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  ✧      ɪɴꜰᴊ / ɪɴꜰᴘ 20 ⋆ ᴅᴇᴄᴏʀ: ♡ ♡ ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴏᴠᴇʀᴡᴀᴛᴄʜ, ᴘʟᴀʏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴇ

✧ ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴏᴀᴛꜱ: 🫐🧢🤏🦋💌🪷🌻🌹🩷

𑣲 How long would Neteyam wait for you

The arrow had been meant for him.

You’d seen it at the last second—during the chaos of the raid on the RDA outpost—and thrown yourself in front of Neteyam. The pain was white-hot as the metal tip tore through your side, just below your ribs. You remembered the wet sound it made, the way Neteyam’s scream ripped through the air like a blade, and then nothing. Just darkness.

He carried you back to the village himself, blood soaking both of you, his voice hoarse as he begged you to stay with him. The healers worked for hours. They stopped the bleeding, closed the wound, but your body had gone somewhere else. A deep, unreachable sleep. A coma, they called it. Your spirit had retreated to heal… or so they hoped.

The First Week

Neteyam didn’t leave your side.

He sat beside your woven mat in the healer’s tent, eyes sunken, braids unkempt. His hands trembled when he held yours. Every night he whispered the same words against your knuckles.

“I’m here, yawne. Come back to me. Please.”

The children—your three little ones, ages six, four, and two—kept asking for Mama. your eldest son cried the loudest. Neytiri took them most nights so Neteyam could stay with you, but the guilt ate him alive. He was supposed to protect you. Instead, you had protected him.

When the healers told him your condition might not change soon, he broke. Alone in the forest, he roared until his throat bled, punching the ground until his knuckles split. Then he came back, washed the blood from his hands, and returned to your bedside.

The First Month

Depression settled over him like a heavy pelt.

He barely ate. He trained only when Jake forced him. The light in his golden eyes had dimmed. At night he curled around your still form, pressing his forehead to yours, breathing in the faint scent of you that still lingered.

“I can’t do this without you,” he whispered one dawn, voice cracking. “The kids… they need you. I need you.”

But slowly, painfully, something shifted. He looked at your peaceful face and remembered your fire—the way you always told him he was stronger than he knew. For you. For them. He had to be.

The First Three Months

Neteyam became the rock his family needed.

He rose before Eywa’s light, fed the children, braided their hair with clumsy but loving hands, and took them to the river. He led war parties when called, but always returned before eclipse to sit with you. He talked to you for hours—about the kids’ new words, about silly things Lo’ak said, about how much he missed your laugh.

He washed your body gently every few days, careful with your healing scar, whispering apologies and promises. Neytiri helped with the children when the grief became too heavy, but he refused to let anyone else tend to you. That was his duty. His love.

The First Year

The ache never left, but it changed shape.

He learned to live with the hollow space beside him in their kelku. The children grew louder, needier. Your youngest, a girl with your bright eyes, started calling for “Mama” in her sleep. Neteyam would rock her for hours, singing the same songs you used to hum.

He still waited. Every morning he checked for any flutter of your eyelids. Every night he kissed your forehead and said, “I’ll be here tomorrow too.”

The Second Year

The numbness had settled in deeper. Neteyam still rose every morning for the children, but the spark in his eyes had faded further. He no longer cried openly—instead, a quiet, heavy grief clung to him. 

The children asked for you less frequently now, but when they did, it hit harder. 

Your eldest, had started having nightmares, waking up screaming for Mama. Neteyam would hold him through the night, whispering stories of your bravery, but inside he felt like he was drowning.

He continued his routine in washing your body with trembling hands after long hunts, speaking to your still form for hours about the small victories and the growing emptiness. “They’re starting to forget your voice,” he confessed one night, forehead pressed to yours. “I try to keep it alive… but I’m so tired, yawne.”

The Third Year

Depression wrapped tighter around his heart. Neteyam threw himself into warrior duties to escape the silence in your kelku, returning exhausted and hollow. 

The children were growing wilder without a mother’s gentle touch, your middle child had become clingy, refusing to sleep unless Neteyam sang your old lullabies until his voice gave out. He felt like a failure on the worst nights, staring at your peaceful face and wondering why Eywa had taken you from them but left your body behind.

Washing you had become both comfort and torture. His hands moved mechanically over your skin, tracing the faded scar from that arrow, tears falling silently. “I miss your laugh. The way you’d tease me. Come back… please. I don’t know how much longer I can be strong for them alone.”

The Fourth Year

The ache had turned chronic. Neteyam smiled for the children during the day, braiding their hair with practiced care and teaching them to ride ikrans, but at night the loneliness crushed him. Your youngest had started drawing pictures of “Mama in the stars,” and each one broke something new inside him. He led war parties with mechanical precision, but his family saw the toll, how he lingered longer by your side, talking about nothing and everything.

“I’m trying,” he whispered while cleaning your body after a bloody skirmish. “But every day without you carves another piece out of me. The kids need you. I need you.”

The Fifth Year

Half a decade. The weight felt unbearable. Neteyam’s shoulders were broader from constant training, but his spirit was fraying. 

The children had begun to show deeper cracks.

your daughter acting out with anger, your sons withdrawing into silence. He disciplined them with patience worn thin, then hated himself for it. Alone with you, he’d break down more often now, shoulders shaking as he held your hand.

“Five years… and still no sign. I keep waiting, my love. But the house feels like a tomb. They’re growing up without your light, and I fear I’m not enough.”

The Sixth Year

Sadness had become his constant shadow. Neteyam moved through life like a ghost of the warrior he once was—efficient, respected, but empty. The children, now older, rarely spoke of you openly, but he caught them touching your old songcord or staring at the empty spot where you used to sit. Washing your body felt heavier each time; his fingers lingered on your unchanged face, voice hoarse from unshed tears.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you that day. The kids are hurting in ways I can’t fix. I would trade anything to hear you call my name again.”

The Seventh Year

Grief had hollowed him out. Neteyam was a dedicated father—teaching survival skills, comforting scraped knees and bruised hearts—but the depression made simple joys feel distant. 

Your eldest had started mimicking his quiet stoicism, while the younger ones rebelled against the absence they couldn’t name. 

He returned from patrols and went straight to you, washing away the day’s blood and pain, murmuring promises into the quiet.

“Seven years of this silence… it’s breaking all of us. But I won’t stop waiting. Not ever.”

The Eighth Year

The years had worn him thin. Neteyam’s smiles were rare and forced, his laughter nonexistent. The children were preteens now, full of confusing emotions and resentment toward a world that stole their mother. 

Fights in the kelku were more frequent; he mediated them alone, then retreated to your side in exhaustion. The ritual of caring for your body was his anchor—gentle cloths, whispered stories of their growing pains.

“I see so much of you in them… and it hurts worse. They need their mother back. I need my mate. This emptiness is too much.”

The Ninth Year

Almost a decade of waiting, and the sadness had deepened into a profound, quiet despair. 

Neteyam was stronger on the outside—leading his family with quiet authority—but inside he was exhausted. The teenagers-to-be pushed for independence, wanting to be left alone one moment and craving comfort the next. 

He gave them space, then lay beside you at night, holding your hand as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Nine years, yawne. The children are nearly grown, and they still ache for you. I do too. Every day. But I’m still here… still waiting for the day you open your eyes.”

Ten Years Later

Time had carved lines into Neteyam’s face. He was thirty now—broader, quieter, carrying the weight of a decade without his mate with a grace that hid the exhaustion underneath.

The children were no longer children.

Your eldest is sixteen, tall and serious like his father, but with your sharp tongue. He carried too much responsibility and pushed everyone away. 

Your second, a daughter of fourteen, was all fire and rebellion, sneaking off to fly her ikran alone, shouting that no one understood her. The youngest was twelve and cried in secret because he barely remembered your voice.

They were teenagers. Moody. Angry. Desperate for space. Desperate for their mother.

Neteyam returned from a long war party that evening, body aching, blood not his own streaked across his chest. The village was quiet. He went straight to the healer’s tent, your home now for a decade.

His mother, Neytiri, was there, watching the children while they visited you. Your daughter sat cross legged beside your mat, braiding a new songcord with trembling fingers. The boys stood awkwardly, pretending they weren’t hurting.

“Mama’s been gone too long,” your youngest muttered, voice cracking.

Neteyam’s heart twisted. He dismissed them gently, letting Neytiri take them for the night. Then he began the ritual he’d never missed.

He warmed water with herbs, brought clean cloths, and carefully washed your body. The scar on your side had long faded to a pale line. Your skin was still soft. Your chest still rose and fell. He combed your hair with reverent fingers, whispering the same words he’d said for ten years.

“I’m still here, my love. The children are growing so fast… they need you. I need you. But I’ll keep waiting.”

He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours, eyes closed. “However long it takes.”

You woke three days later.

It started with a twitch of your fingers. Then a soft groan. Neteyam, who had been dozing beside you, shot upright like he’d been struck by lightning.

Your eyes fluttered open, a little blurry, confused, pained. The world felt heavy and bright all at once.

“…Neteyam?”

His breath caught in a sob. He cupped your face with both hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks as tears spilled freely down his.

“Yes. Yes, it’s me. You’re here. You came back.”

You tried to sit up and winced. He immediately supported you, strong arms wrapping around your frail body with infinite care.

“Easy, yawne. You’ve been gone a long time. Ten years…”

Your eyes widened in shock and horror. Ten years. The children. Him.

Tears welled up as you reached for him. “Our babies…”

“They’re okay. They’re strong. Like you.” His voice broke. “But they need their mother. And I… I need my mate.”

He helped you drink water, held you when the dizziness hit, wiped your tears with gentle fingers. For hours he stayed curled around you, telling you everything—the small joys and the deep struggles, the way he’d learned to braid hair better, the way he’d sung to the kids when they missed you, the nights he’d broken down alone.

When the children were finally allowed in, the reunion was messy and beautiful. Tears, hugs, your daughter burying her face in your neck and refusing to let go. Neteyam stood back for a moment, watching with a shattered, grateful smile, before joining them.

Later that night, once the kids were finally asleep (curled up around you like they were afraid you’d vanish again), Neteyam lay beside you, one arm protectively over your waist.

“I would have waited forever,” he whispered into your hair, voice thick with emotion. “Every day. Every year. As long as my heart beat, I would have waited for you.”

You turned your head, pressing a weak kiss to his lips.

“I know,” you breathed. “And I’m here now. We’re going to heal together.”

For the first time in ten years, Neteyam slept deeply—your heartbeat steady under his hand, your warmth real and alive.

He had waited.

And you had returned.

𑣲 Your ongoing love story with Neteyam

You were younger then, maybe thirteen, maybe fourteen. 

Neteyam had always been there. From the very beginning.

Not in a loud, obvious way Lo’ak filled space, or in a quiet, almost otherworldly way Kiri seemed to drift through it, but constant.

He was the one who understood without needing words, who noticed the small things no one else did. 

The one who carried the weight of being the eldest because it had been placed on his shoulders at birth and of course he accepted it without question.

But with you… something was different.

You saw it in the way his posture softened when you approached, in how his voice lost a careful edge he used with everyone else. The mask slipped, just enough for you to glimpse the boy underneath the responsibility. 

The boy who laughed a little easier. 

Who lingered a little longer.

You had loved him first in a very quiet, aching way children do—before you even understood what love really meant. It lived in the way your stomach fluttered when he smiled at you across the communal fire, in the way your chest tightened when he chose to sit beside you instead of anyone else. It was wordless, instinctive. 

And he loved you back.

You knew it.

Not because he said it—Neteyam Sully did not speak his heart easily—but because of the way his golden eyes always found yours in a crowd. Because he slowed his pace to walk beside you. Because he stayed behind when the others ran ahead, as if the space between you mattered more than whatever waited in front of him.

He carried his feelings the same way he carried everything else: quietly and carefully.

-

neteyam stands tall in the training clearing, chest heaving, sweat glistening across his broad shoulders and down the defined lines of his abdomen as he grips his bow tighter. 

his father’s voice cuts sharp through the air again, jake pushing harder than usual today, demanding perfection in every arrow release, every stance. “you’re the eldest, neteyam. you don’t get to slip. not even once. the clan looks to you.” neteyam’s jaw clenches hard, his golden eyes focused straight ahead but flickering with the weight of it all, ears pinned back slightly against his head. 

his tail lashes once behind him before he forces it still, always trying to hide how much it presses on him. 

you watch from the edge, heart twisting in your chest because you know him better than anyone. you see the subtle tremble in his fingers, the way his full lips press into a thin line, the quiet exhaustion settling into his strong features.

after jake finally walks off with a firm nod, neteyam stays there a moment longer, shoulders slumping just a fraction as he exhales slow. you step closer without thinking, your bare feet quiet on the ground until you’re right in front of him. 

his head lifts, his golden eyes meeting yours, and something softens in them instantly. the tension in his brow eases a little, his mouth parting as he takes you in—your concerned expression, the gentle curve of your lips as you offer a small smile meant only for him.

“hey,” you say softly, reaching out to touch his arm. your fingers brush over the warm, smooth skin of his bicep, feeling the muscle twitch under your touch before he relaxes into it. “he was really hard on you today. you did good, neteyam. you always do. but you don’t have to carry it all alone, you know?”

he swallows, throat bobbing visibly, his free hand coming up slow and respectful to rest lightly on your own arm, not pulling, just grounding himself in the contact. 

his palm feels big and warm through the thin weave of your top, fingertips pressing in with the faintest tremble. “i know,” he murmurs, voice low and rough around the edges, eyes tracing the shape of your face, lingering on your lips, then your eyes again before pulling back and walking away without another word.

It’s not out of the normal for him to act this way, so you let him have his space. 

But later that day, you found him. 

neteyam sprawls across the thick branch high above the ground, his long legs spread loose, one knee bent while you sit tucked beside them almost, your thighs brushing his. 

his chest rises and falls quicker than usual tonight, golden eyes flicking from your lips to your eyes then dropping again like he’s fighting something inside. 

you’re both so young, thirteen and fourteen, hearts pounding under your skin as the distant rumors of sky people start whispering through the clan, but right now none of that matters. it’s just his warmth radiating toward you, the way his fingers twitch restlessly at his sides before he finally reaches out.

his hand moves so slow, so careful, fingertips grazing your cheek first, then cupping it gently. his palm feels warm and a little calloused from years of gripping bows and climbing. 

your breath catches hard in your throat. his eyes soften, heavy with everything he never says out loud, a quiet love he’s carried since you were kids running through the trees together. you lean in at the same time he does. mouths meet clumsy and soft, no real idea what you’re doing, just pressing together once, twice, trembling. his lips are fuller than you imagined, warm and hesitant. your hands find his shoulders, feeling the muscle there tense under your touch. 

he pulls you closer by the waist, shy but needy, bodies curling into each other. 

his arm wraps around you eventually, strong but gentle, holding you. you stay curled there for hours under the faint glow, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm, your head tucked against his neck where you can feel every swallow, every quiet breath.

The next morning moves too fast. sunlight filters down and you sit up first, knees still touching his, avoiding his eyes at first. your chest feels tight. “last night…” your voice cracks, barely above a whisper. “It shouldn’t have happened.”

he swallows hard, jaw tightening, his golden eyes flashing with hurt for a split second before he hides it like he always does. his shoulders slump just a little but he nods, respectful, responsible even when it’s killing him inside. “if that’s what you want,” he says, voice low and rough, barely steady, “then we forget.” his hand twitches like he wants to reach for you one more time but he doesn’t. he respects it. always does.

You felt at the time that it was needed. For him. 

For him to find someone worth loving.

days bleed together after that, heavy and wrong. you pass him in the village paths and force a small “hey.” he answers the same, voice quiet, but his eyes linger on your face longer than they should, tracing your lips, your smile that doesn’t reach your eyes anymore. you see the way his ears flick back slightly, the subtle clench in his jaw when you walk away. kiri watches you both with sharp, knowing eyes, tilting her head like she wants to say something but doesn’t. lo’ak teases less, even tuk seems quieter when you’re all together. everyone feels the shift of energy hanging between you, thick and unspoken. 

your smiles around him become forced, small and quick, while inside your chest aches every time you catch him looking at you with that same soft longing he’s carried since childhood.

when jake finally decides the family has to leave, your whole body feels like it’s caving in. you stand at the edge of the clearing watching them prepare the ikrans, heart shattering quietly. 

neteyam’s back is turned at first, muscles shifting under his skin as he checks straps, but then he turns. his eyes lock on yours across the distance. his expression softens completely, brows pulling together, mouth parting just slightly like he’s memorizing every line of your face, the curve of your lips, the way your eyes fill with unshed tears. 

he mounts his ikran last. one final glance over his broad shoulder, eyes finding yours again, filled with the same aching tenderness and regret. then he’s gone, wings cutting through the sky, leaving you behind with nothing but memories of his warm hands and that innocent night.

later that night you curl tight in your hammock, silent tears slipping down your cheeks, body shaking as you whisper to eywa that you’ll never love anyone the way you love him, that the boy who hid his feelings so well still owns every part of your heart.

-

Ten years have already passed that quick before you realized. 

The Sullys came back home, and Neteyam went through the motions like everyone expected him to. He packed their things the night before without saying much, hands moving steady but his mind kept drifting in ways he didn’t like. He wasn’t excited or anything. Just… aware that seeing old faces again might stir up stuff he’d buried.

When they landed and the clan swarmed them with hugs and songs, he nodded through it all, clapping shoulders, exchanging quick words with people who had changed. Tarsem greeted them properly as Olo’eyktan, and Neteyam returned the respect, but his tail flicked once or twice without him meaning it to. 

A few days later, when they needed supplies taken to the outer part of the village, he grabbed the basket himself before anyone else could. He told himself it was just to stay busy.

That’s when he spotted you.

You were showing a couple younger girls how to tie off the drying racks, your hands demonstrating the knots with quick, sure twists. 

You’d changed. Your body had filled out more—hips rounding under your woven coverings, breasts heavier, the kind of shape that made it clear you were thinking about building a family. Your braids swung longer when you turned your head. Still the same face he remembered, though.

You looked up mid instruction. Your eyes locked on him and widened for a beat, fingers pausing on the rope. Then you straightened, brushing your hands on your thighs like you needed to do something with them.

“Neteyam,” you said. Your voice came out quieter than he expected.

He set the heavy basket down, straightening up slower than necessary. His ears twitched forward without permission. “It’s been… a while...” He rubbed his thumb along the edge of whatever he could, searching for the right words and not finding them. “You look… different. In a good way.”

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, one hand coming up to tuck a loose braid behind your ear. 

( if ur bald let’s imagine you hit a cartwheel IM JOKIN let’s imagine you wiped ur hands on ur … somewhere )

“So do you. Taller. Stronger.” A small pause where you swallowed. “Thanks for the supplies. The mothers will appreciate the extra herbs.”

He nodded, but his eyes kept pulling back to your face, to the way your lips pressed together like you were holding back whatever else you wanted to say. He remembered that night from when you were kids, the clumsy press of his lips against yours, your shy hands on his shoulders. It hit him harder than he thought it would, right in the chest. But you had your own path now. He’d already heard the talk: promised to Tarsem. Preparing for kits, making sure everything would be safe and steady. He couldn’t just stand here staring.

“If you need anything else carried over, I can bring it,” he offered, voice even but his fingers tightening on the basket handle.

You met his gaze for another second, then looked down at your hands. “We’ll manage. Good to have your family back, though.” You turned back to the girls a little too fast, demonstrating the knot again, but your shoulders stayed tense.

He walked away feeling a awkward weight sitting in his gut. Part of him wanted to turn around and say more. The rest knew better.

He started volunteering for those supply runs after that. 

Not every day, but enough that it became a pattern. He’d show up with baskets, hand them off, and watch how you moved—directing the younger ones with patient gestures, rubbing your lower back sometimes like it ached from the extra weight you were carrying these days, or pausing to rest a hand on a pregnant woman’s belly while talking softly. 

You’d exchange these short nods across the space, or a quick “thanks” when your eyes met. Nothing big. But each time his stomach did this small flip, like his body remembered you before his head did.

One night the rain came down heavy, pounding so loud it drowned out most other sounds. Neteyam had stayed out later than planned with the last delivery and was jogging through it, shoulders hunched against the downpour, when you stepped out from your home and waved him over with a sharp motion.

“Come in,” you called, voice cutting through the noise. “You’re getting soaked for no reason.”

He hesitated, water streaming down his face, then ducked inside. You moved around quietly, not making it a big deal. Grabbed a cloth and tossed it to him so he could wipe his arms and chest. Then you went back to the small fire, turning over pieces of fish and roots you’d been cooking. You handed him a bowl without asking, sitting across from him with your own portion.

You ate in mostly silence. He watched the way you broke off pieces of fish with your fingers, licking a bit of juice from your thumb. You glanced at him every so often, eyes flicking over his broader shoulders, the new scars on his arms, then back to your food. He caught himself doing the same—noting how your chest rose when you took a breath, the subtle way your tail curled near your leg.

“Good fish,” he said after a while, voice low.

You nodded, swallowing. “Caught it this morning.” Another pause, your fingers tapping lightly on the bowl. “You’ve been helping with the supplies a lot lately.”

“Yeah. Figured it was useful.” He shrugged, but his ears stayed angled toward you. You didn’t push it further. Just sat there while the rain kept going, trading small looks that felt more yearning than words.

When it finally let up, he stood and handed the empty bowl back. “Thanks for the shelter. And the food.”

You took it, your fingers brushing for a second. “Any time.”

After that night, he leaned harder into helping the expecting mothers. He’d carry the bigger loads for them, kneeling down to fix loose ties on their homes with quick, efficient pulls, or trekking out to gather the specific leaves you mentioned helped with nausea. 

You were usually there overseeing it, showing the women how to breathe through discomfort or pressing gently on a belly to check positioning. 

Your paths crossed constantly. He’d hand you the exact bundle of herbs you needed, and you’d give him this small, grateful smile that made his chest tighten.

You still worked on the home you were supposed to share with Tarsem, organizing woven mats and supplies with careful hands. But you started seeking Neteyam out too—asking him to stay a little longer to help lift something, or walking with him partway back while talking about what the pregnant women needed next. 

The glances turned into longer talks. He admitted one evening how the reef years had left him restless in ways he hadn’t expected. You told him about the pressure of the being promised to someone, how you wanted security for any future kids but sometimes wondered if your heart was fully in it.

You were slipping into it again, slow and messy. You kept the promise on the surface, still meeting with Tarsem when you had to. But more nights you found excuses to cross paths with Neteyam instead—brushing hands while passing tools, sitting close enough that your knees touched, letting the old pull win out bit by bit.

You felt guilty.

You felt guilty every time you caught yourself looking for Neteyam instead of focusing on what you were supposed to be doing. 

Your hands would pause while organizing the woven mats for the home Tarsem expected to share with you, and your mind would drift to the way Neteyam’s fingers had brushed yours the night before when he handed over another bundle of herbs. 

You’d shake it off, rubbing your palms down your thighs like that could wipe away the pull, but it never fully worked. 

You were promised. 

You had spent months preparing for a steady life, for kits who would grow up safe. Yet here you were, making excuses to be near him.

One afternoon it got worse. You were standing near the edge of the gathering space, talking with Tarsem about the upcoming ceremony plans. His hand rested on your waist the way it always did lately—possessive but familiar—pulling you a little closer as he gestured with his other hand. 

You nodded along, smiling the polite smile you’d practiced, but your shoulders stiffened when you spotted Neteyam a short distance away. He had just set down a heavy load for one of the expecting mothers and was wiping his hands on his legs. His eyes locked on Tarsem’s grip on you. His jaw tightened, ears flattening back for a second before he forced them up again. He turned away fast, fists clenched at his sides as he walked off, but not before you saw the way his tail lashed once, sharp and frustrated. 

Your stomach twisted. You wanted to pull away from Tarsem right then, but you didn’t. You just swallowed hard and kept nodding, cheeks warming with that same guilt.

That night you found Neteyam again. He was helping repair a loose tie on a roof nearby, kneeling with quick, efficient pulls on the ropes. 

You walked over under the excuse of checking supplies, your steps slower than usual. “Need help?” you asked, voice low.

He glanced up, golden eyes heavier than before. “I got it.” But he shifted over anyway, making space for you to kneel beside him. Your knees brushed as you both worked, and neither of you moved away. 

His breathing stayed a little rougher after seeing you with Tarsem earlier, you could tell by the way his hands flexed on the rope. 

You wanted to say something about it, but the words stuck.

The days blurred after that. 

You kept falling, bit by bit. He started showing up earlier to help with the mothers, carrying loads that made his shoulders flex under the weight, then handing things directly to you with these small, lingering looks. 

You’d thank him by touching his arm lightly, fingers pressing just a second longer than needed, feeling the warmth of his skin. 

One evening after a long day, you sat close while sorting herbs, your thighs pressed together on the woven mat. 

He admitted quietly how he got injured really bad, his hand resting near yours. You told him that you’re not ready for kids but your chest felt tighter every time Tarsem pulled you close now. Your fingers brushed his again, and this time you didn’t pull back right away.

Jealousy kept comin back for him. Another time you were walking with Tarsem, his arm around your shoulders as he spoke about plans for the clan. 

Neteyam was nearby gathering supplies, and you caught him watching with his eyes narrowed, jaw set tight, chest rising faster. He turned and yanked a basket up with more force than necessary, muscles corded in his arms. Later that night when you crossed paths alone, he stepped closer than usual, voice rough. “Does he make you happy?” He didn’t touch you, but his tail flicked restlessly, ears angled toward you like he was hanging on every breath you took.

You hesitated, rubbing your lower back where it ached. “It’s what’s expected.” But your eyes stayed on his face, on the way his lips pressed together in a familiar restraint.

It built until one quiet night after the rain had passed. You had made extra food again, and he stayed longer than before, sitting across from you with his legs stretched out so his foot rested near yours. 

The small glances turned into longer ones—your eyes tracing the newer scars on his chest, his gaze dropping to the curve of your breasts when you leaned forward. The guilt sat heavy, but the pull felt heavier.

“I can’t keep pretending,” he said suddenly, voice low and steady but his hands fidgeting with the edge of the bowl. He looked right at you, golden eyes intense. “That night when we were kids… I never forgot it. And seeing you now, with him touching you… it messes with my head. I want you. Not just from afar. You.”

Your heart slammed hard. You set your bowl down, fingers trembling a little as you reached over and touched his knee. “I … I see you…”

He let out a rough breath, ears twitching forward. Then he leaned in, one hand coming up to cup the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek. 

You met him halfway. The kiss started hesitant—lips pressing soft and warm, a little clumsy like that first time years ago—but it deepened quick. 

Your hands gripped his shoulders, shy at first then tighter as he tilted his head, mouth moving against yours with all that built up longing. His other hand settled on your waist, pulling you closer until your chest brushed his. When you finally broke apart, both breathing heavier, foreheads resting together, he whispered, “We’ll figure the rest out.”

You nodded, guilt easing into something warmer as you kissed him again, slower this time, hands exploring the familiar but stronger lines of him. 

Your relationship with Tarsem ended the next day, you told him straight, with you shoulders square even as your voice shook a bit. After that, it was Neteyam you met with openly, falling fully without the hiding.

And surprisingly everyone were super supportive.

HOII I watched like the first few epppppp :p

Gojo places only one rule.

The holidays at Gojo’s place were always a mix of chaotic and strangely comforting. 

This year he’d insisted both you and Megumi stay over for a few nights during winter break — “family bonding,” he called it with his signature blindfolded grin. 

You knew better. He just liked having his favorite formal students under one roof where he could annoy them.

The first night he laid down his personal rules with mock seriousness:

“Door stays cracked at all times. I’m not raising grandchildren yet.”

Megumi had turned bright red. You’d just laughed nervously.

Now it was the second night. The house was quiet except for the low sound of the heater and the occasional creak of old wood. 

Snow fell heavily outside the window, casting a soft blue glow into Megumi’s old room. The door was open just a few inches — enough that a slice of hallway light cut across the floor.

Snow piled up outside, turning the world into a muffled white blanket. You and Megumi were curled under the heavy comforter, the cracked door letting in a thin stripe of hallway light that stretched across the wooden floor.

Gojo’s “door stays open” rule hung over you both, but right now it felt distant. You were lying on your side, back pressed to Megumi’s chest in a loose spoon. His arm draped over your waist, warm and solid. Neither of you had planned for anything more than cuddling after a long day of holiday “family activities” (mostly Gojo forcing everyone to watch terrible Christmas movies).

Megumi’s thumb moved in slow, absent circles over your stomach, right where your oversized sleep shirt had ridden up. The gentle pressure felt soothing at first — just the warmth of his palm rubbing soft circles over the soft pouch of your lower belly.

“Mm… that feels nice,” you whispered, smiling into the pillow.

He hummed quietly in response, pressing a light kiss behind your ear. “You’re warm,” he murmured, voice low so it wouldn’t carry. His hand kept moving, slow and rhythmic, occasionally dipping a little lower before sliding back up. The touch stayed innocent for a while, just comforting affection.

You shifted slightly, pressing back into him more. A tiny giggle escaped you when his fingers brushed a ticklish spot. “Careful, I’m sensitive there.”

Megumi’s lips curved against your neck, you could feel the smile. “I know.” He did it again on purpose, a little lighter, and you both had to muffle quiet laughter into the blankets. His chest vibrated with a rare, soft chuckle of his own. These little moments were your favorite: when the usually reserved Megumi let his guard down and just existed with you.

His hand eventually wandered lower, still over your shirt at first, tracing the waistband of your sleep shorts. He paused there, fingertips slipping just underneath the fabric to brush the skin of your hip. “Is this okay?” he asked softly, always checking even when your bodies were already tangled together.

“Yeah,” you breathed, reaching back to thread your fingers through his messy black hair. You tugged gently, playful, and he rewarded you with another kiss on your neck, this one slower, lingering.

One thing didn’t just happen — it unfolded. His palm slid fully under your shirt again, rubbing wider circles across your stomach, then dipping down to the very edge of your shorts. He teased the hem for a minute, fingertips tracing the line where fabric met skin, before finally slipping underneath. No rush. Just warm fingers gliding over your mound, still gentle, exploring.

You let out a shaky exhale when his middle finger finally brushed between your folds. You were already getting wet from the slow teasing and the closeness of his body. Megumi noticed immediately, and you felt him twitch against your ass through his sweatpants.

“Quiet,” he reminded you in the softest whisper, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice, like he knew how hard that was going to be.

He circled your clit lazily at first, then dipped lower to gather your slickness before returning. Your breathing grew heavier. You turned your head, seeking his mouth, and the two of you shared slow, quiet kisses — more breath and little nips than anything loud. Every time one of you smiled into the kiss, it turned into another shared giggle, noses bumping, hearts racing from both affection and the thrill of the cracked door.

Megumi’s fingers eventually pushed inside you — one at first, then two — curling gently while his thumb kept rubbing your clit in those same unhurried circles he’d started on your stomach. The wet sounds were faint under the thick blankets, but they still felt risky. You rocked back against his hand, thighs trembling.

“Megumi…” you whimpered, barely audible.

He pressed his forehead to the back of your neck, breathing ragged. “I need you,” he admitted, voice hoarse. “Can I…?”

You nodded quickly, already pushing your shorts and panties down just enough. He did the same with his sweatpants, freeing himself. You felt the hot, hard length of him slide against your ass first, teasing, before he angled himself lower.

You lifted your top leg slightly. He pushed in slowly — so slowly — inch by inch, stretching you open while both of you fought to stay silent. When he bottomed out, buried completely, he wrapped his arm tighter around your waist, palm returning to rub soothing circles over your stomach again, right above where you were joined.

For a long minute you just stayed like that, connected and breathing together. Then he started moving in shallow, lazy rolls of his hips that barely made the bed creak. Every thrust dragged against that perfect spot inside you. Your hand reached back to grip his thigh, nails digging in as pleasure built in thick, warm waves.

The footsteps in the hallway came just as the rhythm was starting to speed up.

You both froze instantly, Megumi still deep inside you, throbbing. His hand flew up to cover your mouth gently. The shadow paused outside the cracked door.

Gojo’s voice floated in, casual as ever: “You guys need extra blankets? It’s getting colder.”

Megumi’s voice was impressively steady, though strained. “We’re good.”

A knowing pause. “Alright. Door open, remember~”

The footsteps faded.

The second they did, Megumi let out a shaky breath against your hair and started moving again, deeper this time, a little faster, the risk turning both of you desperate. His hand slid back down between your legs, rubbing your clit while he fucked you from behind in careful, controlled strokes.

You came first, clenching hard around him, biting his palm to muffle your moan. The orgasm rolled through you slow and intense, legs shaking. Megumi followed moments later, burying himself to the hilt and spilling inside you with a low, broken groan he pressed into your neck.

Afterward you stayed tangled together, his hand once again rubbing gentle circles over your stomach under your shirt. Soft kisses, quiet giggles, whispered “I love you”s exchanged in the dark while snow continued falling outside.

you both lay there catching your breath, bodies still connected and slick with sweat under the heavy comforter. Megumi’s hand kept up those slow, soothing circles over the soft pouch of your stomach, like he couldn’t stop touching you. Your breathing gradually evened out, but the warmth of him inside you, the way his cock gave a lazy twitch every few seconds, made it impossible to fully relax.

You shifted slightly, turning in his arms until you were facing him. In the dim light from the cracked door, you could see his flushed cheeks and the dark, half lidded look in his eyes. He was still hard.

“Again?” you whispered, a small smile tugging at your lips as you brushed his messy black hair out of his face.

Megumi swallowed, nodding once. “Only if you want to.” His voice was low and rough, the kind that always sent heat pooling in your belly. He leaned in and kissed you softly — slow and sweet at first, then deeper, tongues brushing as you both smiled into it. A quiet giggle escaped you when his nose bumped yours, and he let out a rare, breathy chuckle of his own, forehead resting against yours.

You pushed gently on his chest until he rolled onto his back. Keeping the thick blankets pulled high over both of you, you swung a leg over his hips and straddled him. The position felt intimate under the covers, its hidden, safe, but still risky with the door open just enough for trouble.

Megumi’s hands settled on your thighs, rubbing up and down slowly as you reached between your bodies. You wrapped your fingers around his cock, stroking him, smearing his leftover cum and your slick a few times before lining him up with your entrance. You were still wet and full from before, so when you sank down it was easier with a smooth, slow glide that had both of you biting back sounds.

You settled fully onto him with a shaky exhale, feeling every inch stretch and fill you again. Megumi’s head tipped back against the pillow, jaw tight, hands gripping your hips under the blanket.

“Fuck…,” he whispered, barely audible.

You started moving In slow rolls of your hips at first, grinding more than bouncing so the bed wouldn’t creak. The blankets stayed draped over your bodies like a tent, trapping heat and the faint wet sounds of him moving inside you. Megumi’s hands slid up under your shirt again, one returning to rub gentle circles over your lower stomach while the other cupped your breast, thumb brushing your nipple.

You leaned forward, bracing your hands on his chest, and kissed him deeply to muffle both your moans. Every roll of your hips dragged him against the spot you loved the most. Your breathing grew heavier, little whimpers slipping out despite your best efforts. Megumi’s fingers on your stomach pressed a little firmer, grounding you as pleasure built in thick waves.

“You’re doing so good,” he murmured against your lips between kisses. 

That made you clench around him. His hips bucked up instinctively, pushing deeper, and you had to bury your face in his neck to stifle a moan. The two of you moved together like that. Soft giggles broke through whenever one of you shifted too much and the blankets rustled loudly, or when Megumi’s fingers found another ticklish spot on your stomach.

footsteps came without warning.

You were riding him a little faster now, chasing a edge, when a shadow fell across the floor. The door creaked open wider.

Gojo stood there, holding a glass of water like he’d just been innocently walking by. His blindfold was off, bright blue eyes taking in the scene under the dim hallway light: the obvious movement under the blankets, your straddling position, Megumi’s hands clearly gripping you, the way the comforter shifted with every roll of your hips.

For a split second, even Gojo looked surprised.

Then that signature shit eating grin spread across his face.

“Oh wow,” he said, voice loud enough to make you both freeze. “I was just coming to check if the heater was working… but it looks like you two are generating plenty of heat on your own.”

You stopped moving instantly, but Megumi was still buried deep inside you, throbbing hard from the sudden spike of embarrassment and adrenaline. You yanked the blanket higher, trying to hide as much as possible, but there was no hiding the fact that you were literally on top of him.

“Dad—” Megumi started, voice strained and hoarse. His hands tightened on your hips like he was debating whether to pull you off or keep you there.

Gojo leaned casually against the doorframe, not even pretending to look away. “Door was supposed to stay cracked, remember? I could hear the bed from the hallway. I am super angry, yknow.” His eyes sparkled with pure amusement. 

Your face burned. You buried it in Megumi’s chest, mortified but still clenching around him involuntarily. Megumi groaned quietly, hips twitching once despite everything.

“ get out,” Megumi hissed, trying to sound threatening but mostly sounding wrecked.

Gojo chuckled, low and teasing. “I meannnnn, you guys had no respect for me, should I open the door fully, will that help?” He winked. “Or I can just stand here and supervise. Make sure the door stays open like I said.”

“Out,” Megumi repeated, face burning crimson.

Gojo sighed dramatically, but he was clearly loving every second. “Fine, fine. I’ll leave the water here. I want to have a conversation in the morning, megumi.” He set the glass on the dresser, gave you both one last lingering, mischievous look, and finally stepped back, pulling the door to its usual cracked position.

“Sweet dreams~” he called cheerfully as he walked away.

The second his footsteps faded, Megumi let out a long, embarrassed groan. You lifted your head, both of you staring at each other with wide eyes before breaking into quiet, breathless laughter.

“I hate him,” Megumi muttered, but his hands were already sliding back to your ass, squeezing.

You rocked your hips experimentally, still giggling. “He’s never letting us live this down…”

Megumi’s eyes darkened again. “Don’t care right now.” He thrust up into you harder, making you gasp. “Keep going. We’re finishing this.”

You started riding him again — faster this time, less careful, the adrenaline from almost getting fully caught making everything feel ten times more intense. Megumi’s hand returned to rub your stomach in those familiar circles while the other guided your movements. 

You came first, clenching hard around him and biting his shoulder to stay quiet. He followed right after, pulling you down against him as he spilled deep inside you with a muffled groan.

Afterward, you collapsed on his chest, both of you breathing hard under the blankets, trading lazy kisses and soft giggles.

“Does satoru think I’m a slut now, or does he hate me now?” you whispered.

Megumi kissed your forehead. “Of course not… We’re adults, he’s probably just irritated, babe.”

HAPY FUCKING PRIDE MONTH

based off this request!

You never thought that the 10ft Navi Neteyam could ever like you

The rain fell in heavy sheets over the floating mountains, turning the bioluminescent moss into a slick, glowing carpet under your boots. 

You huddled inside the makeshift lab outpost, fingers trembling as you adjusted your oxygen mask. Another failed sample. 

Another day pretending you weren’t breaking.

Neteyam had smiled at you again this morning in his polite but distant way, the same careful curve of his lips he gave everyone. 

You’d spent months telling yourself that was all it was. Kindness. Curiosity toward the tiny human who tagged along with the science team. 

You were pathetic for hoping it meant more. 

A Na’vi prince, future Olo’eyktan, and you… soft, clumsy, barely reaching his chest. 

But you didn’t know he watched you constantly.

From the treeline, hidden in the ferns, Neteyam’s eyes tracked your every movement. 

The way your small hands pushed damp hair from your face. The frustrated huff when your equipment slipped. The soft curse under your breath that made his tail flick hard against his thigh. He’d memorized the scent of your skin, your sweet human sweat mixed with the sterile tang of your masks. 

Sometimes, he’d stroked himself in the canopy more nights than he could count, imagining those tiny fingers wrapped around him instead of his own.

Neteyam told himself he was protecting you. That getting too close would only hurt you. Humans were fragile. Breakable. But the obsession had grown teeth. It gnawed at him until he couldn’t breathe without thinking of you.

He started following you.

Not in the open, never where others could see. He moved like a shadow through the canopy, tail low and silent, golden eyes locked on your small form trudging through the undergrowth with your heavy pack and ridiculous breathing mask. 

Every time you slipped on wet moss, his muscles coiled, ready to drop down and catch you. Every time you laughed at something your human companions said, a hot spike of jealousy twisted in his gut. That sound was his. It belonged to him.

One afternoon you nearly collided.

You were hurrying back to the outpost, arms full of glowing samples, mask fogged from the humidity. Neteyam had stepped out from behind a thick root at the exact wrong moment. Your shoulder slammed into his thigh—barely reaching his hip—and the impact sent you stumbling backward. Vials clattered. One shattered.

“Shit—!” you yelped, dropping to your knees to salvage what you could.

Neteyam froze, heart hammering so hard he was sure you could hear it. The scent of you hit him, your smell of sweat, soap from the lab, that faint sweetness that haunted his dreams. He crouched instantly, one massive hand steadying your shoulder. His fingers spanned nearly your entire back.

“Are you hurt?” His voice came out rougher than he meant. Too low. Too hungry something… anything….

You looked up at him through the clear visor, cheeks flushed. “I—I’m fine. Sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

He should have let go. Instead his thumb brushed the nape of your neck, just under the strap of your mask. You shivered. He felt it. That tiny tremble went straight to his own nerves.

“You’re always rushing,” he murmured, helping you gather the unbroken vials. His braids brushed your arm. “One day you’ll fall and I won’t be there to catch you.”

You laughed, soft and self deprecating. “Wouldn’t want to trouble the mighty warrior.”

Trouble. The word burned. If only you knew how much he wanted your trouble. he wanted to be with you, in many ways, he wants to wake up to your sweet smell, your small fingers, be with you until you get an avatar body, travel with you not only that… he’d do lewd things that he’s not proud of admitting, he’d lie awake stroking his throbbing length to the memory of your voice, coming with your name choked between his teeth while he pictured your soft human cunt stretched around him and After that, the encounters multiplied.

He started “accidentally” appearing wherever you were. At the river where you collected water samples, he was already there, washing blood from a hunt, water sluicing down every ridge of muscle. You’d stared. He’d pretended not to notice, but he’d flexed just a little more, tail curling invitingly.

In the village, when you visited with your team to trade tech for herbs, he always found a reason to stand close. Close enough that his heat bled into your space. Close enough that you’d have to tilt your head all the way back to meet his eyes. 

He’d catch the way your pulse jumped in your throat and have to excuse himself before he did something reckless like ask you out to dinner, from the meat he hunted earlier that day.

You, meanwhile, were unraveling.

Every polite smile from him felt like a something sharp. Every lingering glance made your chest ache worse. 

You were sure he saw you as nothing more than a fragile sky person. A curiosity. The thought that he might want you back was laughable, painful laughter that always ended in tears.

He had been everywhere.

At the river, water sliding down the cut lines of his abdomen, those amber eyes flicking to you just long enough for your breath to catch. 

Later in the village, he’d leaned over you while you examined a bundle of medicinal roots, his chest so close you could feel the heat rolling off his skin, the low rumble of his voice vibrating through your ribs when he asked what the “tiny machine” in your hands did. His braid had slipped forward and brushed your collarbone. You’d nearly dropped the scanner.

You pressed your forehead against your knees, trying to breathe through the ache. He’s just being nice. He’s like this with everyone. But the way his fingers had lingered on your shoulder earlier, the way his tail had curled behind you like it wanted to wrap around your waist… it was driving you insane.

From the branches above, Neteyam watched.

The sight of you curled up like that, small and vulnerable, made something twist in his chest. 

He wanted to drop down, pull you into his arms, peel that ridiculous human clothing from your body. He imagined how tight you’d feel around him—how you’d whimper and stretch, your little cunt fluttering as he worked himself inside you inch by inch.

Oh! also yes, he really wants to comfort you!

He’d cum to that fantasy so many times now. Teeth sunk into his own arm to stay quiet, hips jerking into his fist while he whispered your name.

Tonight he was done pretending.

The branch barely creaked as he descended, landing silently on the platform behind you. You didn’t notice until his shadow fell over you—massive.

You startled, twisting around so fast you nearly slipped off the edge. A large blue hand caught your arm, steadying you. Neteyam crouched, bringing his face closer to yours. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide.

“You’re shaking again,” he murmured. His thumb stroked the inside of your wrist, feeling your frantic pulse. “Why do you always tremble when I’m near?”

Your mouth went dry. Up close he was overwhelming—broad shoulders, the intricate pattern of his stripes, the musky, earthy scent of him.

“I… I’m not—” you started, but the lie died when his other hand came up to cup your jaw, tilting your face up to him. His fingers were so long they nearly wrapped around your entire head.

Neteyam’s gaze dropped to your lips. “I watch you,” he admitted, the words rough, almost pained. “All the time. I can’t stop. Your scent follows me... Your voice…” His tail lashed once, hard. “I want to show you around… when you’re free… if you let me ”

Heat flooded your face. Your heart hammered so hard you were sure he could hear it. “Neteyam… are you sure?”

His ears flicked back, a low growl rumbling in his chest. “I have tried to stay away. You are human.. But I am tired of fighting it.” He leaned closer, forehead nearly touching yours, breath warm against your maskless face. “I want you. I want to hunt for you, protect you.”

Your breath hitched. You should have been terrified. Terrified of the obvious size difference, species, everything—but all you felt was liquid heat pooling low in your belly.

His hand slid down, fingertips tracing your throat, then lower, brushing the swell of your chest through your thin shirt. “Tell me to leave, and I will try,” he whispered, voice strained. “But if you want me even half as badly as I want you… then I will pursue you.”

You swallowed hard, staring up at the Na’vi who had haunted every waking moment. Your hand—tiny against his—reached up and pressed against his chest, feeling the rapid thrum of his heart.

“I don’t want you to leave,” you breathed.

Neteyam’s eyes flashed with something feral and triumphant. In one smooth motion he scooped you up, cradling your small body against his chest as he stood to his full height. Your legs dangled, barely reaching his hips.

“Good,” he growled softly, lips brushing your temple. “Because I don’t think I could anymore.”

He carried you into the shadows of the floating forest, the bioluminescent lights painting your skin in soft blues and purples, his hands already beginning to explore what he had dreamed about for so long.

HAPPY FUCKING PRIDE MONTH

based off this request!

the most awkard accident with neteyam

It started the way most things did with the Sully kids with chaos, laughter, and you right in the middle of it.

You were barely past your first braiding ceremony when you met Neteyam. 

Jake had brought his family to the village gathering, and while Lo’ak was already causing trouble by trying to climb the highest spiraling root, Neteyam stood quietly beside Neytiri, tail flicking with nervous energy. You, being the curious daughter of one of the best hunters, marched right up and offered him half your fruit.

“Want some? It’s sweet.”

He blinked those big golden eyes at you, then smiled very slow and shy. From that day on, you were inseparable.

You grew up chasing each other through the floating mountains, racing ikrans once you were old enough, whispering secrets under the glow of the Spirit Tree. Lo’ak was always there too, the chaotic third wheel who loved teasing you both mercilessly.

“Bro, you stare at her like she hung the stars,” Lo’ak would whisper when you weren’t listening. Neteyam would shove him so hard they’d both tumble into the river.

You never noticed. Neteyam was just… Neteyam. Your best friend. The one who braided your hair when your fingers got tired, who brought you extra portions of yerik meat because he knew you liked it spicy, who held your hand during thunderstorms because he remembered how they scared you as a child.

Everyone else saw it.

Neytiri would smile softly when she caught you two asleep against each other after a long hunt. Jake would clap Neteyam on the shoulder and mutter, “Kid, you’re denser than a thanator skull.” Even Tuk would giggle and draw little hearts in the dirt with your and Neteyam’s names.

But you? You thought the fluttering in your stomach was just excitement. Neteyam? He told himself the way his chest ached when you laughed was normal. Best friends cared that much. Right?

Years passed. You both became young adults—strong, skilled, beautiful in a effortless Na’vi way. Neteyam carried the weight of being the eldest son with quiet grace. You trained as a healer under Mo’at, your hands gentle but sure. 

The bond between you only deepened. Late nights talking about everything and nothing. Shared glances across the communal fire. The way he’d instinctively pull you behind him when danger appeared, even though you were perfectly capable.

Lo’ak tried. Really, he did try.

One evening by the river, after you’d stormed off because some visiting hunter had flirted with you and Neteyam had gone strangely quiet, Lo’ak cornered his brother.

“Dude. Just tell her.”

“Tell her what?” Neteyam asked, sharpening his knife with too much force.

“That you’re in love with her. That you have been since we were kids. That every time she smiles at someone else you look like you swallowed something not too good.”

Neteyam’s ears pinned back. “She’s my best friend, Lo’ak. I’m not going to ruin that.”

Lo’ak groaned, flopping dramatically onto the moss. “You two are going to make me lose my mind.”

The night, the forest was quiet except for the soft bioluminescence and distant calls of night creatures.

You and Neteyam had slipped away after the evening meal, like you always did. Just the two of you, sitting on a thick root overlooking a glowing pool. Your legs dangled, shoulders brushing.

“I’m tired of the expectations,” Neteyam admitted quietly, tail curling behind him without either of you acknowledging it. “Father says I must be the example. Always perfect. Always ready.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder. “You are perfect, Neteyam. To me, anyway.”

He went still. The air thickened. You felt his heartbeat pick up against your cheek.

You lifted your head. His eyes were already on you—dark, intense, pupils blown wide. Something in you cracked open.

“Neteyam…” you whispered.

One thing led to another the way it does when years of unspoken want finally spill over. A hesitant touch to your cheek. Your hand on his chest. Then you were in his lap, knees bracketing his hips, his large hands spanning your waist.

Your mouths met—soft at first, testing, then deeper. Hungrier. His tongue brushed yours and you whimpered into him. His hips rolled up instinctively, and you gasped at the hard heat pressing against your core through the thin loincloths.

“Yawne,” he breathed against your lips. Beloved. The word he’d never let himself say.

You rocked against him, slow and experimental, chasing a friction that made sparks shoot up your spine. His hands slid down to grip your ass, guiding you, grinding you down onto him. The cloth between you was soaked—yours with slick, his with the evidence of how badly he wanted you. Every roll of your hips dragged your clit against the rigid length of him, and you both moaned.

It got heated fast. His mouth moved to your neck, sucking marks into your skin. You tangled your fingers in his braids, tugging until he growled. One of his hands slipped under your loincloth, fingers teasing your entrance but not pushing in—just rubbing, circling, driving you higher while you rutted against his cock like you’d die if you stopped.

“Neteyam—oh, fuck—” you gasped, trembling.

He buried his face in your neck, hips jerking up harder. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t—”

You came first, clenching around nothing, crying out his name as pleasure crashed through you. He followed seconds later with a choked groan, spilling hot against your thigh and his own stomach, hips stuttering.

After, you stayed in his lap, foreheads pressed together, breathing hard. The reality of what you’d done settled slowly.

Neteyam’s eyes were wide, almost scared. “I… I shouldn’t have—”

You looked him once more, confused and trembling, then climbed off shaky legs. “ what do you mean….”

You both fled in different directions.

The next three days were pure torture.

You threw yourself into healing duties with Mo’at, grinding herbs until your hands ached. Every time you heard Neteyam’s voice outside the tsahìk’s marui, your stomach flipped. When you finally stepped out for fresh air, he was walking past with a patrol group. Your eyes met. His ears pinned back. He looked away first, jaw tight. You fled back inside.

That night you couldn’t sleep. You kept replaying the way he’d said “yawne,” the way his hands had felt on your hips, the broken sound he made when he came. Your body ached with want and confusion.

Neteyam spent the day on extra patrols. Lo’ak found him sharpening spears with unnecessary violence.

“Bro. You’re going to break that thing.”

Neteyam didn’t answer.

Lo’ak sighed. “You finally made a move and now you’re both hiding? Classic.”

“I don’t know what she wants,” Neteyam muttered. “What if I ruined everything?”

You avoided the Sully marui completely. When Tuk came looking for you to play, you made excuses. At communal dinner you sat with the other healers, back turned to where Neteyam usually sat. You could feel his gaze burning into you the whole time.

He volunteered for a night hunt just to stay busy. When he returned at dawn, exhausted and covered in mud, he saw you helping an elder with bandages. Your hands were gentle, your smile soft. His chest hurt so badly he had to walk away.

Lo’ak cornered you that afternoon by the river while you were washing clothes.

“You’re really gonna pretend nothing happened?” he asked, arms crossed.

You scrubbed harder. “It was a mistake. We were emotional. He probably regrets it.”

Lo’ak laughed, he actually laughed. “He’s been in love with you since the fruit incident, you absolute skxawng. He calls you in his sleep. I’ve heard him.”

Your heart stopped. “He… what?”

But Lo’ak just shook his head and left you there, reeling.

The avoidance had become unbearable. You caught glimpses of him everywhere — braiding little Tuk’s hair, laughing with Jake, flying overhead on his ikran. Each time your eyes met for half a second before darting away. Your tail wouldn’t stop twitching. Your appetite was gone.

Neteyam looked just as wrecked. Dark circles under his eyes. His usual calm confidence cracked.

That evening you sat alone at the edge of the forest, knees drawn up, staring at nothing. The same pool where everything had changed glowed softly below.

Footsteps. Lo’ak dropped down beside you without asking.

“You two are idiots,” he said flatly. 

You stared at him, stunned. “Shut up.”

Lo’ak rolled his eyes so hard you thought they might stick. “He’s down at the pool right now, looking like someone stole his ikran. Go. Before I drag you both there by your tails myself.”

He gave you a gentle shove toward the path.

Neteyam was exactly where Lo’ak said he’d be, sitting on the same thick root, elbows on his knees, staring into the glowing water like it might give him answers.

You stepped into the clearing. He stood up so fast he nearly lost his balance.

For a moment you just looked at each other — ears flat, tails low, hearts pounding.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you said, voice shaking but sure. “These three days have been hell. I can’t pretend I don’t love you. Not the way a friend loves a friend. I’m in love with you, Neteyam. I have been since we were children sharing fruit under the trees. I love your quiet strength, the way you always protect everyone, how gentle you are even when the world expects you to be hard. I love how you look at me like I’m something precious. I’m so in love with you it hurts.”

His breath caught. 

Then he crossed the distance in three strides and cupped your face with both hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks.

“I have loved you my entire life,” he whispered, voice rough with emotion. “Every single day. Every laugh, every hunt, every quiet night under the stars. You are my heart, my home, my mate. I was terrified that if I told you, I would lose you. But these days without you… I can’t breathe right. I love you. Eywa, I love you so much.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks. He kissed them away, then kissed your lips — soft at first, then deeper, pouring years of longing into it.

Somewhere in the trees above, you heard a very distinct, triumphant “Finally!” followed by Lo’ak’s laughter as he swung away on a vine.

You both started laughing as Neteyam pulled you even closer and kissed you again, slow and sweet.

After years of slow burning love, stolen glances, and everyone else knowing before you did, you were finally exactly where you belonged.

In his arms. In his heart. His mate.

Idk how I feel abt this honestly

Based off this request!

Neteyam is the nicest mate until it comes to fucking you

Neteyam is a great father and protector. Everyone in the clan sees it.

The evening fire crackled warmly in the center of the village as Neteyam moved among the clan with a calm, steady presence everyone relied on. 

He listened patiently to an elder’s concerns about the next hunt, his hand resting reassuringly on the old man’s shoulder while he offered quiet but firm guidance that settled the matter without raising his voice. 

Then he crouched down to help two young warriors adjust the straps on their new bows, his big fingers carefully tightening the leather while he gave them encouraging words that made their chests puff out with pride. 

Everyone saw the same thing: the mature, responsible future olo’eyktan who always put the people first.

Later, back at your kelku, the scene was softer. 

Your fifteen year old son wrestled playfully with his younger siblings on the woven mats, laughing loud as the little ones tried to pin him down. 

Neteyam sat cross legged nearby, your youngest daughter curled in his lap. His large hands moved so gently as he braided a bright bead into her hair, twisting each strand with care while she giggled and tugged at his braids. 

His voice was low and warm as he told them a story, pausing every few sentences to kiss the top of her head or ruffle the boys’ hair when they interrupted with questions.

“Dad, tell the part where you saved Mom again!” one of the younger ones begged, climbing into his lap too.

Neteyam chuckled softly, golden eyes flicking over to you with a private little smile full of love. “Maybe later, little ones. Remember what I said this morning about how tonight your mother and I are going for a walk. You’re in charge, ma’itan,” he told your eldest, reaching out to ruffle the boy’s braids with obvious pride and affection. “Keep them safe. We trust you completely.”

Your son grinned wide, already pulling the younger kids toward their sleeping mats. “We know the routine, Dad. Go have your ‘date.’ Just don’t stay out too late this time.”

Neteyam stood tall, taking your hand in his warm, calloused one as the two of you slipped away.

but when it’s just you and him, everything changes.

“mh!”

you mewl softly as neteyam’s big hands grip your hips tight and pull you flush against him, his thick cock sliding through your soaked folds before he pushes the fat head inside you in one slow, heavy stroke. 

your walls stretch around his girth, fluttering and squeezing as he sinks deeper, every thick vein and ridge dragging along your sensitive insides until his hips press right up against yours and you feel so full you can barely breathe.

“shhh, yawne…” he coos against your ear, voice low and rough just for you, one of his large hands sliding up to cover your mouth gently while the other squeezes your ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he holds you in place. 

his hips roll forward again, grinding slow and deep so his cock rubs right against that soft spot inside you over and over, making your thighs shake and your pussy leak around him. “quiet for me, baby. can’t let anyone hear how pretty you sound when i’m this deep in you.”

your eyes flutter, a broken whimper vibrating against his palm as he starts fucking you with these long, steady thrusts, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in so his heavy balls slap wetly against you. your juices coat his cock and drip down your thighs with every move, creamy and slick.

“neteyam—mmm—” you moan into his hand, your nails digging hard into his broad shoulders as your back arches, pressing your hard nipples tighter against his chest with every deep thrust.

“fuck, listen to how wet you are,” he pants breathily right against your neck, his lips brushing your skin as he snaps his hips harder, bouncing you on his cock. “been aching for this pussy all evening… watching you smile at the clan, so sweet and patient with them. wanted to bend you over right there in front of the fire and fill you up.” his free hand slides between your bodies, thick thumb finding your swollen clit and rubbing tight, messy circles that make your hips jerk against him uncontrollably. “take it deeper, yawne—yes, just like that. squeeze me—fuck, good.”

you cry out against his palm, legs wrapping tighter around his waist as he pounds into you faster, the wet, filthy sounds of your pussy sucking his thick cock filling the air between your heavy breaths. your walls flutter and clench around him, gushing more slick every time he grinds against that spot inside.

“neteyam—ahh—too deep—mmm—” you whimper shakily, tears of pleasure wetting your lashes as your pussy spasms around his throbbing length.

“i know, baby, i know,” he groans, voice breaking with how good you feel, forehead pressed to yours so you can see his golden eyes dark with lust and love. 

he kisses you messily through his fingers, tongue sliding against yours while he keeps thrusting deep and greedy, hips rolling in those filthy circles that stir his cock inside you. “you feel so fucking good… my perfect mate. i love you so much. gonna cum deep inside you… then keep fucking you until you can’t walk. all night, yawne. all mine.”

Sooo tired today …

Based off this request!

Just the tip with your mate Neteyam

The healer’s hands were gentle but clinical as she parted your legs in the healing tent. 

Bioluminescent moss cast soft blue light across your skin. You winced as her fingers probed the tender flesh between your thighs.

“Yeah… it’s pretty bruised,” she murmured, her tail flicking in mild disapproval. “Swollen, too. You two have been going at it like mated pairs in their first heat. I’m surprised you can even walk straight.”

Heat flooded your cheeks. You pulled the woven blanket higher over your hips.

The healer straightened, wiping her hands on a clean cloth. “Take a break. At least a few days. Or slow way down—If you must touch, keep it light. Otherwise this will just get worse.”

You nodded, embarrassed but grateful. When you limped out of the tent, Neteyam was waiting just outside, ears perked anxiously, golden eyes full of worry. The moment he saw your face he stepped close, large hands cupping your elbows.

“What did she say?” His voice was low, rough with concern.

You told him. His ears flattened.

“I’m sorry, yawne,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ve been too rough. Too greedy.”

“It’s not just you,” you admitted, looping your arms around his neck. “I want you just as bad.”

That night the forest hummed around your shared hammock, distant calls of night creatures filling the air. You lay facing each other, bare skin warm under a thin blanket. Neteyam’s cock was already half hard against your thigh, heavy and hot. He hadn’t even tried to hide it.

“We should listen to the healer,” he said, even as his hips twitched forward.

“We are,” you breathed. “We can just do the tip.”

His pupils blew wide. A low growl rumbled in his chest.

You rolled onto your back and spread your thighs carefully. The cool night air kissed your sore, puffy folds and you hissed at the slight sting. 

Neteyam settled between your legs, so big he blocked out the stars. He gripped the base of his cock—thick, ridged, flushed deep blue—and dragged the broad head through your slick.

Even that made you whimper. Your entrance was swollen and sensitive, every brush of his smooth, leaking tip sending sparks up your spine.

“Easy,” he murmured, voice strained. “Tell me if it hurts.”

He notched the fat head against your opening and pushed—just enough for the very tip to slip inside. The stretch was shallow but intense. Your walls fluttered around him, already trying to pull him deeper. Neteyam’s jaw clenched so hard you saw the muscles jump.

“Fuck… so tight,” he groaned. “Even just this—yawne, you feel incredible.”

You rocked your hips, trying to take a little more, but the ache flared immediately. “Just the tip, Neteyam. Please.”

He nodded, sweat already beading along his collarbones. Slowly, carefully, he began to rock. Only the first two inches of his cock slid in and out, the thick head popping past your entrance with every shallow thrust. The ridges dragged deliciously against your most sensitive spot without ever going deep enough to bruise further.

Your clit throbbed untouched. You reached down to rub tight circles over it, gasping at how wet you were. Neteyam’s eyes locked on the sight—his cockhead stretching your puffy lips, your fingers glistening.

“You’re dripping down me, baby,” he rasped. “Even though I’m barely inside you.”

“Feels so good,” you moaned, head tipping back. 

He kept the rhythm torturously slow, hips rolling in tiny, controlled movements. Every time he pulled out, the head caught on your rim and sent a jolt through both of you. His tail lashed behind him. His breathing grew ragged.

“I want to bury myself so deep,” he confessed, voice breaking. “Want to feel you squeeze all the way down my cock. But I won’t. I won’t hurt you.”

The restraint only made it hotter. You clenched around his tip and he snarled, hips stuttering.

“Again,” he begged.

You did, milking just the head of his cock while your fingers flew over your clit. Pleasure coiled tight and fast—sharper than usual because everything was so sensitive. Neteyam’s thumb joined yours, rubbing your clit in firm strokes until your thighs started to shake.

“Cum on my tip, baby,” he growled. “Let me feel you.”

You shattered with a broken cry, walls pulsing hard around the shallow intrusion. The orgasm rolled through you in heavy waves. Neteyam groaned like he was in pain, pulling out at the last second to spill thick ropes of cum across your mound and lower belly. The warmth of it felt obscene against your bruised skin.

He collapsed beside you, chest heaving, and immediately pulled you into his arms. Gentle kisses rained over your forehead, your cheeks, your lips.

“Was that okay?” he whispered, voice still husky.

“More than okay.” You nuzzled into his neck, already feeling the pleasant ache settle into something warm and satisfied instead of painful. “We can do this again tomorrow. Just the tip… until I’m healed.”

Neteyam’s low, wicked chuckle vibrated against you. “I’m going to go insane, but I’ll take every second of it.”

He kissed you slow and deep, tail curling possessively behind him.

“Just the tip,” he promised against your mouth, already hardening again. “For now.”

My birthday is coming uoooo

Based off this request

You and Neteyam are not siblings

THIS IS NOT AN INCEST STORY!!

You never really had parents. Not in the way most did.

Your mother and father—Navi resistance fighters—died when you were barely walking. 

Norm Spellman, the awkward scientist with the kind eyes and endless patience, became the closest thing you had to a father. He raised you in the labs, taught you English and Na’vi side by side, let you ride on his avatar’s shoulders when you were small. He was your constant.

Until Jake Sully showed up one day with a serious look and said, “She’s coming with us. Her father saved my life more than once. She belongs with the People now.”

Norm had argued at first. You were fifteen, terrified, and clinging to the only stability you knew. But Jake’s word was final. 

“Treat her like your own,” he told his children that first night on the reef as you stood there shaking, eyes on the woven floor. “She’s family. She will be with us.”

But.

You and Neteyam were never supposed to be “siblings.”

It started innocently enough at sixteen. Norm had brought you along on one of the supply runs to the Omaticaya camp—something about helping catalog medicinal plants. 

Neteyam, then also sixteen and already shadowing his father as a warrior, was assigned escort duty.

Your first real conversation with him happened at the forest edge while the adults talked logistics. He noticed you struggling to pronounce a particularly tricky English plant word and corrected you gently, ears flicking in amusement. 

From there it snowballed with secret meetings whenever Norm’s team visited. 

The eventually, it became stolen pecks of kisses behind glowing fan palms. Late night talks where he told you about the pressure of being the oldest son and you confessed how lost you felt without real Navi parents.

By the time you turned seventeen, you had given each other everything. Your first time was slow and nervous in a hidden clearing, his hands trembling as he undid your top, your voice shaking as you whispered his name. The bond hadn’t been made yet, but your hearts already were.

he’d murmured sweet nothings against your skin afterward, tail curled around from happiness. 

But.

The day they brought you to the Sully marui on the reef, you were still with grief and mainly confusion. Jake crouched in front of you, voice steady. “She’s one of us now. Treat her like your own. She will be with us from tonight onward. Family.”

Neytiri pulled you into a warm hug. Lo’ak grinned and immediately started teasing you to make you smile. Kiri offered quiet understanding. Tuk latched onto your leg.

Neteyam stood a little apart, golden eyes unreadable. The boy who had kissed you breathless just weeks earlier now looked at you like you were glass, almost like you were untouchable. 

When Jake clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Look out for your new sister, son,” something in Neteyam’s expression cracked.

That was the beginning of the silence.

The first month was the hardest.

You tried to keep the secret alive. Quick brushes of hands when passing in the marui. A lingering look across the beach. One desperate kiss behind the ilu pens when no one was watching. But every time Jake called you “daughter” with a proud warmth, or Neytiri included you in mother-daughter braiding sessions, the guilt for Neteyam thickened.

Neteyam started pulling away first. He volunteered for extra patrols. Trained longer. Sat on the opposite side of the fire during meals. When you caught his eye he’d look away, with his jaw tight.

You mirrored it. Laughed louder with Lo’ak. Spent more time learning healing from Kiri. Pretended your heart wasn’t shattering every single day.

By the first year, the distance was routine. You spoke when necessary—“pass the nets,” “good hunt today”—but nothing more. The family noticed the change but chalked it up to “growing pains” or “teenagers being teenagers.” Jake even pulled you aside once: “You and Neteyam used to be close. Everything okay?”

You lied. “Just busy. He’s got a lot on his shoulders.”

Neteyam gave the same answer when asked.

Now, at twenty one, the silence had calcified into something unbearable. years of pretending the person you loved most was nothing more than a brother.

However a breaking point came two nights ago.

You were weaving a new top by the fire when Jake sat down beside Neteyam. Their voices were low, but the reef carried sound.

“You’re twenty three now, son. Past time to think about a mate,” Jake said. “There’s a strong hunter from the northern Metkayina outpost. Good family, skilled with the tsurak. I could arrange a meeting. You okay with that?”

Neteyam’s answer was quiet. Too quiet. “If it helps the clan… yes.”

You didn’t wait to hear more. You set the half finished top down, muttered something about fresh air, and fled to the walkways. Your chest felt like it was caving in. He was really going to do it. Marry someone else. Play the perfect future Olo’eyktan while you stood on the sidelines as his “sister.”

That night you barely slept.

The following evening, after another painfully polite dinner where Neteyam sat across from you and never once met your eyes, you couldn’t take it anymore.

You slipped away after the meal, legs carrying you automatically to a hidden cove—the one with the small waterfall that masked noise and the glowing anemones that lit the water like stars. The place that used to be yours when you got sad. You hadn’t been back in almost two years.

Neteyam was already there.

He stood at the water’s edge, arms crossed, staring out at the lagoon. His tail flicked sharply when he heard your footsteps. For a long moment neither of you spoke. The awkwardness was a living thing between you.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he finally said, voice flat.

“Neither should you.” Your own voice came out smaller than you wanted. 

He turned then. The moonlight caught the tension in his shoulders, the tight line of his jaw. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” The words poured out, months—no, years—of hurt. “Don’t remind you that we were together before any of this? That I was yours first? That you agreed to let Jake arrange a mate like what we had never mattered?”

Neteyam crossed the sand in three strides. His hands gripped your arms—not hard, but desperate. “You think it doesn’t matter?” His voice cracked. “Every single day I watch you laugh with Lo’ak and sit with Kiri and let Dad call you daughter and it kills me. I agreed because I don’t know how to fight this without hurting the family. Without losing you completely.”

Tears burned your eyes. “Then stop ignoring me like I’m nothing to you.”

“I’ve never been able to ignore you.” He pulled you in, crushing his mouth to yours.

The kiss was three years of starvation. Messy. Angry. Teeth and tongues and broken sounds. His tail wrapped around behind him, yanking you closer. You clutched his braids like a lifeline.

He walked you backward until your back met the cool rock behind the waterfall. The mist from the falling water cooled your heated skin as he untied your top with shaking fingers.

“I missed this,” he rasped against your neck, kissing and biting down to your collarbone. “Missed you so much it hurts.”

Your hands shoved his loincloth aside. He was already hard, thick and leaking. You stroked him slowly, savoring the way he shuddered and groaned your name.

Neteyam dropped to his knees in the shallow water, peeling your loincloth down your legs. He hooked one of your thighs over his shoulder and licked into you like a man dying of thirst. Long, slow drags of his tongue, sucking your clit, two thick fingers curling deep. The waterfall drowned out most of your moans, but not all.

You came hard, fingers tangled in his braids, hips grinding against his face. He didn’t stop but he kept licking you through it until your legs trembled.

Then he stood, spun you around, and bent you over the smooth rock ledge. He dragged his cock through your slick folds once, teasing, before thrusting in deep. The stretch stole your breath.

“Still so perfect for me,” he growled, setting a slow, rolling rhythm at first, deep and deliberate, letting you feel every ridge. “This body remembers me. Only me.”

The pace gradually built. Harder. Faster. One hand fisted your braids to arch your back, the other wrapped around your tail and stroked it firmly, sending sparks through your whole body. The wet sounds of him fucking you mixed with the waterfall.

You came again, clenching around him so tightly he cursed. He followed right after, burying himself to the hilt and spilling deep inside you with a broken moan of your name.

But he wasn’t done. He pulled out, turned you to face him, lifted you onto his cock again, and fucked you against the rock, slow and deep this time, forehead pressed to yours.

“Bond with me,” you whispered, voice wrecked.

His queue found yours. The tsaheylu clicked into place.

Years of pain and love flooded both of you. His terror of losing you. Your loneliness even surrounded by family. The nights he’d touched himself remembering your voice. The way you’d cried into your hammock after hearing Jake’s marriage talk.

The shared pleasure crested again. You came together this time, trembling and glowing, the bond pulsing between your hearts.

He lowered you gently to the soft sand afterward, staying buried inside you as he curled around your body. His tail draped possessively over your hip. For a long time there was only the sound of water and your breathing.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he whispered against your hair. “I can’t marry someone else. I won’t.”

You traced the stripes on his chest. “Then tomorrow we tell them everything. How we loved each other. How this ‘sibling’ label is destroying us.”

Neteyam nodded, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Together.”

The next morning the marui felt heavier than usual.

Breakfast was quiet until Jake finally set his food down. “Alright. You two have been acting strange. Spill it.”

Neteyam took your hand openly right there in front of everyone. His voice was steady but thick with emotion. “We were together before you adopted her, Dad. Secretly. We were already in love. Then… everything changed. We tried to stop. We’ve been ignoring each other because we didn’t know how to exist in this new reality.”

Jake stared. Neytiri’s ears flicked forward. Lo’ak’s jaw dropped. Kiri looked thoughtful, like pieces were clicking. Tuk just blinked in confusion.

Jake rubbed his face with both hands, letting out a long sigh. “… I had no idea. I asked you about a mate because I thought you were holding back out of duty to the clan. Not because you’ve been carrying this.” He looked at you both, then really looked. “You’re not blood. That’s true. But she’s my daughter in every way that counts now.”

Neytiri spoke gently. “The heart does not always follow the paths we draw. If Eywa joined you before she joined our family… that matters.”

Jake pointed at Neteyam. “You hurt her and warrior or not, I’ll kick your ass. Understood?”

Neteyam’s grip on your hand tightened. “I’d sooner die than hurt her.”

The conversation stretched long into the morning—questions, explanations, a few raised voices, a lot of stunned silence. But no one told you it was wrong. Complicated, yes. But not wrong.

That night, for the first time in three years, Neteyam pulled you into his hammock openly. 

He made love to you slowly, reverently—soft kisses, whispered praises, pulling you close to his body.

Neteyam finally getting his girl back after years of torture? Yes please.

Did u like it?

Based off this request!

ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴀɢᴇ ɴɪɴᴇ

ᴀ ɴᴇᴛᴇʏᴀᴍ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ꜰɪᴄ

Ｌｅａｖｉｎｇ

ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴄᴀᴘᴛᴜʀᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ꜱᴘɪᴅᴇʀ, ʟᴇꜰᴛ ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴜʟʟʏꜱ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇʟʏ ʟᴇꜰᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ᴅɪᴇ. ʏᴇᴀʀꜱ ʟᴀᴛᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ ᴀ ᴅɪꜰꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴛ ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ʙʀᴏᴋᴇɴ—ᴀɴɢʀʏ, ᴡᴇᴀᴘᴏɴɪᴢᴇᴅ, ꜱᴜʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ ᴅᴏɴᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴜʟʟʏꜱ—ᴜɴᴛɪʟ ᴀ ꜱᴛᴏʀᴍ ʀɪᴘꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴇᴛᴇʏᴀᴍ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴋʏ, ᴛʜʀᴏᴡꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ, ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀᴄᴇꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴏɴ ᴀ ꜱʟᴏᴡ, ᴘᴀɪɴꜰᴜʟ ᴡᴀʟᴋ ʜᴏᴍᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴᴇ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴡᴏʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ’ᴅ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜰᴏʀɢɪᴠᴇ. ɴᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ ꜱᴛᴜᴄᴋ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪꜰᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄʜᴏꜱᴇ, ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴀɢᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʀᴀɪɴᴇᴅ ɪɴ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀʏ ʜɪꜱ ʜᴀɴᴅꜱ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴇxᴀᴄᴛʟʏ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛᴏ ʜᴏʟᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴀꜱᴋɪɴɢ.