mean snarl on your face.
"Does it matter? I've been gone for one day, so what?" A few of the men around him laugh and you shoot them a nasty glare.
"Can I talk to you? In private." you snap, eyeing the group for a moment longer before settling on Lo'ak. You see something crack behind his eyes and he gives in, sighing as he makes his way to his feet, bidding goodbye to his friends and telling them he won't be long.
You march him toward a gap in the treeline, content with the fact he's following you without having to look back, away from the crowd, before launching on him.
"What? Nothin'." He tries to sound convincing, but the pitch in his voice isn't the slightest bit believable.
"Did I do something?" Your question makes him frown a little, but he shakes his head.
"Then can you tell me where you've been all day?"
"What?" You laugh, "I'm asking about us, what has he got to do with anything?"
"Nothin', I'm just asking if you've seen him today. Was he with you?"
"Lo'ak, what is going on!?" You snap, exasperation evident in your voice and your hands smacking to your sides, your shoulders going limp with the force of your voice.
He stands still for a moment, just staring at you. His expression is unreadable in the dark light, and clearly he was going to make little attempt at talking. His jaw ticks, and for a moment this raw sympathy flashes behind those yellow eyes and you really think he might break. But it's gone just as soon as it arrived, and he's already taking heavy footed steps to leave, to leave you standing there on your own with nothing but more questions than what you started with and an unmistakably shaped hole in your chest.
You bite your lip to stop whatever this feeling was from pouring out of you, and almost like he senses it, he stops for just a second. You watch him think about turning, the side of his face just visible, before the back of his head is on you again and all you're left with is his quiet sigh as he leaves.
That was nearly 5 days ago now, and your patience had run from thin, to practically none existent. How funny, the little fire finally burnt out without its kindling. You were angry, with Lo'ak for ditching you with so much cruelty he may as well have been a warrior himself and most of all with Neteyam for whatever seed he must have planted into Lo'ak's head. That he was too good for you, that he had reached an age where it was imperative he shed his old skin for something new, something fit for a cummerbund, something worthy of the Suli name. It made you sick, and most of all furious.
It had to be him, he had to be the reason Lo'ak was acting this way. Prancing around with the warriors in training like it was the only thing he had dreamed of his entire life, when deep down you knew the only true dream he had ever had was to be seen by his arrogant and selfish older brother.
Whatever, you didn't care. You were your own person, boundless and not reliant on anything from either men. You could be your own woman, without influence from Lo'ak and certainly better off without the constant ridiculing of Neteyam. Two birds with one stone, now well on the way to what you considered total and utter peace.
Except, it wasn't. You were out on your own for once, seeing as Lo'ak had been decidedly avoiding you and you made a promise you wouldn't let it put a damper on your spirit. It had become routine for you to brush off whatever excuse he had given to dismiss you that morning and venture into the forest in search of something to do other than moping. Which was fine for the first day or two until you quickly started to realise it wasn't really what you did that was so fun, it was hanging out with your bestfriend that made your days so great and your evenings so peaceful.
You were aware you had likely missed dinner. You didn't feel like going, couldn't face the sight of Lo'ak's back for another meal, nor the pitiful and suspicious looks from family members that assumed the worst.
There's a flash of light and before you realise you're on your ass, scrambling backward and wincing at the soreness shooting through your tailbone. The light doesn't disappear, unnatural and blinding, and when you look above the treeline your breath catches in your throat.
Windtraders— coming to trade their trinkets and metals in exchange for the various fruits of the land.
The light of the moon is blocked by their ships, thick skin-like flesh flaps against tree branches and a few of them give way under the force, dropping a few yards away from you and hitting the ground with a thud. The medusoids are slower, darting further toward the ground with each movement and the shrieks they give out indicates injury. Arriving this late was unheard of, they were daytime traders and would make no business during the night, and the wind was alive with the smell of something gravely wrong.
You reach your feet again, watching closely through the gaps in the cliff edge as the ships near their landing point. Something shrieks again, but this time it isn't medusoids. It's something familiar, yet carnal, more murderous. An ikran, you gather, followed by war cries you don't recognise. Not your own. Your clan likely isn't even aware of their arrival yet.
Your eyes narrow, trying to scope out exactly what you're looking for, some distinct sign of unwell or a reason for their being here. The cries have to be theirs, but you can't see any ikran circling the ships and the longer you watch the closer they become to the cliff edge. There's something that you can't only describe as a sparkle before another cry and a familiar orange light blooms in the night, darting across the sky like a bullet and hitting one of the medusoids, sending the ship tumbling to the ground.
The cry you let out is ear shattering as a jagged formation of na'vi in red and black paint swarm the sinking ship. More fire, more cries, more ships sink. You open your mouth to cry out again, to turn on your feet and warn your people. To find Lo'ak, to make sure he's okay. But your feet stop against the dirt and an arm secures around your middle while a hand clasps your mouth, halting your screams.
You kick furiously and jab your elbows into the flesh of whoever was behind you, but a familiar hush in your ear has your entire body going limp. He doesn't move, keeps hold of you and you can feel the tug of his skin behind your back, feel the heat of his breath beside your head and the tension in his shoulders. He's watching too, why is he watching? Why isn't he doing anything? You try to cry out against his fingers again but he only tightens his hold against your face, shaking your torso a little with the force of his bicep around your middle.
"Do not make a sound." His voice is stern, enough to convey the gravity of the situation if the sight before you hasn't already and you try not to exhale too big of a breath when you feel the hand that had been around your mouth retreat in favour of something across his back.
You hear the wood scrape before anything, then the taut pull of the string, and then his arms settle just above your head. You hold your breath and try the hardest you ever have in your entire life not to move, to be serious, to be grown up and help him be a stupid warrior in any way you can. The first arrow releases and hits one of the red and white na'vi, sending them and their ikran flying downward. A few surrounding cry out, alerting the rest, and before the first even meets the ground he's lined up for another shot. He pulls back, ready to fire, when you suddenly pushed back against his chest and cry out, making the arrow spin to the right as it releases and miss the belly of the ikran it had been aiming for.
Before either of you have a moment to react, a sparkle ignites again, a flash of orange through the night flying straight toward the two of you and within seconds you're on the floor and out of sight, his large body shielding you from the heat that spreads through the foliage and travels up the trunk of a nearby tree.
You're winded, but despite the lack of air in your lungs and the burn in your throat, you try to sit up, to scream, to cry. You're pushed down by a strong hand around your arm and shushes you again, this time with his face mere centimetres away from yours and you can't help the tears that escape your eyes this time. He watches you cry as you lay there, staring up at him with no sound escaping your lips and a knot in your brow as you tried desperately to follow his orders. The one time in your life you ever did, and for once he's thankful to see you cry.
He's thankful to see the tears spill from your eyes, to see life swirling in those beautiful yellow eyes. And when the light finally fades and the sound of the last ship hitting the floor is finally done, he's thankful for the way you shove him off of you with as much force as anyone had ever touched him with in his whole life.
He's on his feet in seconds, but he keeps the distance between the two of you short, he offers a hand to help you to your feet but you smack it away.
"Why didn't you do anything sooner? How could you stand there and wait?" You cry, too desperate to fight it, too overcome.
"Those people, Neteyam! The Windtraders— they are slaughtered!"
"You do not understand." he repeats, and by eywa, for the first time you agree with him. He's right, you don't. You don't understand any of this, any of what just happened or why you were were. You shouldn't be here, you should be at home with Lo'ak spying on his parents or building yourselves a new bow, but everything is wrong these days and you can't seem to fight it any longer.
You can't help it, can't help the way you reach for his bow, can't help the way you shove it against his chest with all the force in your body, can't help the way it cracks on the impact and pieces fly into the spreading orange upon the tree. Kindling to the fire, helping it to grow, to spread, helping it to take over things that were once untouched. His eyes follow it, but he doesn't break. He doesn't shout or scold you, he doesn't lose his temper. He watches the pieces burn like they're supposed to, like he placed them there himself and is content with seeing them go. Like this was foreseen, a rite of passage, written in the stars.
"No, I don't. So help me! Help me understand why you just let those innocent people die!"
"It was either them or you!" He finally cracks, voice booming volumes above yours and it sends something hideous straight through you. He's closer, looming over you and his jaw is so impossibly tight you're sure you hear one of his teeth crack. Breath leaves his chest in a pace that matches yours— laboured and heavy— and your chests nearly bump together with the closeness of each inhale. Your eyes scan his face, that same look in his day as the day of the Uniltaron ceremony. Like he's lived this before, the fear of knowing what is to come and the shake in his arm is the same one he tried to calm when he was faced with it. You find what's left of his bow and his face grows impossibly harder as he watches you stare at the ash beside his feet, eventually looking up to meet his stare with a look that matches his own.
"This is what you saw on your Uniltaron."
His lack of response is enough confirmation and the steps you take away from him are even louder of a reply.
"That girl, the one who burned your bow. That was me." He blinks, eyes sinking away from yours and you scoff, "Wow, Neteyam. You are truly unbelievable."
"So I was just supposed to let you get yourself killed?" He growls, but you bite back harder.
"What does it matter to you? You can't stand me!"
"Do you really think I'd have you die for it?" He's seething now, closer to you than ever and hunched to meet your height, face only centimetres away from yours and you can practically taste the strain in his throat. You take a shaky breath, back bending uncomfortably to try to create even a slither of distance between the two of you, but Neteyam isn't letting up and you can only bend so far.
"What else did you see? In the vision." You huff, straightening your back and taking a quarter step away, just enough to try to take a thorough breath.
"It doesn't mean anything, it's just an illusion—"
"What did you see?" You grit and the look he gives you is almost guilty as much as it is infuriated.
"There were shadows— like children. A boy and a girl. They were happy at first, happy to see me. But then, the Mangkwan came, and the fire—"
His eyes flick up for a moment to study you and you can tell by the strain in them he's informing you of something he wasn't supposed to. "The scavengers, in black and red. The demons you saw sink that ship."
"I knew that, if I did not stop the fire, something very bad was going to happen to them— to you. My Grandfather was there, and suddenly everything felt.. cold. It was like he was screaming at me, telling me what I had to do, and yet no words were said."
"What did he say?" You ask, quietly.
"Protect the people." He says it like it physically pains him rather than with the cocky confidence you had expected and something about it doesn't feel right. He sighs, a quick rush of a noise that's more aggravated than anything else, before continuing, "After I stopped the fire, I was Olo'eyktan." He gives you a glance like he's ready to stop there but your glare makes him continue. "You were Tsahik." He strains, like he's confessing to a wrong doing and awaiting punishment, but he continues. The fire flickers wildly, a wave of oxygen rushing it and now the flames burn brighter than before.
Suddenly, it all made sense. "That is why Lo'ak has been so angry with me. He thinks we are to be a mated pair, he—" you stop yourself, shaking your head as you jab a finger into Neteyam's chest, "You let him think that! I would never be Tsahik, to stand by your side as Olo'eyktan, I wouldn't dare!" You yell, but he catches your wrist in his hand, pulling you toward him.
The flames seem to crack in tandem with the pounding inside your chest and his voice is just barely heard over the noise, "It is not a prophecy, txep."
"Then you will speak to Lo'ak." You huff, the light begins to dim, "You will tell him that it cannot be true because there is no way me and you would ever become a mated pair."
His eyes scan your face, watching you under the new silver of the moon, no longer overshadowed by hot orange flames. The silver is not as forgiving and the wet of your cheeks shine beneath it, as do the deep lines carved into his forehead, and for the first time since being children you're sure you could paint every detail of his face in this moment from memory. His tongue darts out to run over his lips, yours seem to part involuntarily and the small of your back arches you straight into his hold when those yellow eyes catch the movement with practiced certainty. Like he was awaiting it, like he knew how to get it out of you and had already practiced which button cause which reaction a thousand times over just by watching you.
"You have my word." He says, with the exact same certainty, before releasing you with a little more force than needed and taking his own steps back.
The last of the fire burn out quickly and for a while you stand on your own, fighting to catch your breath and stop the tears that are pricking at your eyes for a reason you can't even name. It's like your entire body has been plunged into ice cold water and all the warmth in the forest had been sucked out of you with the removal of his finger tips from your skin, and now all he leaves is the sting of fresh tears and an ache in your thighs.
His entire body is sideways, angled away from you like it physically pains him to be any closer and you can't explain why you wish so badly to have him. On your lips, on your skin, in your hair, in your lungs, in every vast and empty part of you ready to be filled like they've been quietly waiting for him since the day you were born. You bring a hand to your chest— absently, too focused on calming the burn that seems to scream his name with every exhale— and he follows the movement, his own mouth falling open as he watches you draw steady circles with your palm between the cavern of your chest and press hard.
He's back in front of you in seconds, two big hands cradling your jaw and you're sure your head was sculpted just to fit into his palms. He moves with restraint that evidently slips every second and your smaller hands around his arms are the only thing keeping you from giving in, the same shaky hold as when you were children, looking to him for help in a moment of desperation and eywa, help him, he's supposed to be the responsible one. The mighty warrior, exempt from temptation, saviour to you and your shaky little hands, but fuck, he was the one in need of saving. To be satiated, saved by the grace of what must be the only real God he had ever known, his little bro's infuriatingly perfect best-friend and the one gift he had denied himself of having since the day he met you.
He leans in just a step closer and you inhale quickly, squeezing at his forearms and digging crescent shaped marks into his skin. "You gave me your word." Your voice is no louder than a whisper, spent of energy needed to keep your knees from buckling in his hold, and your eyes screw so tightly shut that Neteyam audibly groans at the loss of contact.
"I gave you my word that I would tell my brother we will never be mated." His accent is thicker now, and you realise it must be the strain, the total concentration on keeping himself from you that makes his tongue slip against the roof of his mouth a little heavier than usual. "I did not say anything about touching you." He whispers, knuckles grazing your jaw and he leans in to place a kiss to your cheek. Your entire body ignites and it takes everything in you not to throw your head back from the sensation of his lips just barely closing against your skin, and when they trail to the side of your neck you have to brace your palms against his shoulders to stop yourself from trailing them places they shouldn't go.
"Lo'ak—" Your voice cracks and you can't even tell whether it's from emotion or rather you are overcome by something else, everything melts together to form nothing but the want to say his name on your tongue and preventing you from easily saying anything else. "He can't—" You gasp when one of his strong hands digs into the small of your back, yanking you roughly until you're flush against his stomach and give up on talking entirely.
"You think I'm going to tell him?" He questions but, whether you're capable or not, you know better than to answer him. "Do you think I want my brother to know?" His knuckles leave your face, trailing down your neck until they ghost over your collarbone, making you shiver, and travel further until his fingers run along the beads in your chest piece.
"How I've always thought about the way you'd look beneath me," His voice is steadier now, calmed, like just the freedom to touch you has already made improvements for him. His fingers grow bored quickly, trailing back up to cup your neck in one of his palms and press his flat nose into the pressure point of your throat. "The way you'd smell," he inhales deeply and you can't help the noise that escapes you, or the way your back straightens under his touch as it moves to card through your hair, settling at the base of your scalp and giving a sharp tug that has your head snapping back and a strangled noise trapped in your throat. "The sounds you'd make."
He stands to his full height and you hadn't realised he'd been hunching over to meet you until now, big eyes widening at the look in his face— raw and desperate, like a man starved. He leans down again, this time settling a little higher up your face and your brain practically turns to mush when his tongue darts out, licking a wet stipe from the tip of your chin to the cavern between your under-eye and your cheek, tasting the tears you had cried for him earlier like they were the best gourmet meal he'd had in years and groaning. "The way you taste."
When he pulls back to look at you this time, you finally allow your body to take over. The little fire, put out by the man that named her, now ash in his hands and only capable of gasping his name into the dry forest like a promise of ownership. His stare darkens as soon as the words leave your mouth— a confession you hadn't even known you'd been hiding— and within moments his lips are finally on yours.
His mouth moves over your own with sincerity— charged with just as much fervour as his hands that feel like they're everywhere and nowhere near close enough all at once. Your arms loop around his neck like they belong there, pulling him in closer and hoisting yourself to your toes so that your entire body is pressed against his. He helps you, holding your weight with a strong arm around your middle in the way he had before and deepens the kiss.
His spare hand runs along your stomach and you take little notice of it, stroking your tongue into his open mouth and swallowing up the grunt he makes, desperate to pull more from him. One of his fingers dips down to press into the hood of flesh beneath your loincloth and you pull back with a gasp, wide eyes blinking at him like he'd just discovered something you didn't know was there. He rests his forehead against yours, watching your face contort as he rubs against your clit through your covering, using his thumb to flick the fabric to the side and eventually slip his hand beneath it, feeling you bare with nothing else constricting his movements.
The sounds you make have his ears twitching upward, adding more pressure in his fingers in order to hear more. They continue their work diligently, you chase his lips over and over but he doesn't allow you more than a peck, too desperate to hear you and not wanting to risk silencing you. He dips a slender finger just barely inside of you before retracting you and you whine at the loss of sensation despite the fact his others still work on your clit. When he does it once more your arms around his neck tighten in warning, one hand trailing up to grip his hair and unintentionally tug. A growl rumbles from his chest.
"Neteyam," You breathe his name again like a mantra and he stops his movements, readying to pull back. You tug again, harder. "Don't stop. Please, don't stop."
At first, you think he's going to deny you. That he's exited this trance-like state the two of you are in and realised what he believes you're coercing him to do— to shout 'How dare you?' and spit at you for taking things too far. The snap of your loincloth against your tummy when he fully retracts his hand almost makes you want to cry, and as he slowly brings his fingers to his lips and sucks them. It's filthy— the way his tongue swirls around the digits, evidently getting a taste of you by the way his eyes threaten to roll into the back of his head, coating them in his saliva while staring at you so intensely you can't seem to look away, despite every firing neurone telling you so.
Before you even have time to question, his fingers are on you again, pressing beautiful sounds from you that grow louder with every twist of his wrist and each curl of his finger inside of you. Eventually, he adds another and you had to lean your entire weight against his chest to ensure you stay upright, gasping into his shoulder like a lifeline. Familiar warmth from when you had done similar— and yet not so erotic— things in time spent alone coiled in your stomach, pulling taut like bow strings and threatening to release.
"'Teyam—" You're barely any to get the words out, breathless and tinkering on the edge. "—I think.. I think I'm going to— " The sound of you only spurs him on that much more, adding more of a curl to his fingers pumping in and out of you. Your grip on him tightens to the point of threatening to break skin, but he doesn't complain.
"I know, baby." He coos in that deep voice of is, the softness of it contrasting the demeanour of his fingers scissoring away inside of you, and the very real fact you're about to cum on them. As if he reads your mind, he speaks again, rubbing the pads of his fingertips against that particularly spongey spot that has you nearly screaming for him. "It's alright, you can cum for me." And by eywa, you do. That wave crashes hard, harder than it ever has on your own, and you're sure you feel some of yourself slide into the palm of his hand and possibly down his wrist, but he doesn't say anything. Letting you ride out your high into his hand until that light fades and you're nothing but a shell of a woman, leaning against him like a tree stump.
His fingers don't stop until you're a spasming mess against him, legs trembling and totally dumb just from him fingering you to completion. It's only then he removes them, carefully, and you sigh at how empty it makes you feel. He runs a hand over your sweaty forehead, gathering the sticky strands there and swiping them back against the rest of your hair. The two of you stay there for a while, just breathing with one another as he makes his best attempt at cleaning you up even a little.
Once you finally feel strong enough to stand on your own, you pull back just enough to get a good look at him, a dumb, fucked-out smile painting your lips that he can't help but share. He kisses you again, softly this time, gentle caresses of his open mouth against yours until you're practically melting against him once more, palms bracing against his abdomen in a way that makes him jolt and break off the kiss.
You blink at him, "You don't want me to—"
"Home, little txep. It is late." His words settle into you like glass shards, but it's hard to focus on anything other than that gorgeous face as he's smiling down at you like you're the best thing he's seen all day. He kisses you again, just in the hopes it might satiate him enough for the rest of the night, though he's entirely sure it won't, and you give into him eagerly once more until he was pulling back to begin your journey just to make sure he doesn't pin you against the ash-covered tree and make you moan his name at least another ten times.
You allow him to walk you home, despite the silence initially crawling along your spine, until it settles into something more comfortable. You try experimenting, a brush of your pinkie against his and he gives you an amused smirk from the side of his face like he yearns to tease you for being such a baby, but only slots his hand through yours until you reach the village.
You're the first to drop his hand at the sight of high camp approaching and you don't dare to face him when you catch his slight frown from the corner of your eye, but as you retreat to the safety of your tent you can't help the giddy smile that creeps onto your lips at the sight of Neteyam, the arrogant and rude creature he was, quietly nodding you goodbye with that knowing smile and the same mischievous flick in his tail as when you were children, forcing him to play babysitter on whatever reckless adventure you and Lo'ak found yourselves on, a tell-tale sign of the child-like enjoyment he always tried so badly to hide from you.
Perhaps now, if you tried to remember a time Neteyam had ever been kind, or fun, you would have an easier time finding a memory, now that he has granted you with this one.
soraphic 2k26— please do not copy, repost or translate any of my works on other platforms: i do not tolerate them at all.
