★ ɪɴᴅᴇx ɴᴏᴛɪᴄᴇ ᴘᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ

✧ ᴄʟɪᴄᴋ ʜᴇʀᴇ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴀᴅᴅᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴍʏ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ

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

✧ ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴏᴀᴛꜱ: 🫐🧢🤏🦋💌🪷🌻🌹🩷

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.

ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴀɢᴇ ᴛᴇɴ

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.

ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴀɢᴇ ᴇʟᴇᴠᴇɴ

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.

Megumi has a very serious problem

You’ve been dating Megumi for almost two years now, and the man is still convinced he’s supposed to have outgrown this.

He’s twenty one. He’s faced down curses that could level cities. He’s a jujutsu sorcerer with a reputation for being calm, collected, borderline emotionless.  And yet.

Every single day, without fail, you make him so hard it hurts.

The first light filters through the blinds of your shared apartment and Megumi wakes up with your back pressed to his chest, your ass nestled perfectly against him like it was made to fit there. 

You’re still half asleep, humming softly, stretching like a cat. The tiny tank top you wear to bed has ridden up; he can feel the warm skin of your waist under his palm.

He’s already rock hard.

He bites the inside of his cheek so hard he tastes blood and carefully shifts his hips back, trying to create even an inch of space between his aching cock and the soft curve of your body. You make a sleepy noise of protest and push back against him again.

“Megumi… five more minutes,” you mumble, voice raspy.

He swallows a groan. “Yeah. Five more.”

He spends the entire five minutes mentally reciting the names of every shikigami he owns so he doesn’t cum in his sweatpants.

Later that same morning you’re in the kitchen making pancakes in nothing but one of his oversized black shirts and low socks. The hem barely covers the bottom of your ass when you reach up for the syrup on the top shelf. 

Megumi is standing at the counter pretending to scroll through his phone, but his eyes are glued to the way the shirt rides up, the flash of lace panties, the smooth skin of your thighs.

His cock twitches so violently he has to cross his legs under the counter.

You turn around with a bright smile, spatula in hand. “Want chocolate chips in yours, baby?”

He nods, voice tight. “Yeah. Thanks.”

You don’t notice the way he keeps his hoodie pulled low over his lap the entire time you’re eating. Or how he volunteers to do all the dishes just so he can stand at the sink with cold water running over his wrists until the ache finally eases.

Movie nights are the worst.

You always end up with your head in his lap, legs stretched across the couch, completely relaxed. 

Tonight you’re in tiny sleep shorts and a thin bralette. Your cheek is pressed right against his thigh, dangerously close to the bulge he’s been fighting since the opening credits.

Halfway through the film you shift, nuzzling closer, and your breath ghosts over the front of his sweats. Megumi’s hand tightens in your hair before he can stop himself.

You glance up at him innocently. “You okay? You’re really warm.”

“I’m fine,” he lies, jaw clenched so hard it clicks. His cock is straining painfully against the fabric, a wet spot already forming at the tip. He wants to flip you over and bury himself inside you so badly he can’t think straight, but he just keeps stroking your hair like the respectful boyfriend he’s trying (and failing) to be.

Showering together is straight up torture.

You love it—love the way he washes your hair, love how his hands feel sliding over your soapy skin. He loves it too, which is exactly the problem.

You’re standing under the spray, back to his chest, humming while he runs a loofah down your spine. The soap suds slide over the curve of your ass and between your thighs and Megumi has to physically turn away, pressing his forehead against the cold tile, cock throbbing angrily between his legs.

You notice the sudden distance and peek over your shoulder. “Megumi?”

“Shampoo in my eyes,” he mutters, voice hoarse.

He doesn’t turn back around until the water runs cold.

He never says anything. Never complains. Never asks for relief.

Because he’s grown now. He’s not some horny kid who can’t control himself just because his girlfriend exists. He’s supposed to be better than this. So he hides it. Every single time.

Until the hike.

It’s a rare off day. You dragged him out to one of the trails outside the city because “the leaves are so pretty right now, Megumi, please?” and he can never say no to you.

You’re wearing the shortest hiking shorts he’s ever seen in his life. The ones that ride up with every step and show the soft underside of your ass. On top is a white ribbed tank top. Your wearing no bra. The morning air is cool enough that your nipples are visibly hard, poking against the thin fabric with every breath.

Megumi is dying.

He’s been semi hard since you bent over to tie your shoe in the parking lot. Now, three miles in, he’s fully, painfully erect, the thick outline obvious against the front of his dark cargo pants no matter how many times he adjusts himself.

You’re walking ahead of him, pointing out a bird or a flower or whatever, when you suddenly stop and turn around.

“Baby, are you—oh.”

Your eyes drop.

He freezes.

You’re staring right at the very obvious, very hard bulge in his pants. The one he’s been trying to hide by keeping his hands in his pockets for the last twenty minutes. Your gaze flicks back up to his face, then down again, then back up. Your lips part.

“Megumi…”

He feels his face burn. “It’s not—fuck, I didn’t mean—” He drags a hand through his hair, mortified. “You just… your shorts are really short. And your shirt. And I—shit. I’m sorry. I know it’s stupid. I should be able to control myself by now, I’m not a kid anymore, but you just… you breathe and I—”

You step closer.

The trail is empty. Sunlight filters through the trees and lands on your skin, on the hard little peaks of your nipples, on the way your thighs press together under those tiny shorts.

You reach out and gently cup the front of his pants with your palm.

He hisses through his teeth, hips jerking forward before he can stop himself.

“Megumi,” you say softly, eyes wide and dark. “Have you been like this… every time?”

He can’t look at you. “Sorry...”

“Even when I was cooking?”

“Maybe.”

“Movie night?”

“Kinda.”

“Shower?”

“Every single time.”

You bite your lip, and he sees the exact moment you decide to ruin him.

You squeeze gently.

“Then why didn’t you ever say anything?” Your voice drops to that sweet, dangerous tone you only use when you want him desperate. “I could’ve helped you, baby. I love helping you.”

He groans, forehead dropping to your shoulder. His cock twitches hard against your hand.

“I thought it was pathetic,” he admits, voice wrecked. “Getting this hard just because you’re… you.”

You laugh softly and press a kiss under his jaw.

“It’s not pathetic.” Another kiss. “It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.” Your fingers trace the thick length of him through his pants. “You’re so in love with me you can’t even function. That’s mine.”

He shudders.

You pull back just enough to look him in the eyes, cheeks flushed, nipples still straining against your tank top.

“So what do you want to do about it, Megumi?” you whisper, thumb brushing over the head of his cock through the fabric. “Because I’m not walking another step until you stop hiding how much you want me.”

He stares at you—your tiny shorts, your hard nipples, the love in your eyes—and finally, finally stops pretending.

His voice is rough when he answers.

“I want you. Right now.”

You smile like you’ve been waiting years for him to say it.

“Good.”

And then you’re pulling him off the trail, deeper into the trees, his hand tight in yours and his cock aching for the first time with permission to want you as badly as he does.

Because Megumi Fushiguro may be grown now.

But he’s never going to stop getting hard for you.

And you’re never going to let him hide it again.

This is is optional, I just really like writing smut so I did 😭

The trees are thick enough to hide you both. Megumi’s hand is still tight in yours as you tug him off the main trail, heart hammering so loud you’re sure he can hear it. His face is flushed, eyes dark, that painfully obvious bulge in his cargo pants leading the way.

You stop in a small clearing where the sunlight barely reaches, soft moss underfoot and the distant sound of birds. 

You turn to him, still in those tiny shorts and the thin white tank top, nipples visibly hard against the fabric. Megumi’s gaze drops to them, then lower, and he swallows hard.

“Megumi,” you say softly, stepping close enough that your chest brushes his. “You don’t have to hide it anymore.”

He exhales shakily, hands coming up to grip your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. “I just… fuck. I want you so much it’s embarrassing.”

“It’s not.” You slide your hand down his front again, palming the thick, aching length of him through his pants. He groans low in his throat, hips pushing forward into your touch. “ you get this hard just from me. I love it.”

He kisses you then—desperate, messy, all the pent up need from every hidden moment pouring out. His tongue slides against yours while your fingers work open his bottoms. When you finally wrap your hand around his cock, hot and heavy and leaking at the tip, he breaks the kiss with a choked sound.

“Shit—wait, I don’t have anything—”

You smile against his mouth. “I’m on the pill..”

That’s all it takes.

Megumi spins you around gently, pressing your back against a smooth tree trunk. His hands are everywhere—sliding under your tank top to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing your hard nipples until you whimper. He tugs the fabric up, exposing you to the cool air, and leans down to take one into his mouth, sucking softly. You thread your fingers through his dark hair, arching into him.

Your shorts come off next. He hooks his thumbs in the waistband and drops to his knees, kissing down your stomach as he peels them down your legs along with your panties. The sight of him on his knees, eyes hungry as he looks up at you, makes heat pool between your thighs.

He presses a kiss to your inner thigh, then another higher, until his tongue finds your clit. You moan his name, legs trembling. 

He’s not teasing today—he licks and sucks with single minded focus, like he’s making up for every time he suffered in silence. Two fingers slide into you easily, curling just right, and you cum with a soft cry, gripping his hair tighter.

Megumi stands up fast, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His cock is flushed dark and curving up against his stomach, precum beading at the tip. He lifts one of your legs around his hip, lining himself up.

“Look at me,” he breathes.

You do. His eyes are intense, full of love and raw want as he pushes in—slow at first, stretching you open inch by inch until he’s buried to the hilt. The groan he lets out is wrecked.

“Fuck… you feel so good. Always so perfect.”

He starts moving, deep and steady, one hand braced on the tree beside your head, the other holding your thigh. Every thrust makes your back scrape lightly against the bark, but you don’t care. You cling to his shoulders, moaning into his neck as he fucks you harder, chasing the months of hidden frustration.

“Megumi—ah—harder…”

He obeys, hips snapping forward. The wet sound of skin against skin fills the quiet woods. His free hand slips between you, thumb circling your clit, and you cum again around him, clenching so tight he curses under his breath.

“I’m close,” he pants, forehead pressed to yours. “Can I—inside?”

“Yes. Please.”

A few more thrusts and he buries himself deep, groaning your name as he spills inside you, hips stuttering. He keeps rocking gently through it, like he can’t bear to stop yet.

For a long moment you just stay like that—connected, breathing each other in. Megumi kisses you softly, almost shy now that the heat has broken.

“I’m sorry I hid it for so long,” he murmurs against your lips.

You smile, running your fingers through his messy hair. “Don’t be. But from now on… you tell me every time you get hard for me. Deal?”

He huffs a quiet laugh, still inside you. “Deal.”

You stay wrapped around each other until the sun shifts and the trail calls you back. Megumi helps you back into your tiny shorts, his hands lingering. His cock is already twitching again at the sight of you—flushed, marked by him, nipples still visible through your tank top.

You notice and grin.

“Round two when we get home?”

Megumi pulls you close, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Or I can reward you when we get to the top...”

He’s never hiding it again.

I BOUGHT FUCKING ARIANNA GRANDE TICKETS

Ash! Reader and arranged marriage husband Neteyam

A/N, this takes place like 5 years after the ATWOW

The volcanic ridge still smoked from the last battle when the three leaders made their pact.

Varang stood like living obsidian, ash streaked across her broad shoulders. Jake Sully spoke with the weight of two worlds. Colonel Quaritch gave a curt nod. A new RDA splinter faction carved through Pandora like a sky-metal plague. No single clan could stop it.

So they would become one.

“The blood of my daughter and your son will bind us,” Varang declared. She gestured to you—her eldest, silent and straight backed. Ash markings streaked your arms, fire opal beads at your throat. You had not spoken. Duty was duty.

Neteyam stood at Jake’s right, tall and steady. His golden eyes met yours. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, nor did you want to. 

The ceremony was brief. Vows spoken. 

The night air carried sulfur. Inside, a small fire pit glowed—your one request. 

The marui felt smaller than it should have, the air thick with the scent of sulfur from your small fire pit and the faint green sweetness of forest moss. 

A single low burning flame cast long shadows across the woven walls. Outside, the village had gone quiet—elders and warriors from both clans keeping respectful distance, as if their silence could bless what was about to happen.

Neteyam stood on the far side of the sleeping mats. His hands moved with deliberate calm as he loosened the ties of his loincloth, letting the fabric fall away. He was already half hard from nerves and thought of having sex for the first time – even if it’s not how he imagined –, his cock heavy between his thighs. He did not look at you with desire. He simply breathed once, steadying himself, then stepped closer.

You removed your own coverings without flourish—beaded top first, then the woven skirt—folding each piece neatly beside the mat the way you had been taught to treat important things. 

The cool night air brushed your bare skin. You lay back on the thick layered blankets, knees parting just enough, arms resting at your sides. Your tail lay still. Your eyes fixed on the dark weave of the roof above.

Neteyam knelt between your spread thighs. For a moment he simply looked at your body like a warrior checking his weapon before battle. He reached for the small jar of oil the healers had left, coating his fingers efficiently. 

He pressed one slick finger inside you, then two, working them in and out with careful, measured strokes. The stretch was already uncomfortable. Your jaw tightened. You stared harder at the roof and breathed through your nose.

When he deemed it enough, he wiped his hand on a cloth and positioned himself. The broad head of his cock nudged against your entrance. He paused only long enough to murmur, voice low and professional, “I will go slowly.”

You gave one small nod.

He pushed forward.

The burn was immediate and sharp. Your body resisted the thick length forcing its way in, the stretch bordering on too much. A faint tremor ran through your thighs. You clenched your jaw harder, teeth grinding, refusing to let even a single sound escape. Neteyam’s breath hitched once—tight control—but he kept moving, sinking deeper inch by inch until his hips met yours and he was fully seated.

For a few seconds he stayed still, letting you adjust. His arms braced on either side of your head, muscles tense. Then he began to move.

It was mechanical. Steady. Nothing more. His cock slid out almost to the tip, then pushed back in with the same even rhythm—again, and again, and again. The wet sound of skin meeting skin filled the quiet marui. There were no kisses, no whispered words, no hands exploring your body. His hips worked with purpose, focused only on finishing what duty required. Your own body felt nothing but the continuous burn of being opened and the faint ache building deeper inside.

“Breathe,” he said once, voice rough but still controlled, when he noticed your chest had gone tight.

You obeyed. In. Out. Eyes never leaving the roof then they flicked to his just to noticed that his eyes are tightly shut, like your body is the most disgusting thing. 

His pace quickened slightly near the end—short, practical thrusts. His breathing grew heavier, more strained. Then, with a quiet, restrained exhale, he pushed deep one final time and came. You felt the warm pulse of his release inside you, the subtle twitch of his cock as he emptied himself. 

He stayed buried for only a few seconds before carefully pulling out. The sudden emptiness made you clench involuntarily around nothing. A small trickle of his seed mixed with the oil leaked onto the mat beneath you. Neteyam reached for a clean cloth, wiping you gently but efficiently between the legs, then cleaning himself. 

When he was done, he lay down on the far side of the wide sleeping mat, back turned to you. The space between your bodies felt wider than the forest itself. Your tails did not brush. His breathing slowly evened out. Yours did too.

Neither of you spoke.

You stared at the roof a while longer, the burn between your legs slowly fading into a dull throb, then rolled onto your side facing away from him. Back to back. The fire pit crackled once and settled. Outside, a night insect chirred. Inside, only silence.

Duty was done.

Weeks became months. The alliance held by threads. You lived in the shared marui near the forest’s edge—stone lined fire pit on your side, forest weaves on his. You spoke little. You left the marui only when necessary.

Every night the same ritual: you cooked for him—roasted hexapede with ash seasoned herbs you gathered in secret. You cleaned the marui, mended his weapons, kept the fire steady. Then, when the village slept, he would come to you. He would position you on your back, enter you with the same careful but distant rhythm—his cock pushing in, pulling out, hips working until he finished with a quiet exhale. You lay still, enduring the stretch, feeling nothing but the ache of duty. He would roll away immediately. You slept back to back, tails not even brushing, not a single touch from either of you. 

At first it was obvious: you did not enjoy each other’s presence. He returned from patrols tired and tense; you stayed silent, eyes on your tasks. He tried, in small ways, to help you fit in—showing you which forest herbs soothed the stomach after your fire meals, inviting you to watch young hunters train from the marui entrance. You rarely went. The Omatikaya whispers followed you anyway.

“She is barren,” they muttered when you passed. “Varang’s daughter cannot even give the Sully line an heir. Useless ash blood.” Neytiri’s gaze lingered longest, disappointed. Jake tried to quiet them, but the resentment grew.

Your own Ash people were changing too. Warriors arrived in small groups, merging with Omatikaya and Metkayina outposts. Joint patrols, shared fires, volcanic glass traded for woven nets. Varang sent word: “The clans become one fire. Do not fail us.” You nodded to the messenger and kept cooking.

Neteyam never complained. He would sit by the fire after long days and say quietly, “The stew is good tonight.” Or he would leave a smooth river stone beside your sleeping mat—something warm from the day’s sun. You accepted it without comment. But slowly, the days stacked.

One evening he returned with a shallow cut on his arm from a skirmish. You cleaned it without being asked, your fingers steady on his skin. He watched you. “You do not have to stay inside every day,” he said softly. “The village is safer with you in it.” You met his eyes for a moment, then looked away. “It is better here.”

Another night, a storm howled. You rose to secure the marui flaps against the wind. Neteyam helped without a word. When lightning flashed, he saw the faint tremor in your hands—memories of your volcanic home. He did not reach for you, but he said, “The fire you keep lit keeps the rain from feeling so cold.” It was the first time you felt something close to not dislike.

Weeks later, an Ash scout arrived with news of a merged training ground. You went once, at Neteyam’s quiet request, and demonstrated a fire enhanced trap. 

The Omatikaya warriors watched warily, but one young hunter thanked you when it worked. You returned home and cooked in silence, but that night, when the mechanical mating ended, Neteyam lingered a second longer before rolling away.

He came to you after the meal, it’s not out of the normal for him to come to you for sex every week, you really needed to give him a child, but you couldn’t.

So he tired and tried and tried. And he won’t stop, not until his duty is done. 

You lay back, legs parted. He prepared you with the same clinical efficiency, then entered you in that familiar rhythm of his cock sliding in and out in steady, purposeful strokes. 

You endured the stretch in silence, jaw tight, eyes on the roof once more.

This time, as his hips moved, something in his breathing changed. His thrusts grew slightly deeper, a little less controlled. His cock pushed in and out with the same steady motion, but his body tensed more with each stroke. 

Then, without warning, a deep, broken moan tore from his throat as his hips jerked forward. He stopped for a moment, buried to the hilt, cock pulsing hard inside you. The sound vibrated against your shoulder where his face had dropped. He deepened himself even further with a slow push, as if chasing the last of the sensation. Then he started moving again with shallow, trembling rolls of his hips, dragging it out.

But suddenly he stopped in his tracks.

His whole body went rigid. A harsh breath left him. He pulled out quickly — almost too quickly — his still hard cock slipping free with a wet sound. A thick trail of his release followed, leaking down your thigh.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice strained and rough with lingering pleasure and sudden regret. He hovered above you, golden eyes wide, one hand braced beside your head. “I didn’t mean to… lose control like that. I should have pulled out sooner. I’m sorry.”

You lay there, chest still rising and falling, the stretch and sudden emptiness lingering between your legs. For a long moment neither of you moved. Then Neteyam slowly lowered himself to his side of the mat and turned his back to you.

You rolled away as always. Back to back. Yet the space between you felt fractionally smaller that night, the silence a little less heavy.

Small interactions piled like kindling.

He taught you the names of forest fruits that grew near the marui. You showed him how to sharpen blades with volcanic grit so they never dulled. He defended you once when an elder called you “barren weight.” His voice stayed calm: “She keeps this home. She keeps me fed. That is not nothing.” You heard it from inside the marui and felt a strange warmth in your chest.

You began leaving the marui more—short walks to gather herbs, standing at the edge of training fields. The clan’s whispers quieted when you quietly warned a patrol of an RDA drone using an Ash smoke signal you taught them. One mother whose child you had quietly mended after a fall brought you woven fabric for the marui. “You are trying,” she said. Acceptance crept in, slow as dawn.

You grew more comfortable. The forest no longer felt like enemy territory. You smiled—small, barely there—when Neteyam returned and the stew was ready exactly as he liked it. He noticed. His shoulders eased around you.

Months turned. The sex nights continued—awkward, distant, bodies performing duty. But the days changed them.

One afternoon he returned early from patrol and found you humming—an old Ash fire song—while stirring the pot. He paused in the doorway, watching. When you turned, he said, “That song… it sounds like home for you.” You nodded once. He sat and listened until it ended. For the first time, you did not mind his presence.

Another day, a joint Ash-Omatikaya hunt brought back more meat than expected. You helped prepare it for the village feast outside your marui. Neteyam stood beside you, shoulder brushing yours as you worked. No words. But when the clan ate and someone praised the seasoning you had added, his tail flicked once against yours—accidental, yet neither pulled away.

The resentment from the clan had faded. They saw you now: the quiet woman who protected their patrols, who fed their future Olo’eyktan, who merged her fire with their forest without complaint. Neytiri even nodded to you once in passing.

One night, after a long successful raid against the RDA, something shifted.

Neteyam returned with ash on his skin from the battlefield. You had waited with food and clean cloths. He let you wipe the ash away, your hands moving slower than usual. His breath caught when your fingers brushed his queue.

“May I kiss you?” he asked, voice rough.

You met his eyes. For the first time, you answered with more than duty. You leaned in.

The kiss was hesitant, then deep. His hands—usually so careful and distant—traced your body with wonder: palms sliding over your breasts, thumbs circling sensitive peaks until you gasped. 

“This is okay?” He whispered against your lips.

You couldn’t give anything but a small nod as you feel yourself for the first time getting wet.

He laid you down gently on the mats, kissing down your neck, your collarbone, the sensitive skin along your queue.

He lingered there, lips brushing the glowing spots where your queue met your scalp, sending sparks down your spine. 

His breath was warm against your skin as he moved lower, pressing open mouthed kisses along the curve of your shoulder, then down to the soft swell of your breast. 

He took one nipple into his mouth, tongue swirling slowly, sucking gently until your back arched and a soft sound left your throat. His hand cupped the other breast, kneading with careful reverence, thumb stroking in time with his tongue.

He continued downward, kissing over the slight curve of your belly, then lower still. His large hands gently parted your thighs, palms smoothing along the sensitive inner skin. 

He looked up at you once, golden eyes dark with something new and deep, silently asking permission. 

When you didn’t pull away, he leaned in and pressed a slow, reverent kiss right at your core. His tongue followed—warm, tentative at first, then more confident as he tasted you, licking long stripes before focusing on the sensitive bundle of nerves that made your hips twitch. 

One of his fingers circled your entrance, then slid inside, curling gently while his mouth continued its slow worship. He added a second finger, stretching you carefully, scissoring them in a steady rhythm that built a warm, aching pressure low in your belly.

Your hands found his braids, fingers tightening as quiet moans slipped from you. He hummed against your skin, the vibration sending fresh waves of pleasure through you. He kept going until your thighs trembled around his shoulders and your breathing turned ragged—only then did he pull back, lips glistening, eyes locked on yours with quiet awe.

He moved up your body again, kissing every inch he had touched, until his face hovered above yours. His cock rested heavy and hot against your inner thigh, twitching with need. Only then did he position himself at your entrance.

When he finally pushed inside, it was slow, eyes locked on yours the entire time. No awkward rhythm. Just the warm, full stretch of him and the way his hips rolled with quiet purpose.

You moaned—quiet, breathless, but real. He answered with a low sound of his own, the first time you had ever heard him like that, and the first time he has ever heard you like that. 

He touched you where you needed—fingers finding the spot that made your thighs tremble, whispering, “Let me feel you.” Your tail curled tight under you.

You moved together, bodies learning a new language. Pleasure built slowly, steadily, until it crested.

When you came, it was with a shuddering cry you had never allowed before—your walls tightening around him, fingers digging into his shoulders.

Neteyam followed moments later..

A deep, broken moan tore from his throat as his hips jerked forward. He kept his eyes locked on yours the whole time, golden gaze burning into you even as his body shuddered. He didn’t stop. Instead he leaned down and kissed you hard, tongue sliding against yours while he stayed buried deep, pulsing inside you. The kiss turned slower, deeper, as the aftershocks rolled through both of you. He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breathing the same air, eyes never leaving yours.

“I don’t want to stop,” he whispered against your lips.

You answered by pulling him back into another kiss.

The night stretched on.

He stayed inside you through the first afterglow, rocking slowly until he hardened again. Then he gently pulled out, sat back against the woven wall of the marui, and guided your head down with a reverent hand in your braids. “Please,” he breathed. 

You took him into your mouth for the first time—tentative at first, then growing bolder as his low groans filled the space. He kept eye contact the entire time, one hand cupping your cheek while the other stroked your queue. When he felt close he pulled back just enough to jerk himself with quick strokes, spilling thick ropes across your tongue with a choked moan, watching you swallow every drop while he kissed you immediately after, tasting himself on your lips.

He laid you down again and slid between your thighs, cock gliding along the slick seam of your sex without entering, fucking the soft press of your thighs while he kissed you breathless. His hands held your hips steady, eyes locked, until he came again, painting your stomach and breasts with warm stripes.

Later he had you on your hands and knees, his hands gripping your hips as he took you from behind. You pushed back against him, moaning into the mats while he leaned over you, one arm wrapped around your waist, lips on your shoulder, whispering your name. 

He came deep inside you that time, hips stuttering, but still didn’t stop—simply flipped you onto your back, hooked your legs over his shoulders, and kept going.

He held you completely in the last rounds—lifting you into his lap, arms wrapped around your back, your legs locked around his waist as he thrust up into you. Your bodies pressed flush together, skin slick with sweat and release, mouths never leaving each other. Eye contact was constant now—every thrust, every roll of his hips, every shared moan passed between your locked gazes. He kissed you through your third orgasm, swallowing your cries, then followed with a long, shuddering groan of his own, spilling inside you once more.

The small fire in the pit had burned low hours ago. Pale dawn light filtered through the marui flaps by the time you both finally collapsed, bodies tangled and exhausted. 

Neteyam stayed inside you for the last slow, lazy rocks, forehead pressed to yours, eyes half lidded but still holding yours. 

His hands stroked your back, your queue, every inch he could reach while soft kisses pressed to your lips, your cheeks, the tip of your nose.

He finally slipped free and pulled you against his chest, arms wrapped around you like he never planned to let go. Your tails twined together. His heartbeat thumped steady under your ear.

“I never knew it could feel like this,” he murmured into your hair, voice hoarse from the long night. 

You didn’t speak. You simply pressed a slow kiss to the center of his chest and let yourself stay there, warm and held, the first true light of morning painting the marui walls around the two of you.

Weeks later, the sickness came in the mornings.

The healers confirmed it. You were finally pregnant.

Neteyam’s hand rested on your belly that night, forehead pressed to yours. The clan celebrated—Ash fire drums mixing with Omatikaya songs. But inside the marui, it was just the two of you.

“You gave us this,” he whispered. “Are you ready to be a mother.” He whispers as he kisses his creation in your belly.

You threaded your fingers through his braids and spoke the most words you had ever given him:

“And you taught me the forest could hold fire without burning it away.”

The alliance was no longer fragile. The clans had merged—fire and forest, ash and leaf—stronger than before. 

And in the marui that finally felt like home, two once distant mates held each other, the child between them proof that slow, quiet love could grow even from the hardest stone.

A little rocky at first but it got better … hopefully!

Based off this request!

Neteyam meets a little boy who reminds him of himself

Pt 2 of neteyam’s mate is the other woman but can be read as a standalone<3

The morning after the grove he wakes before dawn, the memory of your body still warm on his skin, and finds you waiting with a face softer than he has seen in years. 

You know the war party leaves at first light. You do not tell him the secret growing inside you. Instead you stand tall in front of the gathering warriors, presses your forehead to his, and murmurs the expected words of a good mate. Then you slip away.

Later that same morning you find Kiri by the river. You press a single shimmering blue feather into the girl’s palm—one you had taken from your things long ago.

“Give this to him when he returns,” you say. “Only when he returns.”

Kiri’s eyes sharpen, but she closes her fingers around it.

The war stretches long. Months bleed into one another under smoke and blood and distant gunfire from the sky people. 

Neteyam leads from the front the way he always has, shoulders straight, voice steady. But at night, when the fires burn low and the other warriors sleep, his mind walks back to the grove. 

To the way you had whispered I love you into his shoulder. To the slow, aching rhythm of your bodies joined against the tree. To the tears he had let fall only because you held them.

He makes his decision somewhere between one battle and the next. When he returns he will end it. The political knot, the cold bed, the constant weight of pretending of loving another women and he will choose you. Openly. Finally.

He comes home victorious but the village feels wrong the moment his feet touch the ground. People look away too quickly. His mate stands among them with a new roundness to her belly she still has not named, her smile thin and satisfied. You are nowhere.

He searches. Quietly at first, then with something close to panic tightening behind his ribs. No one has answers. You had simply faded weeks after he left, slipping out of the clan like smoke.

That night Kiri finds him sitting alone at the edge of the old grove, the place already starting to feel like a grave. She presses the blue feather into his hand without a word.

Neteyam stares at it until his vision blurs. He understands. You had left him something to carry after you were gone.

He does not scream. He does not rage. He simply folds forward and cries like the man who never complains finally breaking in the only place that ever let him.

Three years pass in silence.

He leads. He smiles when the clan needs him to. He returns to his mate’s bed because duty demands it, and children come—three of them—into a house that feels like winter. 

His mate grows to hate the hollow version of him that came back from the war. He grows to hate her right back even more, every cruel word she ever spoke echoing louder now that you are not there to soften the edges. 

The children learn to walk between sharp silences.

Then, ten years after you disappeared, the truth claws its way out. A lover his mate had kept for years lets the secret spill in drink: none of the children are his. She had been unfaithful since before he ever left for that war party, using the pregnancies like chains.

Neteyam stands in the center of their home that night and feels something inside him finally snap clean in two. He does not shout. He simply gathers the few things that still feel like his and walks away from the clan at sunrise.

The people give him quiet goodbyes. Jake watches his eldest son leave with haunted eyes. Neytiri touches her forehead to his one last time and says nothing. He goes.

For one full year he is alone on Pandora.

He travels light. Hunts when he is hungry. Sleeps under skies that do not know his name. The blue feather stays behind his ear, faded but never removed, a small constant ache that keeps him breathing.

In a quiet river valley far from any known clan he first felt the eyes on him.

It was late afternoon, light turning everything gold and soft. Neteyam was crouched at the water’s edge sharpening a blade when the feeling prickled across his skin—not hostile, just watchful. 

He lifted his head slowly. A boy stood half hidden among the ferns on the far bank. Nine, maybe ten years old. Small, with wide golden eyes and skin bare of any clan markings. 

His tail twitched once, uncertain. Neteyam offered the faintest nod. The boy stared another second, then turned and bolted into the trees without a sound.

Neteyam did not chase him. He simply sat back on his heels and let the river keep talking.

Three days passed before the boy returned. This time Neteyam was fishing with a simple spear. He felt the gaze again and kept his movements slow and deliberate. He caught a fat fish, prepared half of it on a broad leaf, and left the offering a little farther down the bank before walking away. The next morning the leaf was empty. Only small footprints remained in the mud.

They fell into a careful schedule after that. Neteyam came to the river at the same time each afternoon. The boy appeared at the edge of sight, never closer than twenty paces at first. 

Neteyam spoke more to the water than to the child—soft, low words about currents, about how the fish told stories with the flick of their tails. 

He demonstrated how to read ripples. How to breathe with the bow so the arrow remembered your heartbeat instead of fighting it. He never demanded the boy come closer. He simply left space.

One evening, after the boy had lingered longer than usual, Neteyam sat on a sun warmed rock and began fletching arrows. His hands were steady, braids falling forward as he worked. The boy edged closer, crouching a few feet away, eyes fixed on the feathers. Neteyam held out a half finished shaft without looking up. “Try.”

The boy hesitated, then took it. His small fingers were clumsy. Neteyam corrected the grip once, gently, and said nothing when the boy flinched at the contact. They sat like that until the light faded—two quiet figures, one teaching without demanding, the other learning without trusting yet.

Weeks slipped by this way. The boy still spoke almost nothing, but he stayed longer each day. He began imitating Neteyam’s stance. He learned to watch the water the way Neteyam did. 

One quiet dusk, after the boy had successfully speared his first fish, Neteyam offered something new. He mixed pigment from crushed berries and ash, then dipped a finger. “A mark,” he said softly. “For a hunter. If you want it.”

The boy watched, wary, but nodded once. Neteyam drew a simple warrior’s swirl on the boy’s shoulder—careful, respectful, the way he once did for younger warriors back home. The boy touched it afterward with something like wonder in his eyes.

The next afternoon the mark was gone, scrubbed clean. Neteyam crouched a respectful distance away, tail still, voice low. “You can speak up if you don’t like something I do, boy.”

Silence stretched, thick as moss. The river murmured between them. Then, in a voice rusty from disuse: “…My mom didn’t like it.”

Neteyam’s ears flicked forward. His heart did something complicated in his chest. “You have a mother?”

The boy nodded but offered nothing more. Neteyam did not push. He simply picked up another arrow and began fletching again, letting the quiet settle like it always did between them.

The boy didn’t come back for a while after that.

A few days later the boy tugs at his hand. “Mom is cooking. Come.”

They walk through glowing forest until the trees open on a small home grown into the roots of an ancient tree. Blue flowers climb every wall like they are trying to remember the old grove. Jars of captured fireflies drift softly along the eaves. It feels like someone built a sanctuary out of memory.

The boy lifts the woven flap. “Ma.”

You turn from the cooking fire with a clay plate in your hands.

The plate slips. It shatters against the floor with a sound like breaking years.

All you can manage is a cracked, trembling whisper.

“Neteyam.”

“ yes, mother?”

Your son beams between you, proud and oblivious to the way the air has gone still. “This is the friend I was telling you about. Can he join us for dinner?”

Your hands shake—nerves, old grief, love that never learned how to die. 

You catch your breath for a moment then grabbed another plate. 

You set another plate down carefully and whispered shakenly, “Only if he wants.”

Neteyam’s voice is rough as river stone. “I’d like that.”

Dinner is soft and strange and beautiful. Little Neteyam—because you named him after the man you never stopped caring for—chatters more than he has in his whole life. He shows off every lesson the tall warrior taught him, eyes bright. The blue feather behind Neteyam’s ear catches the firelight and you notice it the way you would notice your own heartbeat. Your breath catches every time.

After the boy falls asleep curled against his favorite woven blanket, you stand in the doorway and offer quietly, “You can stay the night… if you want. There is space.”

He doesn’t say much but he doesn’t leave either. 

You do not talk about everything that first night. The wound is still too wide, the years too heavy. Instead you sit outside beneath the stars with your shoulders barely brushing, the way you used to in the grove. He tells you pieces of the war, the cold marriage, the final betrayal. You tell him how you realized you were carrying his child only weeks after he left, how terror had made you run before his mate could turn her cruelty on the baby growing inside you. How you have moved quietly ever since, raising Neteyam alone, always tucking a blue feather behind the boy’s ear so a part of his father would walk with him through every day.

Neteyam cries again that night, silent tears slipping down his face the way they only ever did with you. This time you pull him close the same way you did years ago, arms around his shoulders, forehead to his, letting him breathe against your skin until the shaking eases.

Outside, the forest hums softly. Fireflies drift between you like small, patient stars. The blue feather rests between you on the woven mat, a fragile bridge across ten lost years.

Neither of you knows what tomorrow will look like. But for tonight there is this: the quiet, the boy sleeping safely inside, and the man who never complains finally allowed to rest his head against the only home he ever truly had.

The next morning arrived slow and golden. You woke early, nerves fluttering in your chest like trapped insects, and found Neteyam already outside helping Nete gather ripe fruit from the low branches near the home. 

The boy was chattering more freely now, pointing out which fruits were sweetest, and Neteyam listened with the same patient attention he had once given you in the grove. 

When you stepped into the clearing they both looked up. Nete grinned wide. Neteyam’s expression was gentler, almost shy, his tail flicking once in uncertainty.

“I will make breakfast, soon,” you said, voice steadier than you felt. You turned back inside before either could see the way your hands trembled while you arranged the plates.

They ate together at the low table. Conversation stayed surface level—Nete asking Neteyam to show him the proper way to string a small practice bow again, you offering more flatbread when the silence stretched too thin. 

Neteyam thanked you quietly for every small thing, eyes meeting yours only in brief, careful glances. No one mentioned the past. The weight of ten years sat between every word like an uninvited guest.

That afternoon Neteyam offered to repair a section of the woven wall where rain had weakened it. You watched from the doorway as he worked under the filtered light, muscles moving with the same quiet strength you remembered. 

Nete hovered close, handing him strips of fiber and asking endless questions. Every so often Neteyam would glance toward you, as if checking whether he was still welcome. You gave small nods, heart aching at how cautious this once bold warrior had become.

Days blurred into a careful pattern. Mornings brought shared meals and small chores. Afternoons were for the river—Neteyam teaching Nete more advanced tracking while you gathered herbs nearby, close enough to hear their voices but far enough to give them space. Evenings were the hardest. After Nete fell asleep you and Neteyam would sit outside again, the distance between your shoulders shrinking by tiny degrees each night. One evening he asked about your life on the move, about how you had kept the boy safe, what dangers you had faced. You answered honestly, voice soft, and for the first time in years you saw something like pride flicker in his eyes when you spoke of raising his son alone.

Touch returned slowly. A brush of fingers when passing a tool. His hand steadying your elbow when you stepped over a root on a walk. One night, when a distant storm made the forest loud, he sat closer than usual and let his knee rest against yours. Neither of you pulled away. The contact felt like coming up for air after drowning.

Weeks passed. Awkwardness softened into something warmer, more familiar. Nete began calling him “the tall hunter” with open affection, and Neteyam’s rare smiles reached his eyes more often. You found yourself laughing again at small things—Nete’s dramatic reenactments of fishing lessons, Neteyam’s quiet dry humor that had always been just for you. At night the conversations grew deeper. He admitted how the blue feather had kept him breathing through the loneliest stretches of his wandering. You confessed how many nights you had whispered his name to the stars, wondering if he was still alive.

One quiet dusk, after Nete had run ahead to chase glowing insects, Neteyam stopped on the path and turned to you fully. The setting sun painted gold across his face, highlighting the new lines of age and hardship. “I thought I had lost you forever,” he said, voice low and rough. “Every day I carried that. I still don’t know how to put it down.”

You stepped closer, heart hammering, and rested your forehead against his the way you had in the grove so long ago. “Then don’t put it down alone,” you whispered. “Not anymore.”

His arms came around you slowly, carefully, as if afraid you might vanish again. You felt the tremble in his shoulders, the way he exhaled like he had been holding that breath for a decade. When he kissed you it was gentle at first—tentative, tasting of time and regret and rediscovered sweetness—then deeper, slower, full of all the words neither of you had found yet.

Nete found you like that moments later and only laughed, running over to wrap his small arms around both of you. The three of you stood tangled in the glowing forest, a family pieced back together from fragments and blue feathers and quiet, stubborn love.

Neteyam still did not complain. But now, for the first time in years, he had something worth carrying that did not hurt. And in the home wrapped in blue flowers and firefly light, the grove you had both lost finally felt like it had followed you home.

the days with you and your son slowly stitch themselves into something warmer, something careful and tentative and real.

They had grown closer in small, stolen ways. A lingering touch when passing a basket. A shared laugh over Nete’s dramatic fishing stories. But you did not kiss often—never in front of the boy. Neteyam still slept outside the hut every night, curled on a woven mat beneath the stars, as if the years apart had taught him that some distances were safer kept until everyone was ready. You always asked him to come inside, but he seemed be didn’t want to push to much.

One bright morning Nete woke with new determination in his small chest. “I’m old enough to fish on my own today,” he announced, puffing up like a tiny warrior. 

Neteyam crouched to his level, smiling softly, and put him to the test—checking his spear grip, reminding him to watch the current, sending him off with a proud nod. 

You watched from the woven table just outside the hut, slicing sweet fruit with a sharp stone knife, the juice running down your fingers. Neteyam stood at the edge of the clearing, arms crossed, until the boy disappeared into the glowing ferns. Then he turned.

His eyes found you.

He walked over slowly, that gentle smile still playing on his lips, and lowered himself to sit on the low stool beside your table. The morning light caught every detail of him—how broad and strong he had grown, the new scars crossing his chest like pale lightning, the long braids that fell heavy down his back, threaded with beads and that same faded blue feather. You stared. Your knife slipped.

A sharp sting bloomed across your finger. You hissed, setting the blade down quickly.

Neteyam was on his feet in an instant. “Are you okay?” Worry flashed raw across his face as he jogged the few steps to you. He took your hand gently in both of his, large and warm, turning it to inspect the cut. Before you could protest he tore a clean strip from a spare cloth and wrapped it carefully around your finger.

“It’s not even bleeding badly,” you said, cheeks warm. “I’ll be fine.”

He looked up at you, golden eyes soft with concern and something deeper. “You need to be more careful. Do you know how to cut fruit?” The tease was light, familiar, the kind of gentle ribbing he used to give you in the old grove.

You laughed despite the sting. “I don’t know… maybe you would have to teach me.”

Neteyam’s laugh was low and warm. He stepped behind you, bending so his chest pressed lightly to your back. His hands slid around your waist, then guided yours, his large palms covering your smaller ones, fingers directing the knife with slow, deliberate care over the ripe fruit. 

You could feel all of him. The heat of his body. The solid wall of muscle. The growing hardness of his cock pressing against your ass through his loincloth as he leaned in closer to demonstrate the proper angle.

Your breath caught. Focus scattered. The knife moved under his guidance, but all you registered was the slow roll of his hips, the thick length of him rubbing against you with each small correction. He felt it too as his breathing deepened against your ear.

The knife clattered softly onto the table as he moved it aside. His hands stayed on yours, then slid to your hips, pulling you back firmer against him. He rocked slowly, deliberately, grinding his cock along the seam of your loincloth right over your pussy. The fabric between you did nothing to hide how hard he was, how hot.

“Arch for me,” he murmured against your back, voice rough.

You did, pressing your ass back, letting the table take your weight. It rocked under you with every roll of his hips. Soft whimpers slipped from your throat. His breaths came in heavy pants against your skin as he rutted harder, thicker ridge of his cock dragging perfectly over your swollen clit through the cloth.

“Mh—gonna cum—” you whined, thighs trembling.

“LOOK WHAT I GOT!”

Nete’s proud shout cracked through the clearing like thunder. You and Neteyam jumped apart faster than thought. He spun toward the wall of the hut, adjusting himself frantically. You dropped to your knees, pretending to gather fallen fruit pieces while frantically smoothing your hair and fixing your top.

“That’s amazing,” Neteyam called, voice strained but warm, still facing the wall. “We’re going to eat for months.”

Nete tilted his head. “Why are you facing the wall, Neteyam?”

“Because I need to fix the wall,” he answered with a nervous little giggle.

You stood quickly, brushing dirt from your knees. “Nete, go take a quick shower in the river. When you come back, food will be ready.” The boy shrugged happily and ran off. The moment he vanished, you and Neteyam exhaled shaky laughs, eyes meeting in relieved, heated silence.

That night, for the first time, Neteyam slept inside.

He eased down behind you on the woven mats, curling carefully around your back. One arm slid around your waist. With the other he reached over and gently pulled Nete closer against your front. The boy snuggled happily into the curve of your neck. You reached back, threading your fingers through Neteyam’s, and pressed your back firmer to his chest. His heartbeat thumped steady and strong against you. Sleep came easy, wrapped in the warmth of your small family.

The next morning Neteyam and Nete prepared for a day trip. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Neteyam asked you softly.

“Yes. I’ve survived this long,” you answered with a smile.

“Mooommm, just come with us,” Nete pleaded.

Neteyam nodded, giving you the same pout your son had clearly inherited. “We’re gonna eat really good meat.”

You looked between them. Before you could answer, Neteyam grinned. “I’ve already packed your bags.” In one smooth motion he scooped you up over his shoulder, laughing as Nete burst into giggles and chased after you both. Your protests melted into laughter as the three of you set off together.

Hours of walking later you reached a familiar cave tucked into the cliffs. “Neteyam…” you breathed, recognizing it instantly—the place you had once shared in secret. In the center stood his ikran, massive and proud. Nete ran forward excitedly. The ikran shrieked once, then calmed as she caught the boy’s scent, lowering her head to nuzzle him gently. Neteyam smiled, stepping forward to make tsaheylu and letting Nete feel the bond. You walked over too. 

Later that day Neteyam helped your son claim his own ikran—a fierce young creature that took to the boy immediately—and you bonded with a new one after yours had passed years ago. The sky felt wider with wings beneath you again.

That night they stayed with the Sarentu. The clan offered warm food, soft resting mats, and fresh clothes. Nete made friends instantly, laughing and running with a group of children his age. You stood watching them when Neteyam came up behind you.

“He’s a good kid,” he said quietly, sitting and pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder.

“Well, he’s your kid. I can tell who he gets it from.” You smiled, turning to look at him.

His ears twitched. His eyes danced over your face with open longing. Then he leaned in and kissed you—slow at first, then hot and messy, tongues sliding, breaths mingling. Soon you were in his lap, grinding down as his hands roamed your back.

“Wait—Neteyam will be back soon,” you gasped between kisses.

Neteyam kissed down your neck, sucking lightly. “He asked if he could stay at his friend’s house tonight,” he murmured, gripping your hips and rocking you firmly over the hard ridge of his cock. “Just us, yawne.”

He laid you back on the soft mats, peeling your loincloth away with reverent hands. His own followed. Naked, he settled between your thighs, kissing every inch of you—breasts, stomach, the sensitive skin of your inner thighs—until you were trembling. When he finally pushed inside, thick and slow, stretching you open, you both moaned long and low. He moved deep and loving, hips rolling in that same torturous rhythm from the grove years ago, grinding against your clit with every thrust.

“You feel like home,” he whispered against your mouth, eyes locked on yours. “So tight… so wet for me… I love you. I never stopped.” His pace stayed steady but intense, cock dragging perfectly inside you, one hand laced with yours, the other cradling your face. When you came clenching around him he followed right after, spilling hot and deep with a broken groan of your name, holding you like he would never let go again.

Months later you were very pregnant—belly round and heavy, ankles swollen, moods swinging between ravenous hunger and sharp irritation. One afternoon you finally broke the news while Neteyam was weaving a new basket nearby.

“I’m pregnant,” you said, hands on your bump.

Neteyam looked up, eyes soft and knowing. “It’s about time.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“It’s very obvious, yawne.” He set the basket aside and stood, smiling.

“What does that mean?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“This attitude.” He laughed warmly, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close for a slow kiss. You broke it with a playful shove, but he only grinned and kissed your chest instead, gently biting the swell of your breast until you laughed and pushed him away.

Later that night Neteyam took Nete on a hike to see the glowing fish, far past the boy’s usual bedtime. You watched them go hand in hand. 

At the river’s edge Nete pointed excitedly. “Come look at this!” The fish swirled in brilliant patterns beneath the surface, lighting the water like living stars. They skipped stones, chased fireflies, and laughed until their sides hurt.

Eventually Neteyam sat beside his son. “Hey… can we talk?”

Nete kicked his feet in the water. “I know she’s pregnant.”

Neteyam chuckled. “It’s obvious, right!.”

“She yelled at me because I didn’t want to cuddle,” Nete pouted.

Neteyam tickled his side gently. “You’re growing up and you don’t want your mother’s physical touch?” The boy dissolved into giggles. Neteyam sobered, pulling him closer. “You know we will all consider you as ours, even if we need to attend to another first.”

Nete leaned against him. “I know… Dad.”

Neteyam froze, heart full. Nete blushed, looking away shyly. “I can call you that, right?”

“More than okay,” Neteyam whispered, voice thick. He brushed hair from his son’s face. “I actually wanted to talk to you about that.”

Nete smiled knowingly. “That you’re my real father?” He chuckled. “Yeah… that was kinda obvious too.” He leaned back on his hands, watching the fish. “Mom gave me stories about a ‘mighty warrior’ who was my dad. He loved the color blue a lot. And I had this matching feather. When I saw yours by the lake… I had a feeling.”

Neteyam laughed softly, amazed. “Wow… you really are something.”

“I’m glad I met you,” Nete continued quietly. “Mom was very sad for a few years when I was younger. She looks more pretty and happy now. That’s all because of you, Dad.”

Neteyam pulled his son into a tight hug, tickling him again until laughter echoed across the glowing water. The blue feather in both their hair caught the light—two generations finally home.

I’m so sleepy today

Based off this request!