Liyahh🦋

“Kiri,” Tasi whispered, leaning in closer. “Since you’re the sister. Is he always like that? And what about Lo'ak? Just the other day, he teased me about my braids and I know I ought to hate it, but he’s so cute I forgot to be annoyed!”

Kiri, who was lazily braiding a length of vine, gave a lopsided grin. “Lo’ak is… well, Lo’ak. He’s a total boy. He spends half his time trying to prove he’s a man and the other half being rowdy and disobedient. He doesn't know when to be quiet.“ She rolled her eyes.

You nodded in agreement while the girls giggled.

Yaremu pressed on, “And Neteyam?”

“Neteyam is alright,” Kiri said, shrugging. “He’s the eldest, after all, so he has a lot to do. He takes care of us when Mom and Dad are not around, and since he’s a hunter now, he’s mostly out.”

“He's so handsome,” Yaremu breathed, nudging you. “Don't you think so, too? He’s always in front of you when we study. Surely you’ve noticed how good he looks when the sun hits his shoulders?”

You paused your grinding, your brows already furrowed. You did not notice that at all. You felt the weight of their gaze, three pairs of eyes curiously waiting for what you have to say. “I notice that his grinding technique is sloppy,” you said, your voice flat. “And that he distracts the circle with their nonsense. If he is to be a leader, he should learn that a healing pavilion is a place of silence, not a stage for his friends to sneaker and fool around.”

The girls exchanged looks, suppressing smiles and rolling their eyes playfully. Tasi bumped her shoulder against yours. “You’re always too serious, sister! You can always study really hard and still have eyes in your head. Everyone should appreciate a beautiful hunter.”

A sudden, raucous burst of laughter was heard from outside the pavilion, making Yaremu and Tasi sit up straighter, going back to their works in an instant. It was a sound you knew very well and it always seemed to follow a particular group. Your cheeks burned, feeling like you’d been caught talking about him even though you were just answering questions! You sat properly, your jaw tightening a little as the voices grew louder, nearing the pavilion.

“Neteyam, you almost dropped it!” a voice boomed, followed by a chorus of snorts.

“I did not! It was Lo’ak, he bumped me!” Neteyam’s voice, already deepening, carried a playful defiance.

A small, knowing sigh escaped your lips. These interruptions are now a constant backdrop to your studies, and you hated it. They weren't even supposed to be here, especially Neteyam, who had just successfully passed his iknimaya and gone through his uniltaron, yet here they were, led by him, no less. You can’t even complain because even though they are rowdy, they are not only eager to learn, this is also beneficial to them as future warriors and hunters of the clan.

Neteyam himself proved to be an exceptional student in the art of healing, which you think is simply natural for him for he excels in everything anyway. He has earned so much praise from Mo’at’s assistant healers that they are now discussing a new initiative with the senior warriors: making first-aid training a requirement for every young warrior and hunter.

The bead curtain at the entrance of the pavilion clattered as the boys spilled inside. You saw Neteyam leading the way, his stride possessing a new, grounded grace since he became a full-fledged warrior of the clan following his iknimaya last season. Close behind were Lo’ak, who was busy trying to trip Atan, while Kipey struggled to carry a bundle of practice splints. Suddenly, the pavilion felt small and their boundless energy made you dizzy. The serene atmosphere you and the girls have earlier is now all but a thing of the past.

Healers Sayka and Jahi entered the pavilion not long after, and because you were looking at them, your eyes caught Neteyam’s and saw him already looking at you. You felt the fine hair on your nape standing up, a bizarre feeling that made you smoothly roll your eyes away, greeting the healers the same time they did.

“Find your places, quickly now,” called out Sayka, the senior assistant healer, as she walked down the aisle followed by Jahi. “The Great Mother does not wait for boys to finish their jests.”

The boys scrambled to sit. Naturally, Neteyam chose the spot directly across from you and your eyes met his again which you quickly averted by looking down on your pestle and mortar. He sat straighter and every time you reached for a new herb or adjusted your posture, you could feel his gaze, not heavy or lecherous, but steady nonetheless, as if he's focusing on a single star in the night sky to properly navigate in the air.

“We heard of the incident during the hunt three days ago,” Sayka began, her eyes landing on Neteyam. “One of the hunters took a horn to the thigh. Messy business,” all of you gasped. “Neteyam took care of the first aid. Didn’t you, Neteyam?”

Your eyes drifted to him and you saw him glanced at you before he turned to Sayka to silently nod at her.

“Tell the circle what the wound look like and what you did before the hunter was brought to the Tsahik.”

Neteyam shifted his focus to Sayka, though you felt the ghost of his attention still lingering on you. “It was a jagged gash,” he said, his voice grounded. “The horn had hooked the flesh, so it wasn't a clean line. There was a lot of blood...”

You watched for any fear or anxiety on his face, but there was none, only certainty and confidence that shouldn't belong on the face of a fourteen-year-old.

“And how did you respond?” Sayka pressed.

“I used a cloth tie as a tourniquet above the wound to slow the flow,” Neteyam explained. "Then I used river water to flush out the dirt. I didn't have any paste, so I just held a soft fortune leaf over it with steady pressure until we brought him to Tsahik.”

“Good. Simple and fast,” Sayka nodded and swept around with her gaze. “A jagged wound is not like a clean wound brought by the slice of a knife. If you have observed a clean slice, it most often closes on its own, but a jagged wound is an angry one. It stays open. Neteyam did well to flush it because with a jagged wound, the first thing to do is to clean it. Dirt hides in the flaps of the skin, so you must use cool, flowing water to wash away the debris. If anything is still inside, you leave it for the Tsahik, but if there’s none, you must clean it thoroughly.”

You nodded eagerly. You haven’t dealt with wounds like that before. Mostly, it was just scraped or small cuts. You wondered what a jagged wound actually looked like and debated whether to ask Neteyam for further details after the class is over. You took a thick and waxy dapophet leaf from the bundle Jahi was distributing. As the leaves were distributed, the quiet was immediately punctured by Lo’ak’s muffled snickering. He was leaning over to Kipey, whispering something about how Neteyam sounded like a “grumpy old grandmother” when he talked about bandages.

You felt a familiar spark of irritation, looking up to to fix the boys with a reprimanding glare, but your eyes didn't even make it to Lo’ak. They crashed into Neteyam’s instead and saw him already looking. The dappled sunlight filtered through the woven roof, casting golden patterns on him and for a moment, you understood what Yaremu was talking about. He is handsome, especially when bathed in sunlight.

You felt something in you flutter. Somewhere in your belly and it tickles. You parted your lips to let out an indignant huff, snapping your gaze away to fix it on Jahi when she spoke. The girls have instilled such ridiculous notions in your head and now, this is what happens!

“The leaves in your hands have a tough outer layer, but inside it is filled with fluid. Now, each of your leaves have a jagged cut you must stitch close,” Jahi explained and you smiled excitedly, looking down at your leaf and the stitching materials being distributed. “Remember not to pierce it too deeply or pull the edges too hard, because the juice might run out. This is similar to a wounded person, you wouldn’t want to pierce them too deeply or pull their skin too hard, would you? You must be mindful to the weight of your own hands.”

You concentrated on your work, carefully stitching the leaf back together. The girls are also silent, which is something you love about them, because nothing could take away their concentration from studying, not even the boy they’ve been mooning over minutes earlier. What annoys you, though, is that you are the one distracted. You could feel his constant glances on you and you decided you’re done with it.

You lifted your head to meet his eyes and you found him with his eyes already on you, as if waiting for the contact. It was infuriating. “Is there something wrong with my stitching, Neteyam?” you asked suddenly, your voice cutting through the silence.

The boys froze. Atan and Kipey exchanged wide-eyed looks.

Neteyam blinked, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “No,” he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “You’re perfect. I mean, I mean your technique... It’s perfect. I was just looking to see... If I’m doing it right.”

Lo’ak cleared his throat and pretended to cover his face to cough, but his shoulders were shaking, and his face and neck darkened to purple. He was laughing. What’s so funny? You tilted your head and look at Neteyam’s leaf. He was doing it right. Your own face burned in embarrassment. Perhaps, he was truly just trying to look at yours to see if he’s doing his stitching right!

“I think yours is good. It looks like a clean stitch,” you said, returning to your leaf without waiting for a response.

“Thanks...“ he said, his voice still soft.

You heard the boys snicker and from your peripheral gaze, you can see them tease Neteyam with silent nudges. You looked at them and narrowed your eyes. The healers only left for a few moments and they are so rowdy again!

Neteyam, who had been grinning at something Lo’ak said, felt the weight of your gaze. You saw him turn, his golden eyes meeting yours, and his smile died instantly. The bravado drained out of his shoulders. He sat up straighter, his ears pinning back for a second before he composed himself into a mask of sudden, intense seriousness. Lo’ak started to let out another muffled laugh, but Neteyam’s elbow caught him sharply in the ribs.

“Shut up,” Neteyam whispered at his brother before clearing his throat and looking down at his own leaf with the intensity of a scholar.

The rowdiness of the boys died down into a strained, respectful silence, all because you had looked at Neteyam. Kiri turned to you with a knowing, almost mischievous glint in her golden eyes. You fixed her with a confused look and she shook her head, softly chuckling to herself.

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You stood in a drawn circle at the training ground with your bowstring drawn back against your cheek. Tasi and Yareumu had already abandoned their targets, preferring to sit in the shade and braid flowers into each other's hair, giggling as they watched the young warriors spar in the ring. All four of you decided to train in archery just last season, but the two of them, including Kiri last week, already gave up on their trainings, citing its futility in the path they are choosing.

Two years had passed and the soft roundness of your childhood had now sharpened into lean, graceful lines of a young lady. At fourteen, the weight of the path you’re forging for yourself is no longer just a dream, but more and more like a shape forming true. You wanted to be of full service to the people, not just as a healer, but as a protector as well, even though you will not be Tsahik. So now, you’re planning to tame an ikran just like Kiri had the year before.

“It’s too much work for my arms,” Tasi sighed, waving a dismissive hand at her discarded bow. “Besides, why do I need to be an archer if I am to be a healer?“

“Because a healer must sometimes be the one to keep the patient alive before the wound is attended to,” you replied without looking back, releasing the arrow. It thudded into the center of the mossy target with a satisfying thwack.

“You are always so serious,” Yaremu teased. “Look, even the boys have stopped their sparring to watch you. Jeto looks like he’s forgotten how to breathe.”

You didn't spare them a glance. You think boys are stupid... Some of them have already wasted half an hour watching and hooting at your every move. The same bunch even tried to invent “accidents” in the past moons just so you would look at them. If Neteyam hadn’t scolded them, they would have continued distracting you in your trainings. Fortunately, they’ve stopped now... But the annoyance of their constant attention has not ceased.

Neteyam stood with Kiri far behind you, supposedly discussing your plan to go up the Hallelujah Mountains soon to tame an ikran for yourself, but he couldn’t help but watch you, his ears tuning out everything Kiri was saying.

You seemed so uncaring of the boys’ antics, your chin tilted high, your air always radiating that quiet, indifferent coldness that made you seem miles above the dirt of the training ground.

“She’s such a snob,” he heard one of the boys mutter behind a rack of spears.

“As if it’s your first time. Keep doing nonsense and she’ll keep ignoring you!” Another replied, followed by a chorus of laughter.

Neteyam’s eyes narrowed, a familiar surge of irritation rising in him. Of course. Other boys saw in you what he saw, but he couldn't pretend you were exclusively his to appreciate. Everyone admired you, from their parents to the children, the girls and the boys. And he couldn’t claim to be so different from them...

He had known for a long time exactly what you were to him.

“Neteyam? Are you even listening?” Kiri’s voice poked through his trance. She was leaning against a wooden rack, a knowing smirk playing on her lips as if she knows a secret he doesn’t. “I said the wind currents near the mountains are shifting. If she’s going up in three days, we need to leave earlier."

Neteyam cleared his throat, adjusting the strap of his knife sheath to hide his flustered state. “I heard you. The eastern peaks. I’ll make sure the gear is ready.”

He stepped forward, his shadow touching the edge of your circle. He didn't hover or said anything stupid like the other boys. He’s a boy of sixteen years now, much more matured than the boy he used to be, and somehow, you’ve separated him entirely from the others. You respect Neteyam. He is the future of the clan after all, the next in line to the Omatikaya leadership, and nothing about his presence demanded anything from you.

He waited for you to release your final arrow before he spoke. “Your draw is getting faster,” he noted, his voice an octave lower, and Kiri couldn’t help but snicker at her brother’s attempt to make his voice sound manlier in your ears.

“I have been practicing,” you said, lowering your bow, turning to face him. Your expression was the same mask of cool indifference you wore for everyone, but your eyes lingered on him a fraction longer than they did on the others and sometimes... When it lingered too long, you can feel your belly do the thing. The crazy thing.

He tilted his head and your eyes fluttered, not knowing what to track. Dappled sunlight was on him again and his braids were longer. It annoyed you to think that no boy in the clan is as handsome as him... And perhaps your friends are right. Eywa gave the people a vision to appreciate beauty.

“I can tell,” he said, his voice soft as though he wanted only you to hear what he's saying. “But you’re gripping the bow too tightly. Your hand will cramp and it won’t be good for our climb in two days.”

“I will adjust it,” you said, tearing your gaze off of him.

“You should,” he replied, stepping a bit closer, effectively blocking the view of the snickering boys behind him. “If you’re going to tame an ikran, you can't afford a cramped hand.”

You nodded once, adjusting your hand on the bow. Neteyam watched you adjust your grip, his eyes tracing the line of your knuckles until they softened. He felt a fierce, silent satisfaction in the way his body acted as a shield between you and the persistent stares of the other boys. He knew he shouldn’t feel that way about his possessiveness... The first thing an eldest brother like him ever learned was to share... And yet.

Two days later, you found yourself climbing what seemed like a never-ending vine path upwards. You see nothing below you but mist and hear not but the splash of a distant waterfalls and heavy breathing from the three of you. From his position just behind you on the vine paths, Neteyam found it difficult to focus on the climb.

His eyes were constantly drawn upward to the way you moved. You climbed with a desperate kind of grace, your fingers gripping the ancient roots with a strength that made his chest ache. He saw the sweat beads glistening on your temple and the way your jaw remained set in that stubborn resolve.

Every time you reached a treacherous gap, he felt his own breath hitch. He wanted to reach out, to catch you or guide you, but he knew better. He knew you wouldn’t like being treated more than a casual peer, so he was careful with everything he did, determined not to be shut out like the other boys.

When you all finally reached the summit, he handed you a waterskin and a woven cloth to wipe your sweat with before he even thought of his own thirst and sweat. Though you had your own supplies, you accepted them, only realizing later as you drank the cool water that he’d given you his. He was already focused on watching the ikran, calmly assessing them without bothering to wipe his sweat.

“Hoo! That was one hell of a climb,” Kiri said, drinking from her skin. “You ready?”

You nodded, untying your own waterskin and stepping closer to Neteyam to hand it to him. “You gave me yours,” you said, your eyes sharp and reprimanding, assuming he was too tired to remember you had your own. He accepted it, but you pulled back and opened the lid for him. As your attention shifted to the shrieking, flapping ikran, you missed the way his eyes flared with surprise and intense attraction. Kiri saw it, though, and chuckled to herself. You turned to Neteyam again.

Before he could even get another sip, you huffed, your eyes eyeing the beads of sweat rolling down his temple that was, frankly, getting on your nerves. You grabbed your own woven cloth, your hand wrapping around his forearm. “Hold still,” you muttered, stepping into his personal space.

You didn't dab at him gently. Instead, you used firm strokes, wiping his forehead and the bridge of his nose. Your brow furrowed in a small scowl as you moved to his neck. He was standing perfectly still, his breath hitching as he looked down at you. He didn't care that you were practically buffing his skin raw, because to him, the rough friction felt like a brand. He wasn’t asking for reward, but don’t mind if he greedily enjoys this. He leaned into it a fraction, his chest rising and falling in a heavy rhythm that had nothing to do with the climb you all had just finished.

“There,” you said, finally satisfied. You shoved the cloth into his hand and his fingers touched yours. “Now drink. We don't have all day.”

You turned back to the ikran, missing the dazed, lopsided grin he directed at the back of your head. Kiri, standing a few feet away, just shook her head and gagged quietly. Could there be a worse nightmare for a 15-year-old girl than watching a romance unfold between her older brother and her best friend?

“I’m ready now,” you spoke, doing small jumps on the balls of your feet.

“Good luck,” Neteyam said in a hoarse voice, staying back with Kiri.

His heart hammered against his ribs like an forest ikran trapped in a vine as he watched you step onto the rocky arena, a lone figure among the beasts.

“Choose her,” he whispered under his breath, his fingernails digging into his palms. “See her as I see her.”

He watched a forest-green ikran lunge at you, its beak snapping with lethal intent. Most would have flinched, but you didn't. Neteyam’s breath caught in his throat, he practically stopped breathing as he watched you circle the beast, a blur of blue and shadow, as you dodge each of the beast’s attempt to strike.

When you finally leaped, clambering onto the beast’s neck and wrestling it toward the precipice, Neteyam took an involuntary step forward. His stomach dropping as he watched you both tumble over the edge, a chaotic mess of wings and limbs disappearing into the white abyss of the clouds. Your name tore at his throat, a shout full of fear. He was reminded of the many Omatikaya who died trying the same thing, and for a moment he felt his heart stop beating.

Silence stretched for eternity, both he and Kiri couldn’t talk, and then, a piercing shriek broke through the mist. Neteyam’s heart soared as you flew in the air, banked in a sharp, elegant curve. A lopsided grin broke through his mouth. You are now a rider. The way you sat atop the beast, your braids streaming behind you, and your face etched with a look of pure, wild triumph, was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

He didn't waste a second. He whistled for his own ikran that was flying aimlessly around the mountains. He mounted in one fluid motion and pushed his mount hard, diving into the sky to join you. As he pulled up alongside you, the wind roaring in his ears, he saw you look over.

The cold indifference was gone, burned away by the adrenaline of the bond. You laughed, a sound he had heard so rarely it felt like a gift, and for a second, his golden eyes locked onto yours.

I see you. I see you. I see you.

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You gripped the pestle as you grinded the dried roots on the mortar. This is one those days when your friends are not with you, leaving you alone in the quiet of the Tsahik’s tent. You’re not quite sure which version you enjoy better, and you were just deciding that you actually like the peace and quiet when the flap burst open. Kiri stumbled in, her hair a mess and her expression frantic. In her arms, a very energetic and chunky Tuk was squirming, trying to catch a glowing fly.

“Oh, thank the Great Mother, you’re here,” she gasped, nearly dumping Tuk onto your worktable. “Grandmother just sent word. She wanted me to assist her in sister Tayke’s birth, apparently it’s complicated. Mom and Dad won't be back until eclipse. I have to go.”

You looked up from the tray of dapophet leaves you were sorting, blinking in surprise. "Kiri, I have three tinctures to finish before—”

“Please!” Kiri pleaded. “Neteyam is on patrol, Lo’ak is busy training the young ones, and Tuk is… Well, I can’t bring her with me. You’re the only one I trust not to let her eat a poisonous berry or wander off and fall to her death.”

You looked down at Tuk, who was now pulling at your medicine pouch with a wide, toothy grin. You felt warmth in your chest and your eyes soften, Kiri knew you were sold. “Fine,” you sighed, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“You’re a life-saver! Literally!” Kiri shouted over her shoulder as she vanished back out of the tent.

For the first hour, it was chaos. Tuk treated the healing tent like a playground, toddling around and stacking your mortar bowls into towers and trying to “heal” her woven doll with the rarest medicinal pastes. But as the sun began to dip, her energy flickered out. The excitement turned into a sudden realization that she was tired and her mother wasn't there. Her small lips began to tremble, then came the first sob.

“I want Mama,” she said in a small voice, sending a pang to your chest.

“Oh, Tuk-tuk, no, don't cry,” you murmured, quickly moving to her. You scooped her up, tucking her small, heavy body against your chest.

You began to pace the length of the tent, swaying slowly which you had seen the mothers do a thosuand times. You hummed a low melody that seemed to soothe the child. Slowly, the wails turned into soft hiccups, and then into the deep breathing of sleep. You stayed there, standing in the center of the tent, swaying gently and feeling a strange, quiet peace settle over you.

Until the silence was broken by the soft thuds of footsteps outside. Neteyam moved the flap open, his large frame nearly filling the entrance. He had a large, bundled wrap of fortune leaves, the ones you had mentioned needing a few days ago. He had gone straight from his shift to the high ridges just to find them for you.

He stopped mid-stride, his breath catching in his throat at the sight.

He had expected to find you hunched over your work, with your brow furrowed in concentration. This was the last thing he would have expected seeing. The low glow of the hanging firepot illuminated the side of your face and the soft curve of your arms as you cradled his sister. You looked radiant, your face devoid of the mask of cold indifference you wear like an armor. From his current view, you are something warm, something attainable, something his.

Neteyam felt a surge of heat in his chest that made his pulse thrum in his ears. He noticed, with a sudden and sharp clarity, how the last few years had finished their work on you. The slight softness of the girl he used to trail behind had vanished, replaced by the striking, lithe form of a woman. Your beauty, the confidence in the way you stood, and the depth in your gaze all felt like a challenge to everything he knew about your vows. He knew of your great aunt Äye, he knew the weight your family’s traditions. But seeing you there, swaying his sister to sleep, made his heart ache with a hunger that no amount of prayer could suppress.

You turned your head slowly, your eyes widening as you saw him. “Neteyam,” you breathed, your lips curving into a soft, genuine smile.

It didn't help with the delusions he was currently having.

For you, the sight of him was no less of a shock. You were no longer the twelve-year-old girl who was simply annoyed by a rowdy boy. Now, those “stupid” teenage flutters in your belly had evolved into something more. Looking at him now, you felt a creeping heat settle on your nape and spread down your spine.

He had grown so much. He was so much taller and broader, his skin mapped with faint scars, and his golden eyes carry a depth that made you feel exposed. You hated how handsome he had become and how his presence seemed to command the very air in the tent. You looked at the heavy muscles of his arms, then back to his face, and felt a wave of shame.

These are bad thoughts, you scolded yourself, even as your heart hammered a rhythm of betrayal against your ribs. Your skin was tingling and you were practically fighting not to hug Tuk against you harder in your attempt to quell it. A woman on your path should not hunger for the touch of a man! But as your eyes met his in the dimmed light, the ’path’ you had walked so carefully for years suddenly felt terrifyingly narrow.

“You're back,” you whispered. “Kiri said you were on patrol.”

“I was,” he managed to say. He didn't move to put the leaves down. He didn't want to break the tether of this moment. “I found what you needed. Kiri said you were planning to go and get them yourself. Don’t want you going to the ridges on your own.” His head tilted, a brow rising in challenge.

“I’m perfectly capable of navigating the ridge, you mighty warrior. Thank you very much,” you countered, though the bite in your voice was softened by the warmth in your eyes as you swayed Tuk. “I’ve had my ikran for years now. Or did you forget who beat you in that race to the mountains last moon?”

Neteyam let out a short, huffed laugh, finally moving into the tent. “I didn't forget. I merely allowed the lady a moment of glory. It’s called being a gentleman.”

“It’s called being slow,” you shot back, a genuine smirk breaking through your face.

He reached out then, his large hands moving toward the sleeping toddler in your arms. “Here, give her to me. You looked like you’ve stood here for an hour already, I’m sure your arms are ready to fall off.”

As he leaned in to take her, Tuk stirred. Instead of reaching for her brother, she let out a tiny, sleepy whimper and buried her face deeper into the crook of your neck, her small fingers clutching your necklace.

“Oh,” you both whispered at the same time.

“Aww,” you cooed softly, your heart vibrating in your chest, making you almost shiver.

Neteyam echoed the sound with a look of such raw tenderness crossing his face that you had to look away. He didn't pull back; instead, he leaned down and pressed a lingering, gentle kiss onto Tuk’s forehead. His face was inches from yours, the scent of mint and the heat of his skin registering to your senses. You felt like a puddle of candle wax. Soft, melting, and utterly ruined.

“I guess I’m stuck,” you whispered, your voice slightly breathless.

His eyes lifted to meet yours, flashing a smile that made your belly go crazy. “Then let me be of use,” he said, turning to your workbench. “Since your hands are full, tell me what to do. I’m at your command.” He raised a brow playfully.

You didn't hesitate. You needed your tasks done and if he wanted to stay, you’re done fighting the pull. For tonight. “Fine. Those fortune leaves you brought needed to be stripped and ground. Gently, Neteyam,“ you said in a stern voice.

“Oh, I know gentle,“ he quickly remarked, looking down at his leaves just as quick as if he didn’t want to see how you’ll react.

You felt your face heat up at his remark. It could be innocent, you know, but because your mind has thought of many bad things when it came to him, you can’t react properly anymore! Your eyes narrowed. “Just get to work. Don't use your warrior strength on them, or you’ll bruise it.”

He sat down, hunched over the mortar and pestle. The sight was so domestic and it felt dangerously right. You rubbed the soft skin on Tuk's back when she nestled to you. Neteyam looked up and you raised a brow. “How was the western perimeter?” you asked instead. "Kiri mentioned the trackers saw fresh signs of a palulukan near the falls."

Neteyam’s ears flicked. “They did. A big one, too,” he paused to wipe a stray bit of leaf from his thumb. “Apparently, it crossed their path the other day. They had to stay up in the trees for an hour just to let it pass.”

The conversation drifted into something comfortable and domestic. You asked about the next sturmbeest hunt, and he asked about the last herbs he’s given you that you turned into cooling salves. It was so easy, so natural, that you feel nothing but comfort and warmth.

“Is this enough?” he asked, holding up the mortar. The leaves had been transformed into a perfect, dark-green paste, the scent of crushed mint rising from the bowl.

“It’s perfect,” you said, stepping closer to inspect his work. “You’ve missed your calling, warrior. You’d make a fine assistant to Mo’at.”

“I think I’ll stick to my bow,” he teased, his voice dropping into that lower, private register. “Stirring pots is much more dangerous work. I might get ordered around too much.”

“You say that as if you don't enjoy it," you countered, meeting his eyes.

He wasn’t only enjoying it. He was happy. He was more than happy. Every time he glanced up and saw you cradling Tuk, a small child who share the same features he got from his mother, his mind went to places that felt both beautiful and forbidden. He dared to imagine a life where this wasn't a temporary favor for Kiri, but a permanent reality.

The teasing died away when you heard the horn for the evening meal echoed. You walked together toward the communal clearing, the weight of the sleeping child in your arms and Neteyam’s steady presence at your side giving you a sense of belonging that terrified you.

“Your parents aren’t back yet,” you noticed, glancing at the empty dais.

Tuk stirred in your arms, slowly waking up from her slumber. Her eyes drifted to Neteyam, dazed at first but when it registered that her older brother is in front of her, her eyes widened. “Neteyam!” her tiny voice a shrill.

You chuckled, handing her over when she wriggled in your arms, her own tiny arms reaching for Neteyam who readily accepted her with a huff. “Ow. So heavy,” Neteyam playfully said, blowing a kiss on Tuk’s chubby cheek before looking at you. “You carried this boulder for hours?” His free hand shot down to hold one of your arm, instantly massaging.

You chuckled, pinching Tuk’s cheek. “It's alright,” you said, noticing the inquisitive looks some people are giving the two of you. Your cheeks burned, quickly sitting down. Neteyam immediately followed, settling Tuk on his lap. He sat close, close enough that your thighs where brushing, and as the food was passed around, you naturally began to tear off small pieces of roasted fish to feed Tuk.

Across the fire, Lo’ak was huddled with Atan and Kipey. The three of them were barely eating, their heads bowed together as they whispered and pointed.

“Look at them,” Atan snickered, nudging Lo’ak. “If I didn't know better, I’d say the Tsahik’s seat was already filled.”

“Total parents,” Kipey whispered, grinning. “Neteyam looks like he’s ready for a family at nineteen.”

Lo’ak snorted, watching you reach over to wipe a smudge of juice from a stomping Tuk’s chin while Neteyam watched you with a look of such longing and admiration it was almost embarrassing to witness. “He’s gone,” Lo’ak muttered, shaking his head. “He’s been gone for years. He’s practically just waiting for her to melt up.”

“Nom nom!” Tuk said eagerly while a piece of the meat she was holding fell on your thigh.

Neteyam’s hand shot out to pick it up, quickly popping it into his mouth. You looked at him in disbelief. “That just fell,” you pointed out as you watched him chew.

“Not on the ground, but on your skin. That makes it a blessing,” he countered, his voice hummed with a playful vibration.

A blessing? You rolled your eyes away, focusing your attention on Tuk’s messy face to hide the flush creeping up your face. “You are disgusting,” you muttered, though there was no real heat in it.

“I’m efficient,” he corrected, leaning in closer so his shoulder brushed yours. “And hungry. Patrolling is exhausting work, especially when you’re looking for fortune leaves on the side.”

Tuk giggled, sensing the shift in energy, decided to pat Neteyam’s cheek with a sticky hand. “Neteyam silly!”

“See? Even the little one knows,” you teased, finally regaining your composure. You reached for a damp cloth to clean Tuk’s hand, but Neteyam beat you to it. His large fingers gently wrapped around his sister’s small wrist, wiping her palm with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

As you basked in the laughter of the people surrounding you, the thought of the solitary path you were always so sure of your entire life suddenly feel like a cold, lonely place that you didn’t notice you were already leaning closer to the warmth of Neteyam’s arm against yours. In that moment, it was the only thing that mattered.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

The sounds of voices and of hunters sparring in the training grounds grew louder as you hurried past, your arms filled with fresh bundles of sterilization moss and clean cloths. Mo’at had sent word about the labor of one of the pregnant women in the clan. You were in a hurry, your pace swift yet your spine remained straight, your chin tilted high, as per usual.

A hunter called your name from the weapon racks. “Careful there, the ground is uneven! Do you need strong hunter to clear the path for you?“

“She won't answer you, skxawng,“ another laughed. “Perhaps if you bring her herbs, or better yet, if you were a better warrior than Neteyam!”

“Just ask me to be the next Toruk Makto, why don’t you?” The former remarked sarcastically.

Neteyam watched from the sidelines, a senior warrior was talking to him but his gaze was busy tracking you, watching how you didn't even break your stride or tilt your head. Your chin remained high, your eyes focused on the path ahead. He had known for a long time that to you, the voices of men who call to you were merely just buzzing of summer insects, something too beneath your notice.

“I’ll work on that, brother, then I’ll get back to you,” he told the senior warrior, nodding to him seriously. The latter clapped his shoulder before walking away.

“What a shame,“ he heard one of the hunters mutter. “To have such beauty in the clan, only for it to be locked away for the Great Mother. She takes after Äye. She won't ever look at a man, let alone mate with one.”

“Unattainable,” heard another agree, sighing. “She’s like the High Peak. Beautiful to look at, but no one is meant to live there.“

Their conversation, though, halted instantly the moment Neteyam strode out from the shade. His eyes were dark and unimpressed as he looked at them, that even the hunters a few years older than him couldn’t help but look away.

“Is that what we do now?” Neteyam asked, his voice low but cutting. “Stand around the racks, bothering those on tasks for the Tsahik? Talking about our women with disrespect?”

The first hunter looked away, embarrassed. “It was just a joke, Neteyam.”

“Your mouths keep buzzing like forest insects,” Neteyam snapped, stepping forward so they were forced to look at him. “This constant hooting at her is getting old. Have you not outgrown it? She is doing important work for the clan. If I see the bunch of you doing anything other than training again, I will personally ensure all of you spend the rest of the moon cleaning the waste pits.”

They nodded efficiently, their faces the poster of good behavior, but Neteyam would remember. The next time this happens again, it won’t be just scolding they are getting. He remained standing there though, reflecting on what the hunters have said. None of it had been a lie and he’d felt the bitter, familiar spark of pride and pain flickered in his chest. They are right, he thought, you are unattainable.

He knew better than anyone the depth of your conviction. Over the past years, your quiet friendship had become the foundation of his life, but it was a foundation built on a boundary he could never cross. He had seen you at your most vulnerable and your most powerful, and in his heart, he had long ago committed a quiet kind of blasphemy. He worshiped Eywa the best he could, but you were his deity on land, one whose words he followed without question. One he guards with all of him.

Now, at twenty-one, he had become as reserved as you are, making a silent vow of his own: if you were to be alone, he would be alone with you. He would make a good Olo’eyktan but he didn’t need to be mated to ensure that. The tradition of the leaders being mated was a strong one, but Neteyam knew he could never give himself to another woman when his soul and his heart had long been claimed by a woman who belonged to the Great Mother. If friendship was all the nectar you could offer, he would live his entire life on that single drop.

He turned back to his warriors. He would lead, he would hunt, and he would protect. And in the quiet hours of the night, he would continue to love you from the distance you required, content to be the only man you didn't ignore, even if he could never be the man you held

Hours later, you are alone in the Tsahik’s tent, the adrenaline of the birth you assisted for the first time had yet to leave your system. You were wiping down a set of obsidian scalpels when the tent flap lifted, letting in the cool evening breeze that carried the familiar smell that always seemed to ground you.

Neteyam didn't speak at first, standing just inside the entrance. He had showered away the dust of the training grounds, his skin gleaming in the soft light of the firepot. You lifted your eyes, your lips still curved in a small, satisfied smile. You let your eyes do the thing they always do when he’s in front of you. Feast on. He was the very image of a future leader. Muscled, scarred, and radiating an authority that silenced most men with a single look.

“Hi,” you greeted.

His lips formed a boyish smile. “The village is finally quiet,” he said, his voice dropping into that private, velvet register. “Was the delivery alright? How was it?“

You sighed softly, and for the first time that day, your mark dissolved into a radiant, tired smile. “It was a boy,” you breathed, setting the scalpel down. “Healthy and loud. He didn't stop wailing until Mo’at placed him on his mother’s chest.“

Neteyam moved closer, leaning against a support beam near your herb rack. “And the mother?“

“Strong. She was incredible, Neteyam.” You moved to a bundle of dried leaves, your hands working quickly to sort them, your enthusiasm bubbling over. “But you should have heard Mo’at. While she was cleaning the babe, she looked at him and then looked at me and said, ‘this one is small. Neteyam, now, he was a giant. The biggest baby I have seen in all my cycles’. She said you were so large she nearly wondered if Neytiri had hidden a second child behind you.”

Neteyam’s ears flicked back, a rare flush appeared on his cheeks. He huffed a laugh, looking down at his large, callous hands. “A giant, was I? I suppose I’ve given my mother’s back quite the ache.”

You let out a genuine, silvery chuckle, the sound dancing through the quiet tent. “I truly wish I could have seen you then. You were the very first of your kind, your father’s blood... and that of ours. I’m sure you were beautiful.” you mused, your voice softening as you looked at him. You realized too late how that sounded, and you quickly turned back to your jars. “It is a wonder of Eywa.”

“Is that why you look at me so closely sometimes?“ he teased, stepping into your personal space to reach for a heavy jar on a high shelf you are struggling to reach.

“I do not look at you closely,” you lied, your heart doing that treacherous dance against your ribs as he reached over your head. His arm was a solid wall of muscle beside your ear, and the scent of mint enveloped you.

“You do,” he countered softly, handing you the jar but not pulling his hand away until your fingers were firmly around his. “You track my movements like I am a complex creature you are trying to categorize. It is quite intimidating, being under the gaze of the clan’s most devoted scholar.”

You rolled your eyes, though your hands were trembling. “You are imagining things. Why would I look at you...” Your lips pushed forward, your voice lacking bravado.

Your heart is beating too heavily against your chest and your palms are sweating. He notices. He knows your eyes are often on him. He knows you watch each of his movements, he knows you feel hot every time you see how his shoulder and chest significantly broadened and filled out with muscles, or how the sight of his muscled abdomen flexing makes your breath catch at your throat.

“Research? To see how the 'hybrid' grows?” he says, his voice too innocent.

Your teeth gritted at your attempt to stop a groan from escaping. You are going to hyperventilate! You cleared your throat. “Maybe,“ you managed to say, your voice tight as you gripped the jar he’d just handed you. “It is a healer's duty to be thorough. I simply... pay attention to detail.”

He chuckled while your face felt like it had been plunged into a firepot. Neteyam is too innocent, while your mind is filled with inappropriate thoughts that shouldn’t even be there in the first place. You are a woman firm on the sanctity of your path! For Eywa's sake, gather your wits!

“Well,” he murmured. “If the research is still ongoing, I suppose I am already here. Do you need to... measure anything else? Or is the height of the hybrid sufficient for today's report?”

Your breath caught in your throat. He was obviously teasing, his voice light and playful, but because you're guilty of your shameful thoughts, what is to him simple banter between friends is slow torture to you.

“I need to boil the nettles,” you said, abruptly turning your back you nearly bumped into a tray of obsidian.

Your hands trembled as you reached for a pot of water. Your mind, usually a home of prayer and medicinal formulas, was currently a chaotic mess. You’re both ashamed and shameless, because despite your guilt, you’re still thinking about how soft the chest on his skin looked in the light.

“You're using the cold-press pot for a boil,” Neteyam noted softly.

You felt him behind you, his chest nearly brushing your shoulder blades as he reached around you to get the correct ceramic vessel. For a heartbeat, you were encased in him. You could see the way the veins mapped his hands, hands that were built for a bow and arrow but also held the young with devastating gentleness.

Eywa, strike me down, you thought, squeezing your eyes shut for a fleeting second.

“Right. Of course,”  you choked out, grabbing the correct pot from him with an unusual rashness that his surprised eyes flitted up to meet yours.

“You seem distracted,” he said, his voice losing some of its playfulness.

Your brows furrowed, intending to give him a sharp dismissal, but your gaze caught on the way his lower lip was slightly tucked under his teeth, a habit he’d had since he was ten. It was so boyish, so familiar, and yet, on this man’s face, it was lethal.

“No, of course, not... I’m just tired. It’s been a long day,” you said.

He nodded, his hand reaching out to tuck a stray braid behind your ear. “I’ll work on that, you can go and sit down. I’ll clean up, too,” he said, his eyes searching yours with a sincerity that made you want to scream. His hand wrapped around your upper arm to gently nudge you away from the hearth.

“I can do it,” you said, though your feet were already moving.

“You've been on your feet since the first light,” he countered, his voice firm with that quiet authority he had perfected over the years. “Let me do it, alright? I’ve got so much energy to spare. I didn’t have patrol today, so I’m practically a live wire.”

He turned back to the hearth, his movements fluid and confident. You sank onto the woven mat and from this lower vantage point, the view was even more treacherous. You tried to look at the ceiling. You tried to recite the properties of your herbs. You tried to pray. But your eyes kept drifting back to the way the light of the flames danced across the broad expanse of his back, and the way his tail flicked in a slow, content rhythm as he worked.

“There,” Neteyam said after a few minutes, oblivious to the spiritual crisis happening three feet behind him. He set the pot to simmer and began to move around the workbench. “The nettles are on. I’ve organized the herbs, cleaned everything, and put the scalpels back in its place. Is there anything else, or can I walk you back home now so you can get a better rest?”

“I can walk myself,” you said, perhaps a little too quickly. You scrambled to your feet, desperately trying to reassemble the fragments of your dignity. “Thank you, Neteyam. For the... assistance.”

He stood by the tent flap, holding it open for you. He didn’t press, you know he never would. You passed by him and he gave you a small, tired smile. “Sleep well,” he murmured, your name on his lips a soft caress.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

The summer heat had settled over the forest like a heavy, humid blanket, causing most Omatikaya youth to retreat to the river when the sun is at its high. Today alone, half the village had migrated to the banks, the air filled with splashes of water and sounds of laughter.

You sat on a smooth, warm boulder, the rock's heat seeping into your skin. Being bare was as natural as breathing for the people held no shame in the bodies Eywa gave them. Your legs were still submerged in the cold water as you eat the snacks you brought with you. Tasi and Yaremu were wading in the shallows nearby, their voices dropped to conspiratorial whispers that still carried easily over to you.

“He didn't stop there,” Yaremu was saying, her eyes wide and dancing with a secret, frantic energy. She was describing a rendezvous with her boyfriend las night, her hands gesturing toward her lower extremities submerged in the water. “He started at my ankles, and then… well, the way his tongue felt between my legs… I thought I was going to see the Great Mother right then and there.”

Tasi squealed and giggled, leaning in for more. “Was it better than the last time?”

“Oh, it was! It seems to get better and better, you know... We are exploring and learning each other’s bodies,” Yaremu grinned.

Tasi sighed dreamily. “I could say the same. But it’s the way he breathes against my neck that gets me,” Tasi whispered, her fingers tracing the line of her own collarbone. “The heat of it. And when he finally... when he enters, it’s like your whole body forgets how to be separate from his. You are basically a single entity, moving as one—”

Yaremu giggled, splashing a bit of water. “Oh, Great Mother! And the hands! How heavy they feel when they finally stop being polite and start claiming what they want.”

They both giggled, their bodies vibrating with frantic energy. Tasi looked at you and smiled a small one, “Oh, sister! I wish you could have experienced it... But the path reserved for the Great Mother is just as good,” she said.

You made a face of theatrical disgust. “Oh, don’t feel bad for me, sister, I’m not missing out. I can’t even imagine,” you said sassily.

But oh, that’s a big lie. Your mind, usually so disciplined, had been picturing a very specific set of calloused hands, a very specific weight. You saw them on your waist, just as Tasi had described, pulling you flush against the solid warmth of a very familiar body. You imagined the “weight” Yaremu spoke of, imagining how a certain body would weigh. Your mind even completed the picture by providing you with the familiar scent of mint and woodsmoke, you could actually smell it.

It’s like their words were seeds who fell into fertile soil, and now you felt a flush that had nothing to do with the sun.

That was when you saw him.

Neteyam was waist-deep in the deeper water a few paces away, his skin glistening. He was surrounded by a few other hunters, their voices a low drone but their laughter boisterous. He was mid-laugh, but anyone can tell his eyes would wander to you every now and then, because when his gaze drifted back to where you are, his laughter died down a little. His eyes locked onto yours, and the air between you seemed to burn.

There was no boyish embarrassment in the way he stared at you, no hurried glance at the sky. He watched you with a heavy, predatory stillness it made your nape feel like it’s burning as goosebumps pricked your skin. You are not ashamed in your nakedness, the people have always swam in the river like this, and nothing is new with seeing each other naked.

But the gaze of the man across from you had given you a defiant, primitive urge. Instead of hiding, you shifted. You leaned back on your palms, tilting your head to the side to let the sun hit your neck. You arched your spine slowly, a deliberate, feline stretch that pushed your chest forward. Your breasts, firm and perky, on display as the tips pebbled. You felt his eyes track the movement. From this distance, you could see his pupils blow wide, his tail breaking the surface of the water behind him in a sharp, agitated flick. He didn't move, but the tension radiating from him was palpable.

The tension followed you back to the village, and now, even as the sun dipped below the horizon and the communal fire dimmed, the memory of his gaze still made your skin hot. You were walking back to the Tsahik’s tent, intending to collect the herbs you dried and make the poultice you’ve been meaning to make.

The walk was silent, until it was broken by the sound of familiar footsteps behind you. You didn't need to turn around to know it was him. His scent had reached you and the air seemed to tighten, enough to tell you who it is. You plastered on a calm facade before you turned around, seeing him standing in the shadows, his silhouette tall and imposing, his breathing heavy as if he had run to get here.

“I wanted to make sure you were alright,” he said, his voice a low, rough grate. He stepped into the light of the firepot, his expression uncharacteristically strained. “Earlier, at the river... I hope I did not frighten you.”

Your lower lip caught between your teeth. You remembered the way your body had reacted to him, the way you had arched your back, offering yourself to his eyes. The shame you expected to feel was nowhere to be found, replaced instead by a blooming heat, and a frantic beating heart.

“I wasn't frightened,” you said softly, your voice barely a whisper. You took a small, daring step toward him, your heart hammering against your ribs. “I’m... I’m glad you saw me.”

Neteyam’s breath hitched, and then a huff of chuckle escaped his lips. What you said was just the surface, small in the vastness of what he had always held for you. “I have always seen you,” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave.

It seemed so simple, and yet it was all he could say. He wanted to tell you the truth of it, how he had been here since you were children, since the first time you ever looked at him after he had become aware of his feelings. That there was never been anyone else he truly saw. But he would not frighten you. To know that you were not frightened of him after his boldness at the river had been a relief.

You smiled softly, a genuine, aching look that reached your eyes. “I know... I also know that not everyone does...” you said, your hand lifted to press a palm against his muscled chest.

You are perceived differently by everyone in the clan. Just like Äye, you will soon be seen more as a figure of religion or the shadow of the Great Mother. But in your most private daydreams... This man in front of you sees you as a woman... But even if you know that he does, your path does not lead to him. Your palm felt scorched where it touched his chest, feeling the powerful thud of his heart against your fingertips. He was flesh and blood and heat.

He took a half-step closer, forcing you to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact. “They are fools...” he whispered.

You knew you should pull back. You should change the topic and speak of the cooling salves or the morning rituals. But the memory of the river, of the way he had looked at you when you were bare and unashamed, was the only thought taking over your mind.

“Neteyam,” you breathed.

You voice was so soft, so lovely in his ears, that for the first time in his life, he dared to break through the boundaries. He leaned down, his movement slow, giving you every second to turn away. But you stayed. You stayed until his forehead and nose touched yours. You heart was beating too fast it was aching in your chest. You wanted to hold him, to grab him and hold him tight to you.

When his lips finally met yours, it was a collision of years of unspoken feelings and repressed hunger. You let out a soft sound into his mouth as your fingers curled into his chest strap, pulling him closer until there was no air left between you. The kiss was clumsy at first, the frantic meeting of two people who had only ever touched in dreams, but then his hand moved to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your braids to tilt your head just right.

As he deepened the kiss, his other arm wound around your waist, hauling you flush against the unyielding lines of his body. You felt the heat of his skin and the terrifying strength of his hold. For this one moment, the twenty-two generations of solitary women in your family were silenced. The path was gone. There was only the weight of his hands and the feel of his soft lips against yours.

When he pulled back, just an inch, his breathing was ragged, his forehead resting against yours. He kept his arms locked around you, his chest heaving as he stared down at you with a look of pure, terrifying devotion. A huge smile sliced across your lips and he grinned, huffing a shaky laugh. You let a breathless laugh yourself, your fingers tangling in his braids.

“Are you making cooling salves? I can be of use. I make the best of them, you know that,” he said casually.

Your nose wrinkled. “I guess I’ll need the help,” you said, your eyes drifting back to his lips. “And the kisses, too.”

You startled when a thunder of laughter escaped him, pulling you to him for a more thorough hug. “Oh, my middle name has always been generous.”

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

You felt his tail wrap possessively around your leg, a grounding, heavy weight as his mouth moved to the sensitive curve where your neck met your shoulder. Your head fell back, a soft, traitorous moan escaping your lips. “Neteyam...” you muttered breathily. “Don’t leave marks...”

“Hmm?” he hummed with humor, his mouth already sucking some skin into its warmth.

“Tasi pointed out... the marks on my neck the other day,“ you said. “I can’t keep telling her it’s insect bites.”

His body shook as he chuckled, lifting his head to press a kiss on your lips. Then his lips repeated a trail on your jaw, leaving wet kisses and licks, making you smile as you held him tighter. “Why... Can’t help it. You taste so good,” he murmured.

“I’m not a fruit,” you countered.

He hummed, sucking on your skin softly. “So sweet, nonetheless.”

You cupped his face, bringing it up so you could kiss him. You both have improved significantly in the past weeks, having found a different hobby aside from talking, when you two are alone. He helps you in the healing tent, but it’s not always that your companions are not around, like today. Kiri and Mo’at are in the tent, preparing for a severe injury a hunter got from a hunt. You had told Mo’at you will search for night-blooming lilies, but your feet had led you straight to where you knew Neteyam finished his scout rounds.

And now, you’re here, half-lying against a massive tree root, under the comforting weight of a warrior who couldn’t stop kissing you. He deepened the kiss and you felt his hand hover on your waist. One of your hands lowered to hold one of them and his hand immediately move to intertwine his fingers with yours.

You smiled, but that was not your intention. You brought his hand to one of your peaks, moving your top aside so his hand could touch the soft flesh bare. You gained a soft groan from him and he lifted his head to look at you. You rose to chase his lips, pressing his hand on your boob and moaning when he began kneading it.

“Yes...“ you mumbled.

His lips lowered down and you arched your back, waiting for his lips to reach your peaks, and when it did, you fought with your entire body just so you wouldn’t shake and buck. The sensation felt so good, it made you feel even hotter. It made you want to close you thighs, but because his body was between your legs, you could only buck against him.

“Oh...” you moaned, bucking against him again when you felt a hard ridge make contact with your clothed softness. “Neteyam...”

He hummed, his mouth full of your soft flesh, sending delicious vibration across your chest. You felt his hand move down to your hips, holding you in place before his hips came down on you, dragging that hard ridge you felt earlier across your crotch. You shivered, squeezing your eyes tight as you moaned. He repeated it again and again until you felt so ticklish in that spot between your legs, feeling a warm pool of liquid gushing out of you.

“Fuck,“ you heard him say, moving away from you a little to fumble at his loincloth. You felt a warm wetness land on your thigh and he groaned. “Fuck, sorry,“ his deep voice grated and you felt his hand, but you were already lifting your head to see.

You lips parted at the sight of his erected cock on display, a gasp escaping you. It was long and thick, its wide tip a flush of dark indigo, wet with his own release. Most of the glistening essence was on the floor and some were on your thigh. You genuinely didn’t know what to focus on. Your mind wandered to Tasi’s talks and this can’t possibly be the thing that enters a woman.

You curiosity got the better of you though, your hand shot down to grab it but his hand was faster, grabbing your wrist and moving it away. Your nose flared in annoyance and your eyes lifted to glare at him, but he met you with eyes that spoke of challenge.

“That's right. Keep your eyes up here,” he said in that private, lower register, his hand putting that thing back inside his loincloth.

You groaned and pulled your wrist from him. “I just want to touch it,” you whined.

He angled his head to kiss you. “Unless you want to drive me insane, you can’t,” his hand hovered over your thigh to wipe his release off of your skin.

Your hand shot down again, but this time, to dip a finger on his release, popping it to your mouth before he could even react. You were like a kid left unattended with a food that fell on the ground and he's the adult keeping you away from it, because now, he's staring at you both in surprise and wonder. You hummed at its surprisingly good taste and he wasn’t even able to stop you when you dipped a finger the second time around, scooping more essence, and keeping eye contact with him as if daring him to stop you.

You broke eye contact to look at it, intending to scoop down again but his hand already wrapped around your wrist, stopping you. You glared at him, groaning again, but he was already wiping your thigh clean with a piece of cloth. Your lips pushed forward, sad to see the essence gone. “You’re such a kill joy,” you said in a whine, your tail moving under you in an agitated flick.

He huffed a chuckle, his face moving to kiss your pouting lips softly. “Sorry, my love... Maybe next time,” he murmured.

Your hands lifted to hold his face properly so you could kiss him better, smiling against his lips.

A week later, you found yourself standing above the plains, overlooking the valley below as you gripped your basket half-full of cliff-blossoms. Neteyam was leading a pack of young hunters on a sweep of the forest floor. From this distance, he was a vision of controlled power, commanding the space around him without even speaking. You watched him signal a halt with a sharp, fluid movement of his arm. He barked an order, his voice carrying upward, deep and resonant.

He was wearing his full warrior gear, the woven chest straps accentuating the massive breadth of his shoulders and cummerbund hugging his muscled torso. You felt a wave of heat wash over you, settling low in your belly. You were practically vibrating with a hunger that felt both blasphemous and inevitable. You imagined him coming to the Tsahik’s tent later tonight, covered in the dust of the hunt, and the way he would look at you when he finally got you alone.

“A natural leader, isn’t he?”

You jumped, nearly dropping your basket. Kiri was standing a few paces away, her head tilted, watching you with an expression that was far too perceptive for your comfort.

“The clan is in good hands,” you said quickly, forcing your voice into its usual even tone. You turned back to the cliff-side, picking at a blossom with trembling fingers.

She didn't say anything else, but the way she sniffed the air, a subtle twitch of her nose, made your heart stop. For weeks, she had been quiet, but you know how observant Kiri is; she knew the difference between the scent of night-lilies and the scent of her brother who had been spending far too much time tangled in your limbs.

Later that evening, the Tsahik’s tent was filled with the sounds of your friends’ chatters and the air thick with the smell of boiling herbs. Mo’at was away at a naming ceremony, leaving you, Kiri, Tasi, and Yaremu to manage the evening prep.

“He was so frustrated,” Yaremu giggled, crushing a handful of seeds. “I told him we couldn't go all the way, so he just... he took my hand and guided it. I didn't know a man could make those kind of sounds just from a touch of the fingers.”

Tasi leaned in, her eyes wide. “Wait, you just... with your hand? Like you were kneading dough?”

“More like stroking clay, but faster,” Yaremu whispered, her face flushed. “They get so sensitive there. It’s like they lose their minds.”

Kiri let out a boisterous cackle, throwing a piece of bark at Yaremu. “You two are so inappropriate! We are at the Tsahik’s tent!”

You stared into the boiling pot, the memory of Neteyam’s... thing... flashing behind your eyes. You had never seen it again, he made sure of that. But you remembered the way he had stopped you from touching it, the way he had claimed it would "drive him insane."

“Is it... difficult?“ you asked without thinking, your voice cutting through the laughter.

The tent went dead silent. Tasi and Yaremu stared at you as if you had just grown a second head. Even Kiri stopped laughing, her luminous eyes narrowing as she shifted her gaze toward you.

“Difficult?” Tasi repeated, stunned. “Since when do you care about the mechanics of a man’s pleasure?“

“I am a healer,” you said, your chin tilting up, though your pulse was racing. “I am simply curious about the... response. Yaremu mentioned they make sounds. Is it a reflex, or a choice?”

Yaremu grinned slowly. “Oh, it's a reflex, sister. They can't help it. If you move your thumb just right over the tip... they break. Even the strongest of them.”

You swallowed hard, your mind instantly picturing Neteyam breaking under your hand. The thought made the tips of your breasts ache against your top. “I see,” you said, stirring the pot with a bit too much force. “Fascinating. From a research perspective, of course.”

“Of course,” Kiri echoed. She moved closer to you, bumping her shoulder against yours. “Might I ask, sister, if you have been giving Neteyam your favorite lillies... Because he’s been smelling an awful lot like them lately.”

Your lips parted. You haven’t even noticed that! “M-Maybe... Maybe he uses them when he bathes,” you lied.

She pulled away with a smile, nodding as if she understood, while Tasi and Yaremu continued to gossip, blissfully unaware of what’s going on. You didn’t know whether to be worried about Kiri’s reactions or not, still thinking about it even when the evening meal was over. You went back in the Tsahik’s tent, focused on grinding a stubborn root into paste, your pestle acting as a heartbeat for the quiet room.

Your entire body seemed to melt into a puddle, though, when you heard the tent flap rustle. Neteyam stepped inside, looking exhausted but exhilarated. He had shed his heavy scouting gear, leaving only the chest strap. A small smudge of blue paint was smeared across his temple.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice gravelly from shouting orders all day. He didn't wait for an answer before closing the distance, reaching out to tug playfully on one of your braids.

“How was the hunt?” you asked.

“Successful, except that we saw a palulukan on the way back. The Great Mother was kind, because it didn’t see us. Young Kamu was practically swallowing air by the time it was gone, the boy has forgotten how to breathe.”

You pictured the boy, one of the youth who just passed their iknimaya last season. “Cut him some slack, you mighty warrior. The boy is only fourteen,” you said, chuckling. You reached for a damped cloth to wipe the paint on his temple.

His hand followed yours, grabbing it gently and pressing a kiss on your fingers. “Your hands are shaking, baby. How long have you been at this?” he grabbed the pestle and mortar, his forehead furrowed.

“Since the sun was high. Don’t worry about it,” you said, because your hands weren’t shaking because of what he’s thinking, but yoy were grateful for the reprieve nonetheless. You leaned back against the table, watching him take over the task with effortless ease.

“Don’t worry? Your hands seem so overwork, what with that Tsahik’s tasks and your classes at the pavillion,” he reprimanded softly.

You pushed your lips forward, ignoring him as you took your damp cloth again and began to wipe the dust from his shoulders with a damp cloth, your movements lingering. “Yaremu and Tasi were talking today,“ you started, trying to sound clinical as you moved the cloth over the swell of his chest.

“About...“ he trailed after it took you long to continue, still focused on his paste.

“About how... a man responds to a certain touch. With the hand.”

Neteyam went still, and you saw his eyes zeroing in on something. “What touch?”

“They said it makes even the strongest warriors break. That they lose their minds,” you whispered, leaning in until your breath fanned over his skin. “I find the claim about reflex... questionable. I believe I need to conduct my own study. For research.”

He stared at you before letting out a choked, dark laugh. He reached out, his hand wrapping around the back of your neck, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw with a possessive heat. “Not here,” he whispered.

Your lips broke into a huge grin. “You’ll allow me?”

He moved to kiss the tip of your nose. “I will never say no to you,” he said.

“You did say no... Last week,” you pointed out and a deep laughter rumbled in his chest.

“I did say next time, didn’t I?” he replied, stealing another deep, searing kiss before pulling back with a wink. “I’ll finish here. Go up the higher branch, I’ll meet you in ten minutes.”

You pursed your lips and nodded, almost skipping your way out of the tent. The higher branch of the Hometree was so high in the clouds that the village sounds were reduced to a distant hum. It was a little cold but it was of the good kind, lulling the vibrations of excitement in your body as you looked far beyond the never-ending sight of the rainforest.

When Neteyam arrived, you two didn’t waste time. The moment he was within reach, he pulled you into a kiss that felt like a claim, his hands sliding down to anchor you against him.

“Show me this research, then,” he rasped against your lips.

Your hands were trembling as you reached for his loincloth, but curiosity was a more powerful force than shame. He was also trembling when he was finally bared to you, his cock looking even more formidable in the dimmed light. You caressed the length of it with your fingers first, hearing him take a swift, sharp breath, and when you wrapped your fingers around him, your lips parted at the heat and the velvet-like texture.

You remembered Yaremu’s advice, like stroking clay, but faster, and began to move. Neteyam’s head hit the bark of the tree with a dull thud as you caressed him, pumping your hand up and down high length. A low, gutteral sound tore from his throat, a raw animalistic noise you had never heard from him. His eyes were droopy but not even a palulukan could make him close his eyes right now.

"Oh, baby..." he groaned, his fingers digging into the flesh of you hips.

You watched him with fascinated eyes. He was breaking. This brave and mighty warrior was trembling under your touch, his breath coming in jagged hitches. Emboldened by your power, you moved your thumb over the wide tip, just as Yaremu had described.

Neteyam’s hips bucked uncontrollably, his entire body shuddering. "Fuck—wait, stop—"

But you didn't stop. The curiosity that had been burning in you all day reached a fever pitch. You lowered yourself, your hair spilling over his thighs, and before he could realize your intent, you took him into your mouth.

The sensation was overwhelming. The taste of him, the heat, the sheer size. Neteyam let out a sound that was half-sob, half-growl, his hands flying down to grab your hair. He only let you stay there for a few seconds, his body vibrating so violently you thought he might actually fall from the branch, before he scrambled to lift your head up.

“No,“ he gasped, his face flushed, his eyes wild. He hauled you to straddle him, crushing your lips with a kiss that was almost feral. “Not yet. I can't... if you do that, I'll never let you go back to that tent.“

He held you tight, both your hearts racing and both of you gasping for air in the high, cold wind. You cupped his face, kissing him softly. Nothing mattered, not your path, nor your vow to yourself, it was replaced by the loud, screaming truth of what you were becoming to each other.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

Weeks later, the celebration of the new harvest was in full swing. The communal clearing was filled of the sounds of drums, swirling colors, and the intoxicating scent of fermented berries. The elder warriors were generous with the brew, and for once, you didn't hold back. You leaned back against a carved root, a soft giggle escaping you as you watched a group of younger children unsuccessfully try to mimic a warrior's dance.

Kiri nudged your shoulder. “Careful, sister.”

“Let her have her fun, Kiri,” Neteyam intervened, though he was grinning just as widely. He held up his own bowl, the blue paint on his arm shimmering under the bioluminescent lanterns. “To the best healer-in-training and the worst berry-picker in the clan.”

“What?” you protested. “I am an excellent picker. It’s really just quality over quantity for me.” you said sassily, rolling your eyes.

“Is that what we're calling it now?” Neteyam laughed, the sound deep. He turned to Kiri. “She spent five minutes today analyzing a single fruit while I had already filled two baskets.”

“It's called attention to detail, Neteyam! You wouldn't understand,” you shot back, your eyes dancing. The brew was making everything feel warm and golden.

Kiri watched the exchange, her head tilting in that way that usually meant she was talking to the creatures, but tonight, she just looked at you two and smirked. Neteyam took a long sip of his brew, his eyes locked onto yours over the rim of the bowl, challenge sparking in them.

“I'm going to find Tuk before she tries to eat every pie there is tonight. Try not to get ‘lost’ in the woods, you two...”

She vanished into the crowd with a knowing wink. The moment she was gone, the space between you and Neteyam seemed to evaporate, and in the chaos of the festival, you were the only two people in the world.

“Another bowl?” he whispered, his tail twitching rhythmically behind him.

“I think,” you breathed, looking at his lips, “that I've had enough of the brew. I'm starting to want things they aren't offering.”

Neteyam’s grin turned slow and predatory, his hand sliding down to grip your thigh under the table. He tilted his head toward the dark periphery of the Hometree and raised a brow. You smirked, and bowed down to your food, picking a nut to pop it in your mouth. He stood up to go, and you waited before following him, your heart racing with a fluttering excitement.

By the time you reached the outskirts, the sounds of the party were a distant muffle and the cool night air hit your skin, but it did nothing to douse the heat between you. Neteyam walked closer to you, his pupils blown wide, his movements slightly sluggish and drunken, which only made him look devastatingly handsome.

He cupped your face and kissed you. “I haven't been able to stop thinking about it,“ he murmured against your lips.

“Hm?” you hummed, kissing him softly.

He trailed a hand down your side, his palm hot and heavy, before coming to rest on your thigh. He squeezed gently, his thumb tracing small circles. “I want to return the favor,” he whispered, his breath smelling of sweet berries and forest air.

“How?” you asked, your voice breathy, your body already leaning into his.

He leaned down, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Mouth or fingers?”

A shiver of anticipation raced down your spine. You feel like you know what this was. You looked up at him, a bold, drunken grin spreading across your lips.

“Both?”

Neteyam let out a sharp exhaled breath, a flicker of nervous energy crossing his face despite the haze of the brew. “Okay,” he whispered.

He started with your neck, his mouth hot and insistent, sucking at the sensitive skin until you knew a mark would be left for sure.

You two sat by the large root of a tree, his hands were everywhere, caressing and squeezing, until it untied your loincloth around your tail. When the fabric fell away, he didn't hesitate. He knelt before you, his golden eyes filled with a sudden, sharp clarity.

He pressed a reverent kiss there, and then he parted his lips so he could lick your slit from the base to the top, making you pull your hips away in a jerk. His hands on your hips firmly held you in place, though, keeping yoy from running away from his intense ministrations. You bit your lip but small sounds still escaped you, your thighs wanting to close, and when he added a finger, you had to cover your mouth to muffle your loud moan.

Neteyam let out a low, frustrated groan as his finger worked inside you, you were so tight. His mouth and tongue never left you and you didn’t know what hit you, you just began to tremble in his grip, your fingers tangling in his braids and grabbing hard at a handful.

“The world is spinning...” you chuckled as he kissed his way up to your body, sucking hard on your nipple.

“Yeah?“ his lips came down to kiss you softly, and then he lifted his body up, fitting himself between your parted thighs.

He stared at you, his chest heaving, his jaw set in a line of restraint. You moaned in protest when your felt his thumb rub your clit, but you didn’t pull back because it felt so good. You bit your lip and moved your hips gently against his finger. He looked, looking at your bare pussy, and how he had his hand on it, his thumb rubbing you.

And you liked it. He shivered at the reality of it all, his breath catching in his throat. If a year ago, someone told him he’d be here with you, he wouldn’t have dared to believe it... And right now, if he were only dreaming, the person who’ll wake him up will receive the punch of a lifetime.

You looked at him, watching how his pupil blew so wide it’s practically eating up the gold. You smiled breathlessly, reaching to cup his face, your heart overflowing. “What do you want to do, hm?” you craned your head up a little to kiss him sotfly. “Do it... do what you want.”

He stared at you and you yelped when his fingers pinched your folds. “Are you sure?” he rasped, his voice sounding like it was being dragged over gravel.

You nodded firmly. With an animalistic growl, he shed his own loincloth in one fluid motion, revealing the thick, pulsing length of his arousal. You tried to sit up to see his bare form better, but he pressed you back with a hand on your shoulder, and your body tingled at how dominant he seemed to be when he’s drunk.

He didn't enter you, not truly, but he lined himself up against your folds. He began to work his hips, dragging his ridiculous length against your slit in deep strokes from base to tip.

“Fuck, baby...” he groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he found a rhythm.

The friction was overwhelming. The thickness of him was overstimulating your clit until every nerve ending in your body was screaming. You arched your back, your hips bucking instinctively to meet his. “So good, ‘teyam...” you moaned in jagged breaths.

He groaned, catching your mouth in a feral kiss. “I’m coming... fuck...”

He wanted to hold out so bad, to prolong the moment, but it was so fucking difficult, especially when you keep whispering in his ear. He came in a hot rush on your stomach just as you came your high again. You clung to him, your body quivering in the aftermath. As he collapsed against you, you reached down, scooping a bit of his essence and bringing it to your lips. You moaned in pleasure, while Neteyam let out a soft, tired laugh, kissing your cheek and letting you do as you pleased.

Once you’re both dressed, you chased each other out of the woods but Neteyam’s hand snaked out, his fingers catching the end of your tail as you tried to dart ahead of him. He gave it a light tickle, a sensation that sent a playful jolt right up your spine.

“That’s cheating!” you squealed, spinning around with a wide, lopsided grin. You smacked his muscled abdomen, but it felt like you hit a warm stone wall, stinging your palm.

Neteyam didn't even flinch, he just huffed a breathy laugh. “Did you hurt yourself?“ he asked, catching your hand.

“Humble bragging, aren’t we?” you teased, stepping into his space and poking a finger into the center of his chest. “I think the brew caused your head to grow bigger than it already is.”

He caught your finger, pressing a kiss to the tip of it. “If my head is big, it is only because you occupy every corner of it.” He pulled you closer, his tail winding around yours in a tight, possessive curl. You leaned your head against his shoulder as you giggled, and for a few more steps, the world was nothing but the scent of him and the dizzying joy of the night.

But as you rounded the final thicket leading back to the communal clearing, the laughter died in your throat. At the sight of your father standing just outside the Hometree’s entrance, you moved away from Neteyam faster than lightning could hit the ground. He was deep in conversation with another senior warrior, his arms crossed over his chest. The shift in the air was instantaneous and your joy was replaced with cold anxiety.

Neteyam felt it, too. He immediately untangled his tail from yours and straightened his spine, his posture shifting from the relaxed lover back to the disciplined son of the Olo’eyktan. Your father turned his head. He didn't move, and he didn't stop his conversation, but his gaze locked onto the two of you. You walked faster to get to your father, feeling the guilt rise in you a little. You wondered if there were marks on your neck, or if your hair was in disarray.

Neteyam reached your flock, raising his hand in a formal warrior’s greeting, his voice steady and respectful when he greeted your father. Your father offered a curt nod, his stare never leaving Neteyam’s face for a long heartbeat. It looked like a silent warning, one that acknowledged the rank Neteyam held, but reminded him exactly whose daughter he was walking home.

“Go inside, daughter,” your father said quietly.

You didn’t look at Neteyam, turning on your heels to walk toward the entrance of the Hometree. You felt ashamed of your feebleness, how you folded so easily at the presence of pressure. You knew your father won’t let it go and that reckoning will soon come, so when you heard the tent flap rustle one evening and didn’t smell Neteyam’s familiar scent, you turned and saw that it was your father. You straightened up, greeting him as you would greet a superior.

“You spend much time in the Tsahik’s tent at night, daughter,“ he started, touching one of the hanging braided ceremonial beads. “And you are rarely alone. Kiri is your friend, isn’t she?”

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed, nodding. “Yes, father...”

“And Neteyam?“ he inquired.

You blinked, you knew this was coming, and yet, you weren’t able to prepare a proper excuse. “Neteyam is a good friend, father. We have been friends since we were kids,” you said, your words tumbling over one another.

He nodded. “I know that. Neteyam is a fine warrior, the pride of the Olo’eyktan... But a man of his vitality and youth does not seek out a woman of your path night after night, nor does he come out of the dark woods with the same woman.”

Your fingers tightened at the herbs. “We are friends, father. N-Neteyam helps me—”

“Friendship between a future leader and Eywa’s maiden is good, yes, but this is not it," he warned, stepping closer. He gestured to you, to the way you had begun to arrange your hair with more care, the subtle oils you used to make your skin glow. “You are becoming worldly. You are looking at the ground when you should be looking at the Great Mother. Do not forget the honor of our lineage. Do not forget the path that was chosen for you.”

That warning rang in your ears for days. You had shed tears about it, spending your days weakly. You are frightened. You fear that you do not have enough will to fight against this path that has long blurred for you. The only sight you can see is the path leading to the man you have loved half of you life. The man you will have to turn your back to in favor of your family’s honor. The man you will lose to another. You can’t even stand imagining it. He will mate someone worthy and strong... She will have him and his children, and there will be nothing for you.

Those thoughts weighed you down. It was a tragedy.

It followed you into the woods a week later, where you were meant to be foraging berries for a pie you had promised Kiri. The basket felt heavy, the vibrant reds of the fruit blurring before your eyes. You were standing in a patch of sunlight, but you felt cold, your tears freely flowing, something you couldn’t do when you’re back at the village because Neteyam will surely know.

But as if summoned, the large leaves near you shifted and Neteyam appeared, his smile was bright, his eyes searching for yours, but when he saw the tears on your cheeks, the slump of your shoulders, and the way your hands moved listlessly among the bushes, his expression shifted instantly to one of deep concern.

“Hey,” his voice murmured, coming to stand before you right away. “What is it? Did something happen in the village?”

You tried to give him a small smile. “No, I’m alright,” you said in a soft voice.

Neteyam has never seen you cry before, save for whe you are moved by wonder or by something sad happening to others. You have always been composed and laid-back, sometimes he doesn't even know if you ever get mad at all. Ans right now, you were crying, and it seemed so personal it’s breaking his heart. Gently, his lips pressed against your temple, pulling you close.

“What’s going on?” he asked, his voice so soft it made your heart spasm.

You wanted to say you’re alright again but it shattered before it even reached your lips. The dam you had built with such effort finally broke. A sob escaped you, and then the tears were falling, frantic and unstoppable. Neteyam inhaled a sharp breath, pulling you into his arms, his chest a solid, warm wall against your grief. He didn't ask questions; he simply held you, his hand stroking your hair as you wept into his shoulder, pouring out your fears on how the path now felt like a cage, how your father’s words had cut you, and most of all, the soul-crushing fear that you would be forced to watch him mate with another while you lived a life of cold, sacred solitude.

“I can't do it,” you choked out, clutching the leather of his harness. “I can't watch you take a mate. I cannot watch you belong to someone else. Neteyam, I cannot do it,“ you are crying so hard you could barely understand your own words.

Neteyam pulled back just enough to frame your face with his hands. The fear in your eyes threatened to break him from the inside out. He hadn’t known you had this much fear in you, and although he knew he shouldn’t feel good about it, he still felt it, but it would never be in him to want to prolong your agony. He loves you so much, his heart could burst. He wiped your tears with his thumbs, his gaze so intense it felt like he was looking directly into your spirit.

“I love you so much,” he whispered, his voice thick with a raw, agonizing honesty. “I have always loved you. Ever since we were children learning in the pavillion under the watchful eyes of the healers, you were the only one for me.”

He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, his eyes closing as if in prayer.

“When I was young, I worked until my bones ached because I wanted to be worthy of you. I wanted to be a man who deserved to stand at your side. I wanted to be your mate. I wanted to be the father of your children.” His voice dropped to a reverent, shaky register, smiling at you. "But I also know the path you have chosen. And my love, listen to me, you will never, ever lose me. I have long made my decision. I promised myself I will never mate with another.”

Your breath hitched, your eyes wide with shock. “Neteyam, you are the future Olo’eyktan. You have to—”

“I can be a good leader without a mate,” he countered firmly, his eyes burning with conviction. “I have decided. If the Great Mother requires you to be alone, then I will be alone with you. I will be your shadow. I will guard you and walk your path from a distance, but I will never give myself to another woman. I have long been claimed.”

The image of him, noble, strong, and utterly alone in the dark because of you, shattered your heart into a thousand pieces. You didn't want him to be a shadow. You wanted him to be the man who held your hand in the light. You wanted it so much.

“Do you understand?” he asked, his voice low and steady. "Whatever happens, whatever choice you make, I am here. I will be here. You have me. You will always have me.”

You looked up at him and saw the absolute certainty in his eyes. It frightened you, to say the least, to know that he was willing to let the future of his bloodline wither away just to be the man who stood outside your door.

​“You cannot,” you whispered. You cannot possiby be this selfish. You regretted telling him your fears for you know it only solidified his decision. “Neteyam, the clan... they expect a mother for the people. Your father and Neytiri... they want to see you happy. They want to see your children.“

​“Then they will be disappointed,“ he said, his jaw tightening with an uncharacteristic stubbornness. His hands moved to cup the back of your head, grounding you. “There is no happiness for me if I am lying next to a woman who is not you. I would be a shell. How could I lead our people with a heart that is half-dead?“

“You wouldn’t be with me anyway...” you rasped, your head bowing.

He looked at you with sad eyes but still, he chuckled and kissed the tip of your nose. “You haven’t been paying attention, my love. I have long known that and I have accepted it,” he said. “I will do anything you ask of me, you know that, but you cannot ask me to be with another. I will not obey you.”

You parted your lips to breathe, gripping his forearms to feel the solid warmth of him. The selflessness of his love shamed you. What good have you done to deserve such devotion? That question lingered with you even after you two parted. You knew the answer: you have done nothing. You have never been willful your whole life.

Following your great aunt’s path, the path that twenty-two generations of women in your father’s family have taken, have never before felt like an order to be obeyed. You wanted it before you truly knew what you wanted, but now, as you looked back... Neteyam has always been there. He has always stirred your heart in the way only he could do. You have always loved him.

And you will never stop.

Driven by a desperation you couldn’t name, you found yourself at the secluded dwelling of your great aunt. The air was thick with incense and you knew this would be one of those few days where she could be disturbed from her prayers, and even now, she was a silhouette of stillness, her back to you as she whispered prayers that had been her only companions for sixty years.

You didn't speak. You simply sat behind her and began to pray, the minutes stretching into hours. You watched the way the smoke curled in the air, wondering if your life would be just like hers: sacred, hollow, and hauntingly quiet. You wanted to feel guilty for thinking it look gray, but it was what you were thinking.

When the last of the incense burned out, Äye turned slowly. Her eyes, fill of wisdom and spirit, settled on your face. She didn't see her successor; she saw the crumbling ruins of a girl in love.

“What is it that brings you to this quiet place with such a loud heart?” she asked, her voice both stern and full of concern.

“The medicinal roots in the southern ridge are coming in early this year," you said casually, your voice a dry rasp. “I’m thinking of beginning the harvest before the syaksyuk get to them."

She tilted her head, her eyes sharp and assessing.  “You have been sitting here for five hours, praying to a Mother who has already answered you, yet you refuse to listen. I can see it in your face,” she reached out, tilting your chin up. “What is it? And do not tell me it is the harvest.”

You swallowed hard, the weight in your chest becoming unbearable. “I wanted to ask if... If your heart has ever stirred... For a person, I mean. Not for the Great Mother, nor for the people. For a man.” You paused, your voice trembling. “Have you ever felt... desire?“

You waited for her to look at you as if you’ve grown two heads but she didn’t. The old woman’s eyes softened, a distant. She didn't answer right away, instead, she let her hand fall to your shoulder. “Is that what is clawing at you?”

You looked away, the first tear finally breaking free. “This is my path, Auntie... I have known this my whole life. But... These feelings I have in my heart, I have carried with me long before I knew what it was. I have loved him since we were children. And this man loves me with all he is... I supposed it would be easier if he didn’t love me back. It would be easier to accept the solitary path ahead of me, but now, because he loves me, he will forsake his own duty to the clan just so he could freely love me.” You gripped your knees, your knuckles turned white. “I do not want that for him. I cannot let him be alone and empty, I cannot deny him the love I can give him...“

Äye let out a long, slow breath. “The son of Toruk Makto.”

Your eyes snapped to hers. “How... how did you know?”

A small, knowing smile played on her lips. “I have seen it, and I still see it. You have always had the boy’s eyes, and his heart. You see only now.”

“I am scared,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “I look at the path laid out for me... This life of solitude and it feels like a cage. I want him... I love him. I want to give him myself...” you looked at her. “Is it wrong, Auntie? To want the ground more than the sky? To want a man more than a goddess?”

Äye reached out and cradled your face in her weathered hands.

“Is it truly the path she gave you?” she asked softly. “Eywa does not give paths, child. She simply makes us feel. What you feel here will tell you where you belong.” She smiled, her palm pressing firmly over your heart. “And clearly, your heart has been showing you the path for a very long time.”

You sniffled, leaning into her touch, a flicker of hope sparking in the dark.

“I have easily done my duty because Eywa did not see it fit to put desire in my heart,” Äye confessed, her gaze turning distant and thoughtful. “I walked this path because it was the only one I saw. But, if I had only felt love and desire for another... if I had felt even a fraction of what you described... I would have let it consume me. I would have allowed myself to be loved by someone I loved.” Her expression became fiercer. “It is a gift, child, and you must not deny yourself what Eywa has given you. You must not deny Neteyam the love that you could give him, or the life you two could live. To turn away from such a love is the only true blasphemy.”

“But my father... the clan...” you whispered.

She scoffed. “Do not worry about your father. He is handled,” she said with a small, knowing smirk. “You go to your warrior. Tell him everything you told me.”

The weight that had been crushing your ribs for years had simply evaporated. You hugged her and she patted your back. When you finally stood up, your legs feel so light, as though you were floating. You ran through the village, past the staring eyes of the hunters, straight toward the training grounds where you knew a certain warrior was spending his day.

You didn't care about the path anymore. There has only ever been one for you, and it led straight to him. The sounds of clashing practice staves and rhythmic grunts welcomed you as you reached the training grounds. You stood at the edge of the clearing, thinking about how you have never done this before even though you passed by it every single day. You’ve never even thrown Neteyam a glance when he was over here, so now, you indulged yourself to the sight of his skin glistening with sweat as he moved with lethal grace.

He was giving corrections, his voice commanding and steady, until his gaze swept toward the edge and snagged on you. He stopped mid-sentence and had to do a double look, his golden eyes widening in genuine disbelief. It was always he who sought you out, he who lingered at the edges, waiting for you to pay him attention. And now, to see you standing here, in the open light, was a surprise that seemed to steal the air from his lungs. A slow, radiant smile began to spread across his face, one that he didn't even try to hide.

The other hunters followed his gaze lazily, shocked as Neteyam was to see you standing there, looking only at him. When he signaled for a break, Neteyam practically glided toward you, his focus so intense it felt like he was pulling you toward him by an invisible thread. He opened his mouth to ask what had brought you there, but you didn't give him the chance.

You stepped forward to meet him halfway, reaching up, tagling your fingers in the braids at his nape to pull him down into a soft, lingering kiss.

The silence that fell over the training grounds was almost funny, jaws practically hit the dirt, and Lo’ak who was standing a few yards away dropped his staff, his eyes bulging.

“When will you be done?” you asked casually, your voice clear and steady. Your thumb traced the line of his jaw, grounding him.

Neteyam looked dazed, as if he were caught in a dream and was terrified of waking up. The smile on his face was huge and utterly devoted, it brought ache to your chest. “Now,” he rasped, his voice sounding hypnotized. He didn't even look back at his men. “I’ll finish this early. Right now.”

You let out a melodic chuckle, your palm pressing flat against the heat of his abdomen. “Don’t be silly. I can just wait here,” you said, gesturing toward the wooden benches.

He nodded fervently, his tail twitching with an excitement he couldn't suppress. You couldn't resist, he looked so uncharacteristically flustered and cute that you leaned in for another quick kiss before patting his chest.

“Go,” you whispered, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “I’ll wait.”

Neteyam turned back to his warriors, but the sternness was gone. The men themselves were in a state of total shock, their eyes kept on darting back to where you are. The rest of the training session was a blur and you couldn’t take your eyes on Neteyam, and you’re glad he was the opposite. He was so focused on it, even though he was less strict, the intensity of his approach did not wane.

He dismissed the session right on time, handing his staff to a young hunter and was at your side in a heartbeat, his skin still glistening with sweat. He wiped it off with a soft cloth and you stood up, grabbing the cloth to help him wipe his sweat. “I need you to come with me,” you said, fighting the urge to smirk.

He breathed, catching your hand to graze a thumb on your knuckles. “Where? The forest? The high ridges?”

“Further,” you said, your voice steady despite the flutter in your stomach. You grabbed his hand and his fingers intertwined with yours as naturally as vines coil on a branch.

The walk was surprisingly casual, the air cooling as the forest began its slow transition into the bioluminescent glow of dusk. You stepped over a spike plant and he gripped your hand tighter. “Careful,” he said, hopping over a fallen log and reaching back to steady.

“I am a healer, Neteyam. I know which leaves bite and which ones soothe. If anything, I should be the one worried about you. You almost walked straight into a stickyplant back there because you were too busy looking at me.”

“Can you blame the warrior for admiring the view?” he countered with a cheeky waggle of his brows.

You laughed, nudging his shoulder with yours. “Getting bold, aren’t we? Must be all those pies Tuk didn't eat. I saw her trying to smuggle a third one past Mo’at at dinner last night. She looked like a prolemuris with its cheeks full of fruits.”

“She’s a menace,” he chuckled, his tail flicking with amusement. “The young these days...” he shook his head. “Just last time, I saw a young hunter trying to impress girls by showing off his battle scars. Most of them were from tripping over during drills.”

“Be kind,” you teased. “We were all young and desperate for attention once. Though some of us,” you glanced at him sideways, “didn't have to try quite so hard.”

Neteyam’s smile softened, his fingers tightening around yours. “I don't know about that. I spent half my youth trying to figure out why the smartest girl in the pavilion wouldn't look at me for more than two seconds.”

“I was busy studying!” you protested. “I had to learn the difference between a glow moss and a spice leaf. One heals a burn, the other causes a rash that lasts for three days. Imagine if I'd gotten those mixed up because I was staring at your growing muscles.”

“A tragedy for the clan,“ he joked, pulling you by the waist and pressing a kiss against your neck. “But a win for my ego,” he whispered.

You squealed and pulled away, running away from him. You heard him chuckle, chasing after you until you two reached the purple glow of the ancient sacred tree. You looked at him with a soft smile and he stared at you, his eyes softening into a reverent look as he savored the look of you bathed in purple light

“It is beautiful tonight,” he whispered, reaching out to caressed your jaw.

“It is,” you agreed, tiptoeing to kiss him again, your arms hooking on his nape.

His hands immediately wrapped around your waist, pulling you close to him as he deepened the kiss, his mouth devouring yours. You pulled him down with you onto the soft moss, laying back so he’d follow you. You spread your thighs and he settled his body between them, breaking away from the kiss as if he’d just noticed what position you had pulled him into under the sacred tree.

You smiled, leaning in to press a slow, deep kiss to his lips, “I love you, Neteyam...” you whispered as if it was your secret, kissing him again.

His head lifted, his lips curling into a small, yet triumphant, smile. “I love you more, baby. So much,” he said, his arm wrapping around you to pull you to him. “What’s going on?” he asked.

You smiled and kissed him again, you didn't let him break away, and as your hands moved to his shoulders, the kiss deepened. You could feel the frantic beat of his heart against your chest. You pulled back just an inch, your eyes locked onto his, and then, with a hand that didn't tremble, you reached back and brought your queue forward. Neteyam’s eyes snapped at your kuru, widening a fraction in a surprise so profound he actually moved back an inch.

“My love...” he rasped, his voice breaking. He looked from your kuru to your eyes, his face pale but his eyes dancing with joy.

You kissed him. “I want to be with you. I want to be your mate... I want to have your children...”

His smile widened, though his eyes still needed more answers. “Are you sure? Once this is done... there is no turning back to the path they chose for you. You will be mine. In the eyes of Eywa and the clan, you will be mine for life.”

“I have never been more sure of anything,” you whispered, reaching out to take his hand. “The path I chose isn't the one they gave me. It’s this. It’s you.”

Neteyam’s hand was shaking as he brought his own queue forward. The intensity of the moment was suffocating, a silence so heavy it felt like the ancestors themselves were holding their breath. “I love you so much,” he said, the words a solemn vow. “You have me, until my last breath. You have always had me, baby.”

Slowly, deliberately, the pink tendrils of your queues reached out, entwining and locking together. You gasped, your back arching when a flood of physical sensations surged through you. You felt the raw, unbridled power of Neteyam’s love for you. The years of pining, the quiet agony of watching you from afar, the fierce protectiveness, and the sheer, blinding joy of this moment. And he felt yours. The fear you had felt, the desperate need for his touch, and the struggle you fought that led to this absolute certainty that you belonged by his side.

Neteyam let out a choked sound, pulling you flush against him, his arms wrapping around you with a strength that promised he would never, ever let go. You kissed him until you were both breathless, then his lips trailed down your jaw, making you arch into his touch as a low moan rumbled in your throat. Your hands found purchase in his braids, pulling his head back up, your gaze locking with his.

“Are we doing it?” you asked, your eyes looking up at him in both apprehension and excitement.

He caressed your thigh. “Do you want to? It doesn’t need to be tonight—”

“No, I want to! I want to... Just...” you cleared your throat. “I mean you’re big and... And how did the other girls take this—”

“What?” he whisper-shouted playfully. “There have never been other girls. I’ve never kissed anyone before you...” His eyes looked away from yours to look at your lips.

“What?” you chuckled breathily, the scholar part of you panicking. “No one here knows what to do?”

“No, I do know what to do,” he said, his eyes widening a little. “Trust me.“

You smiled and reached up to kiss him, he met you halfway, his mouth descending, but hungry now, no longer sweet and hesitant. His tongue plunged and you met his fervor, your own tongue dancing with his. His hands moved, tracing the curve of your hips, his thumbs brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, sending a jolt of pleasure through you as you felt the hard ridge of his cock press against your thigh.

Your fingers fumbled with the straps of his loincloth, your fingers caressing the soft skin of his abdomen. He undid your own, hands quick and deft, discarding the simple covering the same time you shed his. His fingers found your slippery folds, caressing it as he kisses your jaw. Your hand shot down to wrap around his cock, caressing the thick and long flesh.

He huffed, his lips pressing against your cheek before he leaned down, his mouth finding your neck, his teeth gently nipping at where you’re most sensitive. You whimpered, your head falling back against the moss. His tongue traced a path down your throat, over your collarbone, until it reached the swell of your breast. He suckled, his mouth hot and wet, drawing your nipple into his mouth.

Your hips arched involuntarily. “Neteyam,” you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

He moved to your other breast, giving it equal attention before kissing his way down your body until you felt a long swipe of his tongue on the soft skin of your inner thigh. His fingers brushed against your slick pussy, followed by his warm tongue, sending a shockwave of pleasure through your core, his hands slid under your hips to tilt you toward him before his mouth lapped at your wetness like a man starved.

You clutched on a moss, letting yourself moan to your heart’s content until you were a shaking mess with a spinning vision. You can feel his lips and tongue working its way up your body but your mind was zeroing in on the electrifying sensation you’re feeling on your clit, your thighs jolting every time his skin grazes it.

Only when he positioned himself between your legs did you make the effort to lift you head up to look at him, catching him with his eyes darkened with desire as they devoured your nakedness. Your connected kurus pulsed brighter and you felt the jolt of excitement and ecstasy he is probably feeling. You bit your lip, looking at his cock, thick and heavy, pressing against your entrance. You looked up at him, your own eyes burning with desire, and he met your gaze, his lips curved in a small smile and his eyes suddenly became the look of longing and adoration.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice rough with need.

“Yes,” you gasped, pushing your hips up, urging him forward. “Now.”

He chuckled, his hand squeezing your hips before he thrusted, slowly at first, his thick shaft pushing past your eager lips, stretching you, filling you with a sensation so profound it stole your breath. You cried out, a mixture of pain and pleasure, as he pushed deeper, until he was fully buried inside you.

He paused, letting you adjust, his chest heaving, his eyes closed for a moment in pure bliss. “It feels so warm... So tight,” he groaned, his voice thick with emotion.

You hugged him, a little breathless at the feeling of being so full of him and yet, you pulled him deeper still. “You’re so big...” you groaned, clenching around him.

He opened his eyes and you saw a primal look in them as he began to move, slowly at first, a gentle motion that soon picked up pace. He pulled almost all the way out, then plunged back in, his rhythm becoming more urgent, more demanding.

“Ah!” you moaned, your body arching, meeting his thrusts with equal enthusiasm. The sounds of your skin slapping together and the wet sounds of him moving inside you filled the air.

One of his hand found your folds, his thumb parting them to flick at your sensitive nub, making you buck and pull away in overstimulation but he only leaned down, his lips finding yours to devour your cries, his tongue plunging into your mouth as his hips continued its relentless rhythm. His hands gripped your hips to lift and tilt you, finding new angles that gave you so much pleasure. His cock felt enormous inside you, stretching you to your limits, yet it was a delicious fullness, a sense of being completely claimed.

The gentle rocking turned into powerful, rhythmic thrusts, his body slamming into yours with increasing force as you felt a familiar feeling in your lower abdomen, a knot that promised release. You clawed at his back, your nails digging into his firm muscles, leaving faint red marks.

“Harder,” you gasped against his lips, your voice hoarse. “Please, baby...”

He responded instantly, his thrusts becoming even more violent, more primal. He pulled out almost entirely, then slammed back in with a force that made you scream, the air whooshing out of your mouth.

“You like that, baby?” he rasped, his voice raw, his breath hot against your face.

You whimpered, unable to speak, your hips bucking involuntarily to meet his every thrust. You felt your muscles clenched around his shaft, milking him, urging him on. He groaned and thrusted one last, powerful time, burying himself to the hilt, holding you tight as your body convulsed around him. Your climax hit you like a lightning strike, giving you a full body tremor that left you breathless and clutching at him. Your muscles seized, squeezing his cock, making him cry out your name.

His body tensed, then relaxed as he emptied himself deep inside you. You felt the hot gush of his seed filling you as he collapsed onto you, his weight heavy but welcome, his breath ragged against your neck. His heart hammered against your chest, mirroring the frantic beat of your own. You lay tangled together, spent and satisfied, the purple glow of the tree a silent witness to your mating.

“I swear to the Great Mother, if this were a dream I’d beat up the person who will wake me up,” he whispered breathily, kissing you.

You chuckled weakly, hugging him tighter to you and kissing his cheek. “It is real, husband. I am here with you,” you told him.

He melted in your embrace, kissing your forehead, and then your lips. “I love you so much...”

A few hours of sleep punctuated with a series of waking up only to make love later, you lay tangled in Neteyam’s arms under the glowing tendrils,  your core still sore from the intensity of your last coupling. His chest was warm under your cheek, and you traced the faint, drying marks your nails had left on his shoulder. Neteyam shifted, his tail winding lazily around your thigh.

“The sun will be up soon,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, his hand tracing the curve of your hip with a new, possessive ease. You let out a soft sigh, tightening your hold on him. Neteyam pulled back slightly to look at you, his golden eyes clear and filled with a fierce, protective light. “I’ll face your father. I’ll tell him it was my doing. The haste, the lack of a formal ceremony. I’ll take the weight of his anger.”

You shook your head, reaching up to cup his face. “No. I made this choice just as much as you did. I won’t let you stand there like a criminal for loving me. I’ll handle him, and Äye said she would help. I’m more worried about Mo’at... I am a healer under her. Surely, she’d expect me to follow the traditions.”

“Then we face them together,” Neteyam said firmly, interlocking his fingers with yours. “As one. We are mated now. I am your husband and you are my wife.”

Those words brought you so much relief and joy, you couldn’t help but smile, especially when his eyes reflected a certain, even smug, light in them. The walk back to the village felt different, but as you approached the central clearing of the Hometree, the sight of the gathering made your heart skip a beat.

Not only were your parents already there, Jake and Neytiri were there, too, standing near the breakfast hearth, and beside them sat Mo'at and Äye. The air was thick with the smell of morning broth and an unspoken tension. Your father stood as you both emerged from the ramp, his eyes immediately dropping to your clasped hands and then to the unmistakable, glowing pride in Neteyam’s posture.

“You did not return last night,” your father said, his voice flat but not yet angry.

Äye, who was calmly sipping from a bowl of tea, let out a dry chuckle. “Oh, let the children breathe, Laykon. Do not overreact. Look at them, they look like they’ve finally found where the air is.”

Neteyam didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, gently releasing your hand only to sink onto both knees before your parents. He bowed his head low, his forehead nearly touching the ground in a gesture of profound respect and apology.

“I ask for your forgiveness,” Neteyam’s voice was calm, carrying the weight of a leader. “I have acted with haste, and I have taken your daughter as my mate without the formal blessing of the clan. But I have loved her before I even I understood what it was. I ask only for your blessing now, for I will spend every day of my life proving I am worthy of her.”

You dropped to your knees beside him, your shoulder touching his. “Father, I love Neteyam, I have always loved him. This wasn't a mistake or a moment of weakness. It was the only truth I’ve ever known. I choose this life. I choose him.”

A long, suffocating silence followed. Jake looked at Neytiri, who had a soft, knowing expression on her face, one that spoke of a woman who had once made a similarly reckless choice for love. Finally, your father let out a long, heavy breath. He stepped forward and placed a hand on Neteyam’s shoulder, urging him to stand.

“I understand that, daughter,” he told you, his voice softening. “And I do not think this kneeling and bowing are necessary anymore. Words would have sufficed. You two are already mated in the eyes of the Great Mother; what is there for me to do? To fight the wind?” He looked at Neteyam, a rare, genuine smile breaking through his stony exterior. “It is my honor to have an honorable man as my son.”

Neytiri stepped forward then, pulling you into a fierce, warm embrace that smelled of woodsmoke and motherhood. “Welcome to the family, daughter,” she whispered.

You looked toward Mo’at, your stomach twisting with nerves. The Tsahik stood slowly, her face unreadable. Jake cleared his throat, glancing at the matriarch. “Mo’at? Perhaps, you can... give them the official blessing?”

Mo’at let out a sharp, huffed breath, reaching into the woven pouch at her side. To everyone’s surprise, she pulled out a bowl of ceremonial oils and a bundle of sage that had clearly been prepared in advance.

“Why do you think I am sitting here with these?” she asked, a rare humot flickering in her eyes as she looked at Äye. “Some people in this family cannot keep a secret. Come here, you two. If you are going to be mated, let us do it properly so the ancestors don’t think I’ve gone lazy.”

As Mo'at began the rhythmic chant of the blessing, marking your forehead and Neteyam’s with the cool, fragrant oil, you looked at your husband. The fear was gone. The gray path etched on sand was blown by the wind, leaving only the path forged by the Great Mother.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

The council meeting had dragged on for hours, with the elders debating trade with so much meticulousness that Neteyam can’t believe it’s starting to annoy him that the second Jake signaled the end, Neteyam couldn’t have exited the council hall faster than anyone. He moved through the village with a restless, joyful energy, his heart pulling him straight to the healer’s tent.

And when he pulled back the flap, the golden afternoon light spilled over you, hunched over a mortar, the same sight that had greeted him for years, but now, strapped to your chest in a soft woven wrap was your months-old son.

“Hello, baby,” Neteyam caressed your arm, leaning down to kiss you. He cupped your jaw and deepened the kiss.

You’d chucke at his eagerness if your son hadn’t let out a soft, melodic cry. It was as if he could sense his father has arrived before Neteyam even greeted him. Neteyam looked down at his son, his large hand caressing the boy’s head.

His face split by a wide, devoted grin. His large hands gently lift the bundle from your chest and you gave him his son, watching him settle the boy into the crook of his arm, his thumb tracing a tiny, rounded cheek. “How was he? Did he give you trouble while I was on patrol?”

You chuckled, wiping your hands on a cloth. “He is just a baby, ma ‘teyam. He slept almost the entire day, only waking to eat and then falling back to sleep.”

Neteyam let out a deep, vibrating chuckle that made the baby’s eyes fly open. “You’re the hungriest boy in this village, do you know that, hm? The biggest baby, too. You’re growing so fast, my son, look at you.”

You leaned against the worktable, watching them with a chest full of warmth. You reached out to tickle your son’s ear, watching his tiny shoulder shrug in reflex. “Remember when Mo’at said you were the biggest baby she’d ever seen?” you laughed. “She said your boy rivals you. Look at his tummy. So full, aren't you, sweet boy?”

The baby suddenly let out a tiny, gurgling chuckle, his first real laugh.

Your eyes snapped to Neteyam’s in shock. You both froze, breath held for seconds, before you both bursted into a quiet laughter. The boy stretched, his chubby limbs sprawled across his father's powerful arm, looking utterly content. As you looked at the small person you had created together, your eyes began to glisten with unshed tears and when you lifted your eyes to meet Neteyam’s his own eyes were pooling with tears.

Neteyam leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. “Have I told you how thankful I am that you chose me?”

You grinned, cupping his face. “You do every day, 'teyam. But I am more thankful to you. I couldn't imagine not living this life... you made me realize what I truly wanted.”

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

“I love you more, ‘teyam—”

“That couldn't be possible—”

“Uhhmp!” A sharp, demanding shriek from your son broke the moment. His tiny hand had clamped onto your beaded top, his neck craning with singular focus toward your chest.

You laughed, booping his nose. “Hungry again?“

Your smile was huge as you reached for him. Neteyam gently handed him back, chuckling as you settled the boy and eased your top aside. The baby latched in an instant, a rhythmic, quiet sound filling the tent. Neteyam sat beside you, his gaze fixed on the sight.

credits to the gif owner

The sun dipped low over the lush canopy of the Omatikaya forest, casting golden shafts through the leaves that danced across your azure skin like fleeting fireflies.

You sat cross-legged on a woven mat at the edge of the communal fire pit, your lithe frame relaxed after a long day of gathering herbs and weaving baskets. Strands of your dark hair, loosely braided with feathers from the hexapede you'd befriended, framed your delicate face, where wide amber eyes sparkled with quiet contentment. Your beauty was effortless, a soft curve to your full lips, high cheekbones flushed with the day's warmth, and a slender neck that led to the gentle swell of your shoulders, bare save for the thin straps of your beaded top.

You were known in the clan for your sweetness, always offering a kind word or a helping hand, your voice like a gentle breeze carrying notes of laughter that eased tensions among the hunters and weavers alike.

Neteyam approached from the treeline, his tall, athletic build cutting through the underbrush with purposeful strides.

His blue skin held a subtle sheen under the fading light, broader than the average Na'vi, he moved with fluid grace as any born of Eywa. His golden eyes, sharp and watchful, softened the moment they landed on you, and he carried a skewer of roasted yerik meat in one hand, the savory aroma wafting toward the fire. He had been out on patrol all afternoon, his lithe muscles still taut from the exertion, a faint sheen of sweat tracing the defined lines of his chest and abdomen, where faint scars from training marred the otherwise smooth expanse.

Without a word, he lowered himself beside you, his thigh brushing yours in a way that felt natural, protective like a shield woven from his very presence. The heat from his body mingled with the fire's glow, and you shifted slightly, making room, your tail curling idly against the mat.

"Here." He said, his voice deep and warm, laced with that attentive care he always reserved for you, extending the skewer. "You haven't eaten since morning. Take this."

His free hand hovered near your shoulder, as if ready to steady you, his fingers long and calloused from bowstrings.

You accepted the meat with a grateful smile, your lips parting to reveal straight white teeth, and bit into the tender flesh, juices dripping down your chin. "Thank you, Teyam. You're always looking out for everyone."

Your tone was light, sincere, as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, savoring the smoky flavor.

He watched you eat, his gaze lingering on the way your throat moved with each swallow, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

When you'd finished half the skewer, he reached over casually, his knuckles grazing the soft plane of your midriff just above your woven skirt. His touch was light, playful, as he poked gently at the slight give of your stomach, testing.

"Full yet?" He teased, his golden eyes crinkling with amusement, the firelight reflecting in their depths like stars.

You giggled, the sound bubbling up sweetly, your hand instinctively covering his for a moment before pulling back, the contact sending a warm flutter through you that you dismissed as simple comfort.

He poked your tummy once more, firmer this time, until he nodded in satisfaction, withdrawing his hand but not his proximity.

Leaning back on one elbow, his broad shoulders rolling with the motion, he grinned a full boyish expression that lit up his handsome features, revealing the dimple in his left cheek. "Good. I have to keep you well-fed, or else you'll be grumpy all evening, and no one wants that."

His words carried a fond lilt, protective undertone threading through like vines around a tree trunk.

You felt a flush creep up your neck, your cheeks warming to a subtle lavender hue, but you waved it off with a laugh, assuming it was just his way. Neteyam had always been kind, especially to you, like an older brother watching over the clan.

"I'm not grumpy." You protested softly, nudging his arm with your elbow, the muscle there solid under your touch. "But I appreciate it. Really."

The flattery settled comfortably in your chest, a quiet joy at his attentiveness, yet you chalked it up to platonic concern, the kind he showed to his siblings or close friends.

As the evening deepened, the camp buzzed with shared stories and laughter around the fire.

Neteyam stayed glued to your side, his knee pressing against yours whenever he shifted to gesture during a tale, his arm occasionally draping over the log behind you, fingers nearly brushing your hair.

You leaned into the space without thinking, your shoulder nestling against his, reciprocating the closeness naturally by tucking a loose strand of his braid behind his ear when it fell forward, or passing him a gourd of water with a soft tone. "Here, you look thirsty."

Each act felt easy, instinctive, like breathing in the humid air, unaware that to him, they were signals blooming in the silent language of courtship.

Neteyam interpreted your every response as understanding, as quiet acceptance of his intentions. He had never spoken the words outright. Why would he? In the ways of the People, actions wove the bond stronger than declarations. Your easy touches, the way your amber eyes met his without pulling away, filled him with a swelling joy, his heart pounding a steady rhythm whenever that purple flush colored your cheeks under his gaze. He believed you knew, that your sweetness masked a shared secret, and it made his protective instincts burn brighter.

The next morning dawned with mist clinging to the ferns, the air alive with the calls of ilu in the nearby streams.

You knelt by the riverbank, your slender fingers dipping into the cool water to rinse fresh fruit, your lithe legs folded beneath you, the curve of your hips accentuated by the morning light filtering through the leaves. Your beauty shone in these simple moments, skin glowing like polished sapphire, the gentle arch of your back as you reached for a low-hanging vine, full lips pursed in concentration.

Neteyam emerged from the path leading to the hunting grounds, his stride confident, a small woven pouch slung over his shoulder. He had risen before the sun, his mind fixed on you as always, seeking you out amid the clan's morning routines.

Spotting you by the water, he veered toward you without hesitation, his tall frame casting a shadow that made you glance up, your face brightening with that sweet smile.

"Good morning." You greeted, straightening with a handful of berries, droplets trailing down your arms like liquid diamonds.

He knelt beside you, close enough that his knee dipped into the damp earth next to yours, his scent earthy and spiced from the hunt washing over you. From the pouch, he drew a delicate necklace, woven from fine fibers dyed in deep indigo, threaded with small beads that matched the ones woven into his own braids, iridescent and polished stones, symbols of promise among the Omatikaya. Such gifts were no small thing, only those spoken for exchanged beads and jewelry, a quiet vow etched in adornment.

His golden eyes held yours steadily as he held it out, voice soft with earnest warmth. "For you. I made it last night."

Your eyes widened, fingers trembling slightly as you took it, the beads cool against your palm.

It was beautiful, intricate, and you traced the patterns with awe, slipping it over your head without a second thought. The weight settled against your collarbone, warm now from your skin.

"Neteyam, it's stunning." You breathed, touching it lightly, your voice laced with genuine delight. "Thank you so much. You're too kind."

To you, it was another gesture of friendship, a token from a dear companion who noticed your love for such crafts.

He watched as you adjusted it, his chest tightening with quiet elation at how it complemented the curve of your neck, drawing out the glow of your eyes.

Leaning in, his breath ghosting your ear, he murmured. "It looks pretty on you. Suits you perfectly."

His hand lingered near your shoulder, thumb brushing the strap of your top in a fleeting touch, protective and tender.

Throughout the day, he positioned himself near you effortlessly, standing at your side while you helped mend nets, his arm steadying yours when a knot proved tricky, the heat of his body a constant reassurance.

At midday meal, he claimed the spot beside you on the log, sharing bites of breadfruit from his own portion, his knee bumping yours under the pretense of passing a utensil. You reciprocated without reservation, feeding him a piece of fruit in return, your fingers grazing his lips accidentally, laughing softly at the juice that smeared his chin.

"Messy eater." You teased sweetly, wiping it away with your thumb, the act intimate yet innocent in your mind.

Neteyam savored these moments, his heart swelling each time you leaned into him or met his gaze with that trusting warmth. Your acceptance fueled his belief that you understood that this was the dance of courtship, unspoken but profound. He never pressed for words, in his eyes, your sweetness was the answer, and it made him seek you out even more fervently.

That evening, as the hunters returned from a brief foray into the woods, Neteyam was among the first to break from the group, his eyes scanning the camp until they found you seated by the weaver's circle, your fingers deftly threading vines into patterns. He approached with a small bundle wrapped in leaves, his lithe form still humming with the thrill of the chase, chest rising and falling steadily under his harness.

Kneeling before you, he unwrapped it to reveal a cluster of rare glow-fruit, their skins luminescent even in the twilight, plucked from a hidden grove.

"For you." He said again, his voice rich with affection, golden eyes locking onto yours as he placed it in your lap, his hand covering yours briefly, thumb stroking the back in a soothing circle. "Saw these and thought of your smile, they light up like you do."

You blushed, the purple tint blooming across your nose, and accepted the gift with a soft gasp, your free hand touching his wrist in thanks. "Neteyam, you didn't have to. But... I love them. You're always bringing me the best things."

Popping one into your mouth, the sweet burst made you hum in pleasure, and you offered him the next, unaware of the courtship ritual in the sharing. He took it from your fingers, his lips brushing your skin deliberately, a spark of joy igniting in his chest at your oblivious sweetness.

As days blurred into a rhythm of closeness, you couldn't help the quiet worry that gnawed at you during quieter moments.

Neteyam spent so much time with you, guarding your path to the river, joining you in the evenings to stargaze, his arm around your shoulders as if warding off the night's chill. It was flattering, the way his attentiveness made you feel seen, cherished, but you fretted silently that it might deter other potential mates. He was the clan's golden son, brave and skilled. Surely, his focus on you could ruin his chances.

Yet, deep down, a selfish part of you wanted to bask in it longer.

You'd always harbored a secret longing for it to be you, imagining his hand in yours during the mating rituals, his golden eyes promising forever. But if he truly wanted that, wouldn't he have said it outright? Na'vi didn't play games with such things.

So you kept quiet, letting yourself enjoy his presence while it lasted. The way he'd pull you close during a sudden rain, shielding you with his body, his laughter rumbling against your ear or how he'd braid a fresh flower into your hair after a swim, his fingers lingering on your scalp, massaging gently until you sighed in contentment.

One afternoon, as you walked the forest paths together collecting vines, he stayed a step behind, his eyes tracing the sway of your hips, the elegant line of your spine. When a low branch snagged your arm, he was there instantly, plucking it away with a tsk of concern, his palm cupping your elbow to inspect the minor scratch.

"Careful, sevin." He murmured, the endearment slipping out like a habit, his touch feather-light as he blew on the mark, golden eyes fierce with protectiveness.

You smiled up at him, heart fluttering, and squeezed his hand. "I'm fine, thanks to you."

In these drawn-out exchanges, his affection unfolded like the petals of a sunbloom, attentive in the way he anticipated your needs, sweet in the stories he shared by the fire, his voice dropping low as he described hunts just to see your eyes widen. He'd draw you into his side during communal dances, his hand at the small of your back guiding your steps, bodies moving in sync under the bioluminescent glow.

You reciprocated with hugs goodbye after shared tasks, your cheek pressing to his chest, inhaling his scent, convincing yourself it was all just the warmth of friendship.

~

The bioluminescent glow of the evening settled over the Omatikaya village like a soft veil, vines pulsing with faint light as the clan gathered for the communal meal.

You wove through the crowd, your bare feet padding silently on the woven platforms, the sway of your hips subtle under the lightweight loincloth that hugged your curves.

Your azure skin caught the ethereal shimmer, highlighting the graceful taper of your waist and the gentle rise of your breasts beneath a top of supple leaves. Strands of your hair, adorned with tiny shells that clinked softly, fell in loose waves over one shoulder, framing your heart-shaped face where your amber eyes held a lingering warmth from the day's simple joys.

You spotted Neteyam near the central fire, his broad back turned momentarily as he conversed with a group of hunters. But then, as you drew closer, your steps faltered. He was leaning in toward a female Na'vi you'd seen only in passing.

Kalife.

The one whose voice enchanted the nights during celebrations, her songs weaving through the air like threads of moonlight. She was striking in her own right, her lithe form draped in a shawl of iridescent feathers that accentuated the elegant length of her limbs and the high arch of her brows. Her skin gleamed with a deeper cobalt hue, and her full mouth curved in easy laughter as she tilted her head, exposing the slender column of her throat.

Neteyam laughed a deep, resonant sound that rumbled from his chest, his golden eyes crinkling at the edges in a way you'd rarely seen, softened by an unfamiliar tenderness. A faint azure tint colored his cheeks, blooming across his sharp jawline, and he reached out to lightly touch her arm, his fingers lingering just a beat too long on the smooth expanse of her bicep.

They stood close, shoulders nearly brushing, the space between them charged with an intimacy that twisted something sharp in your gut.

Jealousy uncoiled like a viper in your chest, hot and insistent, mingling with a wave of insecurity that made your throat tighten.

Who was she to him?

You knew little beyond her reputation, the clan's finest singer, her melodies drawing sighs from even the sternest warriors during feasts. But seeing Neteyam like this, his usual guarded demeanor cracking into that rare blush, you couldn't help the assumption that solidified in your mind.

He liked her. Of course he did.

She was everything vibrant and captivating, while you'd been fooling yourself with his attentiveness, mistaking brotherly kindness for something more. Embarrassment flooded you, heating your face as you imagined how naive you'd been, reciprocating his touches and gifts like they meant what your heart had dared to hope.

You turned away abruptly, your tail flicking with agitation, and slipped back toward your family's marui without a word to anyone. The woven entrance flap closed behind you with a soft rustle, sealing you in the dim, vine-draped space.

For the next few days, you retreated fully, curling into your hammock with a blanket of furs pulled tight around your frame, the curve of your knees drawn to your chest as if to ward off the ache. Meals were brought by your mother, her concerned eyes tracing the shadows under yours, but you waved off questions with murmured excuses about fatigue from the heat.

On the second day, a familiar voice echoed from outside.

Neteyam's, low and laced with worry. "Is she alright? I brought some healing herbs from the lowlands, they ease any fever."

Your heart stuttered at the sound, but you pressed a hand to your mouth, nodding urgently to your parents.

Your father stepped out, his voice steady as he relayed your fabricated illness. "She's under the weather, Neteyam. A stomach ache from bad fruit. Best to let her rest."

You heard the hesitation in his tone, but he held firm, and after a pause filled with Neteyam's murmured concern. "Tell her I hope she feels better soon, please."

His footsteps retreated, leaving you with a pang of guilt that only deepened the hurt.

By the fourth day, the isolation gnawed at you, the marui's walls feeling too confining.

You emerged into the dappled sunlight, blinking against the brightness, your body moving with a deliberate stiffness as you gathered a heavy basket of woven fibers for the clan's repairs. The weight strained your arms, pulling at the lithe muscles of your shoulders, but you gripped it tighter, determined to manage alone.

That's when you saw him.

Neteyam crossing the platform, his stride purposeful, the harness across his torso accentuating the powerful V of his back and the ripple of his abs with each step. His braids swung gently, catching the light, and his gaze locked onto you immediately, concern etching lines around his mouth.

He quickened his pace, reaching out with an instinctive offer.

"Let me take that for you." He said, his voice warm but edged with that familiar protectiveness, his large hands already extending toward the basket.

In the past, he'd always insisted, lifting it effortlessly from your grasp with a teasing grin, his fingers brushing yours in the process, claiming it was no trouble to spare you the strain. But now, you stepped back, hoisting the load higher against your hip, the edge digging into your side.

"No, thank you, Neteyam." You replied coolly, your tone polite but distant, the sweetness drained from it like water from a cracked gourd.

Your eyes flicked away from his, focusing on the path ahead, and you walked on without waiting, the basket's weave creaking under your effort.

He froze for a moment, his extended hand dropping slowly, confusion flickering across his features, those sharp handsome planes tightening as he watched you go.

From his perspective, the shift hit like a sudden storm. The first day of your absence, he'd accepted the news of your sickness without question, lingering outside your marui with a bundle of fresh-picked leaves that promised relief, his mind replaying the easy laughter you'd shared just nights before.

But by the second day, unease settled in his gut, a quiet worry that gnawed as he patrolled the borders, his bow slung over his shoulder, eyes scanning the treetops more restlessly than usual.

Something felt off.

When you finally reappeared, the change was stark. Your avoidance of his help, that basket he'd carried a dozen times without fail struck him like a slap. He replayed his actions in his mind. The necklace, the gifts, the constant nearness.

Had he been too forward, pushing the boundaries of courtship too aggressively? Na'vi ways were subtle, but perhaps he'd overstepped, made you uncomfortable without realizing.

Worry coiled in his chest, making his breaths shallower during hunts, his focus splintering as he glanced back toward the village more often. He didn't approach again that day, respecting the invisible wall you'd raised, but he watched from afar, ensuring the path you took was clear of roots, his golden eyes tracking your form with a mix of longing and self-doubt.

At the communal dinners that followed, you enforced the distance with quiet resolve.

You chose seats on the far side of the fire pit, your posture straight and composed, legs tucked gracefully beneath you as you picked at your portions of smoked fish and roots. When Neteyam's gaze sought yours across the flames, you met it with a nod and a smile that didn't reach your eyes. It was polite, detached, the once-affectionate “Teyam” replaced entirely by the formal “Neteyam” in the rare instances you spoke.

"Pass the salt, Neteyam." You'd say evenly if needed, your voice stripped of its former lilt, and turn back to conversation with others, your fingers twisting a vine idly to avoid his stare.

One evening, as the fire crackled and stories flowed, you glanced up to see him settling beside Kalife and another lithe female from the weavers' circle, her features soft with rounded cheeks and eyes like polished amber.

He frowned briefly in your direction after your latest dismissal earlier, when he'd offered you a gourd of water, you'd taken it with a murmured thanks and no further engagement but then he turned to them, his shoulders relaxing into the group.

Kalife leaned in to whisper something, her hand gesturing animatedly, and though he didn't laugh this time, the sight of him there with a small soft smile, surrounded by her easy camaraderie, soured the warmth in your belly. Bitterness rose like bile, confirming the whirlwind of speculations in your head.

He had something with her, or at least the beginnings of it. Why else would he seek her company now, after your withdrawal?

You'd been a fool to bask in his attention, and the realization stung, sharpening your resolve to pull away further.

Neteyam felt the shift acutely, his confusion deepening into a persistent ache. He'd sought out Kalife only for advice on a melody she'd sung, a way to perhaps share it with you later, to draw you back with something light but your distant smiles and full-name address cut deeper than any blade. He wondered if his affections had overwhelmed you, if the beads in the necklace now felt like chains.

From across the camp, he continued his quiet care. Leaving a fresh-picked cluster of berries near your marui's entrance at dawn, hidden just enough to avoid intrusion, or positioning himself during patrols to overlook the paths you frequented, his lithe form perched on a branch, bow at the ready should any danger stir. But he held back from direct approach, uncertainty rooting him in place, his mind a tangle of worry.

Had he misread your reciprocation entirely?

The thought haunted his nights, sleep evading him as he stared at the canopy, heart heavy with the fear of having lost the quiet bond he'd cherished.

Meanwhile, you carried the hurt in silence, a jealous fire smoldering beneath your composed exterior. Each glimpse of him with Kalife, her laughter ringing out during a midday gathering, his head tilting attentively fueled the insecurity, whispering that you'd never been the one he wanted, just a convenient friend in his orbit. You believed it fully now, the embarrassment of your misinterpretation locking the pain in place.

Yet, beneath it all, you missed him fiercely, the solid warmth of his presence, the way his touches had made your days brighter.

In the quiet of your marui, you'd trace the necklace he gave you, fingers lingering on the beads that matched his braids, a secret ache blooming as you wondered what might have been if you'd been braver, or if he'd ever truly seen you that way. The distance stretched, a chasm of unspoken misunderstandings, leaving you both adrift in the village's rhythm, yearning across the divide.

The days blurred into a haze of unspoken tension, the village's vibrant hum fading into a dull echo for Neteyam.

He moved through his routines like a shadow of himself, sharpening arrows with mechanical precision, his callused fingers gripping the stone too tightly, or scouting the perimeter with a bow that felt heavier than usual across his sinewy shoulders. The once-vibrant spark in his golden eyes dimmed, replaced by a furrowed brow and a jaw set in quiet frustration. His lithe frame, honed from endless hunts, seemed to carry an invisible weight, his steps less assured as he navigated the woven bridges and fern-shrouded paths.

Sleep evaded him, leaving dark circles beneath his lashes, and even the clan's evening songs couldn't coax a smile from his lips.

His family noticed the shift immediately.

Jake's sharp gaze lingered during family meals, his own broad form leaning forward with unspoken concern, while Neytiri's ears twitched at his subdued responses, her elegant fingers pausing mid-gesture as she wove nets. The younger ones picked up on it too. Kiri's empathetic tilt of the head, Tuk's wide-eyed questions about why Teyam looks sad.

But it was Lo'ak who confronted him first, cornering him one afternoon near the edge of the training grounds, where the air hummed with the distant calls of ikran.

Lo'ak crossed his arms over his chest, his lean muscles flexing under his skin painted with fresh hunt markings, his braids swaying as he cocked his head.

"Skxawng, what the hell is wrong with you?" He demanded, his voice a mix of brotherly exasperation and genuine worry, eyes narrowing at Neteyam's slumped posture. “You've been moping around like a hexapede with a thorn in its hoof. Energy's gone, poof. Spill it."

Neteyam sighed, running a hand through his braided locks, the beads clicking softly against each other. If it was any other day, he would have beaten Lo’ak for calling him that but right now, he just doesn’t have the energy for it. He leaned against a sturdy tree trunk, its bark rough against his back, and met Lo'ak's gaze with a weary intensity.

"It's her." He admitted, the words tumbling out low and raw, his throat tightening around the confession. "She... dismissed me. Cold as the deep caves. Won't look at me, won't let me help, calls me by my full name like I'm some stranger. After everything, the hunts, the necklace, I thought... I don't know. Maybe I pushed too hard."

His voice cracked slightly on the last part, vulnerability etching lines across his handsome features, the high cheekbones and full lips that usually curved in confidence now drawn tight.

Lo'ak's expression softened, though a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

He clapped a hand on Neteyam's shoulder, the gesture firm and grounding. "Bro, you're overthinking it like always. Guessing games? That's for dummies. Just talk to her straight up. Ask why she's acting like that. Can't fix what you don't face."

His tone was direct, laced with that reckless honesty that always cut through Neteyam's reservations, eyes gleaming with encouragement.

The advice lingered like a persistent vine as Neteyam ventured into the forest the next morning, the canopy filtering sunlight into golden shafts that danced across the mossy undergrowth.

He needed a quiet moment, away from the clan's watchful eyes, to gather his thoughts. But fate or perhaps Eywa's subtle nudge led him to you. Hidden among the thick foliage, his body low and still like a predator's, he watched as you knelt by a cluster of luminous blossoms, their petals unfurling in shades of violet and gold.

Your form was a vision in the dappled light.

Azure skin glowing with a soft sheen from the morning dew, the curve of your spine arching gracefully as you reached forward, fingers delicate yet sure plucking the stems. Your hair cascaded in loose, silken waves, catching flecks of pollen that sparkled like stars, and the gentle swell of your hips shifted with each movement, your loincloth whispering against your thighs. Beauty radiated from you effortlessly, a quiet allure that made his chest ache with longing.

He'd missed this, missed you, the way your presence lit something fierce and tender within him.

Heart pounding, he stepped forward, leaves crunching faintly under his feet, revealing himself with a soft rustle.

You startled slightly, your hand pausing mid-reach, but when your eyes flicked up, they darted away immediately, focusing on the flowers as if they held the secrets of the universe. Your tail curled tightly around your leg, a telltale sign of unease, and you rose slowly, brushing dirt from your knees with averted gaze.

"Why?" Neteyam asked, his voice steady but laced with a raw edge of hurt, stepping closer until the space between you hummed with tension. He towered gently over you, his broad chest rising and falling with controlled breaths, the scent of earth and sweat clinging to his skin from the trek. "Why are you avoiding me like this? Is it because you do not want me to continue courting you?"

The words hung heavy, direct and unyielding, his golden eyes searching your face with desperate clarity.

Shock rippled through you, widening your amber eyes as you finally met his stare, your lips parting in disbelief. The forest seemed to still around you, the distant chirps fading as his confession sank in, this was the first time the pieces aligned, his actions no longer platonic gestures but deliberate pursuits of your heart.

"Courting?" You echoed, voice breathy with surprise, a flush creeping up your neck to tint your cheeks. "You're... courting me?"

Neteyam's brows furrowed in confusion, his head tilting slightly, braids shifting like dark rivers over his shoulders. He took a half-step nearer, the heat of his body palpable, his expression a mix of bewilderment and earnest plea.

"Of course I am." He replied, tone deepening with frustration at the misunderstanding, his large hand gesturing vaguely to encompass the memories between you. "Was it not obvious? The portions I bring from every hunt, carved just for you. The woven necklace with beads pulled from my own braids, so you'd carry a piece of me? The way I linger close, touch your arm in passing, shield you from the rougher paths during patrols?"

His voice softened on the last, eyes tracing the line of your jaw, the curve of your mouth, as if memorizing you anew.

Surprise ebbed into a whirlwind of emotions. Embarrassment heating your skin, hurt uncoiling from where you'd buried it. You looked down, fingers twisting the stem of a flower, the petal's velvet texture grounding you.

"I... I thought you were just being kind." You admitted quietly, voice trembling with the vulnerability of it, your shoulders hunching slightly as if to shield your heart. "Like a brother, or a friend. After seeing you with her, with Kalife, I felt foolish for hoping more. Embarrassed that I'd misread everything."

A soft chuckle escaped Neteyam, low and rumbling from his chest, relief flooding his features as tension eased from his frame. He shook his head, a fond smile curving his lips, exasperation mingling with amusement in his gaze.

"My fault, too." He murmured, stepping fully into your space now, his presence warm and enveloping. "I should have spoken it plain from the start. You thought I didn't want you... after everything? Baby, you thought I was just being kind? Have you ever seen me do that “kindness” to anyone else other than you?"

He paused, voice dropping to a husky whisper, eyes locking onto yours with unwavering intensity.

"The gifts, the way I stay close, the way I... watch over you, even in the quiet moments? I don’t do that for anyone else paskalin, only you."

His hand lifted, hesitating before gently cupping your cheek, thumb brushing the soft skin there, calluses rough yet tender.

Emboldened by his nearness, you pressed on, the jealousy spilling out like a dam breaking. "I saw you laughing with her, blushing. Close like you shared something special. It hurt, Neteyam. Made me think you'd chosen her, that I was never the one."

Your voice cracked, eyes glistening as you searched his face, the forest's humidity mirroring the mist in your gaze.

Neteyam's expression softened further, a gentle laugh bubbling up as he drew you nearer, his free hand capturing yours.

"I wasn't talking to her like that." He reassured, tone warm and steady, laced with a hint of playful denial. "I was asking for advice. I thought maybe you didn't want me, since you hadn't said yes to my pursuits."

He squeezed your fingers, his grip firm yet yielding.

"I only want you." His eyes sparkled with mirth, the earlier confusion dissolving into clarity. "Besides, she has a mate of her own, a woman from the weavers, just as stubborn as you."

In truth, that first encounter you'd witnessed had been Neteyam pouring out his insecurities to Kalife by the fire's edge.

"She hasn't acknowledged it." He'd confided, cheeks warming under her knowing gaze as she leaned in, her eyes teasing. "What if she doesn't see me that way?"

Kalife had grinned, her full lips quirking. "Then grow some balls and tell her outright then you'll be making babies with her under the stars soon enough.'

The blush you’ve saw had been from her bold ribbing, not affection, and Kalife's reliability stemmed from her own mated life. Her partner, that pretty girl with the rounded features and amber eyes, waited nearby, their hands often clasped in quiet solidarity.

It was all platonic guidance, her experience a steady compass for Neteyam's fumbling heart.

And those frequent talks after your avoidance? More desperate queries. "Why does she pull away? What did I do wrong?"

Kalife had offered insights, her mate chiming in with nods, but in your pain-fueled haze, you'd missed the intertwined fingers of Kalife with the woman sitting next to her that you bypassed before as she talks with Neteyam, the casual leans of their shared life, seeing only threat where there was counsel.

Relief washed over you like a cool stream, warmth blooming in your chest, easing the knot that had tightened for days. Your body relaxed, shoulders dropping as a tentative smile curved your lips, the flower's stem forgotten in your grasp.

Neteyam sensed the shift, his thumb tracing your knuckles before he lifted your joined hands, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, lips soft and lingering against your skin, breath warm and reassuring.

"You're mine." He whispered, voice thick with emotion, eyes half-lidded in quiet possession. "And I've been hoping you'd see it."

You laughed softly, the sound light and airy, embarrassment tinting your cheeks but overshadowed by bubbling happiness. Your free hand rose to rest against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beneath the taut muscle.

"I guess I was too slow to notice." You replied, gaze lifting to meet his, vulnerability giving way to joy.

Neteyam's smile widened, radiant and full, as he pulled you flush against him, arms encircling your waist in a secure embrace. Your bodies aligned perfectly, his height enveloping you, the solid planes of his torso pressing to your softer curves.

"You don't have to assume anymore." He promised, voice a low rumble against your ear, one hand stroking down your back in soothing arcs. "I'll make sure you always know."

The forest enveloped you both, a private sanctuary where misunderstandings melted into certainty, the pretty flowers at your feet a silent witness to the mending of hearts.

the ragebaiting starts online.

instagram live after practice, 6:47 pm. hair still damp, practice gear on, kk sprawled across the couch beside paige like she pays rent there. paige has the phone angled just right—not flattering, just powerful. it’s very her.

you’re off to the side at the desk, hunched over psych homework, sneakers kicked off, headband still in. minding your own business. trying to pass college. trying to win games. trying to keep your gpa and relationship from collapsing simultaneously.

chat isn’t minding theirs.

IS Y/N THERE??

SHOW HER

paige are you guys still together??

blink twice for yes

blink once for no

kk reads the comments like she’s reading the morning news, chewing gum and unbothered. “they’re obsessed,” she mutters, amused. paige doesn’t even look up. “she’s here. and no, i’m not showing her. this is my live.”

chat reacts like the world is ending.

GATEKEEPING??

what do you mean YOUR live

we want proof the girlfriend exists

paige glances sideways at you, tiny smirk, like she knows exactly what she’s doing. like she enjoys lighting matches and then sitting back to watch everyone choke on the smoke.

she raises her voice—not for kk, not for you, for the gremlins behind the screen. “people always forget i’m the one dating her,” she says, casual. “not the internet.”

your pen stops mid-sentence. heat crawls up your neck.

“paige—”

“what?” she shrugs. “i’m right.” kk snorts. “you’re gonna start a riot.”

“already did,” paige replies. the comments have a full emotional breakdown in real time, half outrage, half shipping war, half conspiracy theories. somehow that’s three halves but the internet doesn’t care.

but the in-person ragebait is worse. because online, people just scream. offline, they try their luck.

campus is full of admirers—athletes, regular students, and the ones who pretend they “don’t watch women’s sports” but can list your shooting percentage from last season. being on the team doesn’t help. it makes it worse. someone’s always flirting or complimenting or staring a little too long after weights.

there’s also the height thing—paige at six feet and you at five-three. people think it’s cute. paige thinks it’s leverage. she’ll rest her chin on your head during stretches like it’s instinct. azzi calls it “her booster seat moment.” you throw a resistance band at azzi for that one.

after practice one day, a guy from your chem class stops you outside the gym.

“hey—can i ask for your number? totally cool if not.” before you can answer, paige materializes—hand sliding around your waist, casual but tight, head dipping to rest against yours because she can. because she likes when people witness it.

“she has a number,” paige says. “i use it.” the guy blinks. “i meant—like—”

“i know what you meant,” paige cuts in. smile sharp, eyes warmer than they should be for someone issuing a threat. “still no.” azzi strolls by eating a granola bar. “L take,” she announces to the guy like she’s reporting scores.

you don’t even get a chance to be annoyed before paige is already walking you away by the wrist, muttering, “chemistry major, seriously?”

“he was nice,” you say.

“so is the lady who works at the dining hall,” paige replies. “i’m not letting you date her either.”

she says it like she’s being reasonable. and somehow it works. then there’s game day. you wear her jersey—her actual jersey, not the bookstore one. the team notices. the students notice. twitter notices. azzi wolf whistles. ice and kk do the “oooooooh” chorus until geno threatens laps.

after she sinks a filthy midrange, paige turns her head and looks directly at you in the stands, chin tilted up, full ego, smug like she invented shooting. every camera catches it. the commentators don’t say a word but their souls are screaming. someone on twitter edits it into a fancam within twelve minutes.

after the game on live someone comments: y/n looks good in paige's jersey 👀

paige doesn’t blink. doesn’t hesitate. “yeah. that’s why she’s wearing it.” 

"do you get jealous??"

“only when people think they have a chance,” she says. so…you get jealous a lot? “i get entertained a lot,” she corrects. “not the same.” later, in her dorm, legs tangled on the tiny couch that fits neither of you, she pokes your cheek and whispers: “i like when people want you,” she admits. “makes it more fun.”

“fun?” you laugh. “you enjoy threatening the student body?”

“i’m not threatening,” paige says, offended. “i’m clarifying.” you raise an eyebrow. “clarifying what?”

“that you’re mine,” she says, soft but smug. “and you're mine.” and maybe that’s the real reason she ragebaits—not to prove she loves you, but because she already knows you’re hers and she enjoys watching other people realize it.

finals season turns the dorm kitchen into an unofficial second home.

paige insists she can cook. she cannot. azzi calls it “culinary fraud.” you stand on your toes to grab pasta from the top shelf (height difference clowning itself), paige just plucks it down effortlessly and drops it on the counter.

“rude,” you mumble. “efficient,” she corrects. you chop vegetables like a sane person while paige stares at the stove like it disappointed her. eventually she gives up and wraps her arms around your waist, chin on your head. “multitasking,” she says.

“you’re not doing anything.”

“i’m supervising.” kk walks in, sees it, shakes her head. “osha violation.” azzi follows. “they’re nesting again.” ice grabs a fork to sample the pasta before it’s done. paige slaps her hand away. “back off, parasite.”

“she’s protective of her girlfriend’s cooking,” azzi narrates. “and my girlfriend,” paige adds. you kick her ankle, but you’re smiling, warm in a way you don’t say out loud.

you’re shivering in the ice bath, curls pinned up, hoodie waiting on the chair. paige climbs in across from you, long legs and longer suffering.

“i hate this,” you mutter. “recovery builds character,” paige parrots from strength & conditioning. azzi states “that’s propaganda.”

your teeth chatter. without thinking, paige taps your knee with her foot. “come here.” you blink. “it’s cold.”

“i’m taller. i block more surface area.” it’s stupid. not how physics works. but you shuffle over anyway and end up between her legs, back to her chest, her arms bracketing yours.

“better?” she asks softly. “shut up,” you say, which is yes. azzi snaps a picture. aubrey posts it to close friends with the caption: prison romance but make it d1

film room is dangerous because the lights go off and everyone’s attention span dies. you’re reviewing defensive rotations when your head drops onto paige’s shoulder. she doesn’t react. doesn’t move. just shifts enough so your curls won’t get crushed, hand coming up to cup the back of your neck like a human pillow.

kk whispers to azzi, “look, it’s nature. the short one succumbs to sleep.” azzi: “shh let them cook.” geno: “if i hear one more whisper i am retiring.” you wake up twenty minutes later and paige pretends it’s no big deal even though she didn’t take a single note.

night before an away game, you’re detangling after showering, sitting cross-legged on her floor. paige comes over with your edge brush and moisturizer like it’s part of her equipment bag. “turn,” she says. you raise an eyebrow. “you sure?”

“i’ve been observing,” she says, like this is research. she’s careful—extra gentle at the roots, avoiding snagging, asking if it hurts before tightening anything. she doesn’t do anything fancy, just helps you moisturize and braid the front so you don’t have to hold your arms up forever.

“there,” she says, satisfied. you check in your phone camera. it’s not perfect, but it’s honest. “good?” she asks, suddenly shy. you nod. “yeah. thank you.”

protective isn’t always blocking people—sometimes it’s making space. the roster shows up to a party two apartments down. music loud, lights low, jerseys on wall hooks.

some guy you barely know slides up beside you. “you’re on the team right? the short guard?” you nod. “you ever think about transferring?” he asks, leaning closer. “i could show you around—” before he completes the sentence, paige materializes behind you, one hand on your waist, voice flat.

“she’s good where she is.” the guy blinks. “i was just—”

“yeah,” paige cuts in. “i know exactly what you were just.” he leaves. fast. azzi watches from across the room, arms crossed. “nature documentary voice: the blonde protects her mate from lesser-men and weird-transfer-talk.”

ice: “put that on national geographic.”

back at paige’s after the party, you’re yawning mid-sentence. “hoodie,” she says, already pulling it over your head. you sink into it. sleeves over your hands, hood over your curls, swallowed whole. kk sets her cup down. “the chrysalis stage is complete. butterfly pending.”

paige tugs you into her side, thumb rubbing your shoulder through the cotton. “leave her alone,” she says. “she’s sleepy.” kk raises both hands. “bro i’m not fighting the hibernating girlfriend.”

if anyone were to ask, steve harrington would say his love language was physical touch. really, he couldn’t help his insistent need to reach out and touch you, not that you complained most of the time anyways, because it was just how he expressed his feelings. sometimes words weren’t enough, and steve was raised on the saying that “actions speak louder than words.” so it came to no surprise that he’d always have a hand on you; whether it was his fingers laced with yours, an arm slung over your shoulder or his hand ghosting over the small of your back, steve was always touching you in some degree.

steve could recall nearly every time he’d notice someone glance at the pair of you, or hear an off-handed comment from someone he knew about how you two were glued to the hip, how they almost never saw one of you without the other. he took pride in it, despite the judgemental tone some of them had, because why wouldn’t he want to spend quality time with the love of his life? he never really understood the idea of being without someone for long periods of time, because in his mind: to be loved is to be present.

i.

there was nothing romantic about the cramped employee back room of family video. it was dusty, the air was stale and more often than not you’d walk in and find keith sitting at the desk with a game & watch under the pretence of “admin work”. yet, steve still had the nerve to convince you that he couldn’t be more than five steps away from you, rambling on about how it’d physically hurt him to separate his hand from yours, and that he’s offended you wouldn’t “walk to the ends of the earth with your boyfriend in hand.” to which you just roll your eyes.

“steve, you’re so dramatic sometimes..” he’s moping, complaining that you don’t love him, because if you did, you’d be in the store room with him right now instead of calling him names. “is it a crime to want to be with my girlfriend?” he’s got a hand clutching his heart, murmuring that he’s wounded and the only cure for his broken heart is just behind the door to the back office. “no, but unauthorised entry in an employee only area is..” you’re teasing him now, steve is opening wearing his heart on his sleeve and expressing his unwavering love for you and you’re teasing him.

“baby, you’ve literally been behind doors countless times, and last time i checked..” he’s making a show of looking around, knowing full well the two of you were alone; robin not due to start her shift for another hour or so. “.. there’s no one else here.” it has you rolling your eyes, and steve’s calling checkmate. he’s got you right where he wants, no more excuses lined up on your tongue and you just sigh, giving in easily like you always do. steve’s internally cheering, a smug smile on his face as he interlocks your fingers with his, tugging you towards the secluded area out back, and all you can do is follow.

before you’re even able to question his clingy behaviour, steve is slowly backing you towards the nearest wall, one hand laced with yours and the other is pressed against the cold surface beside you, and it all clicks. “baby, you did not just convince me to come back here just so we can make out..” steve just shrugs, feigning innocence even when his eyes are telling you everything. “mm, don’t know what you’re on about.” he leans in anyway, and you don’t fight back, his lips on yours in a matter of seconds. and as much as you had wanted to poke fun of how needy he was today, you realised you needed this too, needed him close enough to touch, and you think you’re becoming just as bad as him.

it was just supposed to be a few innocent kisses, a few unspoken words in the form of his lips interlocked with yours, and yet, you can’t help but have an arm strung around the back of his neck, your need to have him closer clouding your judgement. steve’s just as bad, both hands on your waist, bringing you in, chest to chest, and you’re both whining about being too far away, despite the lack of space left between you. “you’re a terrible liar.” you call out, and he’s ignoring it in favour of kissing your jaw, following a path down your neck, while you’ve got a hand bunched in his hair, tugging just hard enough to get a sound out of him. he’s grinning up at you now, from the junction of your throat you can feel his teasing smile, and you roll your eyes, pretending you’re not wrapped around his finger right now, like you’re not as equally eager to have him.

he’s sliding a hand underneath your shirt, drawing aimless shapes along your bare skin, lost in the feeling, before there’s the distinct sound of shuffling outside that halts his movements. you both freeze, eyes stuck on the door before flicking back to each other, and you’re looking at him in horror, too afraid at the idea of being caught. “i thought you said it was just us?” you whisper, you curse him out for being reckless, and dragging you along with him, before you push him off you in favour of smoothing out the wrinkles on your clothes. steve’s groaning out in irritation, muttering something along the lines of “last time i checked, it was.” before sticking his head outside to see what the commotion was all about.

“dingus, the fuck are you doing? there’s a customer.” it’s robin, and steve’s eyes shoot up to the clock, she’s early, and he’s wincing because really, out of all days. steve coughs awkwardly, some feeble excuse on his tongue dies when robin takes notice of his disheveled appearance and he can tell she’s grown suspicious, that she’s got questions he doesn’t really want to reveal the answers to.

her suspicions quickly turn into disgust when she pieces the picture together, and she’s looking at the door as if she can already guess who’s behind there with him. “think you can see what they want? i’m a bit preoccupied.” and robin is feigning a gag, all while the customer just stands there, judging the both of them before making a comment about the lack of professionalism the youth have these day.

“i’m not even clocked in you idiot!” but it doesn’t matter, because steve’s quick to close the door on her and robin flips him off when she thinks the customer isn’t looking. they were, and it’s just another thing she has to deal with before her shift even begins.

ii.

steve thinks it’s entirely unfair that you’re ignoring him right now. he’s lying between your legs, breath tickling your thighs and practically yearning for your attention. yet you’re more engrossed in whatever it is that nancy is saying to you on the phone, than your amazing, perfect, and very bored boyfriend. sure, you’ve go one hand playing idly with his hair, and it’s enough to have him close his eyes, to enjoy the way you rake your fingers through it softly, but it’s not enough to ease the ache of not being the centre of your attention. if the role were reversed, there wouldn’t even be a phone call, steve would happily ignore all his responsibilities if it meant he got to laze around with you, the most important person in his life.

it’s quiet, and the only sound in the room is nancy’s small voice bleeding through the speaker. she’s gossiping, giggling about something jonathan said and the vibration of your laughter makes steve look up, and he hates that he’s jealous over nothing. he hates that your attention is split between two, especially when it was so rare for the two of you to have a joint day off like this. sure, you both technically worked at the radio station, and you guys did see each other everyday, but rarely did he get to have you to himself like this.

he’s bored, grumbling under his breath and it momentarily grabs your attention, nancy’s speaking, but you’re not particularly listening right now, eyes locked onto your pouting boyfriend, who’s rolling his eyes and moving out of your space. you’re raising an eyebrow, and he’s leaning over you, and a part of you is expecting him to cling on to you, to bridge the sudden space between you. he cranes his body over yours, and breathes out a quick “sorry nance.” before taking the phone out of you hand and hanging up, placing it back on the cradle, and you can hear her sigh before she’s cut off. “steve, i was using that.” and he hums, clearly not listening in favour of wrapping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side and focusing on the movie that played as background noise.

“oh sorry, i didn’t realise.” he’s being sarcastic, and you roll your eyes and hit his chest playfully, melting into his embrace nonetheless, because you were always so weak for your boyfriend despite his questionable intentions. “you’re lucky i love you.” and he can’t fight the smile on his face, he can’t play the role of the upset boyfriend anymore, because you always knew how to have him swoon with just a few words. “yeah? love you too.” there’s a lingering kiss to the edge of your mouth, and you’re turning your head, trying to catch his lips fully but he’s pulling away, teasing you like he always does.

“steve..” the roles feel reversed now, like you’re the one vowing for his attention and you realise just how easy to played into his hands. “you’re annoying.” he nods, ‘engrossed’ in the movie, and your fingers are grazing his jaw, pulling him back into your bubble so you can kiss him properly, so you can give him the attention you both were craving. “oh, hi baby.” steve is playing dumb, and you shake your head, bringing him even closer to the point where you have your legs thrown over his lap, perched on his thighs and blocking the view of the tv. “don’t ’hi baby’ me steve.” and the act drops, hands on your waist and he’s sighing into his mouth, both of you longing for the other.

“missed you.” he’s murmuring against your lips, breath mingling with yours and you can feel the way he pouts like he just can’t believe you would’ve rather spoken to nancy than to have him like this. “i’ve been here all day stevie..” and he’s shaking his head, pulling you closer because it’s different, yeah, you were here physically, but your attention wasn’t. steve just wanted to spend his day lying around idly with his girlfriend with no distractions, no interruptions.

“you were on the phone with nance for ages..” a sigh leaves your lips, cooing at his obvious bitterness and you’re quick to move both hands to the sides of his face, forcing him to look at you and you lean in for a chaste kiss. “it was for like ten minutes, you’re such a big baby..” steve rolls his eyes, but there’s a crack of a smile when he feels you stare at him, eyes shining with that familiar adoration and he doesn’t respond to your very true statement, because he’s aware that he was acting out, but really, who cares when he’s got you like this.

“yeah yeah, now can we please pay attention to your very handsome, doting boyfriend who wants to kiss his beautiful girlfriend right now.” and you just nod, breathing out a laugh and leaning forward once again.

iii.

dustin really wishes he missed this crawl, maybe then he wouldn’t have to deal with you and steve giggling in the front of the van like two lovesick teenagers. steve’s got a hand situated on your thigh, hearts in his eyes as you sit there, full focus on him whilst he explains the significance of the clutch pedal. you had made an offhanded comment on how you wish you learnt how to drive manual, and steve perked up, he felt like a petrolhead, eager to teach you all he knew.

dustin’s fiddling with a rubik’s cube he found lying around in the back, waiting for the signal from the others at the station, knowing it’d take awhile before they could finally hit the road. so he’s sighing, looking anywhere but the two of you, because he can already picture it, the way steve is gloating, priding himself on his extensive knowledge of shifting gears. he doesn’t need to look over to picture the way you’re batting your eyes, humming along to every word steve says, hyperaware of how steve’s hand is inching higher without him even realising it.

dustin wants to gag, you two were so disgustingly into each other that it’s suffocating, it’s got him flicking the antenna of his walkie and mumbling into the speaker, voicing a prayer and a cry for help. he can hear a snicker on the other side of the frequency, it’s robin, and she doesn’t even have the courtesy to act surprised, because it could be worse. “don’t bother henderson, it’s been like this all day.“ and he sighs, because he thought you two would’ve been tired of each other by now, really, he doesn’t understand how you find steve interesting enough to be infatuated by him at all waking hours of the day.

he thinks of steve like an older brother, his best friend, someone he looks up to but even he also knows just how annoying he can be. he admires your loyalty, because dustin might’ve clawed his hair out if he had to deal with steve the same way you do. steve was different before the two of you met, that cool, uncaring facade he carried with him only switched on when you were around and now that you two were together and grossly in love, it was like he was looking at a completely different person.

steve harrington, the same guy who beat the shit out some demodogs, who put up a fight against the russians is now the same steve who’s distracted by your every move, who misses his queues at the squawk because he’s too enamoured by you walking past while they’re on air. the same steve who keeps a polaroid of you two in his wallet, who insists that he can’t hang out with dustin on sunday’s because it’s date night, or because you two are seeing a movie. the same steve that’s looking at you like you’ve hung the stars, even in the cramped seats of the squawk van.

it’s best to ignore you two for now, because dustin knows that steve is too focused on you to even entertain his disappointed looks he keeps throwing at the pair of you. steve can’t help it though, he’s been dreaming for a girl like you, and now that you’re finally his, he wants to make sure that you know how much you mean to him, even at the cost of being teased by the entire party for being at your beck and call.

“..and that’s how you avoid a stall.” you’re nodding, and steve’s got that smug smile he always has when he’s showing off, and you couldn’t find him any more attractive as you do right now. you’re not even remotely interested in manual driving anymore, not when you’re distracted by how he looks so hot when he’s focused on something. you don’t even register the static of laughter in the back, the sound of a snicker coming through the speakers because steve’s looking at you in full earnest, soft smile tugged on his lips and it’s like the world around you goes mute.

“okay lovebirds, please don’t forget i’m here too.” a voice chimes in, and it’s like someone’s snapped their fingers, your attention drifting over from steve to dustin’s folded arms, he twitches when he can see you finally take off your rose tinted glasses and come back down to earth. you hear steve sigh beside you, annoyed that your time together is always cut short, and turns his head to greet his younger friend. “yes henderson?” but he’s distracted by the sound of your laughter, you’re clearing enjoying the exchange between the two and it just peeves dustin off more.

steve really can’t stay annoyed for long, not when you’re there; he has a soft spot for you always, and not even dustin’s glare can spoil his mood. “can’t you two hold it in until after the crawl?” dustin chimes in again, his hands emphasising the telemetry tracker beside him, and you nod, promising the two of you will behave, much to steve’s dismay. “baby..” you hold a hand out to stop steve from speaking out, and he pauses, eyes looking between you and dustin, and you can see the exact moment he gives up.

steve doesn’t remove his hand from your thigh though, instead he laces his fingers with yours and squeezes, because he still craves your touch even when he’s silently moping like this. you smile at him, squeezing back, and it’s then that they finally get the signal to drive, and dustin couldn’t be happier.

iv.

the kids had just graduated, and you soon find yourself situated with the others on the roof of the radio station. the nostalgia hitting and memories flood in of your time together at the squawk, and it feels like no time has changed, despite it being over a year since you all decided to pursue your seperate aspirations. there’s the lingering feeling of sentimentality, seeing your friends after months apart, and knowing it’ll be a long ways away until you’re all reunited again after this. it didn’t help that robin’s final goodbye on the radio had your heart feeling heavy for the past couple hours now, and sitting here, drink in tow, wasn’t doing it any favours.

jonathan and steve are bickering about the premise of jonathan’s film; capitalism, cannibalism? you weren’t really paying attention to the two, your eyes trailing around you, taking in the scenery, the sunset, the memories, and you’re thinking back to the first time you had discovered how to climb up to the roof. robin notices your silence, because she too is reminiscing all the time she took for granted with you guys, you two lock eyes, and there’s a silent agreement that you’d give anything to go back to how things were, minus the end of the world.

it’s then that robin speaks, roping nancy into spilling information about the “hot babes at emerson.” which has nancy rolling her eyes. she had dropped out, and that itself felt like a bombshell, but she had always known that maybe it wasn’t on the cards for her, that she was destined for other things, and you envy it a little. you hadn’t quite figured out what you wanted to do with your time, you felt a bit behind, and it was scary.

steve notices how quiet you’ve gotten, and the familiar feeling of his hand sliding into yours, fingers intertwined, is enough to silence that nagging voice in your head for the time being. you’re squeezing his hand back, grateful for the distraction before you notice the others around you fall quiet, it’s jarring how awkward it feels before robin’s clearing her throat, and she’s the one to address the elephant in the room.

“so is no one going to mention that huge rock on your hand?” and just like that, the air around you feels lighter and you can’t help but laugh at how blunt she’s being, and how shocked the others look when they finally take notice of the ring on your finger. “holy shit!” nancy exclaims, and she’s quick to move out of her chair, smacking steve’s hand out of yours; to which he groans in faux annoyance, in favour of checking the diamond attached to you.

it makes steve’s heart swell, the familiar feeling of pride that situates itself whenever he looks down at the engagement ring he had bought months ago. it’s a reminder of just how lucky he is, how he’s finally found the one, that he’s promised forever with you. “oh yeah, that..” you’re shy when people notice, but you can’t fight the grin that makes it’s way to your face every time, because steve harrington will always be your person, and now you have a physical reminder of that.

“spoiled her on a coach’s salary too.” you smack his shoulder, and steve pouts, knowing you can’t stay mad at him for long. there’s obvious heart eyes when you look up at him, that all too familiar feeling of yearning you don’t think will ever fade. it’s disgustingly cute, atleast that’s what robin says when she breaks the silence, and you can’t help but shy away from the eyes of the others, their gazes soft and it makes you feel extra vulnerable.

“took you long enough” robin’s calling out from beside you, and you furrow your eyebrows, because it still shocks you when you think back to his proposal, steve down on one knee with shining eyes and wobbly smile. he had this speech about how he couldn’t imagine a life without you, it was endearing how nervous he was, how sweaty his hand got whilst it was latched with yours, and you always tear up when you think back to that moment, how easy it was to say yes.

“now, what’re your thoughts about having six little nuggets?” jonathan jokes, and steve shoots him a glare, but you don’t fail to metion how easy it is to imagine a family with steve. “i mean, maybe not six, but definitely atleast two.” and it shuts steve up, you two had only really talked about kids a handful of times, nothing too serious, but he’s looking at you with stars in his eyes, there’s that familiar look of adoration, and you can see jonathan instantly regret bringing it up. “great, you’ve set him off again.” and steve doesn’t even care, because he’ll always be guilty of being in love with you, and god forbid a man is infatuated with his future wife.

────────────────────

yeah i ain’t even got an excuse for this one i literally blinked and it became this big ass fic.

i sincerely hope you all enjoyed this :) & please lmk if this was ok!!

i think a part of myself will always have room for steve, especially over the last month or so since i started writing. it’s kinda scary releasing something, but seeing people reblog and comment that they like my writing is enough for me to continue !!

Carlos Sainz

It starts as nothing.

A simple, stupid decision you thought would help you feel a little more in control.

You’d spent the whole week at his side—press conferences, sponsor dinners, media rounds. You smiled for photos you didn’t want to be in, ignored the comments online about your dress, your body, the way your face looked next to his.

He told you not to read them. You told him you didn’t.

You lied.

The hotel didn’t have a gym. He had dinner with team management. You had a restless ache under your skin.

So you laced up your shoes, told yourself it was fine, and decided to run a few blocks around the hotel.

No headphones, no phone (it died mid-stretch, you’d forgotten your charger upstairs), just the rhythmic sound of your breathing and the steady slap of shoes on unfamiliar pavement.

You didn’t notice the time. Or the way the streets emptied.

Not until you heard someone shout your name.

“(Y/N)!”

You turned—heart lurching—and saw him.

Carlos, storming toward you down the street, eyes wide and furious.

“Where the hell were you?”

“What— I went for a run—”

“Alone? Here? At night?” His voice is sharp, sharper than you’ve ever heard it. “Your phone is dead, no one knew where you were—what were you thinking?”

You flinch at the volume, but anger flickers up to meet it. “I was thinking that I’ve spent the whole week standing in the background while everyone online calls me fat and lazy, and I wanted to move, Carlos!”

He drags a hand through his hair, pacing. “You could’ve gotten hurt! Do you understand that? You don’t know this city, you don’t know—”

“I’m fine!” you snap. “It was a run! You’re acting like I—”

He steps forward, grabs your wrist to stop you from walking past him—

and you freeze.

It’s not hard, not meant to hurt, but it’s firm, too firm, and the suddenness of it sends your pulse spiking. You pull back instinctively, breath stuttering. His fingers fall away like you burned him.

“Shit,” he whispers immediately, horror settling over his features. “I didn’t mean—mi amor, I—”

“Don’t,” you choke, shaking your head. “Don’t touch me.”

He does the only thing he can: nothing. Watches you walk past him, eyes wet, breath coming in little gasps, the kind that break quietly because they’re half fury, half fear.

⸻

You don’t speak that night.

He knocks once on the bathroom door, softly, just to leave your charger inside. No words, no excuses. The silence is thick enough to choke on.

He doesn’t sleep much. You don’t either.

⸻

The next morning, you find him sitting on the edge of the hotel bed, elbows on his knees, dark circles under his eyes. He looks like he’s been awake for hours.

“Mi amor,” he says quietly. “I don’t want to fight again.”

You stand by the window, arms crossed, still wearing the hoodie you borrowed last night just to feel less exposed. “You scared me.”

He nods. “I know. I hate that I did.”

“You yelled at me. You grabbed me.”

His eyes close like the words physically hurt. “I know.”

For a long time, neither of you move.

“I just wanted to feel like I wasn’t disgusting for one night,” you whisper finally. “I wanted to do something for me. And you made me feel like I did something wrong.”

Carlos lifts his head slowly, eyes glassy. “You didn’t. I was—” his voice cracks— “I was terrified, cariño. I came back from dinner, you weren’t there, your phone was off, no one had seen you. I went to the front desk, the concierge, even the garage. I thought— I thought someone took you.”

His voice breaks completely on the last word.

That lands differently. Because the anger isn’t gone, but it’s thinner now, threaded through with fear. You see it in the tremor in his hands.

He gets up carefully, leaving space between you. “I will never grab you again. Never. I swear on everything I am. But please, don’t ever go out alone like that again, not at night, not without your phone. I don’t care if you want to run laps around the paddock, I’ll go with you. I’ll carry your water, I’ll time your splits, whatever you need. Just—” His voice drops to a whisper. “Just don’t make me imagine losing you again.”

You want to stay mad. You should stay mad.

But his eyes are red and raw, and the shaking in his voice feels like punishment enough.

Still, you don’t step into his arms right away. You let him stand there, waiting, hands trembling at his sides. It takes a minute—two maybe—before you finally move toward him.

When you do, he exhales like he’s been holding his breath since last night. His arms go around you gently, not tight, just enough to feel his heartbeat hammering against your chest.

You press your face into his shoulder and murmur, “Don’t ever yell at me like that again.”

He nods against your hair. “Never again.”

And when he whispers, “Te lo prometo,”

you believe him.

Oscar Piastri

It begins in the paddock canteen, post-media lull, the air thick with exhaustion and caffeine.

Pierre’s propped in his chair, scrolling through TikTok, grin sharp.

“You’re too soft, mate,” he tells Oscar. “Always on your phone with her. She’s got you trained.”

Lando snorts into his smoothie. “Yeah, Ice Man, let’s see if you can survive one night without texting your missus.”

Oscar rolls his eyes. “It’s called being decent, Pierre.”

Pierre smirks. “Come on. Prove you’re not whipped for once. One night. No messages. She’ll live.”

And maybe it’s the way everyone laughs that gets under his skin—the mock disbelief, the teasing grin from Lando, the small jab of pride that makes him want to prove a point.

So he says, “Fine.”

Just one night, he tells himself. No texts. No calls. No big deal.

⸻

You don’t think much of it at first.

He’s had long days before—sim work, briefings, endless sponsor duties. You send him a few texts:

Hope media wasn’t too bad.

Grab dinner if you can, love you.

No reply.

It’s fine, you tell yourself. He’s tired. He’ll call before bed.

But the hours drag. Midnight comes and goes. The typing bubble never appears.

When you wake to silence again, your chest feels heavy, like the start of something you can’t quite name. You try logic—maybe his phone died, maybe the Wi-Fi’s bad—but logic doesn’t stop the ache that grows with each empty notification.

Finally, you cave and message Lando’s girlfriend:

Hey, random, but have you heard from your boy today? Oscar’s gone radio silent. Wondering if they’re together

She replies a few minutes later:

He was with Lando and Pierre at dinner. Why? Everything okay?

Guess so. Just… weird. He’s never gone a full day without a single text.

I’ll mention it to Lando.

You end the chat there, embarrassed for even asking.

But the worry sits heavy anyway, thick in your throat.

⸻

The next afternoon, in the drivers’ room, Lando corners Oscar mid-stretch.

“Mate,” he says, tone oddly serious. “What the hell did you do?”

Oscar blinks. “What?”

“Your girlfriend’s been messaging mine all worried because you’ve ghosted her. She thought something happened. You didn’t actually—”

Oscar’s heart sinks.

Lando stares. “Tell me you didn’t.”

He did. He absolutely did.

He fumbles for his phone and opens it. The notifications hit him like a slap.

Hey, just checking in.

You okay? Haven’t heard from you today.

I know you’re busy, just let me know you’re alive.

Never mind. Guess you needed space.

He reads them twice. His stomach turns.

He barely hears Lando muttering something about Pierre being an idiot before he’s already on his feet, muttering, “I need to fix this.”

⸻

You’re curled up in the hotel chair when the knock comes—soft, hesitant.

When you open the door, Oscar’s there, hoodie half-zipped, hair a mess, guilt carved into every line of his face.

“Hey,” he says quietly. “Can I come in?”

You cross your arms. “You remembered I exist?”

He flinches. “I deserved that.”

“Two days, Oscar. Two days of nothing. Not a text, not a call, not even a like on Instagram.”

“I know.” He drags a hand down his face. “It was supposed to be a joke. Pierre said—”

“Pierre said?” Your voice cracks into a bitter laugh. “You ignored me because Pierre Gasly told you to?”

“I didn’t want them to think I was…” he trails off, face crumpling. “I just wanted to prove I wasn’t soft.”

“Then congratulations,” you snap. “You proved it.”

The words land like a punch. He doesn’t try to defend himself again.

“I saw your messages,” he says finally. “Every one of them. You didn’t do anything wrong. I did.”

You shake your head. “You made me feel small. Like I was some joke to the rest of them.”

He takes a step closer, voice trembling. “You’re not a joke. You’re the only thing that keeps me sane in this circus.”

Silence. The kind that hums with too many emotions to name.

Finally, he whispers, “I’ll never do it again. I promise. If they ever call me soft again, I’ll wear it like a badge.”

You breathe out slowly. “You should. You are soft. That’s why I love you.”

It breaks something in him. He moves closer, tentative, hands shaking as they hover near your arms.

“Can I?”

You nod, barely.

He pulls you in gently, holding you like you might vanish if he squeezes too tight.

“I thought I was proving something,” he murmurs against your hair. “Turns out, I was just proving how stupid I can be.”

You huff a small, watery laugh. “You don’t need to prove anything. Not to them. Not to me.”

He kisses your temple, voice raw. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. For making you think you weren’t worth a reply.”

You rest your forehead against his. “You scared me.”

He swallows hard. “I scared myself.”

⸻

That night, his phone buzzes on the nightstand—a message from Pierre:

So, did she take the joke? 😂

Oscar stares at it for a long moment before typing back:

Not funny.

Don’t ever tell me to treat her like that again.

Then he silences the chat, sets the phone face-down, and sends you a message even though you’re still in the same room:

I love you. Every hour, every day. No more proving anything to anyone but you.

Charles Leclerc

It starts in the aftermath of Monaco.

Home race. Pressure. Expectation. A thousand eyes dissecting his every breath.

He’d done well enough — podium, but not a win. Not the win.

He smiled for the cameras, for the fans, for the press. And when it was finally over, when he should’ve been proud, he was just… empty.

You’d seen it before — the self-criticism, the slow unravel.

But this time, you were unraveling too.

You’d barely slept all weekend. Between fan events, sponsor dinners, and playing hostess to his family, you were running on fumes. You’d planned to tell him tonight that you couldn’t keep up this pace, that you needed help — needed him to see you. But the second you stepped into the hotel suite, he was already pacing, jaw tight, muttering to himself in French.

You tried to start softly. “It was still a good result, Charlie.”

He laughed — sharp, humorless. “Good is not enough. Not here. Not anymore.”

“Okay,” you say carefully, setting down your bag. “Then maybe—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he cuts in.

You blink. “I wasn’t trying to lecture you.”

“Then what are you doing?” He spins, frustration bleeding through the fatigue. “Because I just spent the whole weekend smiling while people ask me why I can’t win my own race, and now I come back and you start—”

“Charles.” Your tone softens. “I’m not one of them.”

“I know,” he bites out. “But right now it feels like everyone just—” He gestures vaguely, searching for the right word. “Expects.”

“And I feel like you forget that I do too,” you whisper. “I’m exhausted, Charles. I’ve been holding everything together for weeks while you spiral over things you can’t control.”

That does it. His head snaps up. “So now it’s my fault that you’re tired?”

“I didn’t say that—”

“Yes, you did! That’s exactly what you said!”

He’s shouting now. Loud. Angry. The words bouncing off marble and glass.

You take a step back, instinctive, but he’s already pacing again — hand raking through his hair, voice rising with every sentence.

“Do you have any idea how hard this is for me? How it feels to disappoint everyone, to feel like—”

He slams his hand on the counter.

The sound is sharp. Final.

You flinch before you even realize it — shoulders jerking, breath catching like your body’s braced for impact.

The world goes quiet.

Charles freezes, eyes widening instantly. “Non, non, non…” His voice cracks. “Chérie, no.”

You’re already trembling, tears welling fast. “You yelled at me.”

He steps forward, panicked. “No, I didn’t mean— I was angry, but not at you—”

“You scared me,” you whisper, voice breaking.

That stops him cold.

All the fight drains from his body. The color from his face.

“Mon amour,” he breathes, voice barely there. “I would never—”

But you’re already walking past him.

“I need air.”

The door shuts behind you before he can even think of what to say.

⸻

You don’t answer his calls.

He doesn’t sleep.

He sits on the couch until sunrise, staring at the mark his hand left on the counter, wondering when his frustration turned into something ugly. He replays it all: your voice, the sound of your breath hitching, the look in your eyes when you realized he was capable of making you afraid.

He leaves you space. Texts you in the morning, just two words:

I’m sorry.

No response.

By afternoon, he tries again:

Please come back. I’ll listen this time.

Still nothing.

He cancels his media day. Cancels lunch with Fred. Sits on the floor against the hotel wall, waiting, because what else can he do?

⸻

You finally come back that evening. Quiet knock, soft footsteps.

He stands immediately but doesn’t move closer.

You look exhausted — not angry, not icy, just tired.

“Can we talk?” you ask.

He nods like a man on trial.

You sit opposite him, hands folded. “I know you were upset. I know you didn’t mean to scare me.”

He swallows hard. “But I did.”

You nod once. “Yeah. You did.”

He’s crying before he even notices. Silent, unrestrained tears. “I promised myself I would never raise my voice at you. You don’t deserve that. You don’t deserve me when I’m like that.”

“You’re not a bad person, Charles.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “But I hurt the best one I know.”

He moves closer, still slow, careful. “Can I?”

When you nod, he takes your hands in his, eyes red and raw. “You’re right. I forget sometimes that you’re human too. You give and give until you’re empty, and I take it without seeing it. I’ve been selfish.”

You whisper, “You scared me because it felt like for a second, you weren’t you.”

He nods. “I was angry at myself. I took it out on you. It will never happen again.”

His voice cracks. “You have my word, mon amour. Never.”

You sit there in silence for a long moment before you finally whisper, “I believe you. But it’ll take time.”

“I know,” he says immediately. “I’ll earn it.”

He leans forward just enough to press his forehead to your knuckles. “You’re my calm. I should’ve protected that. I’ll spend the rest of my life doing better.”

You exhale shakily. “You’re doing it now.”

When you finally reach out to touch his face, he lets out a soft, broken sound — something between relief and apology — and buries his face in your palm.

He doesn’t ask to hold you that night.

He just sits beside you, shoulders touching, whispering apologies in French until you fall asleep.

Max Verstappen

It starts after qualifying.

A brutal session — blocked lap, yellow flags, endless radio chaos. Max comes back from the paddock with his jaw locked tight, that particular kind of fury that hums rather than explodes.

He doesn’t shout. Doesn’t break anything.

That’s how you know it’s worse.

You follow him out to the car, silent. He says, “I need air,” and you don’t argue.

You trust him behind a wheel. Always have.

Until that night.

⸻

The engine roars to life, sharp in the quiet of the underground garage.

He peels out of the exit lane without looking back, foot pressing heavier with every turn of the street.

You watch the lights blur past, the city flatten into a smear of speed and sound.

He’s not reckless — not exactly. His movements are still precise, deliberate, scarily competent. But there’s no softness in it, no margin, no humanity. Just anger disguised as control.

“Max,” you say once, calm. “Slow down.”

He doesn’t answer. Eyes fixed on the road, face carved in stone.

The tachometer climbs.

“Max,” again, louder. “It’s enough.”

He exhales through his nose — that clipped, irritated sound you’ve heard on the radio a hundred times — and downshifts. The car lurches forward harder.

Your hand grips the seatbelt strap, knuckles white.

“Max.” You hate the tremor in your voice. “Please—”

He takes a corner too tight; the tires scream against the asphalt.

Streetlights flash through the windshield in dizzying rhythm. His hand flexes on the wheel, tendons taut. He’s muttering under his breath now — Dutch, low and angry — the kind of cadence that usually means he’s trying to talk himself down.

But it’s not working.

You stare at him — the cold precision in his expression, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the wildness in the calm — and realize this isn’t Max-the-boyfriend beside you.

This is Max-the-driver. Max-the-warrior.

And you are trapped in his battlefield.

Your chest tightens. “Max, I’m scared.”

That’s what finally cuts through.

His eyes flick to yours, and for the first time, he actually sees you.

Sees the tears pooling, your breath coming short and shallow, your hand braced against the dash.

He slams the brakes so hard the seatbelt locks against your chest. The tires screech. The car fishtails slightly before settling, idling at the edge of the road.

The only sound left is your breathing — fast, uneven — and the faint hum of the engine cooling.

He stares ahead, hands still gripping the wheel, then slowly looks at you.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Schatje, I—”

But when he reaches out, you flinch away.

The look on his face — the pure horror of realizing you don’t feel safe — hits harder than any crash ever could.

⸻

He kills the ignition. Silence swallows the cabin.

“Talk to me,” he pleads softly.

You shake your head, still staring at the road ahead. “I asked you to stop.”

“I know.”

“I asked you to slow down.”

His voice breaks. “And I didn’t. I was—” he swallows hard, “I was driving like I was still fighting someone.”

You wipe your eyes. “You were fighting me.”

He exhales shakily, leans his head back against the seat, eyes closing. “You’re right.”

⸻

He drops you at the hotel without another word. You don’t touch him goodnight.

And for a man who measures his life in milliseconds, the space between that and morning feels eternal.

⸻

The next day, he shows up at your door with coffee and the quietest expression you’ve ever seen on him.

“I shouldn’t have driven like that,” he says before you can speak. “I didn’t hear you, not really. I was angry, but not at you — and that’s no excuse.”

You nod, but your arms stay folded. “You made me feel invisible.”

His voice is barely above a whisper. “And that’s the last thing I ever want.”

He looks smaller than you’ve ever seen him.

“I forgot I wasn’t on track. Forgot that I wasn’t fighting for space or time. I was supposed to protect you, and instead I scared you.”

You let out a breath. “I don’t know if I can trust you in a car again.”

“I know,” he says immediately. “So don’t. Not yet. I’ll earn it.”

⸻

And he does.

He offers you his keys first — his pride and joy — saying, “You drive.”

You think he’s joking. He’s not.

He sits in the passenger seat, calm and quiet, watching you find the rhythm again.

He starts asking before doing anything now:

“Okay if we take the back roads?”

“Is this speed fine?”

“Want to stop for a drink or keep going?”

You tease him for it, but you see the intent — every question is a reassurance, a promise.

He starts noticing everything: the things you mention in passing, the smallest wishes.

A new bracelet you admired once? It’s on your dresser the next week.

A café you said you missed? He takes you there after practice.

He’s relentless in his gentleness, the same way he’s relentless on track.

One evening, he’s adjusting the seatbelt around you before a short drive. He moves too quickly, and you stiffen instinctively.

He freezes instantly. “Hey,” he murmurs, hands up, soft as air. “Just the buckle, liefje.”

You nod, shaky smile. “I know.”

He exhales, presses a kiss to your temple. “I’ll always slow down.”

Because that’s the thing about Max Verstappen —

Mad Max isn’t who he really is.

It’s who he becomes when the world tries to take something from him.

He just forgot, for one dangerous minute, that you were never something to fight.

You were someone to keep safe.

Lando Norris

Quadrant’s next big Halloween special was coming up, and they wanted a teaser video — “haunted house practice,” as Max F. called it — just to post on socials before the real thing.

It sounded harmless enough.

They rented a small studio set made up like a maze of fake hallways, dim lights, cheap fog machines, jump scares on timers. You were there as part of the crew, filming behind-the-scenes clips, not expecting to actually be part of the scare.

The guys, however, had other plans.

⸻

You were sitting with your camera bag, sipping a drink while they huddled on the other side of the room, whispering like mischievous schoolboys.

“What if we prank her first?” Max grinned. “Get her reaction. Then we know what works for the video.”

Lando smirked. “I like it. Quick scare, harmless. She’ll probably swear at me, that’s good content.”

“Don’t overdo it,” Ria warned from behind her laptop.

Lando raised his hands. “Relax, I know what I’m doing.”

Except the problem was — he really didn’t.

Because he knew exactly what scared you the most.

Not monsters, not loud noises, not bugs.

It was being grabbed.

Being cornered.

And he thought — stupidly, carelessly — that he could make it look real without it being too real.

⸻

The set was dark when you stepped inside. Just you, your phone light, and the soft echo of your own footsteps. You were supposed to walk through for camera placement, nothing else.

“Okay, lights check!” you called out. “Anyone in here?”

No answer.

You frowned, glancing back. “Guys?”

Then — a noise.

Footsteps. Quick, deliberate, coming closer.

Your flashlight flickered once, twice, then died completely.

“Very funny,” you muttered.

The footsteps stopped.

And then something grabbed your ankle.

You screamed — full-body, raw panic — and lashed out on instinct.

Your knee connected hard with something solid.

A strangled yelp followed. “Ow! Shit!”

The lights flipped on instantly.

Lando came running from the next hallway, face pale.

Max F. was doubled over on the floor, clutching himself.

You were shaking, crying, pressed against the wall.

“Hey— hey, it’s okay, it’s just us!” Lando’s voice broke as he reached for you, hands trembling. “It’s me, it’s just me, baby, you’re safe—”

You jerked away. “You— you grabbed me—”

“I didn’t! Max did, I swear, but I— I planned it, I thought it’d just be a jump scare, I didn’t think— oh my god—”

Max groaned from the floor, voice strained. “Holy shit, she’s got aim—”

“Shut up!” Lando snapped, voice cracking.

He turned back to you, horrified. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know— I didn’t know it’d be that.”

You just shook your head, sobs shaking your shoulders. “I wanna go home.”

⸻

He got you out of there immediately — no filming, no wrap-up, just silence in the car.

You didn’t look at him once.

He didn’t try to touch you.

When you got back to the hotel, you went straight for the bed, still in your hoodie and jeans.

“I don’t wanna talk,” you said quietly.

“Okay,” he whispered.

He sat down on the floor, back against the bed, just close enough to hear you breathe.

After a long, awful silence, he finally said, “You’re scaring me now. Please talk to me, even if it’s to yell. Please.”

Your voice came out small, but sharp enough to cut him in two.

“You know that scares me.”

He looked up immediately, eyes wet. “I know. I know, I just— I didn’t realize how much. I thought it’d be funny, but the second you screamed, it wasn’t anymore. It stopped being funny. I just felt sick. I’m so sorry.”

You turned your head to look at him. “Then don’t ever do it again.”

“I won’t,” he said instantly. “Never again. Not for a video, not for a laugh, not for anything.”

You sighed, exhaustion replacing the panic. “You really are an idiot sometimes.”

He nodded, a sad little smile flickering. “Yeah. The world’s biggest one.”

You reached down, tugged on his sleeve softly. “Get up here.”

He climbed onto the bed slowly, wrapping himself around you like a shield, holding you so tightly you could feel his heartbeat in your back.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, over and over, like a prayer.

“I know,” you said finally. “Just… don’t make me prove it again.”

⸻

The next morning, your phone buzzed with a message from the group chat:

Max F: I’m really sorry, I didn’t realize how bad it was till I saw you cry. Totally my fault too.

Lando: She kicked you for me. I deserved it too

Max F: Deserved, for sure. 10/10 form. If anyone ever actually tries to take her, they better be wearing a cup.

You snorted despite yourself, and Lando’s head immediately popped out from the bathroom.

“Was that a laugh?”

“Barely,” you said, still smiling.

“I’ll take it.”

He spent the rest of the day making it up to you — room service dinner, your favorite dessert, soft kisses between apologies.

“You still mad?” he asked that night, tracing lazy circles over your palm.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “But less.”

He smiled. “Good. I’ll keep working on that.”

And when you whispered, “You really scared me,” he kissed your forehead and said,