#NETEYAM | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gardenladysworld · 6 days ago

Text

Starbound hearts

Status: I'm working on it

Pairings: Neteyam x human!f!reader

Aged up characters!

Genre/Warnings: fluff, slow burn, oblivious characters, light angst, hurt/comfort, pining

Summary: In the breathtaking, untamed beauty of Pandora, two souls from different worlds find themselves drawn together against all odds. Neteyam, the dutiful future olo'eyktan of the Omaticaya clan, is bound by the expectations of his people and the traditions of his ancestors. She, a human scientist with a love for Pandora’s wonders, sees herself as an outsider, unworthy of the connection she craves.

Tags: @fanchonfallen, @nerdylawyerbanditprofessor-blog, @ratchetprime211, @poppyseed1031, @redflashoftheleaf, @nikipuppeteer@eliankm, @quintessences0posts, @minjianhyung, @bkell2929, @erenjaegerwifee, @angelita-uchiha, @wherethefuckiskathmandu, @cutmyeyepurple, @420slvtt, @zimerycuellat @k-s-tumbler

Part 24: To breath

Oh my fucking god. This chapter took way too long to write it. :(

I want to apologize for taking so long to write a chapter. I'm just tired all the time. Sometimes I just want to sleep all day and do nothing. I really tried my best, but even though I had ideas, I didn't have the strength to implement them. Until now.

Part 25: To thread

The fire crackled softly between them, casting long, shifting shadows along the kelku walls. The glowing datapad flickered once, then again—its fractured screen catching Neytiri’s eye as she stepped further inside.

Kiri and Lo’ak both turned toward her, frozen in place. Kiri remained still beside Neteyam. Her hand, still resting on his arm, didn’t move. But her fingers curled slightly, as if preparing to hold him together should he fall apart. She said nothing. But the tension in her shoulders was loud enough. Lo’ak’s jaw tensed. Neither of them spoke.

They didn’t have to.

Their silence said enough.

Lo’ak first didn’t even glance at his brother. He just looked at Neytiri—his eyes wary, cautious—then flicked a quick glance back toward Neteyam, like he was waiting for a signal. A command. Anything.

But Neteyam stayed silent.

Neytiri’s gaze swept over them with the precision of a huntress—first her daughter, then her youngest son, and finally… her eldest.

Neteyam still crouched by the firepit, unmoving.

He looked like a statue cracked from the inside. Like if someone touched him the wrong way, he’d fall to pieces.

His eyes flicked up. Met hers.

She didn’t blink.

Her voice came again, low and sharp like the edge of obsidian. “What did you say, Neteyam?” Her tone carried no fury yet. Just the heavy weight of demand.

He didn’t answer. Not yet. His shoulders were tight; his jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached.

Kiri looked down at her hands. Lo’ak shifted, the knife he'd dropped still lying between them, glinting faintly in the firelight. Both of them glanced toward their brother, then toward their mother. Waiting.

Neytiri’s golden eyes narrowed, blazing with questions.

“Who is yours?” she asked again. This time, the words were quieter. But sharper. More dangerous.

She looked around the space—slowly. Methodically. As if trying to find what didn’t belong. Her eyes lingered on the glowing datapad between Kiri and Lo’ak, then at the carving tools. The unfinished pendant. The button near Neteyam’s knee, now half-hidden in the folds of his sleeping mat.

And then, her gaze returned to him. Hard. Unrelenting. “What are you hiding from me?”

Neteyam didn’t flinch. But the words pierced.

He could feel it—the pressure building. Not just from her stare, but from the weight of five days. Five days of searching. Of silence. Of fear gnawing at his ribs. His knuckles trembled where they pressed into his knees.

Five days without you. Five days knowing you might be cold. Wounded. Lost. Five days since the forest swallowed the only part of him he could not live without. And now… now this.

He finally lifted his eyes to her.

And her gaze—Eywa—her gaze was daggers. Not cold. Not cruel. Just sharp. Sharp with confusion. With pain. With the realization that something was happening to her son—and she hadn’t seen it.

Couldn’t see it. Not until now.

“You speak of someone,” she said, voice taut. “Someone you would not lose. Someone who is… yours. But there is no mate. No promise made. You have refused all who were offered. You’ve ignored every call to courtship.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why? The clan sees. The elders speak.”

Lo’ak and Kiri remained silent.

But they were looking at her now. Not startled. Not confused. Just… waiting. Waiting for the choice that wasn’t theirs to make. Neytiri noticed that too. Her mouth tensed.

“Your sister and brother—they might know.” She turned her eyes back on Neteyam, the weight of them like stone. “But I do not.” She took a step forward. “You hide something from me, my son.”

Neteyam inhaled slowly, feeling every breath like broken glass through his chest. He held her stare, even though it burned. And the weight of her gaze hit him like a storm.

Her eyes—once the eyes that had soothed him after every scraped knee and fevered night—were now sharp enough to cut. She wasn’t angry yet. Not fully. She was confused. Wounded. There was something raw in her expression. Something he hadn’t seen in years.

Hurt.

Because she knew. She didn’t know what she knew—but she felt it. That her son hiding something. Something deep. Something true. Something he had not given to her.

And Neytiri didn’t understand why. She looked at him like he had betrayed her.

Neteyam felt it all. Every line of disappointment in her face. Every unspoken accusation. Every flicker of grief—for the bond between mother and son that now felt strained, distant.

And that truth—whatever it was—was written in every inch of his body.

In the way he had refused every girl she placed before him. In the way he had pulled away these past moons.

In the way he now sat, crouched and burning, looking like the very world had come undone beneath his feet.

“What is happening to you, ma’itan?” she said again. Quiet now. Just a mother’s voice. “What are you not telling me?” Her eyes shimmered. “Why do you look like something is tearing you apart?”

He didn’t know what to say.

How to start.

How to explain that the one thing that gave him peace, the one person who made him whole—was the very thing she had taught him to distrust. To fear. To resent.

Human.

He dropped his gaze for a moment. Just long enough for the words to crawl up his throat like thorns.

He blinked. Once. Then he stood. Slowly. Carefully.

Neteyam body tense like a bowstring pulled too tight. The firelight cast his face in sharp angles—his jaw clenched, his breath uneven.

He looked at Neytiri, eyes burning.

And when he spoke, his voice came low. Controlled. But shaking at the edges. “Does it matter what’s happening to me?” The words landed like a stone in still water. Neytiri’s expression faltered, just slightly—but he didn’t stop. “You ask what I’m hiding. Why I turn away. Why I don’t chase the girls the elders place in front of me like prizes. But tell me—did you ever ask what mattered to me?” His voice rose—not shouting, but close. Strained. His hands curled into fists at his sides.

Lo’ak’s eyes darted to Kiri. She didn’t move. Her hand was still braced lightly on the floor beside where Neteyam had crouched, but her shoulders were taut. Tense.

His tail flicked once, then again, erratic and agitated. Every part of him radiated strain.

Neytiri took a breath. “Neteyam—” Neytiri’s brow furrowed, confused. Wounded. “Of course it matters. You are my son—”

“Then why do I feel like I’m drowning every time I speak to you?” His voice finally rose. Not shouting—just… breaking. Coming apart at the seams.

Kiri’s head snapped up. But Neteyam wasn’t done. He turned toward her fully, chest rising and falling in shallow, angry bursts. “You ask why I don’t want Sa’nari. Why I don’t chase K’shi. Why I don’t sit at the fire with the girls the elders pick. You act like it’s some great mystery.” He took a step closer. “But did you ever stop to ask who I wanted?”

Neytiri’s lips parted—but no sound came.

“Did that ever matter?” he snapped, his voice cracking wide open. “Or was I only ever supposed to obey? To mate when you said, with who you said? As if my heart was something that could be passed like a tool between hands?”

“Neteyam—” she started.

“No,” he said sharply. He looked to the fire between them, the scattered pieces of his life laid bare. The unfinished pendant. The datapad. The button. He was unraveling. Finally. All the pressure. All the silence. All the pain of five days without you.

It was coming loose.

“I am not some perfect son. I’m not a symbol after the war. I’m not a pawn to bond with some hunter’s daughter so the elders can nod and say ‘he follows the path.’”

Neytiri stood rigid. Her jaw clenched. “Neteyam, you don’t understand what this means—”

“I understand exactly what it means!” he snapped, voice like a roar now. “It means I have to stand here, pretending I’m not falling apart, while you demand to know why I won’t give my heart to someone I’ve never loved—when the person I do love might be dead in the forest right now!”

The last word hit the air like a thunderclap.

Silence. A thick, suffocating silence that stretched like vines. Kiri stood slowly, eyes wide. Lo’ak shifted but said nothing. Neytiri didn’t move.

She just stared.

Neteyam’s shoulders heaved, his eyes burning. His throat tight. His fists clenched at his sides.

“I don’t care about tradition,” he said, lower now. Barely audible. “I don’t care about what the clan expects, or what you wanted. I care about her.” The words barely left his mouth before the next ones followed—inevitable. Final. “Even though she’s just a human.”

Everything stopped.

Neytiri’s eyes widened—just for a moment. Then narrowed. Sharpened.

Like a blade drawn too fast from its sheath.

The fire popped between them, but the sound was drowned in the silence that fell like a sudden storm.

Neteyam watched it happen. The shift. The flicker of confusion… replaced by horror. Then betrayal. Then something deeper. Darker.

Rage.

“Human?” Neytiri whispered. The word left her mouth like poison. Like it tasted wrong. She took a slow step back, shaking her head. “No,” she said. “No, no—you’re lying.” She turned from him—her tail lashing behind her. “You would not.”

But Neteyam didn’t flinch. Didn’t back down. He just stood there. Silent. Still. Burning.

Neytiri turned back toward him with eyes blazing gold and wet with fury. “You… love a sky demon?” she hissed.

The words were sharper than anything she had ever thrown at him before. And somehow, they hurt worse than if she had struck him.

She began to pace. Back and forth, across the kelku floor. Her steps were sharp. Erratic. The kind of motion born from disbelief that was quickly curdling into rage.

Her tail whipped once, then again. “I cannot believe this.” She spoke more to herself now, pacing the space like it was the forest and she was hunting for answers. “I gave you everything. We raised you to honor your People. To protect them. To protect your blood.” She turned toward him, face twisted in anguish. “And you—you choose one of them?”

Neteyam said nothing.

“A human? A human?” Neytiri’s voice cracked with the force of it. She was circling him like a predator circling prey—or like a mother circling the grave of the son she thought she knew.

“Do you know what they did to us? What they’ve taken from this land? From me? My father. My home. My sister.” Her voice shook with old pain. She turned from him, pacing like something caged. Her voice rose—not a yell, but a snarl behind her words.

“I warned you about them. Since you were children. I taught you what they did to our People. How they desecrated the land. Our ancestors. Our god.” She spun around, eyes blazing. “And you let one of them touch you?”

Neteyam flinched—but only slightly.

“She touched your heart, your soul, your thoughts—and you let her?”

He swallowed hard, but said nothing. Neytiri moved again, circling. Stalking. Her breath was fast and ragged. She looked around the kelku—his kelku—at the datapad, the pendant, the tools that suddenly felt foreign to her.

“Where is she?” Neytiri demanded, suddenly. “Where is this… demon who poisoned my son?”

Neteyam’s fists curled tighter. “She’s not—”

“Don’t,” Neytiri snapped, her voice trembling. “Don’t you dare speak as if she belongs here. As if she is one of us.”

“She is mine,” he growled. “Eywa chose her for me.”

Neytiri’s breath hitched. Her eyes flashed with something almost fearful. “Do not speak her name to justify this,” she said, voice low, shaking. “You think the Great Mother would bless this? A union with the very blood of those who tried to destroy her?”

Neteyam stepped forward now. Something in him rising. Something that had had enough.

“She listens,” he said. “And she saw me. She saw us. And you—” His voice cracked, and for the first time, pain bled in. “—you talk about her like she’s filth. Like she’s unworthy. You talk about her like she’s a stain on me.”

“She is!” Neytiri shouted. The words slammed into the space like lightning. Neytiri’s eyes were wild now, gold blazing with fury and disbelief. “She tainted you,” she hissed. “I should have seen it. The way you changed. The way you pulled away. Refusing everyone. You would not look at them. You would not speak to them. You had already chosen, hadn’t you?”

Neytiri’s breath caught in her throat.

And now she saw it. Clear as starlight.

The mornings and nights he disappeared without a word. The solitude. The way he refused every Na’vi girl the clan paraded before him. The move to his own kelku. The coldness. The change.

Everything. Everything made sense now. And she hated it. “You lied to me,” she whispered. “All this time.”

“I protected her,” Neteyam said. “From this.”

Neytiri shook her head, tears brimming now—not of sorrow, but of fury. “She doesn’t belong here. She’s not of us.”

He nodded. “She is mine. That’s all she ever needed to be.”

For a long, cold breath—no one moved.

Then Neytiri turned her back to him. “Tell me!” she shouted. “Tell me what I did wrong—because I must have, if my firstborn son has forgotten who he is!”

Neteyam closed his eyes. “You taught me to trust in Eywa. To listen when she speaks. So tell me—if she placed this bond in my path, if she tied my soul to hers, if she is the one who led her to me and me to her—how can you call that a mistake?” His hands trembled at his sides, but his stance was solid. “How can you speak of Eywa’s wisdom, and then spit on the gift she gave me?”

Neytiri’s lips parted, but no words came.

Because there was no answer.

Neteyam breathed in through his nose, holding it. Holding everything in place.

Then:

“You may hate her. You may see a demon when you look at her. But I see the one Eywa made for me.” His throat tightened again, the weight of five days crashing over him. “And she’s out there. Alone. Maybe dying. And every second I waste here being berated for loving her…” He shook his head. “…is a second I could have spent bringing her home.”

Neytiri stepped closer. Her eyes wild, glittering. “Home? I cannot believe it. I won’t believe it.” She spat the words. “The son I carried, the son I taught—falling in love with a sky demon?” She shook her head again, furious. “What did she do to you, hm? What lies did she tell to make you forget who you are?”

And that—that—was the line.

Neteyam inhaled sharply. Then slowly—finally—his voice cut through the storm.

“Enough.”

Neytiri froze.

His voice was quiet—but it cracked through the kelku like lightning through bark.

He took a step forward. His eyes burned. Not with guilt. Not with fear. But with something fierce. Defensive. True. “Don’t you dare speak of her like that.”

“You let her inside you,” Neytiri spat, practically hissing now. “Into your heart. Into your soul. Do you even know what you’ve done?”

His hand moved to his chest, over his heart. “She is not just someone I love. She is my mate. In soul, in breath, in spirit.” He took another step forward. “She belongs to me. As I belong to her.”

Neytiri’s face twisted, her breath ragged. “No—no, that cannot be—”

“It is,” he growled. “And if you can’t see it, that’s not my failure. That’s yours.”

She recoiled like his words burned her.

But Neteyam was past the point of softening them. Past the point of begging for her understanding.

Because his mate was still missing.

And he didn’t have time for her fear. Or her anger.

He looked past her now, to the trees beyond the kelku. “Believe what you want,” he said, his voice quieter now. But deadly calm. “But do not ever call her a demon again. Not in my presence.” He breathed harshly, staring directly into her eyes, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You never understood why—but now you know. And I will not apologize for loving her.”

The room fell silent again, the only sound Neteyam’s ragged breathing.

Neytiri’s expression softened fractionally as the full truth settled over her—the distant look, the cold refusals, the withdrawn son she couldn’t reach—it all made sense now. Horrible, heartbreaking sense.

But her face hardened quickly again, determinedly set against this truth she could never accept. “You are blinded, Neteyam,” she whispered bitterly. “This path you have chosen—it will only destroy you.”

He shook his head once, sharply, his eyes burning into hers.

“You may refuse to see it,” he replied quietly, evenly. “But it does not change the truth. She is mine. And I will tear this forest apart to bring her back.”

They stood there, locked in a painful silence—mother and son, both wounded, both stubbornly refusing to yield. In Neytiri’s eyes, there was still anger, still disbelief, still grief—but now there was understanding too.

Now, at least, she knew.

But her eyes remained hard. “Then you are truly lost,” she whispered finally.

Neteyam didn’t blink.

He just stared at her—his mother, the woman who had once been the center of his world—and now, he couldn’t even recognize the shape of her love anymore. Not when it came with such cruelty. Such rejection.

His voice came out low. Icy. Final.

“Leave.”

The room froze.

Neytiri’s eyes widened slightly. Not in shock at the words themselves, but at the way he said them. Cold. Unforgiving. Sharp like obsidian. She had never heard her son speak like that—not even as a child. Not even in war.

Her tail lashed violently behind her once, twice, then a guttural groan broke from deep in her chest—half anguish, half fury. She turned sharply on her heel and stormed out of the kelku.

The flap rustled violently behind her. Silence fell like dust.

Neteyam let out a long, slow breath through his nose, then tilted his head down and raised a hand to his temple. His fingers dug in, massaging slowly, like he could somehow press the headache out of his skull. But it was no use. It wasn’t just pain—it was everything.

Grief. Fury. Guilt. And beneath it all—an unbearable ache.

Kiri stepped forward wordlessly. She didn’t say anything, didn’t try to fix it. She just set her hand gently on his arm again, grounding him. The contact was small, but steady. A silent I’m here in the dark.

But before Neteyam could say anything, it was Lo’ak—still sitting on the floor—who broke the silence first.

“You did such a great job, bro.”

His voice was soft. Honest. Maybe even proud. But Neteyam’s head snapped toward him, his expression like a blade. A sharp glare cut across the firelight—silent, precise, dangerous.

Lo’ak shut up immediately.

The younger brother’s mouth closed with a click, and he nodded once, quickly. Message received.

Neteyam’s jaw tightened. He closed his eyes, exhaling a shaky breath. Kiri rubbed his arm once more, trying to ease the tension in his shoulders, but it wasn’t just his muscles shaking anymore—it was his whole body.

He couldn’t stop trembling. It wasn’t rage anymore. Or even fear.

It was the unbearable weight of it all. The truth laid bare. His mother’s horror. The look in her eyes when he said the words out loud—“She is mine.”

But more than that… it was her. You were still gone.

Still lost out there somewhere, and he was standing here in a kelku full of firelight and broken pieces, arguing about love instead of finding you.

He couldn’t think about Neytiri’s fury. Or her grief. Or the ancient wounds she had torn open again with every word.

He had something more important to worry about.

“Please leave,” he said hoarsely. Quieter this time. Almost a whisper. But it cut clean.

Kiri just nodded. She didn’t argue. She knew the storm that still raged inside him hadn’t passed.

Lo’ak stood first, brushing the dust from his hands. At the entrance, he paused, casting one last look back at his brother.

“We’ll start again at dawn,” he said quietly. Not a question. A promise.

Then he slipped through the flap and vanished into the night, with Kiri following close behind.

The silence that followed wasn’t peaceful.

It was heavy.

As if the kelku itself was holding its breath.

Neteyam’s legs finally buckled beneath him, and he dropped down to the pelts with a low thud. His elbows braced on his knees, his hands gripping his head.

He felt the sting behind his eyes.

But he didn’t cry.

He couldn’t.

He had no more tears left to give—not to this.

He never wanted it to go like this. Not with Neytiri. He had been ready—so ready—to lie for the rest of his life if that’s what it took to protect you. To protect the only thing that ever made him feel whole.

But somehow… the truth had slipped from him like blood from a wound.

And the most surprising thing?

He didn’t regret it. Not really. He should have.

But as he sat there, heart pounding like war drums in his chest, the only thing he felt was this sharp, aching need.

To find you. To bring you home.

The rest—the clan, his mother, tradition, the elders—none of it mattered now.

Only one thing did.

You.

And Eywa help anything or anyone that tried to stop him.

He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there.

The fire had burned low, its crackling now just a soft murmur against the silence, flickering faintly like the last breath of a dying star. Smoke curled lazily through the air, rising toward the thatch ceiling in whispers. The world outside was quiet. The rain had stopped. The clan was asleep.

But Neteyam was wide awake, eyes locked on the flame as if it might whisper the one thing he needed to hear.

Where is she?

He hadn’t moved.

His body ached, but he didn’t feel it. His fingers were numb where they pressed into his knees. His tail lay limp on the floor. The datapad had gone dark some time ago, the screen slipping into standby mode, forgotten where it lay beside the fire—black, empty. As empty as the space beside him.

He was crumbling. Quietly. Slowly. Every passing minute stole another piece of him.

His chest felt hollow—like someone had carved out everything that once filled him with purpose and left nothing behind but the echo of your name. His breath was shallow. Every inhale felt like it scraped down his throat like thorns.

He hadn’t eaten. Hadn’t slept. Couldn’t rest. Not with you still out there. Not when the forest could be swallowing you whole. Not when he had wasted hours arguing with the only person who was supposed to understand him—only to find that she didn’t. Not anymore.

All he wanted was to see you. Just once.

To hear your voice, even if it was hoarse from exhaustion. To feel your small frame pressed tight against him—warm, trembling, real. To tuck his face into the crook of your neck and just breathe. To press his lips to yours and remember what it felt like to belong somewhere.

Because that’s what you were to him.

Home.

And without you, he didn’t know how to stay whole.

He leaned forward, his elbows digging into his thighs, head hung low. The trembling had stopped—but only because he felt numb now. Hollowed out. Like something essential had been ripped from his chest.

The silence in the kelku was thick, heavy, suffocating. And the firelight cast shapes on the walls that danced too much like ghosts.

Neteyam didn’t move.

He barely breathed.

His thoughts spiraled tighter and tighter, circling the same ache. The same images. You, smiling up at him. You, laughing at something he said. You, brushing your fingertips along his jaw. You, looking at him like he was more than just a son, more than a warrior, more than a duty to the People.

You had never wanted anything from him except him.

And now you were gone.

What if you didn’t make it?

The thought slid into his mind like a knife.

He shuddered and shut his eyes hard, forcing it out. No. No, he wouldn’t allow that thought. Couldn’t. Not now. Not when hope was the only thing keeping his soul tethered to his body.

Come home. The words didn’t leave his lips, but they pulsed like a prayer in his chest. Please, come home.

He closed his eyes, only for a second.

But behind them was your face. That soft smile you gave him when you thought he wasn’t looking. The way your hand always found his in the dark as you lied beside him on the pelts. The look in your eyes when he called you ma yawne.

And something inside him shattered all over again.

His hand moved without thought—down to his hip, where his songcord hung in the woven threads of his belt.

Fingers brushed the familiar loops.

Threaded strands of memory.

He pulled it loose gently, like handling something sacred. Something fragile. And maybe he was.

The cord spilled into his lap—long, worn smooth by years of wear and prayer. He turned it over slowly in his hands, his fingers moving with practiced ease down the length of it. Each bead held a memory, a story, a moment carved into his soul.

But his hand stopped when it found that one—the bead that shone like starlight in the fire’s dying glow.

A single bead, yellow-gold, polished smooth by time.

He had threaded it nearly four years ago.

He remembered that day—standing at the Tree of Souls, kneeling in the dirt, palms pressed together, eyes closed as he prayed to Eywa for purpose. For direction.

He hadn’t expected her to answer.

And he definitely hadn’t expected her to answer with you.

A tiny human girl with sharp eyes and a sharp tongue, with hands that smelled of soil and glass, who couldn’t even reach his stomach but managed to curl her whole body around his heart like it was made for her.

Eywa had given him you.

And now that he had you, he could not—would not—survive a world without you in it.

He turned the bead between his fingers slowly, over and over, grounding himself in that old prayer and the new truth it had given him.

His chest hurt. Not from exhaustion. Not from the fight.

But from this unbearable, desperate, aching need.

To find you. To hear your voice just one more time. To make sure the forest hadn’t stolen you from him.

His fingers trembled against the songcord. He held the bead tighter. Pressed it to his forehead. His eyes closed.

“Please,” he whispered, voice hoarse and barely audible. “Please. Just let her be alive.”

Because if Eywa had brought you to him, if she had truly chosen you to carry his heart, to walk beside him on this path—

Then surely… surely she would not take you away now.

Not when he’d only just begun to live.

Neteyam’s fingers drifted down the songcord again—slow, reverent—until they found it.

One of the last beads.

Not the one he’d added most recently. No. The one.

The one he carved after your first kiss.

It was different from the others—smoother, rounder. A bluish, iridescent pearl he had found near the river after a long patrol. It caught the light just right, shifting from sea-glass green to storm blue when he turned it between his fingers. He had never planned to use it. But something about it had reminded him of you—the quiet gleam of it, the way it shimmered in soft light but hid something deep beneath the surface. So he carved it. Not perfectly, but carefully. Threaded it onto the cord with hands that shook just a little.

He remembered that day like it lived just beneath his skin.

How he had barely dared to kiss you. How he had crouched before you, slow, cautious, like the world might shatter if he moved too quickly.

And when your lips met his—

Eywa.

You had tasted like warmth and starlight and something dangerously real. Your lips were as soft as he had imagined all those long nights he lay alone on the forest floor, thinking of you. Wishing for you.

And in that moment, holding you close, feeling your breath catch as his hands moved gently to your back, he knew.

He was never going to be the same.

You had felt so fragile in his hands—so small, so human, so breakable. But not weak. No, never weak.

You had been right. Like you had always belonged there. Like you had grown into his hands and he had grown into yours.

And now—

Now that same forest he had once thanked for bringing you to him had stolen you away.

He clenched the pearl between his fingers, chest aching, trying to anchor himself in the memory. But it was no use.

The memory didn’t ground him—it tore him open.

Because while he had sat here just days ago, carving your pendant, shaping a river pearl what was looking just like the same as the one on his songcord to match to it—thinking you were safe, maybe laughing with Norm or fixing some experiment with the new samples at the outpost— you were already gone.

Already bleeding. Already running. Already fighting for your life.

And he had done nothing.

How foolish he had been.

Neteyam pressed the bead to his lips. “I’m sorry,” he whispered against it. “I should’ve known. I should’ve gone to you sooner.”

The guilt crawled beneath his skin like fire ants. It had been eating at him since the second you didn’t come back.

He’d held it together. Pretended for Kiri and Lo’ak. Took charge. Led the searches. Gave orders. Made plans.

But Kiri… Kiri had seen through him.

He knew it. The way she looked at him. Gentle, careful, like a healer holding something that might break apart in her hands. She knew how close his mask was to crumbling.

And it was crumbling. Because he couldn’t keep doing this. Couldn’t keep breathing while not knowing.

He knew he needed sleep. That maybe—maybe—if he could find rest, Eywa would show him something. A sign. A glimpse. Like the last times. The dream-walks that weren’t dreams. The memories not his own. The pieces of the forest whispering your path.

But what if this time…

What if this time Eywa didn’t show him anything? What if she showed him a body? What if the forest glowed red? What if you were gone?

His breath hitched in his throat. He leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, head hanging low, the songcord clutched so tightly in his fist the beads dug into his palm.

The fear was worse than exhaustion. Worse than grief. It wrapped around his chest like vines, squeezing, pressing until he couldn’t breathe.

Because he couldn’t bear to see you dead.

Not in a vision. Not in the roots of the forest. Not anywhere.

You weren’t supposed to leave. You were supposed to stay.

You were supposed to argue with him over human things that didn’t make sense to him. Whisper stories in his ear when he couldn’t sleep. Roll your eyes when he said something too poetic.

You were supposed to live. He tried to focus. To breathe. To call on Eywa with more than grief and panic. To ask—not beg—for guidance.

Just one more thread. One more glimpse. One more path through the trees.

He whispered her name into the firelight, like a prayer, like a promise.

And then slowly, he lay back onto the pelts. Eyes wide open. Muscles tight. He didn’t know if sleep would come. He didn’t know if Eywa would show him mercy.

But if she did—

He would follow that thread. No matter where it led. Even if it led to the very edge of the forest. Even if it led to death.

Because you were out there. And he was the one meant to bring you home.

Sleep eventually took him.

Not peacefully—not gently—but suddenly, like being swallowed by the waves.

When Neteyam opened his eyes, he was standing in the forest. Not the calm, familiar trees near Home Tree, but something deeper—older. The trunks here were massive, their bark rough, covered in thick layers of moss. Every breath of air carried a cool, ancient weight. Silence pressed in from all sides, heavy and absolute.

He turned slowly, scanning the trees for a sign—any hint of why Eywa had brought him here.

Then he saw it. A flicker between the branches—a shadow moving quickly, carefully. His heart lurched.

Human.

Your shape—small, unmistakably human—running quietly through the trees ahead. He couldn’t see you clearly, only glimpses of you slipping through the brush, moving fast.

Without thought, without hesitation, Neteyam took off after you.

His feet hit the ground silently, swiftly, his breath even, strong. Yet no matter how hard he pushed himself, how much he stretched his legs to run faster—you never came any closer. Always just out of reach, always slipping around the next bend, behind another trunk, vanishing into the shadows again.

“Wait!” he called, voice cracking, panic rising in his chest. “Please—wait for me!”

But your shadow didn’t pause, didn’t slow. It moved steadily away, deeper into the darkness of the trees. His pulse hammered in his throat. His lungs burned. But he couldn’t stop—couldn’t bear the thought of losing you again, not when you were so close.

“Come back!” His voice cracked in the air, raw and breaking. “Don’t leave—please, don’t leave me!”

Then suddenly, the forest opened.

A clearing stretched before him, bathed in soft silver moonlight. Massive, ancient trees circled its edges like silent watchers, their twisted roots breaking up the soft earth. But the space itself was empty.

You weren’t there. No human shape. No movement. Nothing. No trace of the small figure he had chased. “No,” he breathed, heart dropping painfully in his chest. “Please…”

But as he spun around again, his body froze.

Then something growled—low, deep, dangerous. His head snapped up.

At the far edge of the clearing, near a dark shadowed alcove in the roots, stood a palulukan. A female, huge and sleek with night-black skin and eyes glowing like molten emerald. Her shoulders were hunched defensively, teeth bared, the long tendrils around her head whipping in agitation.

Around her feet huddled small pups, their little bodies barely visible beneath their mother’s bulk. Their soft yelps of fear echoed across the clearing as they quickly scurried back, disappearing into the den behind her.

Neteyam froze, muscles tensing, eyes locked onto the predator. He knew he should retreat, move away slowly—but something stopped him.

Something at the palulukan’s feet gleamed in the moonlight.

His eyes snapped to it, heart dropping like a stone into his gut.

An exomask.

Small. Shiny. Cracked and smeared in blood. Its curved glass surface caught the pale light like a beacon, mocking him.

Your mask.

The mask you needed. The mask you never went without outside the outpost. It lay shattered at the feet of the beast, splattered with red—your blood.

“No,” he whispered.

His knees buckled beneath him. He sank heavily into the tall grass, kneeling, shaking, eyes fixed on the broken mask. His chest tightened, the air searing painfully in his lungs.

This was Eywa’s sign. The message clear as blood on glass.

She’s gone.

His breath came shallow, ragged. Every beat of his heart echoed painfully in his ears.

You’d died alone. Here—in the dark forest, among roots and shadows. Without him.

Without the chance to hold your hand, without a final goodbye. He felt something break open deep inside. A grief sharper than any blade he’d known. “No,” he gasped again, louder this time, voice shaking with desperation, defiance. “No, you’re strong. You wouldn’t—you couldn’t—”

But even as the words left his mouth, he knew the truth. Without the mask, without air—you stood no chance. Something warm blurred his vision, hot and stinging. He blinked hard, vision swimming.

Tears.

For the first time since you disappeared, tears finally slipped free, burning down his face. His shoulders shook, head bowed as he sobbed quietly, alone in the silver-lit grass. His fingers tangle into his braids, like he wanted to rip them out one by one.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered brokenly to the empty clearing. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you.”

The palulukan growled again, softer now, almost mournful, before turning and slipping back into the shadows, leaving him kneeling alone beneath Eywa’s silent trees.

He had asked for a sign. And now he wished desperately he never had.

Neteyam woke with a jolt.

His body snapped upward like it had been yanked from the depths. His chest heaved, lungs desperate for air, every breath sharp and ragged like he'd just surfaced from drowning.

The light inside the kelku had changed—no longer dim and flickering with firelight, but soft and pale. Dawn. The forest outside was beginning to stir.

And beside him, Kiri knelt—eyes wide, face pale, the deep furrow between her brows carved deeper than usual.

“Neteyam,” she said urgently, her voice low and shaking, “Neteyam, what’s happening? Are you okay?”

He turned to her like a ghost—his eyes wide and unfocused, as if the world around him didn’t make sense anymore. His mouth opened, but it took a second before the words formed, breathless and broken.

“She’s dead,” he whispered.

Kiri blinked. “What?”

“She’s dead,” he repeated, voice cracking at the edges. “She’s dead. She’s dead. She’s dead.” The words came like a mantra now, a litany of grief whispered under his breath as he rocked slightly on the pelts.

Kiri grabbed his arms, grounding him. “Neteyam—hey, look at me.”

His eyes finally met hers, and what she saw in them made her heart sink. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t even panicked. He looked lost—like the light inside him had been blown out. Like he was watching something precious drift away and couldn’t reach it anymore.

“I saw it,” he breathed. “I saw her mask. Bloody. Lying at the feet of a palulukan. Eywa showed me. That was the sign. That must be the end. She’s gone, Kiri.” His voice cracked, barely a whisper. “She’s really gone.”

Kiri shook her head. “No. No, Neteyam, listen to me.”

“She showed me the tree branch before—the one where she was hiding from the nantang. In the storm. I saw it in the dream. And then I saw her under the hanging Samson. That was real too. We found it, Kiri. All of it. Those dreams were real.” He gripped her arms tighter, like the weight of his words might otherwise collapse him. “So this one—this dream—must be real too. And the mask was broken. She was gone.”

Kiri swallowed hard, staring at him. She wanted to believe he was wrong. She needed to believe he was wrong. She pressed her forehead to his, grounding them both, breathing slow. “Maybe… maybe Eywa wasn’t showing you that she’s gone.”

Neteyam pulled back slightly, confused and shaking his head. “What else could it mean? A broken mask is death for her.”

“I don’t know,” Kiri admitted, her voice low and gentle, but firm. “But maybe it wasn’t a warning. Maybe it was a direction. A place. Like the others. Maybe she’s showing you where to go, not what’s already happened.”

He stared at her, torn.

“Eywa didn’t just give you the end,” Kiri continued. “She gave you pieces before—clues. That tree hollow. The Samson. We followed them. We found them. And you didn’t find a body, Neteyam. You didn’t find a grave. Just a trail.”

She squeezed his hand now, hard. “So maybe… maybe that broken mask means she lost it. Not that she died there. Maybe it’s a sign we’re close.”

“But without it…” Neteyam started, his voice hollow. “She can’t breathe.”

Kiri’s voice broke with emotion, but she held firm. “Then we don’t stop. We don’t grieve until we know. We keep moving. We search that clearing. We find that den. You said it was near a glade, surrounded by ancient trees. We’ll track it. We will. But not if you collapse before we try.”

Neteyam stared at her for a long time, breathing unevenly, his body still trembling. Then he nodded once. Slowly. He wiped the tears from his face with the back of his hand, forcing himself to sit up straighter. “You’re right,” he whispered, voice raw. “We follow the trail. We search.”

Kiri nodded. “We follow what Eywa gave us. Every thread. Every sign. Until we find her.”

Until we bring her home.

They searched until the sky bruised into dusk, until the shadows beneath the canopy deepened and spread, until the ache in their bones was as heavy as the ache in their chests. Still, the forest yielded nothing but silence—no tracks, no marks, no hints beyond the haunted vision Eywa had given Neteyam.

As they slowly made their way back to the village, the only sound was the tired plodding of their pa'li and the soft rustling of leaves beneath their hooves. The quiet stretched between them, thick and somber.

When they reached the village outskirts, Kiri and Lo'ak dismounted first, their faces hollow with exhaustion. Neteyam hesitated, sitting motionless on his pa'li, his gaze distant and heavy. The thought of entering the village, facing the whispers and glances from those around the communal fire—he couldn't bear it.

Not tonight.

Lo'ak cleared his throat awkwardly, glancing up at his brother. "Are you…?"

Neteyam shook his head quietly. "No. You two go ahead."

Kiri's expression tightened slightly, worry etched deep into her features. She reached up, touching his knee lightly. "Neteyam, you need to eat. You've barely—"

"I'll be fine," he interrupted softly, voice drained. "I'm just not hungry."

She hesitated, searching his eyes with a gaze sharp and careful, as if trying to gauge how close he was to breaking completely. Then she gave a reluctant nod.

"Alright," she said quietly. Her fingers lingered on his knee for a moment longer before dropping away.

As Kiri turned to walk toward the communal fires, her eyes caught the glow of the flames ahead, just briefly. But in that flicker of firelight, Neteyam saw something new in her expression—something he'd never wanted to see. At least not now.

Pity.

It was there for just a heartbeat—a tiny, unmistakable glimmer of doubt and sadness—and then gone again as she averted her gaze.

His heart sank. It wasn't anger or impatience or frustration—not even disappointment. No, this was gentler, crueler.

She pitied him.

Because even Kiri, the one who had anchored him these last days, who had reminded him again and again to hold on to hope—now she doubted. Now even she was beginning to believe he chased nothing but a ghost.

Lo'ak lingered a moment longer, shifting uneasily as Kiri began walking away. "Maybe tomorrow we could head back to the outpost," he suggested hesitantly. "Check in with Norm or Max. Maybe they found something. Maybe they noticed something we missed. You weren’t at the outpost since you knew she went missing."

Neteyam didn't look up at first. He didn't answer immediately. Just nodded slowly. Lo'ak shuffled his feet, clearly uncertain how to help, how to comfort. Finally, he sighed. "We'll figure it out. Tomorrow, we'll… we'll find something."

Empty reassurance, but sincere.

Neteyam nodded again, finally meeting his brother's eyes. "Irayo, Lo'ak," he said quietly, the gratitude in his voice genuine, if weary. "For everything. Tell Kiri the same."

Lo'ak offered a small, tired smile. "Always, bro." Then he turned, heading after their sister, leaving Neteyam alone in the quiet darkness at the edge of the village.

Neteyam stayed there a long moment, staring after his siblings until their shapes melted into the golden glow of the communal fire. The distant murmur of the clan was a low hum, just background noise. Something he no longer belonged to—not fully. Not without you.

He swallowed around the painful lump in his throat and finally turned away, urging his pa'li back toward his kelku.

Because the truth was, he saw their doubt clearly—both Lo'ak’s weary uncertainty and Kiri’s silent pity. Even they thought he was losing his grip. Even they were beginning to believe the worst.

But he didn't say anything. He couldn't afford to. Not now. Not yet.

Instead, he pushed it down deep inside, burying their doubt beneath layers of raw, stubborn hope—however fragile, however foolish.

Because even if everyone else had begun to believe you were truly gone, he refused. Even if he was chasing a ghost, he would chase you to the very edge of this world and the next.

He would not stop until he found you—until you were safe in his arms again. Or until the Great Mother herself tore the last breath from his body.

Neteyam slid off the pa’li slowly, his body heavy from exhaustion. He placed a gentle hand on the creature's powerful neck, stroking softly. “Go rest,” he murmured quietly. The pa’li chuffed once, nudging his shoulder gently, before trotting away into the gathering twilight.

Neteyam stood alone for a moment, watching the beast disappear into the shadows. Then he turned, his eyes settling on the warm glow emanating from his grandmother’s tent. He hesitated briefly, then moved toward it, his steps quiet but steady.

As he brushed aside the curtain and stepped into the healer’s tent, Mo'at’s sharp eyes instantly found him, and she clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “You look like a ghost, grandson,” she said bluntly, her voice a mix of concern and mild irritation.

Neteyam snorted softly, the sound bitter and humorless. “Maybe I am,” he muttered, sinking slowly onto one of the mats near the entrance. “I need something. Something to help me sleep tonight. I need energy for tomorrow.”

Mo'at narrowed her eyes slightly, studying him in silence before nodding. She turned toward her shelves, fingers brushing thoughtfully over bundles of dried herbs.

“Your father worries,” she said evenly, her voice low as she plucked a small pouch of crushed leaves. “He thinks you neglect your duties. That you no longer care for your people.”

Neteyam let out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “Typical,” he murmured quietly, half to himself, half to the emptiness. “It’s always like this. If I step away, I am lazy. If I do everything they ask, it’s barely enough.” He sighed deeply, the sound weary and hollow. “But right now, I don’t care about duty. I don’t care about what he thinks is important.”

Mo'at glanced over her shoulder, her expression unreadable. She didn’t reply, just began carefully measuring the herbs into a small wooden bowl. A sudden rustle at the tent flap caught Neteyam’s attention, the curtain shifting slightly, as if someone had started to enter—but then, suddenly, the movement stopped. He glanced briefly toward it, brow furrowing slightly. Probably just a warrior needing something, he thought absently. Whoever it was, they must have changed their mind.

Neteyam shrugged, turning his attention back to his grandmother as she began mixing the herbs into a thick paste. Mo'at watched him silently for a moment longer, her eyes thoughtful, before she finally knelt before him, placing the bowl into his hand.

“Drink this slowly,” she instructed softly. “It will calm your mind. Give you rest.”

He stared into the mixture, eyes dark and tired. When he spoke, his voice was small—barely a whisper, rough with unspoken grief and doubt. “Do you think I’ve gone crazy too?”

Mo'at paused at that, her sharp features softening just slightly. She reached out, gently cupping her grandson’s face, thumb brushing tenderly across his cheek. Her eyes met his, steady and gentle in a way few had ever seen. “Wanting back your mate is not craziness, ma’itan,” she murmured quietly. “It is love. And love is never madness.”

Neteyam nodded slowly, her words seeping through some of the ache in his chest—but not all of it. He swallowed hard, his throat tight. “I feel like… I am drifting farther and farther away from my family,” he whispered. “Am I wrong, Grandmother? Wrong to love someone so different from us?”

Mo'at’s eyes softened further, deep wisdom shining quietly in them. She considered his question thoughtfully, carefully choosing her words before speaking.

“Love does not follow rules, child,” she said gently. “Eywa places it within us, and who are we to question her wisdom? Differences matter little in the eyes of the Great Mother. What matters is what you carry here—” she pressed one palm softly against his chest, directly over his heart, “—and here.” Her fingertips brushed gently over his temple. “If both your heart and your mind speak the same truth, there is no wrong.”

She paused, watching him intently, before asking simply:

“Do you truly love her, Neteyam?”

His breath stilled briefly. His gaze lifted, meeting his grandmother’s unflinching stare. And in that moment, all doubts and hesitation burned away, leaving only raw truth.

“Yes,” he said, quietly but fiercely. “More than I thought it was possible to love anyone. She is…” His voice faltered slightly, the intensity cracking his composure. “She is everything to me. Without her, I feel I am nothing. I would trade everything—my name, my position, the respect of the entire clan—just to hold her again. Just to know she’s alive and safe.” He swallowed hard as he murmured, eyes suddenly bright with unshed tears. “She’s my heart, Grandmother.”

Mo'at held his gaze quietly for a long moment, seeing the fire, the unwavering truth of his words. Then she nodded once, a gentle smile finally curving her lips.

“Then you already have your answer, grandson,” she said softly, squeezing his hand firmly. “Hold tight to it. Do not let doubt cloud your spirit. Eywa never places such bonds lightly.”

He nodded slowly, closing his eyes as the warmth of her reassurance washed over him—small, quiet comfort amidst so much grief. But he knew, as sure as he drew breath, that nothing would be whole again until you were back in his arms.

Neteyam raised the bowl to his lips and drank slowly, forcing the bitter poultice down with a grimace. The taste was sharp—earthy and biting—and it made his jaw tighten reflexively. He exhaled sharply through his nose as he lowered the bowl. “Eywa…” he muttered, lips curling in distaste. “That’s awful.”

Mo’at didn’t so much as glance at him. “It’s not meant to taste sweet,” she said dryly as she began returning her herbs to their place. “It’s meant to work.”

He pulled the bowl away, swallowing hard against the aftertaste, and stared down into it. The mixture left a dark, sludgy trail inside the curve of the wood, and he just sat there for a moment, holding it in both hands like it still carried some weight, some meaning.

Then, softly—without looking up—he said, “Sa’nok found out.”

Mo’at didn’t look up right away. She continued folding dried roots with care, placing them into small leather bundles for storage. Her voice came calm, unsurprised.

“I know,” she said simply. “She came to me yesterday. Asked if I had known.”

Neteyam exhaled a quiet, tired breath and nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching into something like a smirk. Of course she did. His mother—wounded, furious, betrayed—had stormed to the one place where answers were always demanded: her own mother’s tent. Because if anyone had helped him keep this secret, it had to be Mo’at.

He turned the bowl in his hands again, watching the firelight flicker against the smooth surface. “I guess she wanted to know if the tsahìk of the clan had covered for her son’s little affair with a human.”

Mo’at didn’t respond immediately. She bundled the last of the herbs and tied them shut with nimble fingers, then finally turned her sharp gaze back to him.

“I told her I took the girl as my apprentice in the past weeks,” she said simply.

Neteyam smiled, just faintly, eyes still fixed on the bowl. A warmth fluttered beneath his ribs, small and painful.

He remembered how proud you’d been those days. How carefully you’d stepped into the tent, eyes wide with curiosity, not hesitation. How you had listened to Mo’at’s instructions with such intent focus, soaking in every word. You’d taken notes in your little battered notebook even though the rest of the clan never did. You’d asked questions with humility, with reverence. You never assumed you knew better, even though half the time, you probably did.

Mo’at watched him with a softness she rarely showed, her sharp lines relaxing, her expression unreadable but not cold.

“I suppose she was not happy to hear that,” Neteyam added, almost absently. He didn’t need to say who. His voice was dry, tired. Not mocking—just resigned.

Mo’at said nothing for a long moment. Then, quietly, she answered, “No. She was not.” The silence that followed was not strained. It was heavy, but honest.

Neteyam stared at the empty bowl in his hands for a long while, his fingers curled tightly around it, as if letting go would unravel something inside him. The bitter taste of the poultice still clung to his tongue, but he barely noticed it anymore. His thoughts were elsewhere—always elsewhere these days. Drifting after you, even when his body stayed behind.

And then, the words came, quiet and uncertain. “Eywa sends me visions,” he said.

Mo’at didn’t interrupt. She didn’t ask questions. She only stilled her hands and turned her full attention toward him, watching him with the solemn stillness of a true tsahìk.

He hesitated for a moment, searching for the right place to begin. His voice was softer when it returned. “Every night,” he continued slowly, almost like he was afraid speaking them aloud would make them disappear. “She wraps them in dreams, but they are more than that. They feel… real. Like memories I didn’t live. Like pieces of a path I’m meant to follow.” He trailed off for a moment, his hands tightening around the bowl until the wood creaked faintly beneath his grip.

“I never find her,” he said, voice raw. “Always too late. Always behind. Like I’m just a shadow following her path instead of walking beside her. I see her in the dreams, I chase her, but she’s always ahead of me. Always out of reach.”

Mo’at’s brow furrowed, her expression quiet but intense as she listened. Neteyam’s eyes finally lifted from the bowl, his gaze locking with hers.

She inhaled softly, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then she rose and walked across the tent, kneeling slowly beside him. Her hand found his shoulder, light but grounding.

“Neteyam,” she said, her voice calm but resonant, like water trickling through stone. “The Great Mother does not speak in straight lines. She does not hand answers like fruit from a tree. She speaks in threads. In echoes. In glimpses.”

Her fingers squeezed gently. “You say you arrive late. But each vision still leads you one step further than before right? Eywa is not failing you. She is guiding you, piece by piece, so that you may see for yourself—not only where your mate has been, but what she has endured. What you must understand to bring her back whole.”

Neteyam blinked, swallowing. The words soothed something deep and raw in his chest. But the fear still remained, rooted and coiled.

His grip on the bowl tightened slightly. His next question came so quietly, it was almost lost to the tent walls.

“Would the Great Mother show me her death?”

The silence that followed was deep.

Mo’at’s hand stilled on his shoulder. She didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes closed for a moment, as if listening to something beyond the wind and fire.

Then, finally, she opened them again—and her voice was soft but firm, carrying the weight of generations.

“No,” she said. “Eywa does not show death to punish. Only to prepare.”

She leaned forward slightly, brushing her fingers along his temple the way she had when he was a small child with fevers and night terrors.

“If she had passed,” Mo’at whispered, “you would not see her shadow. You would not feel her breath in the trees. Eywa does not torment her children with hope where there is none.”

Neteyam’s breath caught.

“She is not gone, Neteyam,” Mo’at said firmly now, her tone stronger, more certain. “Not yet. The Great Mother would not lead you this far only to find ashes.”

Tears stung at the edges of his eyes, but he blinked them back. He bowed his head slowly, as if the weight of that truth had finally found a place to rest.

Neteyam stood slowly, careful not to disturb the quiet stillness between him and Mo’at. The medicine was already beginning to drag on his limbs, making each movement feel a little heavier, a little slower. He reached out and gently returned the bowl to her hands, his fingers brushing briefly against hers.

“Thank you, Grandmother,” he said, voice low but sincere. “For everything.”

Mo’at gave a small nod, accepting the bowl without ceremony. Her expression was calm, composed, but in her eyes was the warmth of something deeper. Understanding. Faith.

The flap rustled as he stepped outside.

The air was cool and damp, carrying the soft scent of the forest after the rains. Night had fully claimed the sky, stars glinting through the canopy like scattered stones. His breath plumed faintly in the air, the medicine already starting to pull at his muscles, weighing them down like sand.

He barely took two steps before he saw her.

Neytiri.

She stood just outside the shadows of the tent, half-hidden behind a thick root, as if she'd been caught between staying and fleeing. Her posture was tense—shoulders high, hands slightly clenched at her sides—but her face… her face was not the sharp mask she had worn yesterday when she’d looked at him like he was someone she didn’t recognize.

It was soft. Raw. Her eyes met his, wide and uncertain.

Neteyam froze. For a breath, he thought it was the medicine—making him see things. Making him hope. But then her gaze dropped, flicked over him, the way a mother checks a child for unseen wounds. That wasn’t anger in her eyes.

It was worry. A deep, quiet worry. The kind a mother feels when she sees her child slipping beyond her reach and doesn’t know how to pull him back.

She had heard everything.

Of course she had. She must’ve been the figure at the flap earlier. Not some warrior. His own mother—lingering in the dark, listening to his heart unravel in front of Mo’at. They stood a few meters apart, neither speaking, the space between them a silent battlefield of grief and things unsaid.

Neteyam tried to keep his face blank, unreadable. He knew his mask was thin. Too thin, after everything. He didn’t want her to see what was beneath it—didn’t want to give her that piece of him again. Not after yesterday.

Neytiri took one small step toward him, her hand rising slowly, uncertain.

“Neteyam,” she said softly, her voice low, hesitant. She reached out, fingers trembling slightly as if they remembered cradling his cheek when he was still young enough to fall asleep in her arms.

But he didn’t move toward her. Didn’t speak.

He just looked at her for one breath longer—one heartbeat that stretched too far—and then turned away.

He walked without a word, his steps deliberate, quiet, heading toward the far side of the village, away from the warmth of the communal fires, away from her, away from everything.

She didn’t call after him. And he didn’t look back. He couldn’t.

Not after everything she’d said. Not after the disgust in her voice when she looked at his love like it was a stain. Not after the way she had chosen tradition over his heart.

He didn’t need her words now. He needed you.

He needed sleep, just enough to carry him into the dreams again—into the shadows where you still ran ahead of him like a star half-lost in the trees.

Sleep took him like a slow tide, creeping over the edges of his thoughts and pulling him gently under. The medicine Mo’at had given him dulled the pain in his limbs, but it couldn’t quiet the ache in his chest. Still, his body surrendered—too worn to resist—and before long, the darkness gave way to light.

But not the harsh light of truth or grief or loss.

This dream was different. It was… peaceful.

The forest was gone.

There was no mist, no shadows, no chase through tangled roots or blood on the grass. No predators, no breathless panic clawing at his ribs. Just warmth. Quiet. Light.

Neteyam stood still. He knew it was a dream—he always knew now—but this one didn’t claw or tear or ache. It settled over him like a soft blanket. A memory, maybe. Or a promise.

You were at the outpost. Sitting at your desk, your back straight but relaxed, legs tucked under you as you typed rapidly on the worn keyboard in front of you. The hum of soft power from the solar battery buzzed low in the background. The screen glowed pale blue, casting light across your face, painting it in cool shadows and flickers of code.

Neteyam didn’t move. He just watched you.

His breath caught quietly in his throat, chest tightening—not with panic, but with longing so deep it carved a hollow inside him. You looked so alive. So you. Hair pulled messily back, strands falling forward as your fingers danced across the keys like it was second nature. You didn’t even glance at your hands. Just stared into the floating holo-screen, eyes moving quickly as you translated readings he would never understand.

Eywa, you were beautiful. You were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Not in the way the songs spoke of. Not like the women of his clan with their war paint and braids, lean bodies and fierce eyes. You were quiet beauty. Earthbound and glowing.

Not in the way humans sometimes meant it—he didn’t care about symmetry or softness or whatever scientific things Norm once tried to explain. You were beautiful in the way the forest was when it breathed. In the way light scattered through the canopy after rain. You were beautiful because you existed—because he could see the fire behind your eyes, the way your face tilted when you were deep in thought, the way your mouth curled ever so slightly when you solved something no one else could.

The blue glow from the screen lit your features like starlight. And his heart ached. Truly ached.

Because this was the you he missed. Focused. Calm. Brilliant. Breathing. Unbroken.

Let him see you at your desk again. Let him walk through the outpost door and hear you scold him for tracking mud into the clean lab space. Let him sit behind you while you work, legs crossed, listening to you mutter to yourself while you pulled the world apart and stitched it back together through numbers and light.

You shifted, then turned slowly, sensing him the way you always did, as if even in dreams you could feel his eyes on you.

Your lips curved into a soft, knowing smile.

And then, without preamble, you asked: “Have you ever met a thanator?” The question struck him like a branch to the face.

He blinked. “What?”

You tilted your head slightly, still smiling, your fingers finally stilled over the keyboard. “A thanator. The big black one with the scary eyes and all the sharp teeth.” You mimed claws in the air, half-serious, half-playful.

Neteyam chuckled, a sound that felt strange on his lips. “I mean… not in the forest, no. I’ve seen the holovids showed by my father when I was a child. And the hides the clan uses for ceremonial rites. But no, I’ve never actually faced one.” He paused. “They’re dangerous.”

You hummed thoughtfully, then looked away for a moment, eyes dancing in the holo-light.

“I want to see one someday,” you said.

He stared at you like you’d grown a second head. “What?”

You just laughed. Not mocking—more like you expected that exact reaction. “I know, I know. It’s crazy. I’d probably die in five seconds.” You shrugged casually, still smiling. “But they’re… incredible, aren’t they? The apex predator of Pandora. So powerful, so intelligent. The way they move, the way they protect their young…” Your eyes flicked back to him. “I think there’s something beautiful in that. Even if they’re terrifying.”

“You shouldn’t want to see one,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “You really shouldn’t.”

Your smile faded slightly into something curious, head tilted as you studied him thoughtfully. "Why are there no thanators around the outpost?"

Neteyam shook his head lightly, momentarily distracted by the soft confusion in your voice. "They live further west, toward the perimeter of the clan's lands," he explained softly. "Far from here. That's where their dens are. The prey there is abundant, easier for the mothers to hunt, easier to protect their pups. They rarely stray from that area."

His voice trailed off, and suddenly he went quiet—mind spinning as something clicked sharply into place. A pulse raced through his chest, quickening like a drumbeat.

West.

Toward the perimeter of the clan’s land. Toward the mining zone. Toward the very place you had disappeared from.

He thought again of the dream—the vision—Eywa had sent. The mother palulukan, snarling in defense of her den, fiercely protective of her young. Your exomask, lying broken and bloodied at her feet. He’d seen it as a warning, a symbol of your death. But now…

He looked at you sharply, your eyes still gentle and curious, your brow furrowed slightly as you waited for him to speak. Why were you asking about palulukan now? You, of all humans, knew more about Pandora's creatures than anyone in the outpost. You were one of the most intelligent scientists he knew—so why this sudden question?

Was it you? Or was it Eywa?

Was the Great Mother guiding him, gently nudging him forward—telling him exactly where he should go next? You must have passed near the dens if you'd headed east from the mining zone toward the outpost. The sunlight would have been your guide. Eastward, homeward, through the territory the thanators fiercely protected.

His heart thudded painfully. Perhaps you had encountered one. Perhaps the mask he saw was not a symbol of death, but merely an event on your path. Not a loss, but a clue.

A sign.

His thoughts spiraled deeper, sharp and hopeful and terrified all at once. His breathing quickened, chest rising and falling rapidly as the possibility unfurled before him, tangible and desperate.

Maybe you weren't gone.

Maybe you were just waiting, quietly hidden somewhere near those ancient dens. Eywa was not cruel—Mo'at's words echoed clearly now. She guided in pieces, in threads. And he had been too blinded by fear to see clearly.

Lost in thought, Neteyam hadn't even noticed you shifting closer, hadn't felt you move until your small, gentle hands slid over his own, softly curling around his much larger fingers.

He glanced down abruptly, startled, heart stumbling again. The contrast between you both was striking—the deep azure of his skin against the softness of yours, his hands engulfing yours entirely. You were so fragile, yet your touch was strong, steadying him with such gentle warmth that it felt impossibly real.

Your voice was quiet, tinged with a smile as you spoke again, breaking through his spinning thoughts. "You always have such a serious face when you're thinking."

He stared at your joined hands, throat tightening painfully. If only you knew how fiercely his thoughts had been racing, how desperately they were trying to bring you back.

If only you knew how much every moment without you was tearing him apart.

He squeezed your hands gently, crouching down, leaning in closer, letting himself savor the impossible softness of your touch, even if it was just a dream. Even if it wasn't real.

"Because my thoughts are always about you," he whispered, voice raw, eyes locked on your intertwined fingers. "Because I can't stop until I find you."

And even though he knew you were a dream, even though he knew you couldn't truly hear him—his heart whispered fiercely into the silence, promising that tomorrow he would follow this new thread Eywa had woven for him.

West. To the thanator dens. He wouldn't be late this time. He glanced down.

When he looked up again, you were smiling at him. That warm, crooked little smile that always tugged at the corners of his restraint. There was no fear in your eyes. No sadness. Just you. Present. Steady. And before he could speak, you reached up with your other hand.

Your small palm brushed gently along the edge of his jaw, cupping his face.

Your thumb moved slowly, tracing the faint line of bioluminescent freckles that shimmered along his cheekbone. You followed the curve of them like you were memorizing a constellation written just for you.

And then—without hesitation—you leaned in. His breath caught.

Your lips pressed to his—light, soft, a promise instead of a question. And in that small touch, the whole forest seemed to go still.

Neteyam’s ears flattened, a low sound catching in the back of his throat. His tail lashed behind him once, instinctive and sharp, before it curled tightly near his leg. His whole body was wound like a bowstring, but he didn’t pull away. Couldn’t. Would never.

Because this was real—even if it wasn’t.

Even if it was only a dream. His lips moved slowly against yours, reverent. Desperate. You pulled back just enough to breathe, your thumb still brushing his cheek. “I’m okay,” you whispered, like a secret only he was meant to hear.

And he believed you. But only for now. Because belief wasn’t enough. He needed to know. He needed to find you. And when he woke—he would. He had a direction now.

The morning came without color.

Neteyam was already awake before the first light crept over the horizon. He hadn’t slept long—just enough for Eywa’s thread to wrap around him once more and point him westward. He didn’t need more.

Before the first rays of sunlight touched the treetops, Neteyam was already gone.

The village still slept—quiet, still, unaware. And that’s how he wanted it. He didn’t wait for Lo’ak’s teasing yawn or Kiri’s questioning glance. He didn’t want their pity, not again. Not after last night. Not after what he saw. What he felt.

He couldn’t take another look that said we’re only here because we’re worried you’ll break.

Let them think he was broken. Let them think he’d lost his mind.

And maybe he had gone insane. Maybe he was mad now, chasing signs from dreams and whispers on the wind. Who walks willingly into palulukan territory with nothing but a bow and a knife?

But Neteyam didn’t care.

He would walk into the jaws of death itself if it meant a chance of finding you. So he rode alone.

The pa’li’s hooves hit the dirt path in long, quiet strides, and Neteyam’s bow swayed against his back with every movement. His knife sat at his chest. It wasn’t enough. He knew that. No one with sense walked willingly into thanator territory without a war party. And even then, not with any hope of return.

But maybe he had gone insane. Maybe the grief had finally chewed through whatever strength had been left inside him. Because he didn’t feel the fear anymore. Not really. Not the way he used to. It had been swallowed whole by something deeper. Something colder.

The thought of losing you. He rode west.

Through dense underbrush and vine-strangled paths, past forgotten trees with roots as wide as huts. He tracked the sun and the shape of the land, following instinct more than any mapped trail.

By the time the sun crested high overhead, the trees had grown quieter. The air thicker. The kind of silence that made prey freeze in place.

Their territory. The pa’li knew it too. “I know,” Neteyam whispered, his voice barely audible. “I don’t want to be here either.”

Shadows crept along the ground as midday passed, and finally, he saw it. Tracks. Fresh and unmistakable. Deep grooves cut into the earth, broken foliage crushed and pushed aside. Huge paw prints led toward an enormous tree surrounded by thick, dense undergrowth.

Thanator.

Neteyam halted, heart thudding painfully. He gazed ahead from the pa’li’s back, breathing shallowly. One set of prints was enormous—unmistakably a mother’s. Beside them, smaller tracks trailed after her, scattered and playful. Cubs.

The pa’li beneath him tensed, head lifting high twitching nervously. It shook its head sharply, hooves shifting uneasily. Neteyam laid a calming hand on its neck, murmuring softly, but the creature snorted in agitation. It didn't want to be here. He couldn’t blame it. Even a seasoned warrior stood little chance against a thanator mother protecting her cubs. Sky-demon weapons would barely tip the odds. And Neteyam was alone, armed only with wood and bone and desperation.

Then something caught his eye through the foliage—gleaming sharply in the sunlight. His heart slammed into his ribs.

Without thinking, he slid from the pa’li’s back, hitting the ground lightly and sprinting forward, bow forgotten on his back.

His breath caught in his throat when he reached the den’s mouth.

Three small thanator cubs tumbled playfully at the entrance, snapping and growling softly at one another. At the sound of his footsteps, they froze abruptly, amber eyes sharp and wary. They snarled quietly, retreating quickly into the shadows, vanishing deeper into the den.

But his eyes were no longer on them. They were fixed on the mask lying broken and bloodied in the dirt, glittering cruelly in the dappled sunlight.

Your mask.

Exactly as Eywa had shown him. His knees nearly gave out, a violent tremor racing through him. He staggered, then pushed himself forward anyway, stumbling closer. His heart was hammering, breath jagged as he knelt down to pick it up, turning it over in his trembling fingers.

The mask was cracked, smeared with dark, dried blood across the shattered glass panel. His vision blurred, throat closing tightly around a sudden wave of nausea.

You were here. You had to be. You wouldn't have abandoned this mask willingly. You'd never leave it behind unless—

No. He refused to accept that. And as he knelt there, desperate, eyes scanning wildly—he saw something else.

Footprints. But not yours.

These were larger. Longer. Broader. A human male's, distinct in the soft earth, leading away from the den. His mind spun rapidly.

Norm. The science team. Xenobotanists, perhaps. Maybe they'd been searching too. Maybe they'd found you, hurt and bleeding, barely alive, and had taken you back to safety—to the outpost, to Norm's med-lab.

Hope surged fiercely, blooming through his chest like sunlight, almost painful in its intensity.

But as he sprinted back toward the pa'li, heart pounding with new purpose, a cold shadow whispered suddenly in the back of his mind.

If they'd found you, if you were safe, why hadn't they told him?

He hauled himself up onto the pa'li’s back, chest heaving, mind spinning with desperate questions. Fear coiled tightly around his ribs, choking out the brief flash of hope.

What if they hadn’t told him because… because it was too late? Because you were too badly injured? Because you wouldn't survive, and they couldn't bear to deliver that news to him?

He kicked the pa’li into a swift gallop toward the outpost, barely feeling the wind rushing past him. He knew only one thing with absolute certainty:

He had to see you. Even if it broke him completely. Even if the next breath he took was the last sane breath he ever drew. He needed to know.

It was nearly dusk when Neteyam reached the outpost, the jungle behind him humming softly with the approach of night. The air was thick with the weight of heat and tension, the sky bleeding orange and violet as the last light dipped behind the mountains.

The pa’li beneath him was slick with sweat and trembling with exhaustion, foam gathering at its mouth. He slid off its back without a word, giving the creature a brief, grateful pat on its flank. “Go,” he murmured, voice low and firm. “You’re done.”

The pa’li didn’t hesitate—it turned and disappeared into the forest with a staggering gallop, leaving Neteyam standing alone in front of the gates of Hell itself.

Because that’s what the outpost felt like now. A place of answers he wasn’t sure he could bear.

He approached slowly, steps silent but purposeful, the scent of metal and sterilized air creeping into his nose as he drew closer to the airlock. Something was off. He could sense it instantly—movement, voices, tension in the air like an electric charge. Something was happening.

The outer doors hissed as they cycled open, and a figure stepped out.

Raj.

The man froze the moment he spotted Neteyam—like prey caught in the gaze of a predator. His hands were gripping a large crate, dragging it behind him, but he stilled instantly, body going rigid, face paling.

Neteyam’s tail lashed violently behind him. He hadn’t forgotten.

He didn’t care that Raj was just a scientist. He didn’t care that the man probably never meant harm. All he saw was the one who dared to say she’s not coming back. As if your death was an inconvenience.

Now, seeing him again—seeing him standing there, alive, breathing, dragging some goddamned crate like nothing had happened—Neteyam’s blood boiled.

Raj froze the moment he noticed Neteyam approaching. He went rigid like a cornered animal, eyes darting quickly toward the airlock as if measuring his odds of escape. The crate behind him thudded against the metal flooring as he released it, hands instinctively raising in some half-hearted placating gesture.

Neteyam’s fingers curled around the hilt of his knife before he stopped himself. Not now. Not yet. He needed answers more than he needed vengeance.

Neteyam didn’t stop. He brushed past the man without a single word, shoulders stiff, steps sharp with restrained fury.

Raj flinched as he passed.

Good. Let him be afraid.

He didn’t deserve even a sliver of grace.

Neteyam stormed through the outpost’s airlock, the door hissing open in front of him. His steps echoed through the narrow hallway, the sterile white lights above flickering slightly as the backup generator kicked on for the evening cycle.

He followed the sound of voices—heated, overlapping. The main lab. As he rounded the corner, the scene unfolded in front of him.

Norm stood near the center of the room, looking worn and resigned, his arms folded tightly across his chest. Max lingered nearby, expression tense. And across from them stood Kate voice low but full of fire.

Neteyam’s heart began to hammer again. He stepped closer, trying to hear them. The hum of the base was loud—but not loud enough to drown them out completely.

“You shouldn’t do this,” Kate was saying, voice sharp, brimming with frustration.

Norm’s voice was lower, slower. “It’s been over a week. We haven’t had a signal. No sightings. No movement. She’s—”

“You don’t know that,” Kate snapped.

“You don’t know she’s alive,” Norm countered, his voice cracking slightly, weary. “We have to move forward. I had to make the call.”

Kate stared at him in disbelief. “You filed the closure?”

“I had to. Her file's been marked as ‘presumed lost.’”

Neteyam didn’t understand it at first. Closed… your file? He didn’t understand. What did that mean? Was it some human thing? Something bureaucratic? Some protocol?

But then he saw the look on Kate’s face—saw the way her anger masked grief—and something cold and sharp slipped beneath his ribs.

They were giving up. They were calling you gone.

He stood outside the glass, unmoving, silent. The words felt like wind blowing past him at first. Just air.

But then Norm kept speaking.

“We can’t leave her listed as active. Not after this long. It’s protocol, Kate. I know how much she meant to us, but—”

The words hit like a blow to the chest.

“You had no right,” she said sharply, her back to Neteyam.

“I have to,” Norm replied quietly, his voice almost hollow. “We searched the entire sector.”

“You didn’t search all of it,” Kate shot back, turning toward him with a glare. “You searched what the drones could cover. That’s not the same.”

You were still out there. He knew it. Eywa had not lied. The mask, the dream, the footprints—all of it pointed to you still fighting. Still surviving. And here they were. Closing your file like you were just another failed mission. Another line on a report.

A faint snarl escaped the back of his throat before he even realized it.

Norm’s head jerked toward the sound—and his eyes widened when he saw Neteyam through the glass.

Neteyam didn’t move. He just stared at them through the barrier, his entire body trembling—not with grief, but with fury.

Because they didn’t believe in you. But he did.

Neteyam’s heart began to thud, sharp and fast, his body suddenly too still. He stepped closer, lips parted slightly. “What does that mean?” he whispered aloud, but no one heard him.

The three scientists froze. Norm looked up, his expression tightening instantly as he saw Neteyam standing there, wide-eyed, breathing heavily, rage barely restrained beneath the surface. Norm’s voice was low. “I had to file the loss for HQ. For the database. For the funding review. It doesn’t mean I believe she’s gone— It means… we’ve listed her as MIA,” he said quietly. “Missing. Presumed dead.”

But Neteyam was already backing away, shaking his head. The words sounded like static, meaningless and hit like a blow to the chest.

Everything in Neteyam went still. The world, the lights, the sounds around him—it all blurred into a haze of white noise.

Presumed dead.

No.

His hands clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms so tightly he felt the sting of breaking skin. He felt it—but barely. Because the rage and disbelief were louder.

They’d written you off. His hands were shaking.

Kate looked at him with something close to guilt. Max looked away entirely. A voice cracked through the tension like brittle glass shattering in silence. It came from the far side of the lab—quiet, low, but raw. “I told them not to touch anything. Kate too.”

Neteyam’s head snapped toward the sound. Brian.

He stood near the back wall, half in shadow, hands braced on a stack of metallic crates that matched the one Raj had been dragging. His shoulders were slumped, his face pale, eyes rimmed red like he hadn’t slept in days. His voice trembled—not from fear, but from grief.

“They’re… sending someone else,” Brian said hoarsely, eyes flicking toward the group, then down again. “Bridgehead. HQ. Protocol, you know? Can’t leave a position unfilled. Especially not one as important as hers.”

Neteyam didn’t speak. Didn’t breathe.

Brian swallowed hard, his throat working like it hurt to speak. “They want us to clear out her quarters. Pack up her things. Prepare for the replacement.”

The words hung in the air like ash after a fire. Final. Cold. Neteyam stared at him for a moment, his breath frozen in his chest. Then slowly—almost unwillingly—he turned his gaze to the metal containers stacked in the corner.

There were three of them. Big. Square. Gray. Labeled with her initials. They weren’t just boxes. They were you. Everything you’d touched, everything you’d loved, everything that had made your world yours—crammed into crates like you were already a memory.

Neteyam stepped forward, unable to stop himself. He moved slowly, one step at a time, like the air had thickened around him. When he reached the nearest crate, he let his hand rest on the lid. The cold of the metal seeped into his fingers. His chest tightened painfully. Inside those crates was your life. Four years of it.

Your books. Your data pads. Your field kits. Your little sketches of Pandoran flora you used to pin above your bed. The scent of your soap clinging to your spare uniform. Your coffee mug with the chipped handle. Your notes—written in that half-scientific, half-messy shorthand he could never understand. The little woven trinkets Kiri had gifted you. The tiny jar of river pearls you’d been collecting ever since he gave you the first one.

All of it. Everything that proved you had lived here. That you had loved this world. His world. And now it was being packed away like evidence. His hand curled into a fist over the crate.

He couldn’t stay here. Not now. Not when the walls were closing in and every corner of this place reeked of abandonment. His voice was low, broken.

“She’s not gone,” he said again, but this time… it wasn’t to them.

It was to himself. And to Eywa. Rage flared so sharply behind his ribs it felt like something cracked.

“She is not replaceable,” Neteyam hissed, stepping forward before anyone could stop him. His voice was low and tight and shaking. “You don’t replace her. You find her.”

Kate opened her mouth like she wanted to say something—to calm him, to offer some tired rationalization—but he wasn’t interested in calm. Or reason.

He pulled something from the strap at his waist and tossed it across the table. It landed with a clatter, spinning slightly on the smooth metal.

Your mask. Bloodied. Cracked. Real. Everyone stilled.

“I found this,” Neteyam said, voice razor-sharp. “At a thanator den. Not scavenged. Not crushed. Dragged. Someone found her. There were footprints.”

Norm and Max paled. Kate’s hand shot to her mouth. Brian just stared, his mouth slightly agape.

“And you want to sit here and close files? You want to replace her?” Neteyam growled. “Then do it. But I’m not staying. I’m not waiting. And I’m not stopping.”

His chest rose and fell with hard, furious breaths.

He didn’t know how he got back to the village.

It was all a blur—fragments of memory without context, without clarity. The jungle whispered around him, a backdrop of muted color and indistinct shapes. The familiar trails and trees and scents faded into a dull hum, indistinguishable from the ache in his chest.

He remembered voices—his mother’s gentle murmur in the village, the concern etched into Neytiri's golden eyes. She’d tried to speak to him, reach out to him, but he hadn’t heard the words. Couldn’t hear them over the roaring emptiness inside his heart.

Kiri and Lo’ak had been there too, faces painted with worry, with uncertainty. They had called to him, but he’d walked past them without stopping, without answering. Their voices faded behind him as he moved, his steps heavy, dragging him inevitably to the dark solitude of his kelku.

And then he was alone. Numb. Empty.

He sat on the woven mats on the floor, eyes fixed unseeing into the dim light that filtered weakly through the thatched roof. The silence pressed around him like water, thick and suffocating.

Gone. They said you were gone.

The humans at the outpost—those he’d thought friends, allies—claimed he’d lost his mind. Claimed no other human would be out here, deep in the forests of Pandora. Norm’s voice echoed again and again, words like shards of glass slicing through his thoughts:

Maybe you have to accept she’s gone. Neteyam squeezed his eyes shut, breath catching painfully. Accept it? How could he accept that? How could he let her go like she’d never existed?

You were not just someone he'd cared about. You were his mate—his very heart. You were the one thing he knew he would always want, always need, forever. How could he abandon that? How could he let the pain of your absence be reduced to something as small and sterile as a closed file, a quiet memorial in the corner of a human outpost?

His chest tightened, agony twisting through him. How could he ever be so cruel as to accept your death? It would mean killing the last shred of hope that still lingered inside him—hope that Eywa had not lied, hope that the footprints had led you to safety, hope that the dreams were guiding him, not mocking him.

His gaze drifted across the kelku, empty and silent. Cold now, where once it had felt warm, filled with your quiet laughter, your careful touches, the soft way you'd leaned against him in the darkness.

His eyes caught on something small, lying half-forgotten near the sleeping mats.

The tiny, white button. He reached for it, fingers shaking, heart pounding. It sat in his palm, small and fragile.

Just like you.

His hand moved instinctively to the songcord tied securely to his hip, the thread smooth and familiar beneath his fingertips. His fingers grazed the beads—memories etched carefully into bone, into stone, into pearl.

Every songcord had a beginning and an end. Even then if knowing you were part just a few years of his life.

The first bead was the prayer he'd whispered to Eywa beneath the Tree of Souls—asking for something real. He'd prayed, and the Great Mother had given him you. Human, strange, brilliant, perfect in your differences, made just for him. His anchor. His balance. His future.

His fingers brushed gently over the beads, feeling the shapes, the grooves of memories.

His chest squeezed painfully. Because if there was a bead marking the beginning, logic whispered cruelly in the back of his mind, there would eventually have to be an end. A final bead marking the day he lost you forever.

Maybe you weren't Na'vi. Maybe you'd never woven a songcord of your own. But Neteyam knew his would always bear your story. Your name. Your heart.

Slowly, hands shaking with quiet grief, he took the white button and carefully threaded it onto the end of his cord. His vision blurred, stinging sharply at the corners of his eyes. But he blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall.

He didn't want to do this. He didn't want to accept this. But if he didn't anchor himself to something—if he didn't ground himself in the cold, stark truth—he feared he'd crumble entirely. That he'd fall apart and never come back together.

He stared at the button, small and painfully white against the darker beads. Is this all that's left of you now? He wanted to scream at Eywa, to rage against the silence in his heart. How could the Great Mother give him this bond—let him taste this love—and then rip it away?

Yet even as the anger swelled within him, sharp and fierce, there was something else whispering quietly in the depths of his heart.

A tiny, treacherous voice that said: Maybe you've been lying to yourself. Maybe those dreams were never visions from Eywa. Maybe they were just desperate things your mind created. Hope that wasn't real. Threads that never truly existed.

His breath hitched, the thought aching through him like poison.

Had he gone mad, like they said at the outpost? Had he chased shadows all this time?

His shoulders slumped forward, eyes closing, breath ragged. "No," he whispered hoarsely into the empty space. "No." He couldn’t believe that. He couldn’t.

He couldn’t accept that the Great Mother would play with his heart that cruelly. She had brought you to him—he knew that. Felt it in every fiber of his being.

Eywa had chosen you. Just as surely as he had. And the Na'vi chose mates for life. He’d known from the first moment you touched his heart that you were his mate. His forever.

Eywa had seen it, accepted it, blessed it. He couldn’t betray that.

But now, sitting alone in his kelku with your button threaded onto his songcord—this tiny symbol of you that felt so painfully inadequate—he wasn't sure what he knew anymore. He felt utterly lost. He didn’t know how to live in a world without you.

His fingers tightened around the cord, pressing the button sharply against his palm until he felt the edge cut softly into his skin. He welcomed the pain. It was something. Anything. Anything but emptiness.

"Eywa," he whispered, his voice broken, desperate. "Please—if you're listening… tell me I'm not wrong. Tell me you're guiding me. Please don't let me lose this hope."

But the kelku remained silent. Only shadows answered him.

His breath shuddered out in a slow, painful exhale, shoulders trembling as he bowed his head.

Tomorrow he would search again. He had to. He couldn't give up.

But tonight… tonight he let himself crumble. Let himself grieve. He was a warrior. The eldest son. Meant to stand strong for his clan, his siblings, his family.

But right now, here alone, he wasn't strong. He was just a heartbroken soul who couldn't bear to lose you. And for tonight—just for tonight—he allowed himself to break.

Neteyam sat still, crouched low in the shadows of his kelku, the white button threaded onto the end of his songcord digging into his palm like a wound he couldn't stop pressing. The weight of it felt like the end of something sacred—like a thread cut before the weaving was complete.

The air was thick and unmoving, heavy with grief and the scent of forest and ash. Night hummed quietly outside, the insects murmuring low and constant.

Then—softly, barely a shift—he heard movement near the entrance.

Footsteps. Light. Too careful to be Lo’ak. Too hesitant to be a warrior. He didn’t look up.

“Go away, Kiri,” he muttered, voice raw, dull. “I’m not in the mood to be pitied.”

Silence. Then a voice—not his sister’s. It was deeper, gentler—a voice that had soothed him to sleep as a child, that had scolded him for scraped knees and praised him after his first hunt.

“My son,”

His body went stiff.

Neytiri.

He didn’t want company.

Didn’t want comfort or reason or soft words that meant nothing. He wanted to disappear into the furs and will himself to wake from this living nightmare. He wanted time to fold in on itself and give him one more hour, one more breath, one more chance to make everything right again.

She stepped slowly inside, moving quietly, as if afraid that sound itself might shatter him further. The low flames flickered across her face, casting dancing shadows that softened her usually fierce features.

“What happened?” she asked gently, crouching just beyond his reach.

Neteyam’s shoulders shook once, a sharp breath leaving him in a brittle scoff. He didn’t look at her. He just stared down at his hands, curled tightly around his songcord.

“Why do you care?” he said, voice small, bitter. His ears flattening back. “If you came here to mock me—to celebrate that even the humans have accepted her death—then please, just go away.”

Then, softly, Neytiri crouched beside him. Her hand reached out carefully, landing gentle and warm on his shoulder. He almost flinched at her touch—it was too comforting, too familiar, too maternal to fit with the mother who had spat hateful words about his love.

“Neteyam,” she murmured softly, her voice gentle enough that for a moment he thought he’d imagined it. “You really love her, don’t you?”

Something cracked in his chest. Something fragile, something that had been holding him together by a thin, worn thread.

His head turned sharply toward her, eyes wide, wary, filled with the raw ache he couldn’t hide anymore.

Neytiri’s gaze met his quietly, carefully. Her expression was softer than he’d seen it in days—maybe even longer. No anger. No disgust. Only sorrow. Only quiet understanding.

“I told you that,” he whispered hoarsely, voice shaking. “But you wouldn’t listen. You didn’t care.”

“I care,” she said quietly, voice strained with emotion. “I always cared. Maybe… too much.”

He stared at her, trying to make sense of the sudden softness in her voice. His brow furrowed, confusion twisting through the pain.

“I don’t understand,” he said softly, voice cracking at the edges.

Neytiri drew a slow, careful breath. Her hand tightened gently on his shoulder, holding him steady.

“I was scared for you, ma’itan,” she confessed quietly, her voice shaking slightly. “Not just angry. Not just disappointed. Scared. I feared… I feared what she would do to your heart. That she would hurt you simply by being what she is.”

Neteyam’s jaw tightened painfully. “She would never hurt me. Not willingly. Not ever.”

Neteyam looked away, jaw clenched, but said nothing. His tail slowly swaying behind him with some loew thump-thump.

Neytiri watched her son closely, her eyes tracing every line and shadow that played across his features in the flickering firelight. There was an ache deep in her chest—a familiar yet foreign pain, something rooted far deeper than disappointment or anger. It was a mother's grief, the kind born of watching the child she loved grow into someone she barely recognized.

Slowly, carefully, Neytiri reached out, her thumb brushing gently across Neteyam's cheekbone, smoothing over the fine lines of bioluminescence that glowed faintly in the dark. Her touch was hesitant, cautious—as though she feared that he might pull away, might vanish before her eyes like a misty apparition.

"You have grown so much," she murmured softly, her voice barely more than a whisper. "So quickly. Too quickly. I blink—and you are no longer the child who used to fall asleep in my lap after listening to old stories."

Neteyam didn't move. He barely even breathed, eyes lowered to his hands.

Neytiri drew a slow breath, the heaviness of it settling in her chest. "Sometimes it feels as though I have missed the moment you became a man. I look at you, and I still see the child I once knew—the child I protected. But then…" Her voice faded, eyes shadowed with sorrow. "Then you speak, and I see a man who has walked paths I cannot follow."

Neteyam finally lifted his gaze, his eyes finding hers. They were dark and raw—brimming with a grief and determination she both recognized and feared. "Then why," he asked quietly, his voice tense but even, "do you not trust in my decision?"

His question was gentle, but it struck Neytiri with the force of a blade.

Her lips parted slightly, words catching in her throat as she met his gaze. She saw the truth there—the quiet accusation, the hurt, the confusion. And beneath all of it, the burning intensity of conviction, the kind she'd once known herself, years ago, when she'd defied tradition for love.

Yet even now, she struggled to give him an answer. How could she explain the fear that had settled so deeply within her? How could she tell him about the past she couldn't forget, the loss she had buried beneath duty, beneath mothering, beneath the life she'd built from grief and ashes?

At last, her words came—softly, haltingly. "Because," she whispered, the weight of old wounds making her voice tremble, "she could never fully belong to you. She could never belong to this place—to the People. No matter how much you might wish it."

Neteyam's eyes narrowed, hurt flickering through his expression, quickly replaced by stubborn defiance. "You don’t know that," he said quietly, firmly. "Eywa—"

Neytiri shook her head, pain tightening around her heart like a vice. "Eywa might bind souls," she murmured, her voice heavy with sorrow. "But there are some things even the Great Mother cannot change. There are scars too deep. Differences too vast. She is human. She is—"

"Mine," Neteyam cut in sharply, his voice still quiet, but with an edge that cut through the air between them. He held her gaze steadily, unwavering, the words absolute. "I don't ask you to understand. Just… to trust me."

For a moment, Neytiri didn't speak. She watched her son—her eldest, her firstborn, her brave-hearted warrior—seeing clearly, perhaps for the first time, the man he truly was. Strong-willed, fiercely loyal, unyielding in the face of uncertainty.

And yet, her heart still ached. The past was still there, whispering darkly in her mind. The wounds humans had carved into her spirit could never truly heal.

Finally, slowly, she withdrew her hand, her thumb leaving a lingering warmth against his cheek. Her eyes lowered, heavy with sorrow, understanding, and the shadow of a mother's fear.

Neteyam’s face didn’t change. Not in the way someone outside would see. But she was his mother. She saw it. The way his breath hitched — the smallest shift. The shadow in his eyes that flickered, like firelight trying not to die.

Still, he said nothing. He just looked at her.

Neytiri lowered her hand from his cheek, but didn’t move away. Her voice softened again.

“Even if her heart beats like ours… even if she walks like one of us… Eywa did not shape her for this world.”

She swallowed, her gaze dropping to the songcord in his lap.

“But maybe,” she added, barely audible now, “maybe… Eywa shaped you for her.”

Neytiri’s gaze stayed fixed on his, and for a long moment, she said nothing.

She saw it now. Not just the defiance. Not just the stubbornness. But the desperation.

And the love.

It was there—unmistakable. Blazing behind his eyes like a flame refusing to die, even under the weight of grief, fear, and her disapproval. A love that had no edges, no caution, no exit plan. She recognized it—not as a mother, but as a woman who had once stood across from her own father and said, I choose him.

And just like that, the breath caught in her chest.

Because she knew her son.

Neteyam did not give half of himself to anything. Not to his training. Not to his people. Not to war. And certainly not to love.

When he gave… he gave everything.

There would be no going back.

Not for him. Not for the girl he searched for like his soul would stop beating if he didn’t find her. Neytiri had days believed there would be time to pull him back, to remind him of duty, of blood, of legacy. She saw her once strong son grow more and more abandoned and weaker day by day, as if he were just a ghost. But the look in his eyes told her the truth now.

It was already done.

This was no passing infatuation. No rebellion. No mistake.

Her son had given his heart to a sky person.

Irrevocably.

She inhaled, slow and deep, her throat tight, her fingers curling and uncurling at her sides as if holding something invisible and fragile.

And when she spoke, it was not to argue. Not to warn. Just to ask—soft, almost inaudible.

"Does she love you back?"

Neteyam blinked, startled by the question.

But he nodded. Once. Firm. Certain.

Neytiri’s eyes lingered on his face for a final breath, searching for something—doubt, perhaps. A crack. A place where she could slip through and pull him home, back to her, back to the path laid for him.

But there was none.

Only that same quiet fire. Only love.

Something in her chest gave a low, sorrowful twist. She reached out again, not to touch this time, but to steady herself as she slowly stood. Her knees felt heavier than they had in years.

Neteyam watched her, confusion flickering in his eyes. He didn’t speak—too afraid that the wrong word might shatter this fragile shift in her.

Why wasn’t she yelling?

Why wasn’t she reminding him that she had once watched her sister die at the hands of humans?

Why was she looking at him now like he’d said something simple—like he’d accepted one of the girls the Elders had picked for him, or spoken of a hunt he meant to lead?

Why did she look... calm?

Neytiri turned her eyes toward the fire. The flames crackled softly between them. Then she looked back at him one last time.

And this time, there was no anger.

Only the quiet, aching grief of a mother letting go.

She paused at the entrance of the tent, her back still to him, hand brushing lightly against the flap. She didn’t turn. Her voice, when it came, was low and worn, barely a breath in the darkness.

“If you find her… bring her home yourself.”

And then she was gone.

The flap fell shut behind her.

Leaving Neteyam alone in the firelight, clutching a human button and a threadbare cord, with nothing in his chest but the echo of her words and the thundering, defiant rhythm of his own heart.

The entrance swayed gently, the rustle of the kelku’s flap settling into quiet again, as if nothing had changed.

But everything had changed.

Neteyam sat motionless, staring at the place his mother had vanished, his chest aching with a heaviness he couldn’t name. He felt suspended between two breaths, two worlds, two truths—and for a moment, wondered if he'd fallen asleep without knowing it. If the whole conversation, Neytiri’s quiet surrender, her unexpected words of acceptance—had all been some fevered, grief-born dream.

Maybe he had finally lost his mind, as some whispered at the outpost. Maybe his desperate, hopeless love for you had cracked him open, allowing madness to seep in through the cracks.

But if this was madness—if this was just another cruel illusion conjured by his breaking heart—then Eywa, please, let the next dream be of you.

Let the next vision be your path.

He wanted to see you again. Needed to see you again. He didn’t care if it hurt. He didn’t care if Eywa showed him shadows or nightmares. He needed something—anything—to show him where you had walked, where you had hidden, where you still breathed.

Because you had become the very core of him.

He knew it now, sitting in this dark kelku, his mother’s words still hanging like smoke in the air. He knew it without doubt, without fear—knew it with every breath, every beat of his heart.

He needed you like he needed air. Like the forest needed rain. Like life needed Eywa’s breath.

Everything else—the clan, his father’s pride, the title that had once weighed so heavily on him—it all faded into silence next to the need burning in his chest.

If the clan turned their backs on him, he would understand. If his father’s disappointment carved new scars across his soul, he would bear them without regret. If he lost his position as the future Olo'eyktan, he would accept it gratefully.

Because none of that mattered.

None of it meant anything if he couldn't find you again.

And if he found you—if Eywa returned you safely to his arms—then he would accept anything the world chose to throw at him.

The whispers, the shame, the judgments—he would welcome them, because you would be beside him. Holding his hand, breathing your calmness into him like the first sweet breath of air after a dive into deep water.

You made his life gentler.

His thoughts easier.

The relentless noise inside his head quieted when you touched him, when your human hands traced soft patterns along his jaw, when your quiet voice murmured his name in a way that made it sound new.

You gave him peace.

Something he'd forgotten how to feel without you.

Neteyam closed his eyes slowly, breathing in deep, reaching desperately toward the Great Mother. He let himself sink into the stillness of the kelku, into the silence pressing against his chest.

He lowered himself slowly onto the pelts, exhausted. His head rested heavily against his folded arms, eyes fluttering shut as he succumbed to the pull of sleep—no, the pull of hope.

Because he knew that you were out there. Alive. Waiting for him. Even if everyone else doubted. Even if they called him mad.

You were breathing.

And he would find you. He would hold you again. He would look into your eyes and promise you that whatever storms came, whatever trials you faced—

He would never let go.

As sleep claimed him, he clutched your button tighter, pressing it against his heart, the final thought in his mind a plea and a promise:

Just show me the way, Eywa, and I will bring her home.

Sleep overtook him reluctantly, claiming him slowly, carefully, like he was drifting down through layers of water. When Neteyam opened his eyes again, it wasn’t the dark of the kelku or the oppressive shadows of his nightmares.

It was sunlight.

Warm, golden sunlight streamed down through gently swaying branches overhead, dappling everything with dancing patches of brightness. A soft breeze whispered through the leaves, making them rustle like a gentle melody.

Neteyam blinked in confusion, momentarily disoriented.

He stood at the edge of a familiar clearing—before him, an open pond glittered brightly beneath the daylight, its still surface reflecting the clear, blue sky above. And sitting there, upon the thick, fallen tree trunk that stretched gently across the pond, was—

His breath caught painfully in his throat.

It was you.

You sat there, perched on the trunk with your legs dangling casually over the side, your bare toes barely brushing the cool, clear water beneath. The sunlight caught in your hair, lighting it like threads of spun gold. And when your head turned, when your eyes met his—

You smiled.

It was bright, breathtaking, radiant—like the sunrise after endless storms.

“Neteyam!” Your voice rang out in excitement, eyes glinting with pure, genuine happiness. You waved him over enthusiastically, your smile widening impossibly further. “Come sit with me! Hurry up, I've been waiting!”

He froze for just an instant, stunned and breathless, caught between disbelief and an ache so profound it almost brought him to his knees.

This couldn’t be real.

Yet, real or not, dream or memory—his body moved without hesitation. He crossed the grass and climbed onto the trunk, sitting down carefully next to you, his movements gentle as if afraid that one sudden motion might cause you to vanish.

The moment he settled beside you, your brows furrowed. You leaned closer, suddenly serious, examining him carefully.

“You look bad,” you said softly, your voice touched with worry. Your small, gentle hand rose to touch his cheek carefully, tracing the dark circles beneath his eyes, the hollow shadows of his cheeks. “Why aren’t you eating?”

Neteyam swallowed hard, feeling your touch—warm and impossibly soft—against his skin. His chest ached at the tenderness in your eyes, at the quiet worry that filled your gaze.

He wanted to speak, but he couldn’t find the right words. He just stared at you silently, cross-legged on the trunk, taking in every detail of your face like he might never get the chance again. Every soft line, every freckle, every gentle curve—he burned it all into memory, his heart clenching painfully.

“Why are you here?” he finally whispered, his voice strained. “In my dream? Did…did something happen to you?” His voice cracked on the question he’d been afraid to ask. “Are you here to say goodbye?”

Your brow knitted, confusion flickering across your features clearly even under the exomask, as if the question baffled you completely. “Goodbye?” You laughed quietly, as though it was the strangest thing you'd ever heard. “Why would I be dead, Neteyam?”

He watched you carefully, heart aching at the genuine confusion in your expression, the way your eyes searched his face for answers he didn’t have.

You turned slightly, gesturing at the beautiful pond around you, eyes softening again. “It’s just another day, right? Just us, here.”

Neteyam felt something shift inside him as he studied you quietly—your peaceful demeanor, your gentle, familiar smile. Suddenly, understanding pierced him like an arrow.

This was how the ancestors behaved in Eywa’s embrace—at the Tree of Voices. They lived in memories, reliving beautiful, happy moments, unaware of their own deaths.

His stomach churned, twisting in grief.

Were you already lost? Was this just your memory—a fragment of you held by Eywa, replaying endlessly?

He lifted his gaze slowly, recognizing suddenly the place you sat together. It had been before you became mates—before you had confessed how deeply your hearts belonged to each other. You’d seen a water lily in your datapad and asked him eagerly if he knew where you could find it. Neteyam remembered clearly bringing you here, how your eyes lit up, how your smile was wider than he'd ever seen it, how you’d laughed with pure, radiant joy as you examined the delicate flower with tender awe.

That day had been perfect.

But seeing you now—trapped forever in a memory—threatened to break him completely.

He clenched his jaw, forcing himself not to break, not to crumble in front of you. But just before he could spiral deeper into grief and confusion, your voice broke through again—soft, quiet, a whisper meant only for him.

“I’m underground.”

He stiffened, a sharp ache slicing through his chest. Underground. His breath caught sharply.

“Eywa…” he breathed, voice barely audible. “So you really—”

You continued quietly, eyes distant, looking toward the water as if it might whisper your truths to him. “I want to go home, but…”

Your voice faded, the unfinished sentence hanging heavily in the air between you.

He felt his heart fracture.

But then, slowly, you turned your gaze back to him, your eyes filled with quiet, gentle sadness and something else—hope.

“I just need more time,” you whispered softly, reaching up to gently cup his face, thumb brushing over his cheekbone in a familiar caress. “Will you wait for me?”

He leaned instantly into your palm, eyes closing as he drank in your touch, your warmth, your presence. It hurt—it hurt so badly—to know this wasn’t real, that this was just a vision. Yet the simple sensation of your skin against his steadied him.

“Could you do that for me?” Your voice was soft, hopeful, pleading.

His throat tightened painfully. “I’ll wait forever,” he whispered brokenly. “Forever, ma yawne.”

You gazed at him, eyes overflowing with love, affection so deep it threatened to break him again. But then you smiled softly, playfully, your fingertip booping gently against his flat nose.

“But you need to take care of yourself,” you scolded lightly, softly chiding him. “Eat something. Rest. You look like you’re falling apart.”

And that—that simple, gentle worry—almost shattered him completely. Tears burned behind his eyes, threatening to spill over as he watched you, your gentle smile, your familiar scolding.

Because even now—even in dreams, in visions—your first worry was always him.

He reached up, gently grasping your hand, pressing it tightly against his face as if it might keep you here, as if the strength of his love alone could anchor you.

“I’ll try,” he breathed, voice cracking, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “I promise.”

You smiled softly, eyes glowing with warmth and tenderness, your small palm still pressed gently against his cheek.

“Good,” you whispered, leaning your forehead gently against his. “Just wait a little longer. I’ll come home to you. I promise.”

His eyes slipped shut, chest aching, heart beating painfully fast.

His little heart, his stubborn miracle, still trying to protect him even while buried gods-know-where, bleeding and hurting and alone.

And as the dream slowly began to fade, slipping away from him like mist between his fingers, one truth remained, shining clearly even in the darkness.

You were alive.

Somewhere, beneath soil and root and stone—you were alive, and you were fighting.

And he would wait for you.

Forever, if he had to.

The following days melted into an endless blur of desperate searching.

Neteyam returned relentlessly to the thanator den—the same spot where your shattered mask lay in fragments, silent witness to your probably violent encounter. He crouched near the entrance, fingers tracing the half-hidden footprints embedded in the damp earth, his pulse quickening with dread and hope each time.

A human man's footprints, unmistakably dragging something—or rather, someone—away from the den. Neteyam knew in the depths of his heart it had been you, limp and defenseless, dragged through mud and leaves toward an unknown fate.

But where had you been taken?

His determination burned fiercely as he followed the trail again and again, each footstep searing a mark in his soul. He parted thick foliage, scanned each leaf and stem for signs of disturbance, his heart pounding with every lost or regained glimpse of the trail.

But the jungle was ruthless. The foliage dense, tangled—unyielding. And when the footprints vanished beneath fallen leaves or blended cruelly into dense patches of moss, Neteyam felt his heart fracture a little more each time.

Yet, he pressed forward anyway, driven by your voice in his dream, your whispered plea echoing softly in his heart.

But on the second night, a fierce storm crashed through the forest, the heavens breaking open, a torrential downpour washing the world clean. Rain sluiced across the jungle floor, carving rivers from dirt paths, mercilessly obliterating the precious footprints.

He stood there the next morning, soaked to the bone, trembling from exhaustion, rage, and grief as he stared at the newly blank jungle floor—no footprints, no hints, no path.

He was left only with the ache in his chest and the echoes of your voice.

"Will you wait for me?"

As if he could do anything else.

But he wasn’t giving up. Not ever. He would find another way—Eywa would guide him.

On a misty evening, drawn by a force deep within, Neteyam found himself kneeling beneath the magnificent branches of the Tree of Souls. The air hummed softly with Eywa’s presence, countless glowing tendrils drifting like ghostly threads of pure light around him.

He knelt reverently, eyes heavy with exhaustion, heart heavy with yearning. His breathing slowed, the deepening twilight enveloping him as he reached behind, gently grasping the delicate braid of his kuru. Carefully, reverently, he connected it with one of Eywa’s softly glowing tendrils.

At once, a deep peace settled over him, wrapping gently around his bruised soul. His eyes fluttered shut, his head lowering humbly in silent communion.

Years ago, he'd knelt at the same place seeking guidance from Eywa—his path, his purpose within the clan. And now, once again, he pleaded silently, soul bare before the Great Mother, desperately seeking your path—your location, your heart, your life.

No words crossed his lips.

Because no language—no spoken prayer—could capture the depth of what he felt for you, the aching emptiness without your presence beside him.

His silent prayer reached out, powerful in its stillness, trembling gently through every thread of Eywa’s connection.

"Bring her back to me."

"Please."

His chest rose and fell softly, the breeze gently moving the braids of his hair, swaying softly around him like living threads. He allowed himself to sink deeper into the communion, deeper into Eywa’s embrace—

And suddenly, softly, impossibly clear through the whispering hush of leaves and the murmuring heartbeat of Eywa herself, he heard his name.

"Neteyam."

His heart jolted violently, eyes flying open in instant clarity.

It was your voice.

Clear as day, as gentle and real as if you stood right behind him, close enough to touch, close enough for your breath to stir softly against his ear.

He whipped around, breath hitching, eyes wide and hopeful—

But the clearing was empty.

Only the softly glowing tendrils of Eywa surrounded him, swaying gently in the breeze, untouched by any physical presence. He was alone beneath the Great Mother’s ancient tree, utterly, painfully alone.

Yet your voice resonated clearly in his heart.

"Wait for me."

He swallowed the lump that rose painfully in his throat, heart pounding fiercely as tears blurred his vision.

Eywa had answered him in her own subtle, gentle way. Not clearly enough to show him exactly where you were, not clearly enough to reveal your captor or the path he had taken—but clearly enough to reassure him you still breathed. Clearly enough to promise you were still fighting, still hoping, still reaching for him across the abyss.

He inhaled shakily, fingers gently gripping the sacred tendril connecting him to Eywa, his voice a trembling whisper, firm and determined in the deepening darkness.

“I will wait,” he vowed quietly, reverently, beneath Eywa’s eternal watch. “As long as it takes. Until she comes home.”

He disconnected his kuru slowly, letting the glowing tendril drift gently back into place. He rose silently, the weight of grief mingled with fierce hope and unyielding determination as he gazed out into the deepening twilight.

The morning of the fourth day was quiet, as though the village itself held its breath, waiting for something Neteyam couldn’t yet understand. Dawn broke gently, a slow ripple of pale blue and gold across the waking sky. The clan still slept, undisturbed by nightmares, untouched by his relentless grief.

But Neteyam was already awake, preparing in silence.

He wrapped his bow carefully, secured his knife at his chest. His motions were mechanical now, almost ritualistic, each step a quiet affirmation: I will find you.

He was just about to step out, to vanish again into the restless forest, when a quiet rustle at the kelku’s entrance startled him. Neteyam turned swiftly, pulse leaping, muscles coiled tight—only to relax slightly as Kiri ducked inside, her movements slow, quiet, cautious.

Something in her demeanor made him pause, senses sharpening.

She didn’t greet him. Didn’t smile or tease or scold. He didn’t even saw the pity. Just stepped closer, eyes heavy, unreadable, the dark circles beneath them a reflection of his own exhaustion.

“Neteyam,” she began softly, hesitating briefly as if unsure how to proceed. “You need to eat.”

She held out a leaf bundle, carefully folded around roasted yovo fruit and seasoned teylu, still warm from the fires. He stared at it, confused for a heartbeat before finally taking it, holding the bundle numbly in his palm.

“Thank you,” he said carefully, quietly, though food was the last thing on his mind.

Kiri nodded, eyes scanning his face in silent worry. The usual brightness, the teasing spark in her gaze was absent—replaced by something far heavier, something deeply troubled.

He frowned, heart picking up pace.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly, carefully. The air thickened, and Kiri seemed to struggle to meet his eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Kiri inhaled deeply, as if steeling herself for something difficult. Her gaze dropped momentarily to the leaf-wrapped food in his hand, then lifted again, meeting his eyes with quiet intensity.

“Don’t take the pa’li today,” she said suddenly, softly, voice barely audible in the stillness.

He stiffened instantly, pulse quickening. “What?”

She held his gaze steadily, something deep and ancient flickering in her amber eyes—something he couldn’t entirely read. “Take your ikran. Fly above. See further, faster.”

His stomach tightened uncomfortably, fingers unconsciously clenching around the food in his palm. “Kiri, why—”

“She is close,” Kiri interrupted him quietly, her voice soft yet firm, carrying the unmistakable weight of a truth she hadn’t wanted to voice. She inhaled slowly, carefully, as though each word was painful. “Mo’at feels it. I feel it. Eywa feels it.”

He stared, throat dry, breath shallow.

Close?

Close… and yet—

Something unspoken hovered heavily in her tone, hidden behind her careful words. Something darker. Something wrong.

He took a half-step closer, heart hammering unsteadily, pulse loud in his ears. “Kiri—what else? Tell me. Please.”

She hesitated, mouth opening and closing, her face taut with uncertainty. Her voice, when it finally came, was soft and troubled. “Mo’at said… something is not right. She senses a shift, a change. She doesn’t know how or why, but—”

His voice caught painfully in his chest, breath hitching. “But what? What’s changed?”

Kiri’s eyes brimmed with quiet, sorrowful compassion. “We don’t know. Just that… if you find her, Neteyam—when you find her—she might not be the same.”

Her words settled coldly in his chest, heavy as stone, suffocating in their vagueness.

Not the same.

He opened his mouth, ready to demand more—but Kiri stepped back abruptly, retreating slowly toward the entrance.

“I have to go,” she whispered, eyes never leaving his face. “Please, brother—just fly.”

Then she was gone, the flap falling shut behind her, leaving only an eerie stillness, a lingering shadow of unease that chilled him to the bone.

Neteyam stood there numbly, the food forgotten in his hand. Every quiet word she’d spoken echoed through his mind, louder with each beat of his heart.

Close. Changed. Wrong.

His heart thundered painfully in his ribs, his breaths coming shallow, quickening into panic. He barely registered the leaf-wrapped food in his palm, its gentle weight meaningless against the sudden, consuming dread that wrapped around his chest like cold vines.

He dropped it without thought, leaving the food forgotten on the kelku floor as he raced outside toward the cliffs, toward his ikran.

His heart beat violently as he climbed the cliffs, every breath tasting sharp, metallic, his chest tight and burning. He called desperately to his ikran, connecting swiftly, impatiently—desperation pounding in his blood.

They soared upward into the wide expanse of sky.

But peace eluded him.

Wind whipped fiercely across his face, tugging at his hair, harshly cold against his skin. Yet none of it reached him, none of it touched the spiraling thoughts racing violently in his mind.

Kiri’s voice echoed endlessly in his ears, her vague words cutting deeper than any blade:

“She might not be the same.”

His heart twisted brutally, mind racing. What did she mean? Was it your spirit, your heart, your soul that would return altered? Or something worse—something physical, tangible, cruelly irreversible?

Neteyam’s pulse thundered wildly, anxiety sharpening to painful clarity.

Kiri felt Eywa in ways even the tsahìks before hadn’t always understood. She touched the Great Mother’s essence with a clarity few others could fathom. If Kiri had warned him, if Mo’at herself sensed a disturbance—

A horrifying thought clawed suddenly into his mind.

Would he find your corpse?

He flinched sharply, violently shaking his head to dislodge the thought—yet it stuck like venomous sap, searing cruelly into his thoughts. A corpse. Your corpse. Broken, lifeless, empty of the bright fire that had once burned so fiercely within.

“No,” he whispered desperately, voice drowned by the roaring wind. “Please, Eywa, no.”

His ikran beneath him rumbled anxiously, sensing the violent spike of fear, anguish radiating sharply through their tsaheylu.

Neteyam fought to steady his breathing, forcefully shoving the cruel thoughts aside. He pressed one palm against his heart, feeling the delicate, hard outline of your button, the tiny proof of your strength, your resilience, your life.

“Not dead,” he breathed aloud, clinging desperately to that hope. “She’s not dead.”

He repeated the words like a lifeline, praying silently, fervently, as the ikran soared swiftly onward.

Yet still, one relentless fear tore at him relentlessly, its cruel edges biting deeper with every passing second:

Not dead, perhaps—but changed.

He tried desperately to decipher Kiri’s words. If it wasn’t death, what else was there? Different. What could it mean—injured, scarred, emotionally broken? Or something deeper, darker—something only Eywa could understand?

His breath came short, ragged, panic steadily consuming him from within. He clung desperately to hope, to faith, whispering fervently into the rushing wind:

“Please, Eywa. Let her still be herself. Let her heart still recognize mine.”

Yet even as he prayed—he couldn’t shake the lingering dread clawing viciously at the back of his mind, whispering darkly through every heartbeat, every breath.

Because deep down, Neteyam knew:

Kiri would never have warned him unless something had changed irrevocably.

And as he soared onward, searching desperately, the world around him blurred into silence, leaving only one thought, endlessly repeating in the darkest corners of his terrified mind:

What if the you he found was no longer the you he’d lost?

What if you no longer remembered how fiercely he loved you?

The air whipped past Neteyam's face, cool and sharp, but he barely felt it. His thoughts spun faster, a cruel whirlpool of doubt and dread pulling him deeper with each passing moment. Without thinking, without consciously choosing, his ikran steered himself southward, guided by instinct more than reason.

Almost two weeks ago, he'd stood at the edge of a clearing with his family, watching two RDA aircraft—a Samson and an assault Dragon—resting menacingly on the ground. The memory was distant, blurred by exhaustion, yet his mind drew him there now, as though something he couldn’t quite understand whispered from that place.

The clearing came into view, empty now—the aircraft long vanished, the ground below peaceful, sunlit, devoid of the threats it once housed. The ships had left long ago, the clearing now reclaimed by nature again… but something about the place felt heavy in his bones. Important.

Neteyam’s heart ached. Why had Eywa drawn him here? Why this place, so far from your last known path? He blinked down absently, eyes skimming over grass and scattered leaves.

But then—he saw it. A small figure, unmistakably human, standing in the center of the clearing.

His breath stopped. "No…" he whispered, heart slamming painfully against his ribs. “No, no—Eywa—”

A hallucination, surely—a mirage conjured by exhaustion and desperation. Yet as he watched, the figure began to move, slow and unsteady steps carrying it towards the forest, eastward—toward the outpost, toward home.

He reacted without thought, a fierce surge of hope and disbelief flooding through him. Instantly, he angled his ikran downwards, plummeting toward the clearing with dizzying speed. The beast landed hard, talons scraping soil, wings beating to steady itself.

He leapt from Tawkami’s back, barely registering his own movement. His heart hammered as he sprinted across the clearing, powerful legs pumping desperately, eyes fixed fiercely on the distant figure vanishing slowly into the trees.

Branches whipped past him as he burst into the dense foliage, each second stretching painfully. His breath came harsh, ragged, panic and hope tangled violently in his chest.

Then—suddenly—he saw you clearly.

His knees nearly buckled beneath him.

You stood a short distance away, walking slowly through the shadows cast by towering trees. Your clothing was slightly torn, exactly what you'd worn the day you'd vanished. The sight felt surreal, impossible. A ghost he desperately hoped was real.

“Yawne!” he called, voice trembling, breaking open with emotion.

Your head whipped around immediately, eyes widening impossibly as they settled upon him. Recognition lit your features instantly, and you stared at him, mouth falling softly open in shock.

Neteyam moved toward you urgently, relief flooding him in waves so powerful they nearly brought tears. “Oh, Eywa—yawne—”

But suddenly, sharply, his steps faltered, a fresh wave of cold dread slamming through him, piercing deeply into his relief like poisoned arrows.

Your face—your beautiful, precious face—was exposed. You wore no mask. He stumbled forward frantically, panic and disbelief gripping him harshly.

“Yawne—no! No—do not breathe!” His voice cracked desperately, heart hammering violently in terror. He dropped swiftly to his knees before you, hands reaching urgently toward your face. “Your mask—where is it? Please—stop breathing, hold your breath, you cannot—”

He couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t bear the thought of losing you moments after finding you again. His fingers shook desperately, helplessly, as they touched your cheeks, your jaw, eyes filled with terrified dread.

But you didn’t gasp. Didn’t choke. Didn’t fall.

You just stared down at him, eyes wide and shimmering with tears, trembling softly beneath his frantic touch. Then, suddenly, without a word—without explanation—you threw your arms fiercely around his neck, crashing into him, hugging him with a strength that stole his breath entirely.

Neteyam froze in shock, his body rigid for a heartbeat, stunned into silence—then finally, fiercely, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you impossibly close, crushing you against his chest like he would never, ever let you go again.

“Oh, Eywa,” he choked out, voice shaking uncontrollably, face pressed desperately into your neck, breathing your scent in deeply, greedily. “Oh, ma yawne, you’re alive, you’re alive, you’re—”

His voice broke into a desperate sob, relief and love flooding through him, sharp and overwhelming, shattering his composure entirely.

You clung to him, fingers gripping desperately into his hair, your smaller body trembling violently against him as a sob tore free from your throat—raw, broken, relieved.

Neteyam hugged you harder, holding you tightly as your tears began to fall in earnest against his shoulder, your body shaking harshly in quiet, desperate sobs. His tail curled protectively around your legs, anchoring you tightly against him, his lips pressing fiercely to your hair, your temple, your cheek, murmuring endlessly, breathlessly into your skin.

“You’re here—I have you—thank you Eywa, thank you—I thought I lost you—I thought—” he stammered softly, desperately, hardly breathing between his words.

You only clung harder, breath hitching violently against his shoulder, unable yet to speak, simply holding onto him like you would never let go.

Minutes passed—time lost meaning as he held you, heart slowly steadying with every breath of your scent, every quiet sob that left your lips. You felt impossibly solid, impossibly real, impossibly here. Yet confusion lingered stubbornly beneath his relief:

How? How were you breathing? How were you standing without a mask, without choking on the toxic air?

But those answers would wait.

Right now, he could think of nothing but holding you, feeling your heartbeat against his chest, knowing without a doubt that Eywa had finally, mercifully, returned you to him.

He pulled back just enough to cup your cheeks gently in his large hands, tilting your tear-streaked face upward, his gaze searching yours desperately, hungrily, as though afraid you'd vanish again if he looked away.

“You’re here,” he whispered brokenly, eyes brimming with tears he couldn’t hold back. “You’re really here.”

You nodded, tears still falling silently, pressing your cheek against his palm, eyes filled with quiet, profound relief. “Neteyam,” you finally whispered, voice raw, breaking gently over his name. “You came.”

“Of course I came,” he breathed shakily and tender. “Always.”

He pulled you back into him, unable to bear even a heartbeat’s separation, holding you again, rocking gently as fresh tears spilled silently down his cheeks, joining yours in quiet relief. You were alive. You were safe. You were home—in his arms. And nothing else mattered.

In the next chapter we will get to know what Dr. Veyren did.

Part 26: (Soon)

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byunpum · 5 months ago

Text

Scent

Pair: Tsu'tey x Human Reader ( jake human sister )

Warning: A little spicy, tsu'tey (in my opinion) being curious.

Note: Me posting something, knowing I've ignored my tumblr for months. Bye~!

After the war, life for tsu'tey had been very quiet. Everything was back to normal, well almost everything. A large number of humans decided to settle in Pandora and close to the clan. The idea of having humans among the clan was not pleasant to him, for him they were a bit unpleasant. They were strange, everything they did was strange to him. And the most disturbing thing to him was the scent the humans gave off. The Na'vi had a highly developed sense of smell and the strange scent of humans was not pleasant for him. They always tried to use some scents to disguise their scent of origin, according to Jake it was “perfumes and soaps”. Tsu'tey didn't think it was cool to use those things. But there was one scent which had caught all his attention. And the owner of that scent came from you.

The first time tsu'tey registered your scent, was when he happened to pass by jake's side. He was talking to one of those humans. But as soon as he walked by you, he stopped dead in his tracks. The scent he was smelling was something… amazing. He felt a shiver run down his spine, he couldn't understand where the smell was coming from. It wasn't until jake tapped him on the shoulder, and introduced them. Tsu'tey turns to look at you. You smiled warmly back at him, giving him the 'I see you' sign. Tsu'tey caught on a little too late, he was so immersed in the scent you were giving off that he barely listened to what Jake was saying. He couldn't believe that you were the carrier of that peculiar scent. From that day on, tsu'tey did everything he could to be by your side.

It got to the point that he didn't care about the comments they made, it was strange to see a man like tsu'tey behind a human. Always trying to help you, or try to talk to you even for a couple of seconds, he had to smell your scent at least once a day. He was becoming obsessed, and if his little obsession was not dying down. He began to notice how your scent became stronger when he was around you. It had to be that reason, because on one of the occasions he came to talk to you. You were talking to neytiri, and he could feel how your scent was the usual one. But as soon as neytiri left you alone, he could feel it getting more and more potent. He was going crazy and he knew it. It wasn't healthy, what he was creating for you. You were supposed to be a human, he wouldn't have to find you attractive or desirable…but here he is. If you asked him to kiss your feet he would do it, even if you asked him to kill someone and let him put his nose in your neck sweet spot for only 5 minutes or less, he would do it.

On the other hand, you were oblivious to this situation. You thought tsu'tey was very kind and gentlemanly. He was always helping you, and available to you. You liked the attention he gave you. Besides…tsu'tey was painfully handsome. You liked him from head to toe, you found him beautiful. And having him this close wasn't helping you much. But you enjoyed his company…there was just a nice friendship between the two of you.

That particular day, tsu'tey could smell your scent from far away, he could tell you were about 30 feet away from him. And he could recognize it was you, turning around to see you approaching him with a basket in your hands. “Hello!!!” you greet him, smiling at him. You were hurting his senses, because if it were up to him he would have already dragged you into his arms. You looked very pretty, in the traditional na'vi clothing. Tsu'tey scanned you up and down, laughing a little. “Do you like it? Neytiri gave me this outfit…she made it for me” you speak, taking a quick turn. “I'm surprised at how well it suits you “tsu'tey says, looking at you again. But now with more determination, the little clothing gave freedom to your scent to be released all over the place, he was getting nervous. “Yeah…she says I should wear more family stuff…you know, since jake is my brother and he is now…” you stop talking, when you notice that the man is barely paying attention to you. “Tsu'tey…are you okay?” you ask, waving your hand in his face. Snapping tsu'tey out of his stasis. He laughs nervously, settling more on his feet. “Yes, sorry. You were saying?” tsu'tey sees you laugh.

“I was going to ask you if you could help me pick some berries…the ones near the river. You know they're a little tall…and I need help” you speak, tsu'tey doesn't think for a second and goes to help you. Getting up from the ground, he starts walking towards the river. The walk from the village to the river was about 15 minutes. When you arrived you both decided that the best thing to do was to pick the berries that were on top of some branches, besides it was much more private for you. Your very presence in the clan could be a bit intimidating for some na'vi. And this was an area where they used to come frequently. Tsu'tey helped you up, placing his hands on your waist, to get you up easily. But not before bringing his face close to your back, sniffing you. Closing his eyes, enjoying your scent. It was a momentary thing, when you climb up the branch. “Are you coming?” you keep walking towards where the berries were. “Yes…I'm coming” tsu'tey swallows hard, trying to control himself.

Tsu'tey helps you for a while, picking the prettiest berries that were on the highest leaves. Sitting down to rest, and to watch you pick in the other corner. You turn and give him a smile. Tsu'tey smiles back. Aside from the fact that the man was obsessed with your essence, he liked the way you were. You were the opposite of your brother. You were calm and quiet. You didn't do risky things and avoided getting into trouble. Tsu'tey enjoyed your company, and he was sure you did too. He could feel it. “These berries are so sweet” you speak, approaching where tsu'tey was sitting. “Yes…and this is their best season” tsu'tey speaks, but is puzzled when you sit down in front of him. You sit in front of him, cross-legged. This new position makes your scent much stronger than at other times. Freezing in his seat, his eyes widen.

However, you keep talking as if nothing is wrong. You are placing the basket next to you, taking some berries to clean them. You can tell, you were the only one talking, tsu'tey might be silent, but he wasn't talking at all. You look up and you can see that he was different. He was looking at you seriously, his pupils were dilated, his posture was straight, his ears were up and so was his tail. You could notice that his breathing was agitated, and although his look seemed to be one of discomfort… you knew it was not. It was one more of lust, you could see how he was swallowing hard. “Tsu'tey?” you speak softly, getting her attention.

“What's wrong with you? Are you ok?” you ask, tsu'tey doesn't answer you, and keeps looking at you. Analyzing your whole body, your scent was ambushing him. It was too strong for him, too sweet. And now with your new outfit you were not helping him. “Why do you smell like that?” says tsu'tey in a serious tone. You grow more nervous, closing your legs out of instinct. The look on tsu'tey's face at this moment was intimidating, but not in the bad way. “I have a bad smell?” you begin to smell your hand, as you watch tsu'tey approach you. Placing his hands on the ground of the branch, leaning a little over you. To now be much closer to you. “Don't do it” tsu'tey places his hand on your knee, moving it to the side. Causing your legs to spread for him. You watch as he closes his eyes, and sighs deeply. Your heart wanted to pound out of your chest, he was getting so much closer to you. “You have a scent…delicious” tsu'tey moves over your body, getting closer to your neck. Pressing his nose to your neck, breathing deeply. Words didn't come out of your mouth, you were surprised tsu'tey didn't use to behave like this with you. Well with anyone…and now he was almost on top of you. Balancing on his hands, sniffing your neck.

Tsu'tey felt so out of control, it was like he couldn't control what he was doing. He was feeling anxious, he wanted to know where that scent that was driving him crazy was coming from. Slowly moving down as he sniffed your skin, down your chest until he reached your breasts. Breathing hard again, to continue, the only thing you could do was to stay still. -T-tsu” your voice is interrupted when you see that tsu'tey had already reached your lower belly, stopping for a moment. At this moment tsu'tey was crouched over you, very close to his goal. He gave you a quick glance, and if you had to be realistic his look was one of hunger. As if no one could stop him, though you didn't plan to. Tsu'tey wouldn't get that far, would he. It was then, when he decided to go a little lower. First you thought he was going to smell one of your thighs. But you were wrong, when he went down he parked his face completely in your clothed cunt.

...

Your eyes widen in surprise, as you feel him breathing much harder than before. In a quick movement you move your foot towards tsu'tey's face and kick him in the face. This makes him move away. “What the hell is wrong with you?” you yell at him, this is all taking you by surprise. You liked tsu'tey but no one has ever behaved like this before. “What's wrong? I'm just sniffing you” speaks tsu'tey caressing his face a little bit. “What for? And why are you sniffing me…there” you close your legs slowly, but you see how tsu'tey stops you. “Don't close your legs…this is where that rich smell is coming from” tsu'tey says, laughing playfully. “Oh my god, no no” you close your legs tightly. “You're talking about the smell of my parts?” you were more concerned now. “I'm talking about your whole scent, I've never smelled someone with this scent before. No na'vi woman has a scent like this…it's exciting” tsu'tey speaks a little excited. You had never seen him like this, he looked like someone else. He was still very close to you, now he had come completely over you. You were looking up, observing his whole body attitude.

“I have noticed that when I am close to you…or when I touch you” tsu'tey lowers his voice, raising his hand to now touch your thigh, caressing your exposed skin a little. “I can notice how the smell gets stronger…and I love that” tsu'tey lowers his face, moving closer to your face. You push him back, causing tsu'tey to sit back down. You were so embarrassed, tsu'tey was talking about the excitement you felt towards him, like it was nothing. You wanted to bury yourself alive, you were getting so nervous, you didn't know what to say or do to him. “Tsu'tey…but you must not approach him like that. You must ask” you looked down, tsu'tey was looking at you playfully. He is silent for a moment, seeing how you are a little nervous. Squeezing your legs together so nothing would come out. “So…could I smell you a little? “tsu'tey asks. You knew that the attitude tsutey was showing was something without mischief, something he wasn't doing on purpose. It was instinctive on his part.

“I don't know what to tell you…we barely know each other, and yes I really like you” you try to change what you just said but there was a lot going on right now. “I mean…we should wait, yeah?you know what I mean?” you try to make him understand you, it's not like you didn't want tsu'tey between your legs. But it was still too early for that. “Ok… but can I be closer to you?” asks tsu'tey again. You nod with your face, watching as he moves closer to now be literally glued next to you. His tail began to dig into your waist, and he kept looking at you.

Oh my gosh…where have you gotten to. You had to explain to tsu'tey that personal space in humans is much more important than he thinks.

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starneteyam · 4 months ago

Text

CRY ★

🖇️ char. Neteyam x Omaticayan! Fem! Reader

🖇️ warn. None, but Neteyam’s a little mean :(

🎥 Neteyam makes you cry during a fight, and instantly regrets it. That’s it. That’s the whole story.

A/N He comes off a little manipulative in this but TRUST he’s not

𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐘𝐀𝐌 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

FIGHTS WITH NETEYAM were rare. They barely happened. Since the day you had met him, you a were convinced that you were joined together by Eywa. Truly, you believed that in your soul.

He understood what you were thinking without you having to voice it, and there were strange moments where you would have whole conversations just through the eyes. It was like your hearts were synced to one another’s.

And because of this, fights were rare. But still, there were days when mild annoyance turned into anger, and anger turned into words that were said with the intent to harm.

Today was one of those days.

Neteyam had already been having a bad day. Ao’nung had been spewing subtle mean comments towards him and his siblings, he had gotten thrown off his Ilu three times now, and Loak had gotten himself into trouble again, which meant that Neteyam would also get a lecture from Jake as well.

His body was buzzing with irritation, tail accidentally knocking things over in the hut. You had followed after him, knowing that your duty as his mate was to stay by his side at times of hardship.

Neteyam was crouched down, elbows on his knees and head hanging low. You frowned, your heart squeezing and wishing you could take this irritation and make it disappear for him.

“Ma Neteyam.” You softly sighed, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder from behind. You hadn’t expected him to abruptly get up, turning and looking at your with eyes of fury. “What, (Name)? What? What now?” He huffed, the wounds of the words of his father still fresh.

You felt as if you had stepped on a land mine, standing still as you looked at him with wide eyes. Your ears were flat against your head, surprised at his anger, at first. But that surprise quickly morphed into annoyance. He was not about to direct his anger towards you.

“I’ve heard it a hundred times. ‘You should listen to your father more’, ‘Lo’ak is just not mature yet’.” He mocked, causing your brows to furrow. “I was just trying to help, Neteyam.” You huffed, frowning. He scoffed, tail flinging wildly.

“And how were you going to do that? Tell me. Go on.” His arms were crossed across his chest, and he shifted his weight onto one leg. You opened your mouth, but the words were stuck onto your tongue like honey. Your mind was in a maze, not sure what he was so mad at anymore.

Was he mad at you? For what?

“Tell me!” He repeated, raising his voice this time. A small gasp left your mouth. He had never yelled at you before. The anger and annoyance that was frying inside of you disappeared and hurt filled that new void.

“You always take my father’s side, and always defend my brother! You don’t even care about how I feel!” His breaths were rough and heavy, obviously distressed. But still, his words were like knives. ‘That’s not true’, you wanted to say, but your words were stuck in your throat in the form of a lump.

“Ma Netey-”

“I don’t want to hear it!” He cut you off, and you found your eyes watering. He was… he was just mad and frustrated. He didn’t mean these things. Deep down, in your heart, you knew that. And still, your mind didn’t know it. The words were oddly confronting, like a chisel that was breaking away the rock around your insecurities that you had buried inside.

You could see the words on the tip of his tongue, and you prayed to Eywa that he wouldn’t say it. Even if he didn’t mean it, you didn’t want him to say it. But Neteyam’s mind was clouded with rage and deep frustration, that the words he hadn’t meant slipped out.

“You are not fit to be my mate.”

The words were like the edges of shattered glass pricking your skin, your chest hurting from the pain of the words. You stepped back, as if it had physically hurt you. A sob had left your mouth, and a hand flew up to cover it.

It was then that the cloud of red finally faded. The sob was like a slap to his face, and he hadn’t realized what he said until it was too late. Your cheeks were wet, and you couldn’t stand looking at him.

You covered your face with both hands, muffling your sobs into your palms.

Neteyam’s shoulders lowered, and his mouth parted open, like he couldn’t believe he had said what he had said. “No, I- I did not mean that.” He breathed slowly, but when you hadn’t moved, when you hadn’t stopped crying, he felt more desperate.

“I’m sorry. Oh, Ma (Name), I’m sorry. Please, forgive me.” He stepped forward, immediately cradling your face in his hands. Your hands lowered to his wrists, to try to pull them away, but when his thumbs started swiping at your tears, you couldn’t find the strength to push him away.

You damned your heart for being so in love with him, for needing his comfort despite the fact that he was the one who made you this way. “I see you, Ma (Name). And- And I will spend the rest of my life proving that you are more than worthy to be my mate.” He huffed, and you could hear the desperation in his voice.

“I don’t deserve you, and Eywa knows that. Please, forgive me, (Name). I did not mean it. I was just- I was just mad and frustrated and- And it does not make it okay but please know I did not- I would never-” He rambled, stumbling over his words.

Your crying had calmed down, only occasional sniffles and stray tears falling, but your eyes were still closed, finding comfort in the darkness.

“Please, look at me.” He begged, whispering the words like a prayer to Eywa. Your eyes fluttered open, hesitating to look into his eyes, but when you finally met them, you could see that the words hurt him more than they hurt you.

He hated himself for saying it, and you could feel it in the way he held your face like it was the most delicate flower. You could see it, in the way his eyes searched your expression for any hint of what you might’ve been thinking.

His shoulders relaxed in just the slightest when your eyes met his. He placed a soft kiss to your forehead, then to your cheek, and then finally, pressed a deep, loving one to your lips. It was soft and held meaning.

When he pulled away, he placed his forehead on yours, an intimate and deep gesture of an apology, one that was rare and not often done unless you were begging for forgiveness, not only from the person you were apologizing to, but from Eywa herself.

“Neteyam.” You finally spoke, voice hoarse and quiet. Your hands took his that were on yours face, bring them down and holding them. “You better keep your word. About spending the rest of your life proving that what you said- That it was a lie.” Your eyes averted to the side, just thinking about the words clenching your heart.

There was a silent sigh of relief from your mate, hands holding yours tightly as if you would slip away if he didn’t. “I promise, Ma (Name). I see you.” He whispered the last part, closing his eyes and placing his forehead against yours once more.

You closed your eyes, accepting his apology by pressing back. “I see you.”

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wheneclipsefalls · 1 year ago

Text

Little Gift - Latch

Neteyam photo by @cinetrix

Pairing: Dark Aged Up Neteyam x Human Fem Reader

Warnings: aged up characters, DUBCON/NONCON, kidnapping, MDNI EXPLICIT, yandered qualities, possessive behavior, slight degradation, interspecies intimacy, swearing, power imbalance, sub reader, dom Neteyam, manipulation, hair pulling, creampie, a lot more stuff but at this point you hopefully know whether or not you should read haha

Summary: Victory is finally his and Neteyam knows exactly how he wants to celebrate it.

A/N: A little unsure about my word choice but it's been fun writing from Neteyam perspective for the first time in this series. Enjoy!

Main Masterlist I Little Gift Masterlist

You belong here, perched on his lap with your head notched against his shoulder. So small and pretty that his legs barely register your body weight. He wraps a hand around your outer thigh to angel you further against him. This is perfect.

Everything is perfect.

Pandora has rid of those Sky Demons and his prize, his little gift, is still here in his arms where you will always be. Those traitors are no longer here to tempt you with false promises of escape and a life outside of belonging to the Olo’eyktan. You may not realize it now but they would have broken you. It is only a miracle from Eywa that has allowed your beautiful spirit to stay in tack after all those years of inhabiting the same space as those treacherous creatures.

The RDA may think that you are a gift given by them but in reality it is Eywa that has placed you on his lap.

You were created for him. Designed perfectly inside and out.

His reward for all that he has had to endure.

Now with you safely tucked in his arms and his People celebrating their freedom once more, he can rest. He is free to savor all that the Great Mother has offered him, although you prove to be difficult to rangle at times. That’s okay, he enjoys a good challenge. It makes your earned submission all that more satisfying.

He’s not sure how long one human can cry for but it appears you are shooting for a record. Your tears have soaked the feathers of his Olo’eyktan attire but he doesn’t mind, not when you are snuggling into him for comfort.

His plan of distraction worked wonders during take off but it was only a matter of time before your mind came back online and began worrying once more about the absence of people that never truly loved you. It’s to be expected however Neteyam is pleased to find that your response is not one of anger but sadness and seeking refuge. He couldn’t have asked for anything more ideal.

He is your refuge, your one true home and the fact that you are learning that so quickly makes a sense of pride burst within him.

The glittering gems of your new top compliment your own sparkling tears exquisitely. It had taken weeks for him to make but it was worth it. He would want nothing less for his pet on a night of such grand celebration. However, it becomes abundantly clear that he is not the only one who appreciates the outfit.

It’s the fifth time Lo’ak has turned in the direction of the throne while dancing to check on you. Or at least, that is how his younger brother would be sure to phrase it but Neteyam is no fool. He can see the hunger in those eyes. Typical of his younger sibling to chase after what he can not have. What Neteyam himself possesses.

Their eyes meet and it only takes a moment for Lo’ak to recover from being caught and roll his own back at his brother and turn to continue dancing. He’s not sure how much longer this game will go on where Lo’ak pretends to hold no interest. One way or another it will come out. Neteyam’s arm tightens around your waist, fingers running through your silky hair.

It is then that he notices your little sobs have stopped and are now replaced with long deep breaths. It’s amazing that you are able to sleep through the banging drums and echoing calls but it seems that all of your crying has worn out your poor little body. Such a fragile thing you are.

All the more reason to keep you close. And yet another reason he finds his mind swirling back to the idea of keeping you on a leash. Ideally he would carry you to and fro but there are times where he needs to have his hands available. With your habit to wander off he can’t risk having you fall and break your little neck. A leash would be the perfect solution.

Not to mention how good you would look trailing behind him, sweet little bow around your throat as a permanent reminder of his claim on you.

His tewng [loincloth] is unbearably tight. It presses against your soft thighs but that’s not enough. For perhaps the hundredth time you shift in his lap, unable to sit comfortably on your red ass. You’ve given up on trying to convince him to let you stand but that doesn’t stop that supple little pout from gracing your lips every time you are reminded of the pain. Even in your sleep you try to wiggle and squirm from his lap.

Of course there is another source of your constant squirming. A source that Neteyam finds his fingers dipping down to trace over as the base just barely peeks out of your tight pussy.

This plug is much larger than the cute one you had stowed away in your old nightstand drawer. It had taken more than a fair amount of encouragement to slot that thick piece of plastic inside your cunt but the sight was magnificent. Complain all you want but the way your walls clench around it in desperation tells Neteyam more than he needs to know.

It’s the largest size of his collection which means that tonight is the night. Tonight you will officially become his. Your pussy will soon forever have the imprint of his thick length inside of you, ruining you for any other man. Not that you would ever have the chance to be with another male outside of him again. Jared was the end of that line and the Olo’eyktan feels no hint of remorse for taking care of that pest.

Another flash of Lo’ak’s gaze.

Neteyam feels you stir when he lets out a deep sigh. However reluctant he is, it’s important to set his brother straight. Lo’ak has an overactive imagination after all and the last thing he would want is his little brother’s curiosity and desire becoming an interruption for the wondrous night the two of you are about to have.

Those long lashes flutter open, throat caught on a sharp intake when he stands up and places you back onto the seat. Your dazed and confused look is one that Neteyam can’t help but coo at, the pad of his thumb running over your cheek.

“Mawey, tiyawn [be calm, love]. I will be right back.” You’re already scrambling to your knees, finally keeping the weight off of your sore bum. “Be a good girl for me and stay put, yes?”

It’s a rhetorical question and one that he doesn’t give you a chance to answer before a kiss is placed on your hairline and the Olo’eyktan is parting the crowd. It’s obvious that there is a moment where you consider stopping him. You may be hell bent on never admitting it verbally but the other Na’vi put you on edge and being around him has become your one constant, a safety you can rely on. If not for his urgency Neteyam would take his time in teasing you on the matter.

Your face always looks even more lovely with that deep shade of red, whether from anger or embarrassment or even both.

Later, he reminds himself.

The female rubbing up against Lo’ak looks more than put out by his lagged reciprocation. Her displeasure colors into slight shock when she spots her Olo’eyktan coming straight towards them. Lo’ak crosses his arms as his partner quickly signs the proper respect to their leader. Neteyam dismisses her easily.

“Excuse me, sister. I require a moment with my brother.” Neteyam ushers Lo’ak away from the scene before giving her a chance to respond or offer to give them privacy.

The fire’s light now just barely humming over their skin. The two brothers find a moment of solace on the outskirts of the celebration. Neteyam’s ears still buzz from the sensory overload it has taken for the past few hours.

“If you’re going to ask me for another favor can it at least wait until tomorrow? There is a party, you know.” Lo’ak tall frame lazily leans against the nearest tree and he attempts to hide the way his eyes fly over Neteyam’s shoulder towards you by making a show of tying his hair back.

“Funny considering how eager you were to grant me a favor earlier this morning.” Neteyam’s veiny arms cross over his chest, tail whipping back and forth in the cool wind. If Lo’ak is intimidated he doesn’t show it.

“Aren’t I a wonderful brother?” Those sharp teeth shimmer as he makes a show of giving an over the top sarcastic grin.

“Lo’ak.” Neteyam growls.

“Jesus, calm down.” Lo’ak groans, head thrown back against the bark. “She’s still your little toy.”

“I am not stupid, baby brother. I see the way you look at her.”

“Whatever.” Lo’ak bristles and makes his way to stomp off but he is caught by the upper bicep.

“I don’t want there to be any…confusion.” Silence spreads between them, the only sound being that of Lo’ak’s harsh exhale.

“I was only watching.” He finally says, voice dropping lower.

“And you are free to.” Small steps bring him further into his brother’s space. “But let’s be clear about whose permission you need in order to touch.”

“And I didn’t.” His arm is ripped from Neteyam’s grasp. “I’ve only ever babysat the little brat and done all that you’ve asked of me. If you are looking for problems to address I would start with her running off at every given opportunity. Take a look for yourself!” He flails an exasperated arm in your direction but Neteyam doesn’t even bother to turn.

“I am aware.” There is no need to look in order to know that you have once again tried your hand at another escape. He can see it in his mind’s eye now, your small body carefully hoisting itself down from the high throne. Panicked eyes racing over the crowd in search of any Na’vi that could potentially halt your actions. All that before short legs race off into the darkness. “I’m giving her a head start.”

It’s best not to let you go too far. Eywa knows you are very skilled at finding new ways to put yourself in danger, but a little chase is an exhilarating experience.

“Oh yeah, you going to make me chase after her for you too?” Lo’ak spits out, urging Neteyam to roll his eyes at his brother’s antics. He resists however, that wouldn’t be very becoming of the Olo’eyktan.

“I fear you would enjoy that far too much, brother.”

Instead of fiery words shot back the only line of defense Lo’ak puts up is a scoff and frowned expression, golden eyes simmering with words that he knows better than to voice. Neteyam can give his brother credit for that at least. He knows when he is stomping on dangerous territory. You, on the other hand, seem to be learning that lesson far too slow. It seems a cute tawtute like you are more of a hands on learner.

“Can I be excused then, oh might Olo’eyktan?” He flourishes with a sarcastic bow.

“Leave.” Neteyam bites out simply, forcing his eyes to remain trained on his younger brother as he joins the crowd again. It’s a safety precaution just in case Lo’ak gets a bad idea even after warnings. Much to the Na’vi girl’s dismay Lo’ak does not join her again on the dance floor and instead heads straight towards the fermented fruit. No doubt he will spoil himself into a drunken state. Unfortunately for him, Neteyam already has his hands full babysitting you tonight.

He takes his time, however, greeting a few of the clan members and partaking in a small dose of alcohol himself. With your small legs it will take you forever to get a distance that makes this chase even remotely fun. However, once the drink is empty and he has done his dues as Olo’eyktan in the social event Neteyam can no longer keep himself at bay. There are other creatures of the night that could be waiting to catch a pretty prey like you.

Tracking you down is almost laughably easy with your sweet scent wafting through the air. A scent that only grows tenfold when he comes across a peculiar piece of plastic stashed in a bush. It’s the dildo that is meant to still be snuggled up in your little cunt.

A sharp smirk cuts into his features.

For such a smart little thing you really can be so negligent at times. With the dildo out your scent now goes from a dulled perfume to a thick fragrance that coats the air. He recognizes that aroma, he knows the way it tastes. Your arousal has only made you an easier target and now you have done nothing but take out the one piece keeping it plugged. Neteyam can envision so clearly that trail of slick that is sure to be marking your thighs.

Such a messy little thing you are. Even after the way he cleaned you up so dutifully post launch, you have managed to turn into a wet temptation once more.

The small footprints along the dirt are almost pointless in his pursuit now that he has your scent. They only serve as a confirmation that he is going the right way. It doesn’t take long before the sound of your sharp panting reaches his upturned ears. It’s then that the Olo’eyktan takes to the trees. He glides along the thick branches without a sound, gaining a bird’s eye view of your desperate running.

The full on sprint you started off with has come down to a clumsy jog. Even with your small stride he’s sure you could make it a lot further if you would simply stop looking over your shoulder every other second. An action that has you stumbling and grabbing your foot to pick out a thorn from the underside. Little curses rise between your harsh breaths.

And then your breathing is cut all together.

The sounds of claws and wild yips echo through the greenery. By the sounds of it Neteyam knows it must be a small pack of aynantang [viperwolves]. They aren’t close, at least not yet. With your back turned and eyes blown out in silent terror he decides that now is as good a time as ever to interrupt.

Neteyam lowers himself down slowly, muscular arms controlling his descent into a movement so smooth and silent that it is nothing more than a shadow. A shaky hand covers your lips, the little puff of your beating heart pushing your chest out even more. One long step forward and now he can watch your trembling from above, his toes almost touching your muddy heels.

“Their bite is not as sharp as mine, pet.”

You scream before the sound can be stopped, spinning so fast your heel that you land directly on your red bum instead. Even without glowing tanhi dotting your skin, those dilated eyes have a way of making you glow in the night. Even more so when they dazzle up at him with unleashed fear and vulnerability.

You scramble backwards, clawing at the muddy ground until you are clumsily trying to crawl back onto your feet. Fine by him, it’s easier to close the height difference when you are back to standing. He grabs your right arms easily, pulling you back against him. The fight continues as you turn to bash your first against his abdomen, even clawing at his thighs but then another sound cuts you off again.

They are closer this time.

“They hunt in packs.” Neteyam informs you. “Circle their prey until there is nowhere left to go.”

A rustle of bushes to the left has your squirming changing from running away to ducking behind Neteyam. He allows the action, sharp teeth peeking from his grin when he feels the way your soft fingers dig into his thighs.

“My father was almost killed by a pack once. Even in his avatar form he depended on my mother’s mercy to fight the creatures off.” You shake like a leaf in the wind, your face pressed against his lower back when the sounds get louder. He almost feels bad for scaring you so much, tempted to bundle you in his arms and shush your worries away. However, that would ruin the lesson. You are the one that decided to run off carelessly into the woods without him and now you need to understand why you depend on Neteyam for everything. Why you owe him your submission and affection.

“I wonder how you would fair.” A few more wolves prowl from the bushes, inching closer. They creep forward with a hesitance at the sight of Neteyam, driven only by curiosity as your scent continues to fill the air.

“Teyam.” You whimper into his hip, now latching onto the strap of his loincloth to urge him backwards.

“What’s wrong, pet? I thought you wanted to be set free?”

A vicious snarl rip from the right and you stumble to cling to his left side now. That startled little scream is just barely muffled by the way your face is pressed into his hip.

He coos at your little pleas. “Has someone changed their mind, hm?” Any other time you would be barring your blunt teeth at him but he knows that in the height of your fear there is no resistance left for him. You’re too focused on the prowling beasts that flash their own teeth in eclipse’s glow.

“Teyam please, let’s go!” Voice caught on sobs that threaten to rise, you can barely make the words out.

Your fear is palpable, but not just to him.The aynantang [viperwolves] can sense it too. They circle and watch with more confidence as the seconds roll by. Periodically they flicker up to his looming form, as if checking to see whether or not he will be a threat against their newfound meal. It would be easy to scare them off, something Neteyam has done himself many times. He’s hunted these forests since he was a boy and his own scent is something that the creatures have learned to associate with danger.

Standing here now, however, he keeps a neutral position and one that the pack hesitantly takes as an opportunity to cinch closer. A flash of his knife and that confidence would disintegrate until the pack would scurry off into another corner of the forest.

Neteyam keeps it sheathed.

“You’re the one that ran off, little gift.” He reminds you, voice calm and cool.

“I know! I know! I’m sorry j-just please!”

“Please what, tiyawn? You have to be more specific.”

You struggle to respond properly, hands frantically switching from tugs at the straps to clawing up at his arms. Regardless, Neteyam remains unmoved, arms crossed over his chest as he observes the scene with indifference. “Please..please don’t let them-” You gasp rearing back when you spot another viperwolf emerging from the left. It’s been there for a while but it appears this is the first time your weak eyes have caught sight of it. “I’m sorry! I’ve changed my mind! Please, I’m sorry.” You cry out in a shrill voice, plastering yourself under his arm.

“Changed your mind on what?” It’s tempting to look down and see the way you so desperately seek his comfort but Neteyam is wise enough to keep his golden gaze sharply pinned on the emerging creatures.

“On wanting to leave! You can take me home just please-”

“Oh can I?” Your chin is snatched between two fingers, forcing you to crane your neck up towards him. That mask of indifference is gone, replaced only by a fierce stirness you are terrified to be facing twice in one day. “And what makes you think that is up to you?”

It’s hard to look into your eyes directly when they are bouncing wildly in every which direction. Perhaps it is your pitiful way of tracking the oncoming predators, or maybe you simply can not handle facing his gaze filled with ire. Either way, it is adorable to watch your natural submissive nature emerge. And all from a few viperwolves.

Poor thing, what would you do without him?

“I-I’m sorry.” You say, voice so small and timid that only a Na’vi would have hopes of hearing it. Neteyam’s chest rumbles with a deep purr, other hand finally coming up to run through your hair.

“I know you are, tiyawn. You just get confused sometimes, don’t you?” No response is given, instead just a gasp as another creature inches closer and you dash into his arms. This time he wraps one arm around your small frame while the other goes for his sheathed knife. The advance pauses, aynantang [viperwolves] pacing from side to side instead. Your reaction is premature but Neteyam basks in it all the same.

From the heated breath and salty tears painting his lower stomach he begins to worry that your fragile body will soon give out and lose consciousness. Keeping you tucked under his arm is the best move, easily accessible for when he needs to scoop you up without retaliation. However at this point, it seems that you are willing to do whatever it takes to earn his protection.

What a short memory you truly have. Perhaps if you listened to him more diligently like a good pet should then you would already know that his protection has been yours since the first time he saw you. He would defend you to his very last breath. Whether or not you asked for it would be irrelevant. That being said, you’ve always had the sweetest way of begging so who is he to deny himself such a pretty chorus of promises.

They flow now freely from your lips. Pleading, crying, and begging for him to get you out of harm's way. He simply shushes you, making no rush as a rigid arm tightens to pull you even closer.

The creatures are scared off within the first few hisses that leave his lips. Knife dancing under the moonlight with a deadly promise, they yip away reluctantly. Still, there is an advantage to not letting you know how easy it truly is to scare them off so he tells you to look away, to keep snuggled against him where they can not so easily see your fear.

You remain that way when you are lifted into his arms. Your thighs strain to wrap around his ribcage but you eventually manage to lock your ankles together. With your shaky limbs locked in terror you are barely in need of his supporting arm, but he wraps one under your rear anyways. You remind him of a small syaksyuk [Prolemuris] as you cling with fervor, lighting his amusement to new heights.

The walk back is pleasant, even when your shaking doesn’t stop and your racing heart beat is louder than the stomp of his feet. There is still great peace to be found with you in his arms and the promise of a wonderful night in the air. After tonight you won’t dare to leave him, not now that you have developed a healthy sense of fear and even more so once your body has taken him fully the way it was meant to.

He holds back a groan at the thought. Your smell is still just as potent as when you first ran and now it holds an extra tang of emotion that makes it all that much sweeter. He manages to pick up the tossed aside dildo on the way back, but that acts as fuel to the flames.

He has sought after your true mating for months and now that he is on the cusp of finally making it a reality it is hard to keep a rational mind. The natural urge to pin you down and take what has always been his morphs into a feral urgency that infringes on his thoughts. Although, he is determined to take his time tonight because it is isn’t enough to simply fuck you into the ground or find pleasure in that first stretch. No, tonight is about claiming you in every way possible.

About teaching not only your body but your mind that there is no one else it belongs to. No one else that can provide for you in the way he can. Utter and complete submission is his goal. But to get you there, that will take skillful maneuvering and coercion. Otherwise it would not be a quest worthy of his time or attention.

However, there is still one more way he can lock you into his life. One permanent reminder that would forever keep you shackled to him. An action that would have your scent intertwined with his so much so that it wouldn’t matter if it took. Pregnant or not the message would be clear. The confines of his loincloth feel suffocating at the thought. Would your tiny pussy even be able to hold half of his seed? What a pretty treat it would be to see it spilling out from your perfectly pink and tight hole.

Pace now quickened, nothing can take away his laser focus. Not even Lo’ak’s obvious staring as you are carried swiftly along the outer edges of the celebration. Nor Spider who tries to run across the crowd and apologize again. Neither make it to him because all that he can feel is the warmth of your softy body. The pulse of your heart. The essence that is entirely yours, filling his lungs.

Once back in the safety of his kelku [home/house] you are smart enough to not flee from his lap. He manhandles one leg to be thrown to the other side so you are properly straddling him. A sense of shyness must fall over you because you are silent while nervously fiddling with the feathers of his traditional attire. Or maybe you are still too shaken up over the little viperwolf incident to do much else.

Neteyam is unbothered by it, instead using it as an opportunity to let his hands explore. Not in a sexual way at first, just simple brushes that are sure to have you melting for him.

“Now you understand why you must stay by my side. Don’t you pet?” Voice as gentle as the hands that run up the back of your neck, he can feel goosebumps rise in its wake. Eyes still fixated on the feathers, you nod shakily. If it wasn’t so cute he would be tempted to reprimand you for such a half hearted response but it appears luck is in your favor.

His knuckles paint a trail up the back of your neck before swiping over your left shoulder. His other hand softly gathers your hair to the other side so your skin is bared for him. He thumbs at the side of your throat, feeling your pulse flicker beneath his fingers.

“Such a pretty thing like you is not safe out there.” His hands bracket either side of your face, large enough to span the entirety of your head and tilt it upwards. It gives him the perfect view of your expression when both hands smooth up towards your hairline before parting and dragging along your scalp. Lips parted and eyes fluttered closed, he knows he has pressed the right button.

“Creatures eager to snatch you up.” Neteyam draws out, nails ever so gently scratching along your roots. The shiver that races through your body is powerful enough to be visual. Massaging at the area in long strokes proves to have you breaking into pieces. Body practically limp against him, the Olo’eyktan watches with glee.

No wonder Sky People are too soft for this world, all it takes to disarm you is some well placed pets.

“And they’d be successful too,” The tips of his fingers come together to circle your hair into a ponytail. A small sound exhales from your lips, leaning into his touch without resolve. “Have you between their teeth before you could even scream.” That dark tone washes over you in a way so contrary to the warning message, his lips mere centimeters away from your own.

One little kiss, more of a peck really. That is all you get. Just enough to have you chasing after him, a motion that is hard to do when he has you anchored by the root of your hair.

“And that,” Another soft peck to your cheek, “is why you are so lucky to have me.” Neteyam allows his lips to linger longer this time but it’s still just as soft, almost more of a whisper than anything else and with the way you are trapped, there is nothing for you to do but take it. The noise that catches in your throat proves it is far from the passionate affection you desire.

“Isn’t that right?”

“Yes Teyam.” You puff, the softest whisper as you try to learn forward for more. He tutts in disapproval, a slow but firm yank to your hair following. “Y-yes Olo’eyktan.” You correct yourself with a squeak and much to his delight, the fragrance from between your thighs intensifies. He’s tempted to look now and see if it has left a spot on his loincloth.

“There’s my good girl.” He grins and finally you are rewarded with his lips capturing yours. Although slow and tender in movement the heat of the kiss is all consuming, spreading a message that can only reflect his complete control over you. Several times you try to squirm or wiggle but the hand embedded in your hair shackles you into place.

Unlike most times you become a fidgeting little thing, it’s clear that your efforts are to get closer, not further away. Neteyam is a nice man after all and so he indulges that desire. At least to a degree. He kisses you until you’re gasping for breath. He kisses you until slick is seeping through your mini loincloth. And he kisses you until those soft little lips are ruby red and chapped from the harsh treatment.

It doesn’t matter to you, that much is clear by the way you whimper once he pulls away.

“Don’t be greedy.” He smirks against your cheek.

Your greed only intensifies when he slips one hand down to untie your loincloth. His other hand remains embedded in your hair as a leash, one that proves necessary as you are eager to rut up against him. Perhaps he would feel guilty for the way you blush in shame after another tug to your hair. That is, if your reactions weren’t so delightfully endearing.

For reasons mysterious to him, humans have a habit of going against their natural needs. You are not exempt from this issue as you are constantly trying to deny your desire for him, even deny yourself the pleasure you so clearly require. It’s fortunate that you have him to override those silly concerns. And override them he does, quite easily since your body reacts like a live wire every time he is near. The smallest of touches have you aching for more.

Eywa has blessed him with such a responsive little pet and he has every intention of exploiting that sensitivity until you are screeching for him to stop.

Small hands come to dig into his feathered mantle as he idly explores the curves of your stomach. He traces up until reaching the sparkling gems of your top. With two little flicks your hardened nipples are bared for him.

It’s a rare experience to have you so cooperative as he bites and sucks at those little peaks. The emotions of that day have softened your resolve, a pattern that Neteyam makes a mental note of.

He tunes into every sensation of satin skin beneath his fingertips. Atop his thighs. Prickling beneath his lips. Like a flower you blossom for him so exquisitely. Revealing petals that are just for him. Melodic whimpers that only he has the pleasure of inducing. The irritation of Lo’ak’s infatuation fades to the background with you so pliant in his arms.

You are quickly driven to madness, or at least is how you plead when he continues to trace, worship and tease your small body. Neteyam is anxious too. His hard member presses painfully against the fabric of his tewng. However, being the first born son has taught him something that you very rarely exhibit: patience. The fruits of your labors are tenfold more exhilarating once following a period of yearning.

And you yearn for him, little gift. So much so that your dramatic begging has him holding back a deep chuckle.

A river of nectar flowing down your thighs, you act as if you will pitter into dust if not satisfied.

It will be fun training you. Making you learn to sit patiently like a good pet when that inferno of fire burns deep within you. He can devise a plethora of creative punishments for when you inevitably step out of line. Neteyam looks forward to the long process. He wouldn’t want to succeed too quickly and cut the fun short.

Luckily your spit fire attitude is sure to draw it out, keeping him entertained and challenged for a long time.

The reasoning is only further confirmed when he catches you sneaking a tiny hand between your legs. The grip in your hair finally releases only for him to sharply smack away your attempt.

“Did I say you could do that?”

You’re exasperated, pleading eyes staring up at him as a drawn out groan comes from your lips.

“Well are you planning to tease me all night or actually do something?”

You’re pinned onto your back in a heartbeat, this time his right hand curled around your throat instead of your hair. It may not be firm enough to cut off your airway but the oxygen in your lungs freezes all the same.

“Oeyӓ tiyawn I have greater plans for my pussy than using your pathetic little fingers.” He growls into your ear, watching as you are too frozen in shock to bother struggling. “Because by the end of tonight it will be filled with my seed.”

Your throat bobs with a thick gulp, stuttered words struggling to come forth but a tad more pressure against your pulse earns your silence. And to his fascination, your eyes roll back into your head. Fight it all you want, but it’s clear you have always thrived off of his domination. This power imbalance is one that you need. Satisfying that deeply locked away drive you have to be loved, pampered, controlled, and absolutely ruined.

Just in the way only he can deliver.

Squeeze any tighter and his fingers might just lose circulation. Regardless, the dildos have done their job effectively and now you are more than ready to take him. It was always going to be a tight fit, but at least there is little risk of real injury due to his preparations.

You appear less convinced on that matter when his unoccupied hand roughly tugs off his tewng. Wide eyes stare down to where his full length lays along your stomach. He has to admit that in a position like this the size difference does become ever more staggering but he has every faith in you.

“Neteyam please,” You whimper, shiny eyes staring up at him for mercy.

“Please what?” He hums. His fingers curl to massage that special spot inside while his thumb playfully runs over your clit. It has the desired effect, watching as your begging turns towards a different goal.

“Please let me cum! Need it! Neteyam please!”

Neteyam shushes you tenderly, relieving some of the pressure from you little button when he feels your cunt clench around him on the verge of an orgasm. You’ve never looked more beautiful than now, naked and spread across the little nest of blankets and pillows he arranged just for you. Long hair splayed out in every which direction and eyes already coated in a haze, it appears as if you have already been fucked dumb beneath him.

“Patience, little gift. You will cum on my cock soon enough.”

Your alarm flares up once more.

“No Neteyam I can’t! It’s too big, it’s impossible-”

A large thumb presses over your lips to silence you. At this rate you are going to work yourself into hysterics and that would unravel all of the hard work he has done to get you here. A few more intentional circles on your clit has those protests flying out the door. It’s clear you require his help to stay calm and compliant the way you are meant to. The Olo’eyktan doesn’t mind aiding.

Your chest rises and falls dramatically as you melt under the pleasure. And when his three fingers are replaced with the head of his cock lining up, you hardly even notice. As long as that little bundle of nerves is being stimulated, you are hyper focused on seeing out that ecstasy to a finish.

A soft kiss dampens your screech when he slots in just the tip. Already his mind swirls from the sensation but Neteyam manages to reign in his focus. Little ‘no’ s and pleas fall from your lips to caress his.

“Mawey, oeyӓ tiyawn [be calm, my love]. You are being so good for me.” Another inch and it feels as if his own knees are about to crumble from how tightly you cinch around him. Small hands fists into the fabric below as your eyes squeeze shut. Neteyam shakily grasps one with his right hand, placing it along his shoulder that is now exposed with the feathered attire out of the way. “You can touch, little pet. Good girls deserve rewards.”

With your face just barely reaching chest level the Olo’eyktan is forced to bend into an awkward position every time he goes to kiss away your tears, but it’s worth it. Those blunt little nails dig into his lower back. It’s a shame they aren’t strong enough to leave marks that he can cherish.

The air from his lungs are pushed out in a rush as he plunges ever so slightly deeper inside your sweet little pussy. You tense and cry beneath him, scratching as his back in haste. Although mere seconds away from popping his load far too early he still manages to reach down and play with your poor little cunt until more of that sweet essence is trailing out.

“You need to relax for me, pet.” Neteyam grits, tail curling erratically. “Going to suffocate my cock like this, little one.” And it’s true because in all of his years of sexual maturity not once has he ever felt a pussy so tight, so responsive, wrapped around him. It drives him to the point of insanity. It takes every last bit of resolve he has left to not shove the rest of himself inside and plow you into the floor.

But Neteyam knows better than to break his toys.

The next few minutes test his mental and physical stamina over and over as you slowly take him inch by inch. Every slow push of his hips causes a domino effect of tears and incoherent cries from your sweet lips. He kisses and soothes and pleasures your trembling body until you’ve learned to relax again. Only to then restart the cycle when you take one inch more.

However, nothing prepares him for the end result. No amount of dreaming or training could ever have done the sight justice as he sees the way your soft belly bulges when he reaches the hilt. The shape of him is clearly visible, twitching so deep inside of you that it threatens to drive both of you into sensation overload.

The groan that rumbles from his throat is one that you have never heard before. So rough and unleashed that your glittering eyes dilate in response. It’s still painful, that much he can see from the look on your face. So despite every instinct in him screaming to ruin your little pussy until it can take no more, Neteyam remains in place.

Your swollen nub is red from his sensual play, nipples not far behind as he laps and kisses them like they are the last meal he will ever have. That beautiful blush now heats down your neck and torso, as if tempting him to continual his oral fixation. It accentuates most importantly that bulge of your stomach until he can’t help himself anymore, large hand spanning over your tummy to press on that area lightly.

“Can you feel me, tiyawn? Right here?” He presses again, your mouth opening in a silent scream. “Taking me so deep, pet. My good girl.”

And it’s then that it feels as if something has clicked. Your bodies becomes attuned to one another. Burning stretch morphs into something otherworldly, those soft features finally unscrewing into fluttering bliss. And he draws out ever so slightly to rut back in, your head falls back against the pillows.

He’s waited long enough. Pinned long enough. Crawled after you long enough. Now all that his body can do is take what you so freely give him. His hips snap forward without restrain, spurred on by the little sounds that pulse in the back of your throat. Little fingers scatter between gripping his muscular back and tangling into his braids.

The heat that travels from his ears to toes is so intense that it feels as if he may burst into an inferno. And he truly might, little gift. With the way you hug his cock so snuggly as if you never want to let it go, you may simply kill him. He would be happy to go that way. To leave this world drowning in the bliss of your destined union.

And for once in his life, Neteyam lets himself fully go. He chases that peak with fervent desperation. He drinks in every reaction you have to give him. And when the pleasure becomes all too much for you to take. When you grapple to crawl away from him and the mind shattering climax that is around the corner, he pulls you back down with a hiss.

“No more running, pet.” He commands, a growl emanating so deeply from his chest that he almost doesn’t recognize his own voice. He hoists your left leg around his waist, effectively changing the angle to thrust in deeper.

“Neteyam!” A screech like sweet honey from your lips as you finally tip over the edge. Body trembling so hard it takes that firm grip on your leg to keep it there, you crumble beneath him. His stamina is far from being drained as he rides you through it. Every wave of pleasure is stronger than a drug, leading him to cloud nine until he no longer wants to be anywhere else.

“T-too much.” You gasp for air but your body is already succumbing to the onslaught. He can feel the way you are ramping up again. This is far from being over.

“Give in.” Neteyam coos but the ring of that command is clear. There is no other option. That is the way it has always been because from the very beginning you have always been his. And sooner or later Eywa knew that the two of you would be here together, trapped in his love where you belong.

“Oh God!” You cry out, body sliding up the floor with every thrust.

Whether you find his queue by accident or on purpose is unclear but that first tug is enough to have his balls drawing up against his body, bracing to fly into bliss. There is a sticky mess between the two of you, slick enough to have those wet sounds filling the night air. Neteyam runs the flat of his nose over your sweaty temple and curve of your cheek.

“My little gift.” He purrs, body on the brink of rupturing. He says it more for himself than you but is more than pleased to watch the way your eyes flutter close as the sound. Trembling, squeezing, and shattering around him, those are the moments your reserve of denial dries up.

That’s how it has always been. From the first night that he brought you home, tucked under his arm, you’ve had this other side that can be taunted out. Even that night as you had pleaded to be released only to have the gag put back in, his tongue had driven you to stillness. Your screaming of kidnapping had sizzled into a series of moans and ecstatic exclamations.

There’s another side to him too.

The part of him that can finally bask in the one thing he has wanted for months. The part of him that yearns for reprieve day in and day out. The part that demands for rest- for freedom.

Now he can finally surrender himself to the magic that the two of you create. To the sparkle that runs down your cheeks. To the sensation of being embraced so tightly by your little pussy. To the way his name has never sounded better from anyone else’s lips. Eywa has finally given him this gift, his sanctuary from every other pressure bestowed upon him.

And now nothing is going to take it away from him.

Nothing will ever take you away.

Those are the thoughts that coerce his primal nature forward. The same that ramp the fire of his tongue demanding more from you. Pushing you further, harder, deeper.

“You won’t let any spill out, will you pet?” He spits between grunts.

“I-I’ll be good. I’ll be good. I’ll be good.” More of a chant on loop than anything else. One day you will beg properly. You will cry for his seed, for his babies. You won’t question whether or not pregnancy is possible as he fills your womb with his mark.

You will wear that little bow on your neck with pride.

Neteyam forces his eyes open at the precipice. Even as his body convulses and cock pulses rampantly while painting your insides white, he won’t allow himself to miss a single moment. That imprint of your expression as he finally claims you past the point of return will stay with him. The drawn in gasp that is sucked in from your red lips when you feel that warmth will be what keeps him going on day after day. Major to minor details of tonight will be his soundtrack to perfection as he pushes himself to be the best Olo’eyktan possible.

And when the day has worn him to the bone and those day dreams are not enough, there you will be. Waiting for him oh so sweetly.

“I want to sleep.”

Your muffled whine coaxes a chuckle from the Olo’eyktan.

“Then sleep.” He responds, only looking up from your spread legs for a second. So peaceful and sweet you are now, almost drowned in the hammock’s blankets and pillows. The picture of innocence and beauty only to then trail his eyes lower and find the evidence of his primal claim. His bioluminescent seed paints your weeping folds and inner thighs. A new spurt erupts from your still clenching hole only for him to push it back inside with his thumb again.

It won’t make much of a difference. There is no way your small body could ever truly hold all of it but that doesn’t stop him from teasing you all the same.

“Looks like this little pussy will need training to savor my seed properly after all.”

Eyes still closed you let out a groan, trying to rip your thighs from his fingers. You remain trapped as exhaustion finally overcomes you, only a small incoherent curse from your tongue before passing out.

Neteyam grins, reaching up to straighten the little pink bow around your throat.

Please don't be shy. Hearing your thoughts and reactions is what helps fuel my drive to keep posting. Love you, pookies<3

Taglist: @neteyamssyulang @pandoraslxna @tallulah477 @sullybrothersmate @criticallybella @lilghostiequinni @chershire23 @lala-1516 @yawnetu @puddle-nerd @ratchetprime211 @avatargirly @chocolatechocobo91 @kariz-stark @bunnscoffe @avatarwifey @universal-s1ut @witchsprit @heart-an0n @riri-is-a-girlie @rivatar @minnory @ikeyniofthetayrangi @ilovehobi101 @spicymayyo @v4mp1rr3 @nilsavatar @bambithewriter @quicktosimp @itchaboi-itchyboy @thehoneymushroomhealer @ilytulipse @imwutim @crazy4books1 @thegirlwholoveslivesfanfiction @danniackerman @dayyzlol @justabite7 @krispyjellyfishkitty @neteyamtesuli @sakurayuki8655-blog @deadpool15 @valeriinee @leaveitbythewave @aqxllo @mxnygn @crazed-flower @crimsonroses666 @property-of-neteyam @rejectedbytheeempty @erenjaegerwifee

I know there are people I probably missed. It's getting harder and harder to keep track of this taglist so don't be offended if you aren't on there. Also, a good portion of these aren't linking properly so check to see if I have entered it in correctly and if so, you might want to look into your account.

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nattikay · 3 months ago

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fnivu! fo herahaw... shh! they're sleeping...

#avatar #sully family #jake sully #neytiri #neteyam #kiri #jeytiri #my art #lì'fya leNa'vi #partly a redraw/reimagining of an old art #and partly an experiment #mixed feelings about the results of said experimenting #but the important part is that the base drawing is wayyyy better than the old version lol

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stealingpotatoes · 8 months ago

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OMGGGG YOU LIKE AVATAR I'LL EAT GLASS I'M SO HAPPYYYYYYYYYYY

will be get ever some art of it from youuuu?

PUT THE GLASS DOWN eat this instead

#i really want to know how the 'hey so your dad used to be a whole different species as well as from another planet' conversation went down #avatar the way of water #avatar 2009 #jake sully #neytiri #whats the protocol for tagging the kids. are they [name] sully or [name]#kiri #lo'ak #neteyam #tuktirey #tuk #blue people avatar #my doods #thanks for the ask!#askbox closed

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spacely0 · 3 months ago

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sully family photo with metkayina wear

#sully family #avatar #way of water #awow #neytiri #jake sully #kiri #tuk #neteyam #loak #atwow art #atwow #i could fix up some things but this is done for now

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miange1 · 6 months ago

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hi aaronnnnnnn😎

can you write the sully men smut having a reaction to those sex perfumes? ykwim?

like they already make humans feel weird but since na'vi noses are most likely more sensitive then i wanna know how they'd act.

male human reader btw 😋

Neteyam, Lo'ak, with pheromone "sex" perfume

male reader, mating cycle like symptoms, tails, sniffing, overprotectiveness, breeding, slight dirty talk, praise, begging, lo'ak prolly submissive idk, neteyam is dominant, accidentally going too hard, aftercare, big dicks, they're blue, idk, im hungry, belly bulges

Neteyam

— it really was just supposed to be a harmless joke. Back at the lab you had just seen it lying around and thought to use it, just to make him more clingy or something like that.

— today was a day you weren't in your avatar, so you just stayed in till you were needed or till neteyam would come by and he usually did.

— you had almost completely forgotten you had put that on, the little bottle long gone in the trash.

"Paskalin!" your body jolted with excitement as you heard his voice, the heavy footsteps echoing through your ears as you smiled seeing his big blue body in the corner of your eye.

"Teyam," the moment he stopped foot inside, he stopped for a second, pupils going full as his nose twitched, and tail swished around. You looked confused, looking at him a bit weird. Was he okay?

— he would brush it off, his smile at you toothy as he crouched down next to you to hear about your day. but the whole time you were speaking, his breathing which was steady, started to become heavy and unmatched. his ears pinned down to the sides of his skull, and his eyes fixated on any open part of your skin.

— his vision would be clouded from the smell alone, and his actual words would turn into 'mhm' and then into low growls. it wasn't his fault, it was the smell and it was coming right from you.

"Nete?" your words were muffled and sounded underwater to him, he could only understand the fact you wanted to see if he was okay. but he blinked and you were underneath him.

"Teyam— slow down!" his eyes darted around your body, his full length thrusting in and out of you at a quick pace. his dick was so wet..had he already came inside? he couldn't remember.

his head ducked down where the smell was strongest, his nose twitching once more as he sniffed your scented skin. bright yellow eyes rolling back, his ears quickly making a small flap motion— like a cats.

"Oh eywa.." he mindlessly thrusted inside of you making sure you were spread and he could reach all the way in there.

— you remembered only after that it was the stupid perfume.

Lo'ak

— most sensitive. eyes dilated, tail swishing around knocking almost everything over following you around like he had no idea what he was going to do without you.

— he would make the excuse that you were his boyfriend, and that he just wanted to be around you at all times, yet you knew the perfume kicked in as is. he was getting more possessive than usual, not wanting you to leave his side whether you had to do your job or not.

"Lo, you have to let me—"

"Uh-uh.."

"Lo'ak.."

— you caused this, so you were going to be the one to pay for it. he was allowed to stay on the little mattress next to your work space, but he couldn't stop whining and squirming around. you hadn't minded it, till you noticed his shadow looming above you. you were fucked, quite literally.

he laid beside you, eyes hooded and looking drunk. his hand underneath your knee to prop your leg up so he could fuck you right, and another above your stomach just for the purpose of feeling his girth make an outline on your stomach.

"Feel.." he whispered, so fixated on how deep he was inside of you. your noises encouraged him to go quicker, trying to make you feel as good as ever, to pleasure you as best as he could.

the little 'ah, ah, ah's' and the clenching around him made him go feral. his heart was pumping so quickly as he caught sight of your expressions, eyes slightly crossing and uncrossing, drool leaking just a bit.

he just needed to reach a liiiiittle bit more, just a tinnyyyyyy bit deeper inside. his head collapsed onto your shoulder, his hips bucking into you as he came deep inside to fill you up to the brim. his slightly blue tainted cum spilled from your hole, his breathing erratic.

his eyes glanced over to your dick, noticing you hadn't yet cum.

"not done."

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neteyawne · 6 months ago

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neteyam, being the dutiful boyfriend he is, braids your hair for you. but night has fallen over pandora, and you manage to fall asleep while his gentle hands are massaging and cradling your head so sweetly <3

notes! sevin means pretty and tìyawn means love in na'vi~

neteyam's hands are one of your favorite things in all of pandora. they're large and soft and so gentle with you. you can feel his love with the way he holds you, like some sort of a delicate flower he wishes to preserve forever.

"that tickles, 'teyam." you giggle, leaning your head back just the slightest bit as your nose nudges against neteyam's thigh. he chuckles as he swipes a stray strand of hair that had fallen onto your cheek

"i know, tìyawn. just a few more moments." he murmurs, dipping down to place a gentle kiss onto the slope of your forehead as you let out a quiet hum. his eyes soften when your lashes flutter close in contentment, and he works gently as he finishes braiding the last few strands

you were laying in his lap as he worked diligently, one of your hands wrapped around his long leg and the other was laying on your belly. neteyam hums quietly as he works, his soothing voice lulling you straight to sleep

"all done..!" he grins, intertwining the last bead into your braid as he smiles down at his work. your hair looked pretty. he loved braiding it for you, and he tosses the braids resting on his own chest over his shoulder. you had braided his hair just before he began yours—it had become a tradition between the two of you, braiding each others hair.

"sevin?" neteyam questions quietly when you don't respond, the moonlight outlining your still form as a knowing smile forms on his face

it seemed like you had fallen asleep. your chest rose and fell gently, your lips parted just the slightest bit. there was a look of peaceful bliss on your face, and neteyam couldn't stop himself from shifting his body to lay down right beside you

"goodnight." he murmurs into your ear, an arm slipping around your waist as he pulls you into his chest. the forest thrummed with life around you, and slowly, his eyes closed—at peace in his home with you beside him.

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nakedinthetrees · 7 months ago

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Patterns of Your Love

Neteyam x Human!Reader

✨Friendly Disclaimer: The content of this story contains aged-up characters! If this is something that makes you uncomfortable, please feel free to click or scroll away. The last thing I want is for anyone to read something they are uncomfortable with, however if you decide to interact with any negativity, you will be blocked from my blog as a result.

WARNINGS: 🔞MINORS DNI🔞, SMUT including fingering,thigh riding, p in v/m&f intercourse, dirty talk, pet names, size difference, interspecies relationship, alien genitalia

Word count~4340 Art work created by @zeroseydorum

The heat of the Pandoran sun radiated through the thick branches of the trees above where you and Neteyam laid in the plush grass of the forest. Neteyam’s eyes were closed, muscles relaxed as he allowed your small form to lay across his chest, his comparably large hand supporting your waist, caressing your side gently with a thumb. You were propped up on your forearms staring down at him intently, counting each of his calming breaths, noting the small occasional hums he would let slip as he exhaled. Your eyes drifted to his long braids, splayed out in the grass around his head like separate coinciding streams of water. A sliver of sunlight painted in a diagonal line across his face. Everything about him seemed so perfect. One of the things that had immediately caught your eyes about him was his stripes. They seemed thicker in comparison to the other na’vi. Decorating his body so beautifully. Every stripe seemed purposeful. Your eyes lingered on the angled pattern on his forehead, following their flow of movement across his face. With careful fingers you raise your hand, gently gliding the tips of your fingers along his cheekbone, tracing the stripe toward the center of his face until it trails off before moving your hand up toward his forehead. Stretching your index and middle fingers apart, you place them at his hairline then slowly move them down, following the slanted lines of his stripes, progressively closing your fingers as you reach the place in the center of his brow bone. A low hum rumbled in Neteyam’s throat as your fingers repeated the action, your own mind transfixed on him, ”That feels nice…” his voice breaks the silence in a smooth whisper, a relaxed smile growing on his lips, “Does it?” you whisper back, reflecting his own smile. Your question is met with a satisfied hum in response, prompting you to repeat the action a few more times, watching Neteyam relax further under your touch. Your hand drifts down toward his chest, fingers immediately caressing the thick stripes along his pectoral, noting the brief hitch in Neteyam’s breathing as your feathery touches move across his skin.

“What are you doing?” He asks with a slight chuckle in his voice, finally opening his eyes to look down at you. Your eyes meet his for a brief moment, returning his smile before glancing back down at the pattern on his skin, “Your stripes are so pretty” you reply, trailing your fingers down the center of his chest, noticing how his muscles tense slightly at your actions causing you to quirk a curious brow, “Is my big, mighty warrior sensitive?” You chuckle with a playful smirk. Neteyam moves his hand to caress your jaw carefully, shifting your gaze back to his own, his thumb wanting to press over your lips, mentally cursing the oxygen mask that guarded your face, “Do not tease me, little one” Neteyam scolds you with his own playful smile, “Besides… You know full well what you do to me.”. Your gaze fell from his face to his body once more, admiring his azure skin with your finger tips. As his chest faltered a bit from his shaky breath, a new idea formed in your mind. You shifted your gaze to the side of his head, where his nearly bunny-like ears flicked absentmindedly. Carefully you shift your weight forward, just enough to place your hands by the sides of his head without having to strain. Just as carefully you allow your hands to gently cup the Na’vi’s long ears, which flick a bit in response at the touch. “My yawne…” Neteyam warns in a low purr, his eyes now watching you closely in attempts to perhaps read your mind on whatever scheme you had conjured, “What are you thinking, little one?”, “Just… testing a quick theory” you whisper semi focused as you try to hide your smirk. The moment your thumb and index fingers shift to lightly pinch his ears, you get a reaction you would never expect from him; a shaky gasp sounds in the air, his muscles tighten beneath you just as his hands move to encompass your backside, holding you impossibly close to him. His ears now hot beneath the pads of your fingers.

Your lips loosen as you finally allow a giggle to break through them, giving another brush of your thumbs along his ears that sends shivers down Neteyam’s spine, delight painting your features while watching his eyes roll and flutter shut, only briefly. Although there is nothing particularly erotic about the rubbing of his ears, the expression and now sudden shift in the rising and falling of his chest, has your mind wandering elsewhere. Swinging a leg over his slim waist and placing your palms on his chest to steady yourself, you peer down at him with a feline smirk, “So the big tough kitty really is sensitive.”. When Neteyam’s eyes meet yours, his pupils are dilated, glazed with a softness you only ever see him give you and yet… you could swear part of that look held some sort of primal challenge. It’s when his large hands snake up your thighs that you understand the meaning of that look, “Perhaps… although aren’t humans more sensitive than na’vi?” He hums, purposely drawing out the words as his fingers purposefully caress your thighs as they make their way up to your hips, his thumbs massaging the divots there with the type of predatory gentleness that makes your pulse quicken.

“Your skin is much softer… your bodies are squishier…” Neteyam purrs, perhaps more to himself as his amber eyes follow the trailing of his hands whilst they give your hips a gentle squeeze before slowly moving upward, pushing beneath the fabric of your shirt to run his thumbs along your ribs, just under your breasts. His ears perk when the sound of your exo-pack mask enhances the sound of your staggered breathing, pulling the edge of his lips into a smirk, “See?”. You pull back out of his reach crossing your are over your chest defiantly, “What? You expect me not to react when you’re…” Neteyam cocks his head to the side, that same predatory look gleaming in his eyes. You blow out a hot breath in a fleeting attempt to slow your heart rate, momentarily fogging the glass of your mask, “Stop looking at me like that.”.

Neteyam chuckles, shifting his weight to anchor himself onto his elbows, simultaneously causing you to adjust your own weight as well to stop you from slipping down his abs. The position mimicking that of a lion getting ready to pounce, “And how, tawtute, am I looking at you?”, “Like a cat toying with its meal before devouring it.” You huff out a nervous laugh, noting the way he leans to one side to allow one of his arms free to cup your lower back, his thumb trailing along your spine, his face coming ever so slightly closer to yours, “Is that what my sky dancer wishes? To be devoured?” Not ‘sky person’, but ‘dancer’ because you were not a human fueled by greed or destruction. You were soft, gentle, free spirited, and his.

Yet as you stammer trying to find the words, Neteyam leans closer until his lips meet with the column of your throat, extinguishing your tongue of any protest or comeback you would’ve conjured and leaving it with only the ability to sigh, leaning into his touch, your fingers instinctually weaving through his braids. His hold on your lower back remains firm as he carefully shifts into a sitting position, his other hand holding the side of your face, to which you have zero hesitation in leaning into the warmth of his palm, presenting more of your neck to him. A low sultry purr answers your gesture in thanks as his lips begin leaving kiss after wet kiss along your throat while his hand at your lower back drifts up your torso, proceeding his conquest in teasing the underside of your breast. Your breath catches for a moment and Neteyam’s lips ascend to your ear, his exhale against it causing you to shiver, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, “Shall we see what noises I can squeeze out of you?” Neteyam whispers, his hand making the shift to finally touch your aching breast, his fingers tracing along its peak before giving it an experimental squeeze to emphasize his words.

Your lips part as the warmth of his palm encompasses your mound, his calluses pulling at the sensitive skin of your peaked nipple with the motion in a way that has you immediately biting your lip again. A thud sounds from behind Neteyam at the impatient bat of his tail against the ground. While he was no stranger to this song and dance of trying to coax the most delicious sounds from you, it still made him somewhat annoyed when he didn’t get immediate results for his excursions. “How my sky dancer loves to play…” Neteyam murmurs against the skin of your neck, dragging his lips down to the peak of your collarbone, “Play as you like, yawne. I will have you singing soon enough.” he purrs, giving your breast in his hand a more assertive squeeze as his tongue glides back up the column of your throat, the fangs of his bottom jaw dragging slightly, in a way that has your body arching into him in response, finally drawing a sweet, lust coated whimper from your lips. You can feel Neteyam's satisfied smirk against your neck, as well as that same satisfaction forming into a firmness that is now pressing into you as you sit on his lap, “Miklor…”(beautiful sounding). Fuck if hearing him speak his mother tongue didn't instantly turn you into a puddle, then the clenching of your core would definitely do the trick. The growing need to have him impossibly closer, touching every inch of you, filling you, ebbed at the corners of your mind, beckoning desire to the forefront that had you squirming against the hardness that pressed against your clothed ass. The seam of your shorts grinding so deliciously against the thin fabric of his loincloth had Neteyam huffing out a ragged breath that sent a chill down your spine. Neteyam's hand pressed at your lower back, held you firmly against him, whilst the middle finger of his hand that remained under your shirt stroked tight, lazy circles around the perked bud of your breast, his mouth busy with adorning your neck in love bites for you to return to the lab with later, all of it dousing your body in heat, you wouldn't be surprised if the blood in your veins had become molten lava, “Teyam…” you coo, fisting your hands in his braids, a low purr rumbling in his chest at the sound, before using your hold on his braids to urge him back and off your neck, “No more playing,” you whisper breathlessly, wining your hips against him for emphasis, “please.”. He needed no further explanation of your wants, yet his eyes took in your body, possibilities of how this could go painting a string of pictures in his mind, by the hungry look in them. “Stand for me, ma'yawntu. Strip.” The command coming out gentle on his tongue as you watched you rise, his hand drifting behind himself to untie the knot of his loincloth, the minute your skin left his, his eyes never leaving your own for a moment, even as he tossed the flimsy garment to the side, perching to sit on his knees as he gave himself a long and slow stroke.

You swallowed the excess saliva that had manifested in your mouth at the sight as your hands moved to first remove your top, then your shoes, moving slowly in an effort to give him a good show. As you moved to remove your panties along with your shorts, Neteyam’s “No,” halted your movments, “Leave those for me.”. You obliged him, stepping out of your shorts and walking between his parted knees, Neteyam's hands instinctively reaching up to guide you, resting on your hips, pulling you closer until his lips met with your soft stomach. His thumbs slide over the band of your panties whilst he continue to leave kisses along your belly, his eyes lifting toward your own for only a moment, before his fingers delicately looping around the top of your panties, before pulling them gently down your legs. The scent of your bare arousal was enough to send a shiver through Neteyam’s spine, making his body go rigid, as his eyes rolled back before closing, his teeth nipping lovingly at your stomach that despite his restraint, had you yelping with slight surprise. “You complain a lot about my own playing, when you can't even seem to stop, yourself.” you protest, shifting your hips to avert his attention from your stomach down to the aching between your thighs. You hadn't even registered that one of Neteyam's hands had drifted down your leg, until you felt his calloused fingertips smoothing over your inner thigh, traveling higher and higher until two of them glide through your wet folds, just enough to part them.

Your pulse immediately jumps, your hands anchoring on his shoulders to steady yourself, “Mmn, but it is so fun to watch you squirm, yawne. It delights me to see my mate act so needy for me.” Neteyam purrs, dragging the lubricated fingers over your clit, slowly circling it whilst your hips buck at the touch, the nerves in your thighs demanding to close, which takes nearly every muscle in your body not to obey; to let Neteyam swirl your bundle of nerves and whined the forming knot in your stomach tighter, the mental leash you had on your vocal cords long forgotten, relinquishing sweet music for Neteyam's ears. “Awe, my sweet mate makes such pretty noises… tell me how good it feels, yawne.”. Your mind seems full of static, only being able to process the feeling of his fingers, the tightening in your core, your only response being to chase his fingers by swaying your hips along with him. “Uh- uh… use that pretty voice, love.” he urges, poking at your entrance with his fingertips for extra motivation. You swallow thickly, trying to steady your breathing as to try to make your voice as clear as possible, yet to no avail as your words come out nearly trembling, “It feels so good Teyam, I…I can hardly keep standing like this.”, “Oh?” and with that his fingers submerge themselves into your soaked cunt, scissoring twice to help with the stretch. The sound that breaks from you is like a song from the great mother herself, your fingernails digging into the blue muscles of his shoulder as your hips instinctively move against his hand, “More… more…”, “You want more, yawne? I've hardly started… so greedy.” Neteyam hums not sounding at all upset as his fingers curl against the spongy bit inside of you. “My greedy little sky dancer… I want to watch you dance for me…” he whispers, hot breath fanning against your ear and much to your dismay, Neteyam removes his fingers from within you, a whine that wasn't completely voluntary, following it from your throat.

Your growing pout causes Neteyam to chuckle as he shifts his weight slightly, still resting on his knees, but now sitting on his heels, the back of his hand now placed purposefully atop his thigh, his fingers still glistening with your juices now pointing skyward, “Sit.”. The command was simple enough, but you couldn’t stop the drifting of your eyes to the place between his thighs, where his cock twitched in eagerly. “That is for later, for now…” He curled his fingers in a sort of beckoning motion, “sit.”. You didn't recall how many steps it took until you were straddling Neteyam's thigh and you couldn't find it in you to care at the tips of his fingers brush your folds, his thumb gently swiping over your clit as you lowered yourself onto him, sinking his fingers back home. “Ahh~...” You moan as you sit completely on his thigh, with Neteyam now knuckle deep in your sex. “Mmnh you’re so warm inside, yawne.. so tight. Let us get you ready for more, hm? Dance…” he cooed sweetly, his fingers repeating that beckoning motion inside of you that serves as enough to jumpstart your movements. You grind your hips into his palm, your juices squelching below you with the motion. For a moment you see Neteyam's eyelids flutter, his lips curl back in the slightest of snarls, before settling for a look so heavy with lust it had you swearing under your breath, you nearly thought you'd combust at the sight alone. Sparing a glance between his legs once again, you witnessed the evidence of that look. His cock nearly red at the tip, twitching with each sway of your hips, as if he were imagining it inside of you instead of his fingers. You knew if you were his size, a na'vi, he wouldn't have wasted a second before burying himself in you, but alas, you were a fragile human. A small delicate thing that, despite whatever protests you could throw his way, you know that Neteyam would always take his time with you. “Eyes on me, yawne.” Neteyam says in more of a growl, as if just the sight of you looking at his was shredding his self control, yet before you could so much as lift your gaze- “Haah! Tey-.” he began bouncing his leg, thus you along with it, sending you up and down on his fingers at his will. Your fingernails nearly broke skin as you bounced atop his legs, moaning uncontrollably as he fucked you on his fingers.

Neteyam's gaze seemed to devour you like a piece of art; watching the each bounce of your breasts, the juices painting his palm and thigh, thrust after thrust how they pooled on his blue skin. It was almost to much, his cock was aching to the point of pain- and then he felt your touch on it's head, not even processing when or how your hand had gone from gripping his shoulder, to rolling his cock head in your palm and… fuck did it feel good. Too good. It was almost too easy to imagine pinning you on the forest floor, lining himself with your cunt and- No, you needed to finish first before he could have you. He needed to be sure you were ready for him. Your body trembled as Neteyam began curling his fingers repeatedly as he continued to bounce his leg, the mixed sensation throwing you into the merciful arms of release as you writhed and shook, mewling out in a hitched voice as you came undone. He continued, slowly the bouncing of his thigh and shifting his curling fingers in the massaging motion, letting you ride out your high. Neteyam huffed a small laugh as your forehead leaned against his chest for support, your breathing heavy and uneven. “You… you play too much, Teyam.”, this prompted another laugh as Neteyam lowered his knee, his free hand snaking from your hip to around your backside, as he carefully lowered you onto the plush grass. Once your back was flush against the ground, Neteyam now leaning over you, he withdrew his fingers, bringing them below pelvis to smear your lingering juices along his shaft, letting out a sigh at the contact, a sound that had your chest tightening. He had been so patient, so gentle, and now you would reward him for his efforts.

Slowly you spread your legs wide, bringing your knees to your chest, watching as Neteyam continued to give himself a few more pumps to ease the hurt. When his eyes finally lifted to see you spread before him, the sound that came from him was nothing, but primal need. He ran his tongue over his lips to moisten them as he carefully leaned down, bringing your face closer to his own until his forehead rested against yours. Despite the hunger, his amber eyes swam with so much Earth shattering love that you felt you could weep and perhaps it showed in your face, because Neteyam cooed your name so softly and sincerely you almost didn't hear it, before he raised his lips to kiss your hairline, once again mentally cursing the obstruction of your mask that kept him from kissing your lips. When he pulled away, it was only enough to weave a hand between you to guide his cock closer to where you both longed for him to be. At the feel of his tip prodding at your entrance, Neteyam leaned down to place a gentle kiss at your ear, whispering sweet praises as inch by delicious, suffocating, filling inch he pushed into you. The shudder that rippled down his back muscles as your tightness took hold of him, as if it would never let go. “Siltsan, ma’ syulang…” (Well done, my flower). As Neteyam looked up to take in your expression, he found your eyes closed, brows scrunched, but not in pain as you breathed, “I don't think I'll ever get used to that first thrust… thank Eywa.”.

Neteyam couldn't help, but chuckle before leaning down to bite your earlobe, “Such a dirty mouth on my mate…” he cooed, yet as you were about to retort, Neteyam pulled out slightly before plunging back in, his muscles flexing at the motion. “Ohh…shit…”, the curse natural on his tongue as again he thrusted slowly into you. The fifth time his tip pressed kissed your cervix, Neteyam had to bite back a growl. He was desperate, but he wouldn’t allow himself to throw caution to the wind, not just for your safety, but to savor this feeling for as long as he could. He maneuvered enough to set your legs over his shoulders, his knees spreading wider through the grass as he scooped an arm beneath your shoulders, pressing your front flush against his own seamlessly, like he was trying to get as close to you as possible- to force your bodies to become one and when he rolled his hips again, you rolled yours with him. Neteyam's ears pressed flat against the sides of his head and he let out a soft whimper, he was content to stay like this forever. “Teyam, please…” You begged, rolling your hips before he could move again, giving his cock a loving squeeze with a clench of your inner walls and with it, an invisible tether had broken loose. Neteyam reeled his hips back at the same steady pace he had, but when he drove back in, your body bucked with his. “Fuck! yes… like that… please.” and he did, again and again, faster, harder, until it was all he could do to bring your hips down onto each of his thrusts, driving your back into the grass each time. His lips were in a frenzy on your ears, neck and chest; wherever he could reach, you decorated your skin in wet kisses, nips, and licks and you couldn't find it within you to give a shit about how many marks he was leaving, not when it meant he was putting his claim on you in the most intimate way he could, Your body writhed and bucked beneath him, your legs that had been barking for being in the same position too long, had become an after thought as one ograsm began as another ended.

Only when Neteyam pulled away, wrapping your legs around his slim waist did you suddenly remember they needed relief, yet the euphoria of it was short lived as you were hauled into his lap, both arms wrapping around you as he somehow drove himself deeper at the new angle. Neteyam buried his face between your neck and shoulder, his grunts and moans lingering in your ear. He was close, the breathless whines that new fell from his lips indicated as much. So close you could feel the restraint in his thrusts, where one moment he pistoned into you, filling the space around you with wet slapping, the next he held your pelvis flush against his own as he ground himself into you. Your brows furrowed through your mask as his whines became more pitched, desperate you realized, like the finish line was nearly there, yet somehow out of reach. So you did what you could, clinging to him and whispering in his ear between moans, “I love you.”, “I love you.”, “My mate.”, “Mine.”, it was the last two words that clanged through him like a burst of energy as Neteyam gave a few rough thrusts, bringing your body to meet them each time, that he finally went over the edge, spilling as much of his seed as he could into you before it began to spill where you were still connected.

The moment he stilled inside of you, you both let out a sigh in unison, your bodies drenched with sweat, skin hot and sticky to the touch. It was when you each pulled back to look at each other that Neteyam’s eyes widened, taking in your body before him. “What? What's wrong?” You immediately ask, following his gaze, but that was all the proof you needed. From what you could see, your chest was littered with redish-purple spots, which you could only assume were on your neck as well, and then the embarrassment of having to walk into the lab like this hit. Neteyam merely laughed, trying as gentle as possible to lay you back down on the grass, withdrawing himself from you before laying on his side beside you. “You say my stripes are pretty, but I must say… I do find spots to be a good look on you.” then you laughed with him only after feining disapproval at his joke, giving his shoulder a playful shove before snuggling into his warmth.

Even rereading this story I'm super proud with how it turned out. I hope it holds up to everyone who read it previously and that new readers enjoy it as well.♡

Tag list: @luvv4j4ybe11, @sullybothersmate ,@yourfavwh0r3 @Awiltedpeony @xylianasblog @pandoraslxna @blue-slxt @hotdsworld @itchaboi-itchyboy @erenjaegerwifee

If you would like to be added or removed from a specific taglist, just let me know!

#avatar #avatar the way of water #Atwow #atwow fanfiction #avatar fanfiction #avatar smut #Neteyam #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #neteyam sully #neteyam smut #aged up characters #aged up au #neteyam x reader #Neteyam x y/n #neteyam x human reader

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s3ggsypiranha · 5 months ago

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mean streak (pt. 1)

synopsis to spend more time with his girlfriend, a lovesick lo'ak contracts his older brother to distract and romance you, tsireya's rough-around-the-edges, protective older sister. unfortunately for neteyam, you were determined to make this as difficult as possible.

⚝ neteyam sully x fem!metkayina reader

⚝ tags: set months after atwow, let's pretend neteyam survived ahahahahaha 😐 neteyam & reader are both kids (think 15 - 16ish), sibling stuff > romance in this ch, KING ROXTO 4 president, lo'ak simping for our girl 'reya, everyone's so introspective up in here, mean/irreverent reader, mild swearing. earth 2 neteyam girlies, it's 2025, are we still alive?

⚝ wc: 2.2k | a/n: i'm so happy to hyperfixate on avatar again yayuhhh. i'm gonna be so fr i don't have a timeframe for when the next parts come out but we will finish one day 👹 shit gets corny asf and ooc real fast but if you like that, do be seated, buckle up and enjoy the ride pookies <3

⚝ series masterlist

(ps. don't repost, im absolutely fine w reblogs)

Love sucked at Lo’ak’s mind, all mosquito-like. He sat at the edge of the festivities on a patch of sand littered with trees he claimed as his own once the crowd died down, which, much to his displeasure, amplified the growing noise of his encroaching thoughts.

This barely plausible, esoteric thing worked for his dad, somehow, who stood by Neytiri, his eternal partner in crime. The very image of unconventional romance. A picture-perfect painting the boy couldn’t help but adore and, as befitting a lovestruck teenager, regard as such a high example of how it could be. Love.

His eyes landed on her and he racked his brain for an answer to the age-old question. How to get the girl? It seemed almost impossible.

Tsireya dawdled by the fire, donning a pearly white grin to those fortunate enough to be graced by her presence. Tsireya, Tsireya, Tsireya. Her name was a dreamlike symphony echoing through his whole being. Some suitor or other wished her a 'most auspicious name day' followed up by a mother of pearl-laden monstrosity of sorts he deduced meant to be a present. What a meathead.

Lo'ak flinched at the feel of hands squeezing at his shoulders as if harbouring the secret location of Eywa's hidden treasure.

"Baby bro!"

He mustered a tight-lipped scrunch. Neteyam grimaced at this lack of reaction but, determined to flip his brother's mood, shrugged it off and chose to invade enemy territory.

"Alright, move over, skxawng," he plopped himself down next to his now ponderous sibling, making himself at home and taking extra care to sigh obnoxiously. Neteyam grinned at him, shit-eatingly so.

Lo'ak blinked, unimpressed, and his eyes assumed their initial position. In his periphery, his older brother tilted his head with an expression Lo'ak thought similar to that which Norm reserved for examining weird petri dishes in the lab.

"OK, I'll bite. What is wrong with you?"

Receiving so much as a shrug and a grunt, Neteyam followed his brother's line of vision. Ah...

He chuckled, "trouble with the missus?"

"Dude-"

"Just saying, you're beginning to look like a palulukan in heat."

"Man, I swear-"

Neteyam raised pacifying hands.

"Looks like this is more serious than I thought. So, the way I see it, you ought to tell big bro what is running through that head of yours.” He tapped Lo'ak's temple in emphasis, which his little brother returned with a murderous side-eye.

"Speak now or forever hold your peace."

Lo'ak's ears twitched in indecision.

"Okay..." he caved and gathered the right words. "So, I like... Tsireya."

Neteyam held onto his brother's shoulder in faux shock, "No?!"

"C'mon, do you wanna listen or not!"

"Sorry, sorry, floor's yours."

Lo'ak rolled his eyes, "As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted." Neteyam clutched his chest in exaggerated pain.

"I like Tsireya, like really like her. And I think she likes me back."

"That's great, bro, can you get to the part where you're having a problem?"

"I'm getting there," Feeling courageous enough to turn fully, Lo'ak faced his brother. "We've been hanging out a lot and I feel like we've really got something. I mean, she sees into me, I see into her."

Neteyam smiled, "Uh-oh, 'but' incoming?"

"But there's a bit of an issue." Lo'ak motioned his head subtly to Tsireya's spot by the fire. "Don't look now but-"

Neteyam looked at the two girls sitting across from them. There you were in all your imposing glory, fiddling with the ends of your sister's curls as you allowed her to drone. He let his sights rest a little longer but, possessing some eerie sixth-sense, you picked up on unwanted eyes locked onto your face, turquoise hues smelting his golden gaze.

He looked up at the stars, a tree, then his brother. Whew.

"Do you see what I mean?"

"Huh?"

Lo'ak snapped him back to reality. "Hello? The sister?"

"Ah, the sister."

"She's freaking everywhere," Lo'ak leaned back in resignation, "I can't even get in two seconds with Tsireya before she goes bat-shit."

Neteyam gave him an amused shake of the head.

"Oh, this is funny to you? I'm being personally victimized by Tsireya's sister and you're laughing?"

"I dunno what to tell you, man. She's um-" Neteyam shivered animatedly as he watched you slap Ao'nung on the arm provoked by something he'd said. "She's terrifying. But don't take it personally," he patted his little brother on the back.

"Gee, thanks, that's really helpful," Lo'ak wormed away the reassuring touch.

"Dude, this is a well-known fact. Ask anyone," Neteyam surveyed the general vicinity and whistled for Roxto. The boy in question pointed to himself in confirmation and approached, juggling fruit in his hands.

"Hey, guys. Can I tempt you to some yovo? It's really goo-"

"That's nice, Roxto," Neteyam interrupted. "Hey, so, what do you think of you know?" He gestured to your spot.

Roxto paled, looking around him before asking in a hushed tone, "Is this some kind of a test?"

"Exactly," Neteyam nudged his brother.

"You know something, up until tonight, I have never seen a na'vi eat that much fish," Roxto noted. The three observed the manner in which you, for lack of a better word, horked down your umpteenth piece of roasted seafood.

"I don't know if I should be scared or amazed. Maybe both," Roxto began to back away cautiously from the two brothers.

"Great," Lo'ak sighed, "so it's public opinion that my girlfriend's sister's a piece of work." He raised his head helplessly to the heavens, on the brink of surrendering his frail soul to Eywa's loving arms.

"I just wish there was some way to ward off the guard dog," Lo'ak stabbed at the sand with an incensed finger. Neteyam could only watch as his brother despaired. He'd never seen him in a lovesick slump quite like this.

Lo'ak willed his neurons to fire. He's the son of Toruk Makto, for Eywa's sake, he could be intelligent when he needed to be. How the hell do I crack this? You were a well-rounded individual. Smart and attractive, not a troll by definition, as per mentioned by his father in distant bedtime tales of sky folk. He could think of a million names belonging to suitors falling at the feet of the Metkayinan tsakarem across Awa'atlu. Sure, you could be abrasive. The mean streak you wore like a badge was old news within the village.

He watched Tonowari ruffle your hair in the distance. You loved your family. Tsireya idolized you. He recalled how she admired your 'way of moving through the world.' And he thought, yeah, you could call it that. Moving through the world. Or, rather, against it. You always did seem to be at odds with everything, taking solace in your own company at the end of each day. What was wrong with you? Didn't you have any hobbies? You didn't seem to have a life outside of keeping your siblings in line.

Wait a minute. He looked at his brother, then shifted his eyes back to you, his brother, then you.

It dawned on him. Shit, he was a genius.

"'Teyam, I feel bad for her."

"For the guard dog? Why?"

"Ever noticed any friends? Boyfriend? Pet?"

"The answer would be no, big brother,” Lo'ak scratched his head innocently. “It's simple. She's got no life so she compensates by keeping her siblings on a leash."

“Huh.”

Neteyam raised a brow and wondered deep down if he acted like this. More often than not, it felt like every day revolved around keeping everybody's asses in check.

"Maybe her life wouldn't be so damn boring if she had something to look forward to every now and again."

Neteyam took the bait, "What are you getting at, smart guy?"

Lo'ak, rather uncharacteristically, smiled sweetly, emulating little Tuk whenever she pressed Kiri for playtime. Four-fingered hands touched fingertips as he proposed, "How would you like to do me a favour?"

This wasn't gonna be good.

"I'm thinking you hang around Tsireya’s sister, woo her a little bit, get the mighty warrior some actio-"

"Absolutely not."

"C'mon, I'm not saying mate with her, just do your signature sweet-talk, take up some of her time..."

"You don't understand what you're asking," Neteyam laughed incredulously, "I took a bullet for that girl and all I got was a skxawng instead of a nice ‘thank you.’"

"I mean," his brother shrugged, "it was pretty stupid."

"I almost died!" he squawked.

"Past is past, man, and today, you're my only hope," Lo'ak implored, glassy-eyed, "it's rough out here!"

"Eh... not my problem, pipsqueak."

"I'll do your chores for a month."

"Yeah? I've got a feeling you won't-"

"Two months!" Lo'ak closed his eyes. It was worth it, he thought, overstimulating on thoughts of Tsireya's bubbly laughter to outweigh the prospect of having to scoop up ikran shit for the next few eclipses. He opened an eye to see Neteyam turning to leave. "And a week in advance!"

That piqued his brother's interest.

"...keep talking."

"All I ask is that you keep her preoccupied," Neteyam sat down. Lo'ak took this as a sign that he reeled him in, "and that can look however you want it to look like. Romance her, befriend her, I don't care. Just, please, would you buy me a little time?"

Neteyam heaved a sigh. "Even if I wanted to help you,” he rubbed his face, “this is just plain wrong and, not to mention, stupid."

What was Lo'ak thinking? His brother started to sound uncannily like their dad, a true reflection of young Jake carving his heart out as an offering to the olo'eyktan's daughter. Albeit being a walking safety-hazard, you were a real person with real feelings not built for tampering with. Anybody deserved better than that. You deserved better than that and, besides, Neteyam would not be taking his chances against Tonowari should things go south. Not today. No, sir.

"Okay... I guess you're right," Lo'ak nodded.

"I am?"

"Sure, man," Lo'ak stood up, "which is why I'll ask my good friend Roxto to do it-"

"Boy, sit back down," Neteyam yanked him by the tail.

"Y-ouch, bro, totally uncalled for-" Lo'ak planted himself on the ground, tail keeping a world of distance away from his brother's hands.

"You ready to talk terms?"

Neteyam allowed himself one last look at you, your scowl, your confronting stance made more menacing by an air of defiance, and your... hair. You had nice hair, okay? He was prepared to die on that hill. You were not somebody to be messed with. Woe betide those daring enough to disturb the terrifying tranquility you constructed to a tee. How you tirelessly subverted expectation after expectation as your mother's successor, he would never fully comprehend, as previously being born into clan royalty himself. But it was something he respected, bordering on admired, about you. And this was a fact Neteyam was wary to admit to for some strange reason. He couldn't pinpoint it if he tried, always running through his mind too fast for his liking. It was confusing, consuming even. When it came to thinking of you, he was always left in shambles.

Which is why he couldn't have prepared himself for the chilling clarity that accompanied his next answer.

"Fine."

Surely, something was in the air. Something, just something must have puppeteered him into complying because he was so sure the moral high ground would have won this fight today.

"That's the spirit!" Lo'ak whooped in delight, transporting Neteyam back to the moment Norm allowed them chocolate for the first time.

"But I want a fortnight in advance.”

Neteyam watched Lo'ak descend into space, making the necessary calculations in his mind, "Unless, of course, you change your mind-"

"You have yourself a deal."

They shook on it, comically, and Neteyam leaned in to whisper lowly, "And if I ever feel like she's gonna get hurt, well, I'm obligated to tell the truth."

"I'm obligated to tell the truth- whatever, man," Lo'ak pushed his shoulder, "Also, ever heard of this thing called a bath? I'm catching a stench..."

"Hey, if I were you, I'd be a little nicer to your salvation," Neteyam mussed up his brother's braids.

"Mind-" Lo'ak slapped his hand away, fixing his prized locs, "the hair."

"Go and get me some water, little brother," he casually tossed him a bowl. Neteyam straightened his spine, flexing intertwined fingers in a stretch, "Let's see how the mighty warrior gets business done around here."

Lo'ak scoffed, muttering a quaint dumbass under his breath as he watched his older brother break into a saunter, moreso a moonwalk, in your direction.

With bated breath, Neteyam slid next to you on the boulder you occupied. Your eyes widened at the intrusion, pupils dangerously teetering to your right where he was.

He mustered his most gentlemanly greeting. Chivalry itself shivered at this display of charisma.

“Hey.”

You shifted to the left.

"What do you want?"

Neteyam felt small before your violent scrutiny and he smiled an antsy smile.

"Uhm, I was just wondering if you ever wanted to-"

"No."

"You didn’t even let me finish-"

You raised a finger.

"So, you're saying there's no chance we could-"

You wagged it.

"Uh-uh."

Neteyam hung his head, "are you sure though-"

"For the last time, tree boy," you smiled sadistically, professing a loud, “NO.”

You sent him away with a regal wave of your hand.

"Okay… good talk," Neteyam left your side, in a slumpier manner than when he joined it.

"Hey, buddy. I saw you out there," Lo'ak winced, rushing to his aid with a bowl of water, "Not too shabby for a first try, eh, mighty warrior?”

"I don't want to talk about it."

Neteyam drank the pity water, replaying the moment in his head.

“Yeah...” Lo'ak clapped the frowning, despondent thing that was once his brother on the back.

"I've got some notes."

(queens, im making a taglist 4 those interested, just don't be shy and holla at yo gurl <3)

#neteyam x reader #neteyam x you #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x na'vi!reader #neteyam x metkayina!reader #neteyam sully x reader #atwow x reader #avatar x reader #neteyam #neteyam sully #atwow #avatar

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erenjaegerwifee · 1 month ago

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Love Of My Life (part one)

Paring: Neteyam x Fem!Avatar!Reader

Warnings: MDNI 18+, explicit language, smut, p in v, squirting, oral receiving (m&f), spanking, kissing, mentions of gunshots, blood, bleeding, death, exclusive relationships. Word Count: 28.3k

Disclaimer: All my characters are aged-up! If you have an issue with that, do not interact with my account or any of my posts.

Part two now out

Blood soaked the stone beneath him.

Neteyam lay sprawled on the jagged rock, gasping. The sea sprayed cool waves splashing water against his skin. The bullet wound buried in his chest burned like fire, but the real pain was deeper, each breath becoming harder to take. He tried to listen to what his parents where saying, to Lo’ak and Tsireya, but their words fell on almost deaf ears. He could hear their voices mixed with the distant chaos; shouts, gunshots, even the churn of the ocean, but everything was fading behind the haze of the pain.

He turned his head looking around maybe if he looked at them, he could focus on what they were saying. Neteyam is not anything if not determined. He wanted to do whatever he can even though he was currently in the worst shape of his life.

“Neteyam…your sisters…hold on my son!” His mothers voice rang from what he could pick up.

“Hold on boy…help is coming” his father’s voice was vulnerable clearly having a rough time keeping it together.

Lo’ak did not even try to hide his sobs as he held onto neteyam tightly, whether his hands could reach, “please don’t leave me…. sorry…sorry…never run off again!” His sobs and shouts were the loudest.

Tsireya didn’t say much, quiet sobs by his feet as she gave his family space, but she was one of his best friends now, she cried, and she cared about him so much. He didn’t want her first experience with war and death to be her best friend dying.

Lo’ak didn’t want to leave, he didn’t want to go, but his sisters were in danger, and he knew where they were being held. Jake was adamant they get them back before more of his children were injured, before neteyam died so they could say goodbye. Tsireya, she didn’t not want to be alone running behind Lo’ak to keep her safe. Neytiri angrily bonded with her ikran taking off in the sky, her wild eyes looking back at him once before taking off.

They thought he had already gone to Eywa when his eyes shut, and his breathing leveled when he tried to calm his heart. They thought he was no longer with them. They did not see the way his fingers twitched as he tried to raise his hand, he wanted to call out to them; to tell them he had den gone yet. But the strength was not there

Now Neteyam was alone, they vanished, and he didn’t know what to make out of it. They left him? Would they make it back? Being the sweet boy he is neteyam prayed to Eywa they would make it back before it was his time. He prayed he could get to see his parents, siblings, before he was taken to be one with Eywa. He wanted to hold on.

Right on time, you gasp for air climbing out of the water coughing up whatever had almost made you give up and drown, you climb onto the rock and unclip your bag taking it off your shoulders and dropping it beside you, your hands push your air out of your face as you coughed on all fours. You didn’t even notice him; he wasn’t your concern. It was only after you caught your breath did you see him laying there, his seemingly lifeless body.

You don’t know him, clearly, he is na’vi, not metkayina so from the forest, a Sully? One of his boys. You move closer and neteyam hears your light, soft footsteps. They were too deliberate for an animal but too light for the heavy boots that soldiers wear. His eyes were closed; he couldn’t open them even if he wanted to. He felt all too exposed; he can’t move but he’s conscious about his surroundings like some kind of sleep paralysis in a nightmare.

The shoes make slow steps towards him getting closer and closer. It was a whisper of movement, strange. He wasn’t sure if it was an enemy, but he knows it’s not familiar. You crouch down next to him, you thought maybe you could make him out, but you can’t. Your hand slowly moves to his face touching his cheek softly, its still warm, hot even.

You look down at his body, the blood still oozed out of his wound. ‘Was he even dead?’ The thought ran across your mind.

Your eyes darted around to see if anyone was coming back before your fingers slowly moved to under his nose, after a brief moment you felt his warm exhale hit your fingers, ‘he’s alive’

“You’re still breathing...” Your hands fly to his chest closing to wound to prevent anymore blood loss, he must be so weak by now he was in so much pain he passed out, or was that from the blood loss? You weren’t sure. Either way you didn’t want to let him die. “Just hold on...” you raise your head again this time looking for the backpack you have discarded.

Quickly you let go of him and ran to get to backpack before running back, ripping it open you pull out a soaked t-shirt, ‘it’ll work.’ You make quick work of ringing out any water you could before you cover his wound to prevent more blood loss.

“Shit…” you mumble, you know you can’t save him here, you have to take him where you have supplies. Neteyam doesn’t know what to do, not that he can do anything. He hears a woman’s voice. He hears her trying to reassure him he won’t die, he felt her hands trying to stop the blood, so he wasn’t as alarmed as he was a few minutes ago, in fact he felt a bit comforted someone was trying to save him when everyone though there wasn’t anyone to save.

“Okay I know you probably can’t respond, maybe you can’t hear me at all and I’m talking to myself like an idiot, but I need to move you.” You waited a few seconds as if he was going to answer but he didn’t, you called out for your ikran that landed beside you in less than a minute. You look back down at his body, he was tall, muscular, definitely heavy. After a deep breath you clutched his arms over your head and lifted his deadweight on your back, settling him on your ikran you took off quickly in the direction of safety.

You were sure no one saw you considered most of the clan had retreated when the ship sunk and it was the middle of eclipse. You flew into the darkness at unmatched speed, holding onto him tightly so he wouldn’t accidentally fall off and actually die. Your adrenaline was pumping through you, the air felt cold against your soaking wet clothes, you couldn’t wait to get a minute to really breathe.

You made your way to the top of a cliff where just beyond the tree line was a house, it was so human like if someone saw the cabin its look almost like it was on earth, if it wasn’t for the unique Pandora trees and flowers. You landed swiftly and leaned neteyam on your ikran before jumping off.

You ran into the cabin going straight for the medically cabinet you kept stocked, and pulling out some gauzes, medical tape and surgical kit. You ran back to him and pulled him off the ikran. His body his the grassy with a loud thump, but you heard it. A small groan from his lips, it hit but he was there, alive, responsive.

“I am sorry, I know that must have hurt. But what I have to do will hurt even more” you speak softly to him almost comforting him before you turn on a small flashlight and held it between your teeth and rip the blood t-shirt off, when you lifted him earlier you saw the exit wound so no bullet in him is one less thing for you to take care off.

You open the gauze and wipe the blood holding it against the wound. His eyes were shut tightly and his brow line furrowed. You know he is about to feel what you're going to do. You use your elbow to hold the gauze in place as you thread the surgical needle. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. This is going to hurt, but only for a second.” you repeat yourself over and over as if he could acknowledge you in a muffled voice.

You took out a needle filled with lidocaine and slowly injecting it in certain parts around to wound to numb it, “I don’t even know if this works on na’vi” you mumble to yourself. Taking a deep breath, you started to sew up to the wound, slightly pulling his touch skin to close it up. Thankfully, you know an artery wasn’t damaged otherwise he would have bled out by now.

“Almost done..” you whisper before I rip the thread with my teeth and knot it. I sigh in relief as the bleeding in the front stops and I turn him over and do the same to the wound on his back. The last knot tight ended under your fingers the bleeding stopped, just barely.

You take a deep breath and lean back sitting next to his body on the floor spitting out the flashlight. You noticed his breathing was no longer quick and low but more normal, so you must have done something right. You look over the cliff at the eclipse and the way it reflected so beautifully on the open ocean.

Your heartbeat was stabilizing, you didn’t realize how much of an autopilot you were operating on until your arms started to feel tired, after all you did hold onto him very tightly. From what you could tell he was out like a light now, if he wasn’t before you weren’t sure. You had to move him inside. You look back at him, he was clearly a solider, he had the build. He was young, maybe your age? You weren’t sure. All your questions would be answered in due time, or maybe he’d kill you and run back to his family either way you can’t say you regret saving him.

You never much cared about how human affect the environment here on Pandora, your job was not to hunt down any na’vi who were trying to live in peace, no. Your job was the protect the people on the ship, it was your only job, to keep humans from dying on pandora. You knew what they were doing killing of the tulkun for the youth serum, but until the day you saw them kill the tulkun close to the clan. You didn’t care.

How could they be so unloving as to kill a member of someone’s family? They knew very well that was the relationship between the tulkun and the ocean na’vi. What if it were their family member? Their mother or baby? Only then will they decide these acts are vile. Maybe that is why you decided to save him.

You stand up and walk around his body until you were standing at him head, you drop to your knees sliding your arms under his to lift his upper body off the ground. You noticed how long he was before but now you must have underestimated before. He was at least a foot taller than you.

The first pull is the hardest his weight fights against you to bring him in. Your teeth gritted as you continued until you made it over the rocky ledge and inside the cabin through the back balcony glass doors. You didn’t drop him as you look upped the stairs where the bedrooms were, and you take a long heavy sigh.

Instead of suffering through every step you settling to laying him down on the black L shaped leather couch. Carefully you adjust his body putting his legs up on the couch one by one until you he was in a comfortable enough position you could let him rest. You started a fire before making sure to lock all windows and doors and drawing all the curtains. The only source of light was the first and the dim kitchen light behind the couch.

You got a damp cloth from the kitchen and decided to clean his wounds best you could in his position. You sank down leaning back on the base of the couch looking at him, his braids still had traces of blood, but he’d have to lose them out and wash it. Your eyes darted over the bandage, no fresh blood so you took a breath.

You were exhausted, you could just take a nap right there, but you were soaking wet and also covered in blood, so you decided to take a shower. It’s not like he would go anywhere.

The hot water was well needed, washing off all the blood and salty water was heavenly, the shower made the mirrors and glass door steam up, but you enjoyed it. You had recently run out of soap and had to make some from a purple flower your found growing wild outside, it was nice and no poisonous which you checked multiple times. It smells like nothing you’ve ever smelled before it was amazing, it brought you so much peace and tranquility you didn’t know a scent could do that.

The water hit you skin like a whisper at first, then a rush. You braced your hands against the wall, letting it pour over you, washing the blood away in slow red spirals down the drain. Your brain was fogged with thoughts of the man downstairs on your couch, this would have been the first time in your entire life you ever let a stranger in your home and that was before you were even an avatar.

You pad down the stairs now dressed in a tank top and pj shorts with your lace bra peaking out the top of the tank top, you weren’t worried about it you were sure he’d probably wake up tomorrow rather than tonight. You walk over to the kitchen and put the kettle on to heat up some water to make some tea.

Afterwards you sat on the other side of the couch where his feet were, your tea sat in the coffee table in front of you and take the throw blankets off your side of the couch using one to cover him from the waist down and the other to cover yourself. You couldn’t pinpoint why it was so important to you he stayed safe and warm, but you didn’t want to think too much into it.

Before you could get comfortable you noticed an object on his hip that seemed out of place under the blanket. Carefully you pulled it back and saw his knife. It was natural he’d have one, almost every na’vi you’d encountered had their own personalized knife, whether it was a specific carving or bead even the blade they were all special.

Slowly you take the entire holder out of his tweng and set it right there on the coffee table. So, when he did eventually wake up, he’ll see it’s still right there. It was a beautiful knife. Clearly one of the Omatikayan with the intricate carvings. The handle was wood covered with leather and waxed thread from a beanstalk palm, and the blade was the size of your entire forearm, it was made of some kind of bone, you could wrong, but it looked like a piece of bone from a large predator he carved into a sharpened tip and stained to have a darker brown color.

The handle also had a small bead attached to it, it was tied on using a thread, but it was beautiful, contrast to the dark scary color of the rest of the knife, the bead was a very pretty pink, it was a color that wasn’t all that common, at least not that you’ve seen. It was not perfectly round but shaped almost like a jagged flower. This part of his knife was definitely a gift, and it felt deeply personal.

“Wow…” you whispered to yourself. You wondered if he had made himself or if it was gifted to him by someone special, you were aware they did that sometimes, for close families and mates. You didn’t even know if he was mated, what if you casually kidnapped someone’s husband. They could be crying right now thinking he was dead, even though you did save his life.

You sat back in your stop your body facing him as you leaned against the couch and pulled the blanket over your shoulders. With a slow breath you shift into the corner of the couch and tuck your legs up, letting your body sink into the cushions. It was quiet now, just the rhythmic sound of the waves crashing against the cliff and his low breaths on the other side of the couch.

You let your eyes drift back to him once more, he’s so strong, strained. Yes he’s battered and braised, but still he is composed. Like he’s always been built to endure. You reach out distinctively to pull the blanket over his wore out feet properly tucking it in as if he was a child.

“You better now die on me now…or wake up and kill me cause I’ll be pissed”

The words were whispered before you could stop them.

Your head tilted back and hit the top of the couch before you shut your eyes, you don’t know when you fell asleep. One minute you were looking at him with half lidded eyes and the next your eyes were closed but you still saw him laying in front of you.

The fire had long since dimmed, its light reduced to a soft amber glow that flicker against the walls. Outside, the world had quieted, only distant crashes of waves and the whisper of wind through the trees remained.

You were curled up on the other end of the couch, blanket was tangled in your legs and your head reacted against the cool cushion, exhaustedly asleep. Moonlight washed through the windows, pale and silvery, pooling across the floor up the side of Neteyam’s face through the slit in the curtain.

His fingers twitched.

Then again, but more deliberately this time. A shallow inhale rattled through his chest, strained and dry. He winced as he tried to move slightly, his brow tightening as his senses crawled back one by one to him. The stiffness in his limbs and ache in his chest, the softness of the blanket that was pulled over his abdomen.

And the scent.

Not the salty waters at the metkayina clan he became so accustomed too, not the scent of blood that lingered in the battles field.

Something warm, clean, unfamiliar but also familiar in a way he couldn’t place.

His eyes slowly opened, slits at first. They felt grainy, like sand. His eyes adjusted to the low lighting of the room, the wooden ceilings, and wooden walls. A soft rhythmic sound, ‘waves?’ a cliffside?

It definitely wasn’t home.

He moved slights and pain bloomed in his chest, it was bound, hints of blood that wasn’t cleaned properly against his skin felt dry.

Then he saw you. A girl, slumped at the bend of the couch wrapped loosely in a blanket, chest rising and falling slowly. You weren’t human, he hinted the extra finger you had. You were an avatar. Your breathing was peaceful, unbothered, but he could almost see the exhaustion.

Neteyam stared for a while, a long moment. His heart thumbed weakly against bruised ribs, the pain was real, the exhaustion was deeper, but he wasn’t dead.

And he just knew that was because of you.

Then you stirred.

By a noise. Not loud, just a soft scrape, shift of weight against the leather. Your eyes open slowly before the rest of your body moves. You know there’s a chance this man will risk his life again just to kill you, being an unfamiliar avatar and all.

Your eyes darted around until you saw him shifting in the darkness, with a breath you sat up, “you’re awake” your voice comes out soft.

His body shifts, his face drawn tight in pain that he tried to mask. But his eyes were open, locked directly on you. You shift to stand up reaching for the bottle of water that was on the coffee table.

You barely got to move when he snatched his knife off the table and held it up. Given his very injured situation you were impressed he was able to act so quickly, you were right, he is a warrior.

“Woah, wait” you say gently, hands raised.

His grip was trembling from the lose of blood, you were sure. “Who the hell are you?” He hissed, “why did you bring me where?”

“You were dying- shot” you point to his chest, “I stopped the bleeding, stitched you up” your voice was low.

Distrust etched in ever tense line in his body, “you’re with the RDA” he hissed once more, “your kind is the reason this happened! The reason I was shot!” His eyes narrowed on you.

“I’m not them- I didn’t shoot yo-”

“Where am I?” He asked hoarsely.

“Safe, you’re safe” you replied.

“That’s not what I asked”

A moment of silence cranked between you. You sat up slowly not moving from your side of the couch.

“Stay back!” He hissed

“I’m not moving” you say to reassure him, but you aren’t sure how much it helped.

You look down at his bandage before looking back at him face making sure he didn’t accidentally rip them.

“What is this place?” He asked you, his voice cracked.

“This is my…home, I guess. The RDA base is...far- very far from here so you don’t have to worry. It was close to where the ship went down so I brought you here to stop the bleeding and stitch it up.” You explain hoping to help him get answers.

“I know you are distrustful, and this is a weird situation but I’m not trying to hurt you” your tone was soft.

“Then why did you bring me here?!” His voice cracked again.

“I wouldn’t have been allowed into the clan even if I were to bring you back. I would have been killing on the spot. I know that you ran with your family from the forest. That’s the whole reason Quaritch commandeered the ship in the first place. I brought you here cause know one knows about this cabin, you can…heal”

His grip on the knife faltered slightly but he didn’t drop it. “I see how this could be…unbelievable. But I promise I’m not here to hurt you, or anyone. That was never my intention when I joined the RDA, and I.. have held at least that part of my morals up.”

“You flew me here, I remember on your ikran, how did you get it?” He asked his voice was calmer this time but not as calm as he should be healing from a gunshot wound.

“I have been on Pandora for years; at a certain point we need a way to get around that would waste gas. Since I work out in the ocean it’s easier to fly on an ikran than a helicopter every time we needed something from shore. It was a requirement by command that some of the avatars bonded with one.” I explain truthfully.

His eyes flicker over your body, the tank top you wore with your bra still peaking out, his eyes lingers but he didn’t react, clearly you were comfortable here. And alone because humans don’t dress like this in front of people. At least that much he knew.

“You don’t know me” he bit out, “why risk it?”

“I…” you stopped to think, you harden actually thought about it. “You were alive when I…climbed onto that rock I couldn’t just let you die” you replied with a small shake of your head implying you were being genuine.

He didn’t say anything but shifted again barely, wincing in pains

“Wait- you will tear your stitches can you just lay back down? And relax?” You raise your hands hoping he’d stay down before you stand up and run to the kitchen to get a glass of water. You quickly pour it and hopped back to him.

He immediately backed away when you stepped closer than you were before, “it’s just water I’m sure your throat hurts it’ll help” you reassured him softly, but he was still on edge.

“How do I know you didn’t poison it?”

“Valid question” you reply before taking a sip, “I’m not going to…. poison myself” You steps closer, and he let you. You slowly bring the glass up to his lips and hold it for him to sip the water, “okay good, we’re getting somewhere now” you smile softly as he drank the water greedily.

“Do you want more?” You ask as he finished the glass, and he shook his head no.

He finally put down the knife when you put the glass down on the coffee table and sat next to it, “can I check the stitches?” You asked softly

He didn’t say anything just leaned back and nodded, “what is your name?” You asked softly, “I figured out that you are one of Jake Sully’s children, but my job was not to hunt your family so I.. do not know much many children he has or your names so?”

He took a beat not saying anything only look at your face as you lifted the bandage carefully to check his stitches, “Neteyam. I am the oldest of four. Why are you helping me again?” He asked as he screws his face.

Neteyam. The name suited him, it was strong, clipped, almost regal in a way.

“I just didn’t want to let you die Neteyam. And it is nice to meet you; my name is Y/n” you said with small smile which he just nodded to.

“The oldest huh?” You echoed as you fixed the bandage and let go of it. “That explains the attitude.”

He huffs softly. Not quite a laugh but close.

His chin shifts slightly, “what is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing it just makes sense” you smirk lightly.

He doesn’t answer at first you can feel the stare and you look right back at him, direct eye contact.

“I don’t trust you” he mutters still looking at you.

Softly you replied, “I didn’t ask you too”

“I’m not staying here”

His voice is rough, determined as he swings his legs off the couch and sit up. His teeth gritted as he pushed himself upright. Quickly you caught his elbow and arm to stabilize him.

“Don’t be stupid, your rip your stitches” you said firmly.

“Better than being a captive” he shoots back.

He stands barely, swaying on his feet. One of his hands actually grabbed yours to help stabilize himself since you raised with him. You catch his shoulder before his knees could buckle.

“You’re not a captive” you say through gritted teeth, “and your heavy you know”

“No? Then why am I still breathing?”

You hold him steady in front of you and as predicted he was at least a foot taller than you, so you had to look up at him. His breathing was shallow.

“Because I didn’t let you die. How much times will we need to go through this before you hear me?” You say quietly.

There’s a long beat before he lets you guide him back to sit with a grunt.

“I need to clean off this blood” he gestures to the dried blood you didn’t get to properly clean.

“Ok, but you can’t bath yet, you need to keep the wound dry for the next day or two before you can wet the area”

He cuts your off with a glare, “Then how am I meant to clean myself? I’m not sitting here covered in blood like some helpless thing”

You nod slowly, “you're not, but right now you’re not exactly invincible”

He doesn’t say anything just settles back with a frustrated hiss. The weight of everything that happened pressed on him all at once, the wound, the blood, your presence. He hated this.

“You cannot take a real bath yet, but you can take a sponge bath. I’ll just bring the bowl with warm water and a sponge. It’ll help” you suggest softly.

“I don’t need-” he started flatly before you cut him off.

“You don’t have to let me do it. I’ll just bring it for you. You’ll clean what you can reach”

He stares at you for a beat too long, his expression never gave away any feeling he had about you. Then finally, he nodded slightly, “fine” he said begrudgingly.

Without another word you move to the kitchen to get a bowl of hot water and a clean sponge. Behind you his shoulders relaxed just a bit, enough to show he was opening up to the idea of letting you help him settle, even if he won’t admit it yet.

You return with the bowl filled with water and a clean cloth, “I’ll be right back” you put it in the coffee table and run upstairs for a towel for him to dry off with after.

You run back down the stairs, and he was already wiping the blood off his body with the cloth, “you can dry off the water with this after” I say softly and drop the towel next to him. The steam from the water curls softly in the cool air.

Neteyam shifts when he sees you sit down by the bend of the couch; he eyed you wearily. “Do you always watch your patients so closely?”

“You’re not my patient. Just a guy who was casually dying on what I’m sure what a hard, uncomfortable rock” a smirk tugs the corner of your lips.

“Feels like I’m under a microscope” he grunted faintly, as he shifts positions slightly to clean as much of himself as he can.

“Don’t flatter yourself” you say teasingly before you turn away to give him som privacy.

That draws a low chuckle, if was unexpected but real. When you glance over half of his was clean, slick from the water, shining in the dim cabin light. He catches your eye but doesn’t look away.

His gaze isn’t soft, it’s sharp, searching. As if he’s looking for a reason in your expression that’ll tell him whether or not he should trust you.

“What are you looking for?” He asked you in a deep voice.

You blink surprised by the question, “I wasn’t….looking for anything”

He huffs softly, almost a scoff, “everyone’s always looking for something”

“Then maybe I’m not everyone” you say steadily.

His eyes narrowed slightly, not in anger but studying, testing.

“That’s what worries me”

You lean back against the couch watching him without flinching, “I didn’t drag you away from the edge of death to hurt you now.”

“Doesn’t mean you won’t” he says flatly.

You nod softly accepting his truth, “then keep your knife close, and don’t rip your stitches and bleed on my couch” I smirk at him.

His lip twitches barely, and for the first time the tension shifts, or doesn’t fade just changes shape.

“Do you need help now? I can clean up the wound on your back” you offer softly.

You can tell he doesn’t want to say yes but there is no way he can reach without hurting himself, so he nods holding the cloth out in your direction.

You take it into your hand and walk around the couch, “lean up a bit?” You press your hand softly on his shoulder pushing him forward as you make quick and gentle work cleaning up the dry blood from his back.

“Your hair has blood in it too, when you can bath properly you should loosen your braids out and wash it” you say softly.

“I will” he grunted.

After I was finished, I let him lean back against the couch once more, “there you should feel a bit cleaner now”

You move to start another fire considering it gets quite cold where the cabin was. The fire crackled softly in the hearth. You went to the kitchen and returned with a small bowl of broth and a cup of warm tea. Neteyam still sitting up on the couch with the blanket now dropped over his shoulders watches you with weary eyes. You put the bowl down him front him wordlessly, settling beside him again.

“Figured you could use something warm” you say softly.

He hesitates before he picks it up with a grunt of thanks. He brings the bowl up to his lips and sips the hot broth, completely ignoring the spoon you put down next to the bowl for him to use. His ears perk up and his tail raises and hits the couch with a small thump.

He masks his reaction once more even though you already caught it and was slightly smiling at the fact he liked it. “Not bad…for a sky person”

“Careful, that almost sounded like a compliment” you smirk at him.

A faint twitch of a smile tugs at his lips but it fades quickly. He shifts; his eyes fixed on the fire a few feet in front of him, “why are you out here alone?”

You thought for a second, “it wasn’t really the plan, just ended up this way.” You look around the cabin, taking in the decor and feeling of the space.

Silence stretches before he says, “you’re still with the RDA”

That wasn’t a question. You nod slowly, “I…work for the RDA. Doesn’t mean I agree with everything they do. But it’s not my decision to make” I shrug softly.

“That’s easy to say when you're not the one being hunted.”

The edge in his voice makes you pause before you nod again, he was right, “don’t worry, this place is a secret, only two people on this moon ever knew about it. One of them is dead and the other is..me. So, I can say I’m sure your safe. And now well, you know about it.”

He looks at you sharply, surprised by your lack of defense. For a moment, neither of you say anything. Then, he shifts slightly closer, eyes flickering over your features, your hands, your eyes, mouth now and then when he thinks your not looking but you notice.

“You speak English very well” you say breaking the silence tilting your head slightly.

His expression doesn’t change much, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes, pride?

“My parents taught me. I pay attention” he replied quietly.

He paused then adds with a sharper edge, “why? Are your surprised a savage can speak your mother tongue?”

His words weren’t angry, but they were not soft either. He looked at you as if he was testing you.

“You are no savage, that much I’m sure off” you say softly to him, “but I guess I am surprised, I wouldn’t expect your parents to want you to know anything from the sky people.”

Neteyam tilted his head slightly, his gaze was sharp.

“My father was one of the sky people. The clan trust and follows him.” He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Learning the language wasn’t about wanting, it was about understand the enemy.” He clarified with pride.

“That’s smart” you nod with understanding, “you can’t beat someone if you don’t understand them”

Neteyam doesn’t smile but his eyes stayed locked in yours, unreadable, “do not mistake understanding for trust, I’ve seen what your people are capable of. I will not forget”

“You shouldn’t, your people had suffered a great deal and I’m sorry, even though I know my apologies for it don’t mean anything. It was…avoidable” you say softly.

He stares for another long moment, taking in what you said before he responds.

“You are right it doesn’t mean anything, doesn’t change anything” he shifts slight putting down the now empty bowl, “I’m still here injured because of people like you.”

“I agree my people did this, but can we also agree I’ve done nothing but help you since I’ve…saw you? Maybe all humans aren’t…that bad?” You say almost hopefully as if one conversation could change his perspective on you. Maybe he’d stop grouping you with those who want to hurt them, those who murder.

He took another second before answering, he clearly didn’t want got admit it just like he didn’t want to trust you, “you’re right, you did help me. You could have let me die but you didn’t”

“I can’t say I like the position I’m in now however, unfamiliar place, unfamiliar enemy which is very contradictory considering it was the enemy who saved my life. I do not want to feel like I owe you something for that”

Neteyam was nothing if he wasn’t head strong, but you did understand where he was coming from.

“You don’t owe me anything, I don’t want anything from you. You don’t trust me, I can feel it, in the way you look at me like you’re waiting for me to prove your distrust right”

You exhale before glancing down at your blue hands, it was a lovely shade, but it definitely wasn’t human. Your gaze shift to your tail, something so unnatural to you before you got used to this new body.

“I am like the man who is hunting your father. I’m sure you’ve seen him, maybe you’ve even fought him. This body, this life. It is permanent” you start softly. “I was so good at fighting as a human than the RDA just chose me to be…this.” You gesture to your body

“And that means I live here and will die on Pandora one day and become apart of this moon” you look back to him. “I wouldn’t survive very long if all I did was flight your people, so I’m just trying to live peacefully too”

Neteyam’s eyes stay on yours, you see the flicker of uncertainty shift in them. “You speak like you want to understand what it is like to be na’vi”

He was clearly skeptical as he continued, “many have come and said the same, words are easy, they said they wanted to learn, to be peaceful. But they lied and they invaded and took what they wanted disturbing the balance that Eywa has given us. No patience, no understanding, no care for what they were destroying.”

Your ears pinned down not knowing what to say, it honestly hadn’t hit you how disruptive humans had been for the na’vi. You never had all that much interaction with them simply because that wasn’t your job. You were about to say something, but he beat you too it.

“But you saved my life and gave me food and water, helped me cleaned my wounds. It was more than I was expecting from a sky person” he added in a softer tone.

The night after that passed. You didn’t want to leave him alone just in case his wound started to bleed again so you stayed sleeping on the smaller side of the couch leaving him on the side he was on. It didn’t take either of you long to fall asleep again since you both were extremely exhausted.

You stir, eyes adjusting to the light streaming in from the gaps in the curtains, you were t sure what time it was, but the sun was high in the sky. The ocean murmured waves crashing against the cliff, distant and soft.

Neteyam was already awake sitting up like he was the night before. He was watching you.

“You didn’t move” his voice was quiet, deep with sleep.

You turn to face him stretching slightly with the blanket still pulled to your neck, “didn’t have to, it’s my couch” you replied softly

He glances around, “right” he says as he leans his head again against the couch.

“How are you feeling?” You ask him tiredly, “any better than yesterday?”

“Considering I just got shot, I’d say I’m doing fantastic” he replies with sass.

“Don’t sass me bro.” You say as you raise your hand up making a stop gesture before you push the blanket off and stand-up walking over to him.

Neteyam watches you, his body tensing slightly as you step closer, “what are you doing?”

“Well. I was going to check your wound is that okay?” You yawn.

He nodded and didn’t move as you sat on the coffee table in front of him. Your body didn’t touch his, but you still felt the heat it omitted before you pull back the gauze and check the wound, “no sign of infection that’s good.”

“Na’vi are hard to kill” Neteyam says dryly. You look up and his rubbing your lips together to hold in a laugh.

“I’ve noticed.” You smile. “Are you in a lot of pain?” You huff with a smile.

“No, the gaping hole through my chest feels amazing” he exaggerated, “I might go for a jog.”

You snort before you could hold it back turning your mouth to hit your right shoulder in and effort to stop yourself from filling laughing.

“I’m glad your sarcasm is still in tack.” You smile, “but seriously do it hurt a lot?”

He paused for a minute, “it hurts yes, but I can breathe better than I could yesterday” he answers quietly.

“I have and antibiotic cream, it’ll help a bit with the pain, and prevent infection. I’ll change your bandages too. But overall, you are healing faster than I expected”

I get up and walk over to the medical supply cabinet and take out a couple fresh bandages and the antibiotic cream.

I walk back over to him and clean up around the wound before I apply the cream and cover it with the new bandages.

“What can I say I’m impressive even half-dead. Thought I’d be more dramatic about it?” Neteyam tilted his head with a crooked grin.

You shake your head with a smile. “You were dramatic, you bled on my couch”

“This is the first time I got shot, I had to make an entrance” he shrugged softly as you finished changing his bandages. He’s ears flicker slightly when he got a laugh out of you, it felt strange to him, was he proud? He’d made many women laugh in the past it wasn’t something he found difficult, but this situation was different. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel about it.

You brought over a glass of water for him which he took sipping slowly until he finished while you walked back to the kitchen to start making breakfast. Neteyam couldn’t see you now, since the couch faced away from the kitchen but towards the tv and fireplace that had long burned out.

“Why is it so dark in here?” He asked over his shoulder noting all the closed curtains, no natural light coming into the room.

“Uh well that’s cause the blinds are closed, it’s still pretty early.” You say as you begin to dig around for something Neteyam might eat, you settle on some meat you had frozen from the last time RDA went hunting and eggs with some fruit.

“It feels like a cave” he adjusted himself to sit more comfortably on the couch looking around the room like he’s been doing since you brought him there.

You shrugged, “you want sun? I’ll open the blinds. Just don’t hips at it.”

A soft grunt passed his lips, was it amusement? Annoyance? Hard to say. “I’m not a wild animal.”

You arch a brow, even though you knew he couldn’t see you while you cracked the egg into the pan, “could’ve fooled me, the way you growled at me last night” you blow raspberries into the air in exaggeration.

He didn’t answer right away, then muttered, “still deciding if you’re prey.”

You glance over your shoulder at the back of his head before turning back, “let me know before breakfast, yeah? I’d rather not waste eggs.”

He shifted until he had turned enough to see you in the kitchen leaning against the side of the couch instead, adjusting the blanket over his lap se the smell of sizzling food drifted from the small kitchen space.

“You always cook with the lights off?” He called out, voice dry. ��Or is this just part of the ambiance, ‘half dead guest special?”

You glance back at him with a smirk, “maybe I like a little mystery while I make breakfast”

He raised a brow, “Mystery? Smells like you’re trying to resurrect me with a frying pan and vibes.”

You snorted, “well, it’s workin, isn’t it?”

He reclined a little deeper into the couch, eyes tracking you as you move around the kitchen, “barely, is this is your version of hospitality, remind me not to get shot again.”

“Ungrateful” you muttered softly but you know he heard.

I put two plates down on the kitchen table with food on it, untie your apron and put it on the kitchen counter before walking over to the couch and standing next to him. “Come on, you’re not eating on my couch.”

He looked up at you clearly unimpressed. “What, you don’t do room service out here in the middle of nowhere?”

You cross your arms, “you’re lucky I don’t drag you.

He huffed a short laugh but didn’t move, “tempting. But if I get hurt again, that’s on you.”

You help out your hand, firm but patient, “I stitched you up, fed you, and let you sass me from my own couch. Don’t make me add dragging you to the table to the list.”

Neteyam groaned. More for show than pain, “I got shot in the chest not the legs” he muttered stubbornly.

“Yeah, and I’d rather not watch you fall on your face trying to prove yourself” you shot back.

He sighed through his nose and hold onto you to help him stand up. He wrapped his heavy large arm over your shoulder and you wrap an arm around his slim waist. Being careful not to let him fall. His body was warm, solid, but tense under your touch.

As he stood, he hissed slightly but didn’t complain. “Don’t get any ideas. I’m letting your help me because I’m being polite.”

You smirked. “Wow. So this is you being polite?”

His lip twitched but he didn’t answer, just leaned a little more of his weight into you as you walked.

You both take it once step at a time until you made it to the kitchen table, you switched on the warm yellow light ver the table to illuminate the space after he sat down, then you sat down in the chair next to him at the touch table. He lets out a white breath as he settled in, then looked at the food and raise a brow.

In front him was grilled yerik meat, sliced fruit and some fried eggs, all fresh and local, but not cooked the way he was used to.

Neteyam stared at it, then gave you a look. “What did you do to the poor yerik? Burn it into submission?”

You arch your brow, “it’s grilled. It’s called flavor.”

He picked up a piece with his fingers, inspecting it like it had wronged him, “flavor? My people season with wild herbs. This smells like smoke and… attitude.”

You smirked sarcastically. “Your welcome by the way. I did just slave over that stove for you.”

He bit into it an paused. Then, with a mouthful, mumbled, “could’ve let me die with dignity and decent cooking.”

You roll your eyes with a smile, “you’re lucky your cute-”

You stopped staring down at your food with the fork in your hand and wide eyes, realizing what you let slip out, but it was too late.

Neteyam raised a brow, grinning like he had just won something. “Lucky I’m what?”

You roll your eyes, “nothing” you say casually.

“Oh no, please,” he leaned forward, still chewing, “tell me again how lucky I am because I’m cute.”

You mumbled, “I said no such thing.”

He smirked, pointing his fork that he clearly wasn’t using at you, “to late. I’m wounded and cute. Deadly combination.”

You cross your arms and leans back in your chair, “you’re wounded, picky, and have the ego of a war chief. Cute isn’t a word I’d use.”

Neteyam grinned, unfazed. “Ah, so, now I’m a war chief. First cute, now powerful. Keep going, I, enjoying this.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Don’t flatter yourself, forest prince. I’ve seen yerik with better manners.”

He let out a mock gasp, clutching his chest dramatically, careful to avoid the bandage. “You wound me again. Truly your hospitality knows no bounds.”

He took a bite of the eggs, nodding in exaggerated approval, “could use a little salt. But I’ll survive. Barely. Thanks to your tender, smocking-hot…grill.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You were about to say something else.”

He smirked, licking his fingers, “was I? You’re imagining things, must be that flustered energy coming off you.”

You grab a napkin and tossed it at his face, “eat your food before I decide you’re strong enough to cook your own damn breakfast tomorrow”

He caught the napkin with ease chuckling. “So violent for someone so nurturing, you sure you’re not falling for me?”

You lean forward slightly, “remember last night when you threatened to stab me? Why would I be falling for you? And even if I did, you’d be the last to know”

Neteyam tilted his head, eyes gleaming with challenges. “We’ll see about that.”

Once breakfast was finished and you’d both finished eating, you stood up taking the dishes to the sink to start cleaning up. Neteyam leaned back in his chair, watching you move around the kitchen with an unreadable expression.

“You always take care of strangers like this?” He asked, voice a little quieter now, less teasing.

You gave him a glance over your shoulder, “only ones who bleed on my grass, and my floors and my couch” you sigh.

He snorted, shaking his head, then slowly he stood, clearly regaining his strength. It was amazing how quickly he was starting to recover from his near death experience. You wondered if all the na’vi are this vigilant or if he was just some kind of invincible warrior.

“Well, guess I’m special huh?”

“Let’s not go so far,” you turn to watch him slowly walk up to you with a smirk, only looking away when he was holding onto the counter beside you.

He came over, still cautious with his movements, and put his weight on his stronger arm against the counter. His shoulder slight bumped yours. “And here I thought we were bonding over bad eggs and near-death experiences”

You turned off the water and whipped your hands on a hand towel, “first of all, my eggs are fucking good. And we’ll see how you feel once you me helped clean up.”

He raised his brow bone. “You want me to clean? With a bullet hole in my chest?”

“You’ve got one good arm,” you said sweetly, handing him the towel.

He took it with exaggerated effort and put it down on the counter next to him, “cruel woman, you mean the arm holding me up from falling right now?”

“Survivors don’t get lazy” you replied before nudging him with your elbow.

The water poured over your head in a steady stream, steam curling around your shoulders as you pressed your hands to the cool tile wall. You had come in here to clear your head to wash off the lingering tension, the ache from sleep, and that buzz you couldn’t quite explain.

But it wasn’t working.

It was him.

Neteyam.

He hadn’t done a thing that morning. Hadn’t lifted a finger to help with breakfast, just stayed on the couch, arms crossed behind his head, half-lidded eyes watching the ceiling like he was bored out of his mind.

But you’d felt him watching you. Every time you turned your back. Every time you bent over or shifted. You could feel his gaze trailing along your spine like a hand that never touched. And when he did speak, his voice it wasn’t fair.

Deep. Smooth. Rich like the forest after rain.

And the way he moved…

You tilted your head back, letting the hot water roll down your chest. You didn’t mean to think about him, didn’t mean to notice, but the memory crept in anyway. The way his muscles flexed when he shifted on the couch, chest bandaged but firm and defined beneath it. The long lines of his legs, the stripes along his skin, the faint shimmer that came from the damp heat of the room the night before.

He looked powerful. And wild. And wounded.

And too damn beautiful to be real.

Your hand moved over your stomach absentmindedly, as if trying to soothe the way it fluttered. His face was still sharp in your mind those eyes, so full of suspicion, but never dull. They were intense. Too intense. Looking at you like you were a threat, like you were a puzzle, like maybe just maybe you were something else entirely.

intense. Too intense. Looking at you like you were a threat, like you were a puzzle, like maybe just maybe you were something else entirely.

You caught yourself.

Fingers tightened on the tile. “Get a grip,” you whispered, letting the water pelt down harder, trying to drown the thoughts before they spiraled any further.

You weren’t supposed to feel anything about him. He was a wounded Na’vi. You were a human permanently stuck in your avatar. And this wasn’t safe for either of you.

But still…

Your mind slipped again to the low rumble of his laugh, the accidental flash of a smile when he’d said something cocky the night before. The way his ears twitched when he heard a bird outside. The curve of his collarbone where the bandage didn’t reach.

You exhaled sharply and turned the water to cold.

It didn’t help it’s only been one day, was it even possible to be so infatuated with someone so quickly. You almost started to wonder what he thought about you, but quickly you turned off the shower and got out before you could. That wouldn’t help you.

The days that followed passed in a strange quite rhythm, like a clam between storms. The atmosphere had started to shift. The first few days remained mostly on the couch downstairs, watchful, cautious, sharp-tongued. But he was healing much faster than you had predicted, the resilience of his na’vi physiology steadily outpacing your human expectations. The deep bruising had faded, the wound closing up quickly but not quite done yet, and by the forth day, he could walk without leaning in you to heavily.

It didn’t stop him from making a show of his independence thought. He still tossed sass like it was a defense mechanism. When you tired to help him, he’d mutter sarcastic little jabs, never cruel, just enough to challenge you. “I’m fine” he’d say with a dry smirk, wincing slightly as he tested his own limits. “I didn’t get hit by a Tobruk, jus a little bullet.” You were leaning to match his tone, finding his attitude oddly endearing. His wit had a heat to it that made the air feel thicker whenever he looked at you too long.

He had taken to calling you “princess,” the word always dripping with a kind of teasing bite the made your brow twitch and your stomach flutter all at once. “Whatever you say princess,” he’d say whenever you told him to stop overdoing it or remind him to drink water. He knew exactly how it landed, half mocking, half flirtation, and the glint in his eyes afterward said he enjoyed pushing your buttons. You pretended to be annoyed, but a part of you didn’t mind. Not one bit.

By the fifth night he moved upstairs choosing the spare room beside yours. You offered it out of practicality, but when you heard him quietly testing the floorboards and settling into the room, your realized how aware you were of his presence, just on the other side of the wall, the door between your rooms stayed closed but it might as well have been paper. It was like he couldn’t sleep, he was restless in the room. It was off putting considering when you both slept on the couch, he slept like a log. The entire night would go off without a hitch he slept peacefully. When you’d awake in the night hearing noises outside he didn’t even flinch.

Every creek, every low sigh through the walls, every time he got up and strolled into your room to use the master bathroom quietly padding across the room, it made your skin prickle.

You didn’t know why he used your bathroom. Even after he was strong enough to manage the one in the hallway. You told yourself it was cleaner and better stocked, but the first time you found a fresh towel slightly damp on the rack after he’d finished and the mirror and shower glass fogged up, you had to turn away to cool your thoughts.

That morning, you’d tried to think about besides him while your showered, but the ghost of his voice, low, rough and accented, it stayed with you. It was the way he said your name. The way his golden eyes held your gaze a beat too long sometimes. The way his body looked in the borrowed avatar clothing you had stored away in a box in an used spare room, how they hugged his lean farm just a little too perfectly, especially when damp from a shower or stuck to his back with sweat from walking the hill path behind the cabin to gain his strength.

You never meant to notice, but it happened anyways. The ripple of his stomach when he stretched, sometimes when it pecked out from under the t-shirt he wore. The way his hair was now loose from braids when he had washed it, how it looked falling down his shoulder since he didn’t bother to braid them again yet. The strength in his arms when he lifted a bracket of fruit, the sound of him cleaning his throat or chuckling to himself in the other room, it was all in your head now. Looped on repeat.

You really tried not to think about him in those clothes, the meaning behind them almost set your skin on fire but you had nothing else to give me. It didn’t hit you right away, only the night he sat on the couch some old tv show idly playing in front of your both. He noticed your shift in demeanor but he decided now wasn’t the time to question it.

By day, he explored small distances, pushing his limits while pretending he wasn’t. You caught him standing out by the cliff more than once, just staring at the horizon, lost in thought. It surprised you when you saw your fired ikran sitting next to him like he had no care in the world, it wasn’t something he did often with people.

‘He must be thinking about his family’ you thought to yourself.

Arms wrapped around yourself you walked out and sat on the other side of him, “are you alright?”

He seemed to have not even noticed your steps towards him until you say down and he gave you a glance, “yea, just thinking about my family.”

You didn’t say anything, you weren’t sure what to say. So you stayed quiet. You watched pat your ikran on the head slightly, “he likes you” you say softly. “His name is Leo.”

“He is beautiful, his patterns is very unique almost like flowers”

“I know he’s my babe he’s gorgeous” I smile. “What about yours?”

“Her name is Seze, after my mothers first sprit sister, I heard the stories and they just match, the name, the colors. She is strong.”

“Like her sprit brother?”

He turned his head to look at you and you looked back at him, “you are very strong too” I look down at his chest before my eyes dart back up to his.

“Not like her.”

“Maybe not, but it is a fact Neteyam” you say confidently.

Sometimes he’d sit in the sunlight filtering through the window, sharpening the blade of the same knife you found on his hip on the first day you met him, using a rock he decided to casually bring inside and left it on the floor in one specific spot for this reason only. It was not a multipurpose rock and you were not allowed to touch it. You tired throwing it back outside but he just brought it back in.

So you let him, it gave him peace. But occasionally, he’d catch you looking and a faint smirk would lift the corner of his lips, “didn’t think the sky people taught staring as a skill” he once said. You snapped back with, “only when the view’s worth it” before realizing how flirtatious it sounded. He didn’t comment just raised his brow bone and looked amused.

By night the two of you developed a routine, you’d make simple meals from what you could forgave from the garden outside, any kind of fresh fruit or vegetable along with whatever your already had in the kitchen or fridge, local meat, roots, tart fruits that stained your fingers purple, and he’d tease your cooking even as he cleared his plated. One night, you asked if he wanted to help and he responded, “you’ve got the knife skills and I’ve got the survival instinct. Let’s not blur the line just yet.” You laughed. So did he. A real one, short and genuine.

Still the boundary was clear. He didn’t trust easily, and you didn’t push him. But there was an undercurrent, a quiet shift in energy each time you passed each other in the hallways or stood too close in the kitchen. You felt it in the subtle way he watched your when he thought you didn’t notice, or in the way his voice softened ever so slightly when you two talked late into the night. You didn’t touch him, not really. Not unless you were redressing his wounds or moments when your hand brushed, when you helped him steady himself, his fingers lingered in your arm just a second longer that necessary.

You didn’t want to say what any of that meant since you didn’t know yourself, not yet. But it was something. Something you were starting to feel under your skin like a pulse.

It’s been almost two weeks now, Neteyam has healed amazingly quick, his skin had returned back to its normal color where he had bruising, anywhere he had gonna scraps had healed up and mostly disappeared.

This afternoon, the sun had just dipped low enough to turn the ocean gold, you were both sitting on the porch. You in a big weaved cushioned chair and him leaning on the raining like he belonged there.

“You said something the first night” he said, breaking the quiet, his voice was thoughtful, not playful, or teasing. Just real.

You turned towards him, “oh? I say a lot of things.”

He glanced at you, one side of his mouth twitching, “you said you didn’t plan to here here alone”

You stilled. The words you’d almost forgotten came back in full. You hadn’t meant to get into detail, you didn’t even thing he remembered anything from that night. He was in his worst condition, it surprised you.

“I didn’t,” you admitted after a pause. “Not originally.”

“But you do,” he said simply.

You rub your lips together and gave a slow nod, eyes drifting back towards the horizon, “yeah. I do.”

It was quiet for a few seconds before he said, softly, “Why?”

The ocean beyond the cliffs was calm, bathed in soft shades of blue and silver under the planet above. You wrapped your hands around your mug, the warmth grounding you as you look back at him and decided to tell him the truth. You don’t know why you felt like you could trust him, you weren’t even sure he trusted you yet.

“I didn’t build this place to be alone,” you said slowly, your voice barely audible.

Your head tilted down to look at your mug. Neteyam glanced at you, his expression was unreadable, but you didn’t look back yet. Your eyes stayed down, locked on the steam coming from the mug, like it held the courage you needed.

“I came here with someone,” you continued. “My boyfriend. We were both with the RDA both from the navy on earth, so we both got avatars. We were in different squads. He was on land and I was stationed in the ocean.” You sniffle softly from the cold. “We talked about a future here, once the politics and field work was over. The cabin was going to be home. Our home, forever.”

Your swallow, your throat tight. The words hurt, not because they were hard to say but because they still felt so real, like they’d only just slipped through your fingers.

“Before they transfer your consciousness into your avatar permanently, you go through a series of test using the link machine.” You explain. “He died a year ago, one minute he was next to me, the next he was gone. Something with his link upload they said it didn’t…work the way it was supposed to, I still don’t know why. . No warning, no goodbye, I saw his avatar laying on the cot like a shell the next morning and that was it.”

Neteyam’s face tensed, and this time you did glance at him, his eyes met yours, wide with the kind of pain only someone who’s lost can recognize.

“I stayed,” you went on, a crack sneaking into your voice. “Everyone thought I was crazy for not going back to earth. But I couldn’t, we built this place. Every beam, every stone, I wasn’t ready to let go of it, or him and he uh…he’s buried in pandora, I’m not gonna just, leave him here.”

Silencer bloomed between you again, thick and pulsing. You didn’t try to fill it, you let it breathe.

After a long moment, Neteyam spoke quietly, sincerely.

“That must’ve shattered you.”

You exhaled shakily, “it did.”

He looked away for a second struggling with something in himself. Then, voice low, “I know what it feels like. That kind of loss. Like a piece of you is just… missing.”

You nodded, and for the first time since the conversation started you smiled softly.

“Some days it still feels like I. Waiting for him to walk through that door. But lately… I don’t know. It’s not as loud.

Neteyam looked back at you. “And now your sharing it with a stranger you dragged up a cliff.”

A breath of laughter escaped your chest, a wet sound edged with emotion. “Your not a stranger anymore. I’ve known you two whole weeks now.” You joke.

He didn’t answer right away, but the look in his eyes softened just enough. The walls between you didn’t fall, but one of them cracked.

You hesitated before speaking again, your voice softer now, almost like you were afraid of saying too much, but unable to stop.

“We were gonna have kids.” You gave a small breathy laugh that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “That’s why there are so many rooms in this house. He thought three was a good number. But I wasn’t sure, we were excited. Carved out everything room by room.”

Neteyam came to sit next to you in the chair.

“I remember … we even argued about which room would be the nursery,” you said with a wistful smile. “He wanted the one that got the morning sun, but I said it’ll be to warm. I wanted it to be the one closest to the master bedroom, the one you’re seeking in.” You look over at him.

“Really?”

You nodded, “yeah. That was the one he lost the argument over. Said the morning sun would make it feel alive, but I didn’t care, I wanted the baby close”

Neteyam looked up at the sky, picturing the room he’s sleeping in then shot you a crooked smile, “well, I don’t cry that often, and I sleep through the night, so I’d say I’m a pretty low-maintenance baby.”

You blink, looking at him, before you let out a laugh, a short and real, surprised by the way his joke cracked through the heaviness like sunlight cutting through the clouds. “Wow” you paused, “you are not low maintenance”

He turned towards you, feigning offense, “excuse me?”

You lean back in the seat with a knowing look. “You drink all my tea and still complain about it, you steal my shower, my shampoo and conditioner. You sulk like it’s an art form. And don’t get me started on how much space you take up on that couch.”

He blinked, the leaned closer a little, his tone playful. “I get shot once and suddenly I’m high maintenance?”

You have him a mock serious look, “shot once, hijacked my nursery, and now you think you’re a resident.”

His smirk grew into a grin, “I didn’t realize sarcasm was your love language”

“Good thing it’s fluent in yours too,” you shot back.

The air between you shifted again, still teasing, still playful, but there was something in the pause afterwards. Like neither of you really wanted the conversation to end.

Neteyam’s grin lingered, but something about it sharpened at the edges, turned a little slower, a little more deliberate. His eyes didn’t leave yours.

“Is that what his is then?” He asked, voice dropping just a touch, less teasing now, more curious. “You giving me a hard time because your like me?”

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head, “don’t flatter yourself.”

His gaze dropped briefly to your mouth before netting your eyes again, bolder this time, “you don’t deny it either.”

Neteyam’s smirk curled slow, like he knew something you don’t when you didn’t answer, maybe he was daring you to say it out loud, “you say I’m not low maintenance” his voice rich with amusement, “but you haven’t kicked me out yet.”

You raise an eyebrow, lip twitching, “that’s because you’re injured and I’m a good person.”

He leaned in more just slightly, his tone low and teasing. “Nah, I think you like having me around.”

You shot him a sideways glance. “Don’t let that compliments go to your head.”

“They already have,” he said with a lazy grin, eyes flickering again down to your lips then back up, he added, “not my fault you keep giving me reasons.”

Your pulse shattered. There it was again, that magnetic tension he slipped into so effortlessly when the sad turned flirt. You crossed your arms, trying to maintain the upper hand.

“You are a menace” you said, but your voice lacked heat.

He tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “Maybe, but I’m your menace now, right?”

Your mouth opened but nothing came out. You hated how much that line hit, how it made heat crawl up the back of your neck. He chuckled softly at your silence, clearly pleased with himself.

“See? You like me.”

“Remind me to lace your tea with sleeping herbs next time.”

“Still means I get tea.” He winked.

Your breath caught, and your weren’t sure if it was from frustration or something else entirely, something warmer, heavier and far more dangerous.

“You know,” you said, voice careful, “for someone who acts so suspicious of me, your sure don’t mind pushing your luck.”

He didn’t look away, “you’ve been staring at me since the night I was passed out on that couch. Don’t pretend I’m the only one.”

You snorted softly, trying to laugh it off, “you’re half-naked most of the time even though I’ve given you clothes, I’m not blind.”

“No” he said voice lower now, more certain. “But your are pretending not to want what you want.”

That hit like a spark on dry grass. Immediate. Dangerous. You could feel the flush creeping up on your neck before you could stop it. You lean back slightly forcing some air into your lung.

“What exactly are you suggesting?”

He tilted his head, the corner of his mouth tugging into something that wasn’t quite a smirk but wasn’t far off. “I’m not suggesting anything. Just saying you look at me like you’ve got questions only your hands can answer.”

Your stomach did flips. He was too close to that truth but he wants to be bold, you can be bold too.

“And what if I do?” You asked, voice soft but defiant, “you gonna let me ask them?”

Neteyam through his weight in his elbow that sat between you both in the backrest of the chair getting closer to you, “only if you’re ready for the answers.”

Your mug hit the side table and your turn your body to face him, you felt warm, your heart was beating too hard. You didn’t say anything right away. Neteyam was still, watching you like you were prey. Only this time you weren’t prey. Not tonight.

“You talk a lot for someone who doesn’t trust me,” you said your voice low as your eyes dragged over him, over the lines of his shoulders, the bandage on his chest, the slight smirk that hadn’t left his face, “and you never stop looking either.”

He leaned back slightly, eyes locked on yours. “I never said I didn’t like what I saw.”

You didn’t even hesitate, you leaned in lifting your hand until your fingers curled into the base of his hair at the nape of his neck. His breath hitched almost imperceptibly.

“Nice try, forest boy” you whispered, voice velvet and laced with amusement. “You couldn’t handle all this.”

Your lips were close enough that the brushed the curve of his jaw as you pulled away, just barely, just enough to see the slow, dangerous smirk that unfurled on his face.

His eyes locked onto yours, dark and hungry but playful, sharp like he was weighing your challenge. “Is that a date?” He murmured, his voice was thick with heat and barely restrained ego.

You gave him a slow taunting once over. “It’s a fact.”

He laughed, low, deep and cocky as hell. “Bold words from someone who keeps looking at me like I’m dessert.”

You raise an eyebrow, smile curling. “Please. If I wanted you, you’d know it.”

His smirk deepened, and his voice dropped lower as he replied, “good thing I don’t wait for invitations”

The air between the thickened, neither of them spoke. The space that separated them seemed to disappear with every breath, their gaze locked in a quiet challenge. Not having any move restraint, Neteyam closed the gap, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was everything they both had been trying to ignore.

It was slow at first, tentative, as if testing the waters. His hand that once rested between you on the backrest now gripping the back of your hair. Your own hands falling down his neck to his chest being careful not to touch the bandages. You kissed him back, your pulse quickening. Feeling that weight if the moment.

The kiss deepened and the world outside the cabin disappeared. It was just them, locked in this electrifying connection, both of them eager to see just how far this could go.

But then he stopped. He pulled back, his breath shallow as he looked at you. His golden eyes searched your face, not for permission, he already had that, but for something steadier, safer, maybe something that said this is okay.

You exhaled, almost laughing under your breath at how fast your pulse had jumped. “Well,” you said, your voice low but teasing, “that was either a thank you or you’re really bad at asking for a second helping.”

Neteyam cracked a small grin, still a little dazed but hiding it under bravado. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he said, tilting his head. “I just wanted to prove you talk too much.”

You raised a brow, smirking. “And that was your plan?”

“It worked, didn’t it?” he shot back, voice warm, full of something light but laced with tension, even now, part of him wanted to lean in again.

The air between you was warm, charged again but no longer heavy. This time, you leaned in first just a little and said, “Maybe next time you should prove it without using your mouth.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head, eyes flicking down to your lips and back up. “Noted,” he murmured.

But neither of you moved to break the closeness, letting the night wrap around them, full of things unspoken, and things not entirely undone.

The air was cooler tonight, a light breeze had you shivering, something he took notice too. “Let’s go inside” he said softly standing and holding out a hand for you. You take it and let him lean you into the cabin locking the door behind you.

You walk into the kitchen first and he follows you, the warm light spilling from the ceiling fixtures brushing over your skin, grounding you again in the quiet house. You didn’t hear him behind you, you only turned and saw him there his larger frame leaning against the counter. He steels in slowly, deliberately, his eyes in you.

He didn’t say a word a first just came closer and closer. His arm wrapped around you brushing against your lower back, it was gentle but firm enough to draw you closer. The air between you sparked again and you didn’t back away from him, neither did he.

You leans up and kiss him this time, deeper, more controlled you both knew you wanted this now, there were no nerves, no hesitation.. His hands cradled your waist fingers splaying under your shirt against your skin. The way your body molded against him as if you had belonged there and neither of your realized until now.

Your hands move from his arms to his chest accidentally pressing around the bandage that covered his wound. He flinched, barely but it was enough for you to pull away instantly.

“Sorry,” you say quickly, trying to catch you breath but your brows were furrowed in concern, you didn’t want to hurt him. Your thumb brushed over the bandage softly the where you pressed against him. “I didn’t meant to-”

“It’s okay,” he said hoarsely, eyes closed for a second. “Just… not all the way healed yet.”

“No I know I’m sorry” your hands run up his neck holding him there. It’s clear the touch hurt him more than he’d like to admit, it wasn’t weakness you saw from him so you never understood why he hid his pain like that. “Neteyam…” you whisper his name softly.

“Tsal lu tam” one of his hands found yours and he held it as if to reassure you. You’re not sure if he realized but it was the first time Neteyam had spoken his mother tongue since he’s been in here. It sounded so different, so natural to him. You had no idea what he said but he caught your attention.

You look up at him as he catches his breath dulling the pain he had just felt. The heat between you had also dulled, tempered by the reminder of his injury.

“You’re healing fast” you say softly to him “but not that fast.”

You both still stood close, too close. He let out a low breath, nose nearly brushing yours, “it is ok” he translated without you even having to ask.

“This…doesn’t mean I don’t want to,” he said, his voice rough, tinged with frustration.

“I know, me too.” You whispered, eyes flickering over his face.

You stood for a while bodied warm, breath shared, but you both knew they crossed that next line now, with him not being fully healed, and you being apart of a completely different world. So much could go wrong now. His hand lingered a second longer before he let go.

The next few days blurred into a rhythm that felt dangerously close to domesticity, dangerous, because it felt too good with him.

Neteyam’s wound was nearly closed up now, it was almost supernatural the way he bounded back, just soreness in his chest mostly since it was almost time for you to remove the stitches that made him stiff at times.

It didn’t stop him from brushing up against him, whether it was walking past you and letting his hand graze your waist. Or standing behind you in the kitchen pressing you up against the counter as you made breakfast in the morning, his lips kissing your neck softly as reached for a fruit placing it in front of you to keep you busy so you won’t move. Or pulling you into those long, slow, steamy kisses that always left you weak in the knees, half forgotten that this wasn’t supposed to happen.

There were times your find yourself wrapped up in his strong arms as he held you against him, the press of his mouth hungry but unhurried on anywhere he could reach like he was memorizing you. Other times it was just a look from across the dinning table, a brief brush of fingers together when he held your hand in his, left you breathless.

Still, you both didn’t sleep in the same room at night even though sometimes you’d lay in bed hoping he came to lay with you but you knew that would take you across another line you both shouldn’t be near. It made your heart ache with want and wariness.

What really stuck with you was the day he first kissed you, the day you hurt him accidentally and he slipped his mother tongue. His voice in na’vi stirred something deep. It was so intimate to you, like he let his guard down and he hadn’t realized. He didn’t notice you heard.

But you did and it stuck.

It followed you for the next week or so, no matter how weak Neteyam made you feel on the inside and outside, no matter what you two laughed about, no matter how sweet or what nicknames he called you out of amusement, or attraction. The nagging thought in the back of your mind didn’t leave.

What happens when he leaves?

The question would not be what if, but when. You saved him life, you know who he is, you know he is someone’s son, someone’s brother. And they still think he is dead, and they miss him. He knows he missed them back and you couldn’t put yourself in a position to keep him from his family. It’s just not something you’d do.

He was healing quickly, another week from now he may very well be fully healed. It took you a month to fall for him, it was so easy. What happens when you have to spend the rest of your years alone? Cause in case you forgot the RDA thinks you’re dead too. You are free from them, but you are not accepted anywhere except with then.

It was late in the day when you finally decided to ask him about it. The sun was setting and Neteyam was sitting in the porch swing, shirtless, bandage long gone, his chest more marked only by a scar that caught the light like a whisper of what happened. You know it wouldn’t go away.

You step out with a mug of tea for him, heart pounding in your chest for reason that had nothing to do with the drink in your hand. He looked up when you approached with a smile tugging his lips and warm eyes and you sat next to him handing him the mug. Your shoulders barely touched unlike how you’ve been for the past week and a half. Never without touching.

You both say silently for a few beats watching the wind roll through the trees.

Then, softly you asked him, “do you miss them? Your family, your friends”

Neteyam didn’t look at you right away. He took a slow sip of his tea and let out a long breath. “Every day.”

You nod, the words felt heavy even though you knew the answer. Your fingers play with the sleeves of your sweater. “It’s been almost four weeks now.”

Your eyes meet the horizon, “you’re almost fully healed. Strong. And I know you’ve been thinking about it.” You turn to him, eyes searching his face. “What are you going to do?”

He was quiet for a long time.

You look away staring back at the swaying trees, “when will you go back?”

Finally, Neteyam turned to face you, eyes narrowing slightly, more serious now, “soon” he admitted with no sign of joy in the word. “I have to. They’re probably out of their minds.”

You nod, heart sinking but you press on, “and what happens then?”

“What do you mean?” He tilited his head.

“I mean…” you swallow. “What happens to us? To me?”

His silence stretched again.

“I’m not like you Neteyam” you say, “there is no going back for me. This-” you gesture vaguely towards the house and the land around you, “-this is my life now, I made my lease with it, staying here forever, I though I’d be doing that alone.” You pause. “And don’t misunderstand me, I have no regret saving you. But you’ve made being here alone…harder.”

He blinked slowly, haze softening but he said nothing.

“I want- no I need to know what I am to you. If I’m just a…. chapter, a strong you’ll take home when you leave. Or am I something else?”

Neteyam shifts, setting his tea down. His golden eyes locked on your, and his usually sarcastic sass and humor was gone, replaced by something raw.

He looked at you for a long moment. His face didn’t change by something in his eyes flickered, conflict? Guilt? The weight of something he didn’t know how to say.

He reached for your hand, thumb brushing over your knuckles with surprising gentleness, and when he finally spoke, his voice was steady. Painfully steady.

“I never thought I’d be here this long.” He admitted, “at first, I was just trying to survive. But then you, kept helping me and talking to me and letting me stay here. You were so unbelievably to get comfortable with and that’s saying a lot coming from me. We clicked. You made it hard not to care.”

Your chest ached but you didn’t interrupt.

“I didn’t expect you. You were complicated and I never say you coming. Maybe I didn’t want to.” He glanced up.

You tired to breath, but you felt like your ribs couldn’t move.

“I think about you, too” he said, voice softer now. “I watch you when you’re not looking and I remember every word you every whispered in my ear, the way you touch me when you didn’t mean to. Or when you did cause I…” he couldn’t find the right word, maybe he just didn’t want to say it.

A half smile tugged at his lips. Bittersweet.

“But this…us… it’s not that simple.” He whispered

Silence.

“You have made this cabin so domestic and amazing and I’m so grateful to have spent this time with you. You have your roots here. I don’t, and I know you know that.”

Your lips parted, but no words came. You didn’t want to say it aloud.

He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours, his breath was warm between you both. But you couldn’t breathe.

“If I were someone else,” he mumbled, “maybe this could be something simple, easy. But I’m not. I have people waiting for me. I am the first son of Toruk Makto. A war that u walked away from but never stopped being apart of.”

You closed your eyes before you could feel yourself tear up.

“I have to fill a spot that literally no one else can fill. I am a highly skilled, trained warrior. I take down bases single handedly sweetheart. I can’t put this burden on someone else, on my brother. I have a responsibility to my people. To my clan.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered.

But he already was.

And you both knew it.

Now you’re quite the air between you changed. You shifted slightly back leaning back against the backrest your knee now touching his.

“You always look at me like that” he turned his head, eyes dark, held something you couldn’t figure out.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m staying.”

Your heart skipped, you don’t answer, you can’t.

He leans in just enough for you to feel his warmth again and he pulled you closer. “Come here, look at me” he pulls you in effortlessly.

“You know I want to,” he murmurs. “You feel it too…don’t you?”

And before you can say anything he kisses you. Your legs were thrown over his as he held you close. The kiss was slow, soft, deep. Not rushed this time just full of everything neither of you had said out loud.

His hand comes to rest on your thigh, warm and steady. You lean into him, one hand curling against his chest where his heart thuds strong beneath her palm. The kiss lingers, pulls her under

The swing creaked beneath you both as he picks you up into his lap, not bringing the kiss. You shift in his lap without thinking swinging one leg over to straddle him properly. His hands gripped your waist under your sweater, you could feel the strength in his arms, solid, grounding you.

“You drive me insane,” he mumbled against your lips, voice rough, breath hot. “You shouldn’t… but you do.”

You kiss hind again in answer, hands threading through this hair, tugging gently until he growled low in his throat, his breath fanning across your pulse point.

You barely notice the night air anymore. Your fingers trailed down his chest, feeling the rise and fall of the muscle and warmth, the way he arched into your touch like he couldn’t help it.

“I don’t want to stop.” You whisper, heart pounding.

His hands stilled in her hips, holding her tight, “then don’t.”

You searched his eyes, those amber eyes darkened with desire, with something deeper and say the truth here. Neither of you wanted to stop. Not tonight.

Neteyam held your gaze for only a heartbeat before he wrapped around you picking you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. He effortlessly carried you up the stairs to the bedroom. His stride was steady, but urgent like he waited long enough.

Your arms tightened around his shoulders as he climbed, the heat between you growing with every step. You kiss the side of his neck, and he let out a low, strained sound before he finally dropped you onto the bed making your squeal.

“You sure?” He asked, voice a low rasp, his hands flexing as he grabbing your ankles holding your legs up and apart. And you nod without hesitation.

“I want you.” You voice as you pull him down over you for another kiss. Neteyam kissed down your neck hungrily, leaving marks in his wake. His hands had been slowly pushing your sweat up he pushed over your head quickly and tossed it somewhere on the floor.

He raised his head for a beat staring down at how pretty you looked, blush covering your face, hair messy, topless in front of him. Neteyam didn’t waste anytime hooking his fingers in your shorts and patties tugging them down with haste in one swift movement leaving you completely exposed under him.

“Your so pretty, so fucking pretty like this for me” he mumbles as he kisses down your body holding both your touch tits in his hands he licked and sucked at the skin before he flicked his tongue against your right nipple. Your back arched off the bed with a sweet moan which made his tail whip excitedly behind him.

“Fuck..” you whisper, rolling your eyes back and biting your lip at the feeling of his tongue playing with your nipples. Neteyam sucked until he bruised them before he moved down your stomach to your core.

He held your thighs in his hand spreading them open as he looked at the slick leaking out of your weeping hole. He groaned in satisfaction even though he hasn’t even touched you yet, “baby is this for all for me?”

He knew the answer, he knows it’s his. He wants you to say it. “Yes yes…yours Nete” you sing feverishly, anything for him to get down there and make you feel good.

“Yea that’s mine sevin” he called you a name in his mother tongue and you almost rolled your eyes even though you didn’t know what it meant.

“W-what does that mean?” You asked breathlessly.

“It means pretty, you are so pretty! Fucking gorgeous.” He said before he takes his pants off bare and hard underneath.

Your eyes widen slightly as he stroked himself looking down at your body, just admiring all he already did to it. Thinking about all he’s about to do.

He laid down on the bed next to you and pulled you up and over him. Neteyam’s hand gripped your hair softly pushing you down towards his length, “gonna be a good girl and suck my cock?”

You nod again feverishly, no way you’d say no to his tone, or those words that made you want to ride him until you pass out. You bring your head down willingly licking a stride up his length to the top and swirling your tongue around it.

Neteyam moans which is quickly becoming your favorite sound, your tail whips in the air. He grabs it quickly wrapping it around his around using it to lift your lower body until his face was between your tights. His hands ran the outside of your thighs up to your ass and back down a few times as he rolled his eyes back and mown at your trying to deep throat his cock that clearly didn’t fit in your mouth.

Your tongue twirled around his length anyway you could make it go as he gave your ass a nice slap making you moan against him, vibrations sent shivers down to your cunt. Your life your head for some needs sir gasping loudly as you come up. You stroke his cock while looking between your legs are the absolutely glorious expression on his face,

It was amazing watching him fall apart for your tongue, you could imagine what he’d feel like once he finally got to stretch you out with his cock, and you couldn’t wait.

Finally, Neteyam pulled your lower half down by your ass and licked a stride up your cunt from your clit to your hole, you gagged, and you moaned on his cock not expecting him to do that. He let out an amusement chuckle at that, “oh great mother..” he mumbled, “I love it when you gag on my cock like that” he moaned as you curled your tongue on him. “You like gagging on my cock sevin?” You pull your head off him once more letting out a desperate yes into the air before you go back down.

Your face was messy with spit and precum, but you didn’t care, you wanted him to come in your, outnumbered if you could make him, Neteyam’s tongue worked wonders on your clit you almost stop being about to focus moving your head up and down.

He marked up your thighs turning them purple before he sucked on your clit, his tongue flicked up and down, side to side, in circles until he had your arching your back and crying, he had you so lose to coming when he slapped your ass again, something else you’re growing to like.

Your tail whipped harshly in the air, hitting the headboard, sometimes the the bed next to your legs before it wrapped around Neteyam’s left arm. He knew you were close from how much more you were moaning for him to make you cum.

He greedily didn’t waste a drop of your essence when his tongue fucked it out of you before giving you another slap on the ass and pushing you off him. He quickly switched positions getting back on top of you, “I didn’t know you were so good at that baby, I would’ve asked you to suck a cock so long ago.”

He’s hand came up squishing your cheeks together, it wasn’t to hurt you he just loved the fucked our express you sported, he wanted to touch it.

“Would you have sweet? Sucked my cock if I asked you before?” He asked your sitting up on his knees as he spread you open lining himself up. You nod vigorously at him, “mhmmm.” You replied.

He could cum in the stop from how submissive you were, he was honestly surprised you didn’t fight him down more to be in top, not that he was complaining. Seeing his girl under him like this couldn’t have been a sexier view.

“Ready for me to fuck you baby?”

You nodded messily brushing the hair away from your face.

“No no no I wanna hear you this time, want me to make you cum in my cock sweetheart?” He chuckled.

“Yes, yes pleasesss tey.” You moaned as he slapped his cock head on your clit a couple times before he slowly pushed it in. His head rocked back, and he rolled his eyes when he felt how amazingly tight you were.

“Holy fuck…your so fucking tight.” His body falls over yours his hands on both sides of your head as he looks down at your expression. Blush tenfold, mouth wide open as if you were silently screaming as he stretched you open.

You body was adjusting to him quickly, but it felt like he had cock for days. When you thought you couldn’t fit anymore, he made his entire length fit with a sweet scream from you.

“Oh, my goddd” you roll your eyes, nails digging into his shoulder trying to keep your grip on something. You moans turned to pants as he started to slowly push in and out of you. His hair fell over, acting like a curtain that blocked you from the outside world.

His eyes were bright with desire as he stared down at you. “You feel so good!” You moan between thrust. Which made him smile widely canines in full display. He stuffed his face in your neck and grazed them against your already bruised up skin.

“Fuckkkkk me harder! Please tey” you moan as you rack your hands in his hair pushing it back so you could see his face. You smile you as him biting your lip, but it didn’t stop your little moans that he fucked out of you.

Neteyam chuckled as how needy you were for more, his arms went down to your thighs to hold them, pulling your body into his thrust. His grip was strong you’re sure you’d have bruises literally when he was down. Your tail lashed until it wrapped around his strong thigh trying to ground yourself.

“‘m gonna cum! Gonna cum tey” you mewl into the air along with your sweet moans. Your nails raked scratch marks on his back and arms, he’s fucking you so good. Neteyam fucked you like it was his one and only job in the whole world.

You didn’t get a chance to say anything else before your roll your eyes back and scream, arching your back you came squirting in his thighs and abdomen. Your eyes squeezed shut as you moan from the stimulation.

He slowed down to admire your work, but you quickly stopped him, “don’t stop, don’t stop! Keep going! Cum!” You demanded he came for you now.

Your mind was delirious your only thoughts were his big hands on your body, the feeling on his cock bullying its way into your stomach felt incredible. And now that you were being overstimulated. You wanted nothing more than for him to empty his load in you and put you to bed.

And that’s exactly what he planned on doing. Neteyam smiled wickedly as he pulled out and flipped you over on all fours. “Ready to make me cum sweet?” He pulled you up and down positioning you properly and spoke in your ear as he leaned over your body.

You nod feverishly wanting nothing more than that, “yeah? Gonna be a good girl and make me cum?”

“Yes, yes yes yesssss” you moan into the air loudly as he reentered you and started to pound away. First his hands slapped your ass again, grabbing your hips and pulling you in. Neteyam felt like he was a different kind of depth from this angle, he was snug in your cunt. So much so that he was fucking you, but you couldn’t make a sound. Every thrust knocked the air out of you.

That was until he started to fuck faster. Your upped body dropped to the bed head turned to the side so you could see him from the corner of your eye but it didn’t last long, he laced his fingers in your hair pulling you back up so you had no choice but to help hold yourself back up. You couldn’t do anything but scream, it was literally screaming or nothing, you couldn’t find it in yourself to quiet down at all. His fucking just didn’t allow that.

“Look at me sweetheart, being such a good fucking girl for me” he teased and taunted. It actually made you feel pretty, you wanted to be like this for him, you didn’t want him to have anyone but you like this either.

You wanted to nod but his grip on your hair stopped you. You didn’t expect him to pull you back more, his thrust were monstrous but his grip was gentle bending you back in ways you didn’t know you could bend, your head was looking up and him and he leaned down giving you a slowly kiss.

You wanted to cum again but your just couldn’t voice it this time, your voice was not gone, you just could reach it from the angle you were in so without warning again your squirt messing him up some more. Your jaw was slack as he let go of your hair and grabbed your arms by your elbow pulling your body back to him.

You couldn’t think straight you started to push back even more wanting him to fuck you harder, but you couldn’t find the words, and harder he fucked until he emptied his entire soul into your cunt. The groan he let out was animalistic, if you were so fucked out on him you might have gotten scared.

Nevertheless Neteyam eased his cock out of you watching his cum ooze out of your now gaping hole. He rolled his eyes in satisfaction as he dropped down next to you, immediately pulling you into his embrace. He snuggles his face into your neck as he felt your pant to catch your breath.

“Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you did I?” He whispered into your skin.

“Mhmm, I’m okay, you didn’t hurt me” you nod softly, whispering that words, “I’m great” you turn your body to face his molding into his touch as he held you impossibly close, with a smile.

“I guess we established I can more than keep up.” He chuckled softly making you giggle. He picked you up taking you to the bathroom to clean up standing under the shower with you, wrapped around your frame. He didn’t take his hands off you for a second, he didn’t want to be away from you. And neither did you.

Neteyam took your to bed and got in with your wrapping his arms around you pulling the blanket over both of you. It was a bit earlier than you normally went to sleep but you were complaining. You just wanted to be here, with him.

You press a kiss on his chest where his heart was before whispering, “this wasn’t just…nothing. Right?”

His hand paused on her back, he took a breath, then another. “No” he said, voice soft, thoughtful. “It wasn’t nothing.” He kissed to top of your head.

But it wasn’t a promise either.

He tilted your chin up gently. His golden eyes meeting yours. They were searching your face like they were trying to understand something even he couldn’t name, “you’re different,” he murmured. “From anyone I’ve ever known.”

You smiled, a little sad, “that’s not always a good thing.”

“It is to me.”

After that you didn’t say anything snuggling against him as sleep found both of you.

The days that followed blurred together in a quiet, desperate sort of bliss.

Neteyam was healed now, at least, enough to walk without wincing, to stretch without pulling at the scar that had once marked his chest. His strength had returned, slow but steady, and with it came the quiet understanding that time was running out. That he would leave soon.

But neither of you said it.

Instead, you both clung to the days you had left.

He moved through your space like he belonged there now. Not as a guest, not as the stranger you’d patched up on your couch, but as someone who knew exactly where the mugs were kept, who always reached for the same towel in the morning, who leaned against the counter behind her while you cooked and stole bites with a lazy smirk before you could even plate the food.

And you let him.

You let him wrap his arms around your waist from behind while you stood at the sink, let him kiss the spot beneath your ear that made your breath catch. You let him wrap you both in a blanket when the nights got cold. He would tease you, calling you tiny from how well you fit in that space.

You laughed too much, touched too much, kissed like you didn’t want to stop. And sometimes, you didn’t.

You danced in the kitchen one night to music playing low from an old speaker, his hand warm and firm against the small of your back, your cheek resting on his shoulder as if it had always been meant to fit there.

It started as a joke, you were washing dishes, swaying with the song singing it softly from the speaker on the windowsill. It was an old song. Something smooth and low, something just enough to make your hips sway with rhythm. Neteyam had been leaning against the counter, chewing the last bite of fruit, watching your with that quiet little smirk that had become all too familiar.

“You’re dancing,” he noted.

You turn and look at him over your shoulder, “and you’re not.”

He steals forward, exaggerated and smug, “you’re saying you want me to?”

“I’m saying you couldn’t keep up,” you teased, flicking water in his direction.

His eyes gleamed with challenge.

Before you could retreat, he was there, grabbing the towel from your hands, tossing it aside, and pulling you in by the waist. Your laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it, light and surprised, your fingers gripping his arms for balance as he spun you into the open space of the kitchen.

You hadn’t expected him to actually be good at it.

But he was, surprisingly graceful, moving with a rhythm that came as naturally as breathing. His steps were confident, fluid, his hands strong and sure at your waist. He twirled you suddenly, catching you with an arm around your back when you stumbled, dizzy with laughter.

“I thought you said I couldn’t keep up?” he said, voice smug near your ear.

“That was before you cheated,” you accused, cheeks flushed and eyes shining.

He grinned, slow and smug. “You just don’t know how to be led.”

Before you could reply, he dipped you low, one hand firm at your back, the other holding your hand as you arched with a breathless gasp, your hair brushing the wooden floor. You clutched his shoulder for balance, eyes locked with his. The music kept playing, but in that moment, you could barely hear it.

He didn’t pull you up right away.

Just stood there, holding you like that, close and quiet, his expression unreadable, but something simmered beneath it.

And you suddenly forgot how to breathe when he leaned down and kissed you, deep and passionately.

Sometimes, you caught him staring at you when he thought you weren’t looking, after dinner, when you were tucked into the corner of the couch in one of his oversized shirts; in the garden, when the light caught your hair just right. And when you looked back, he didn’t look away.

But he never said anything. And neither did you.

You kissed like lovers. You moved like partners. You lived like something close to more.

But neither of you used the word.

Because the word would mean permanence.

And this? This wasn’t permanent.

The morning he was supposed to leave came too fast.

The air felt heavy and still, as if the forest itself knew this was the end of something. You stood in the kitchen, a warm mug of tea cupped between your hands, untouched. The steam curled lazily toward the ceiling and vanished, just like everything else good lately seemed to.

He hadn’t come downstairs yet. But you knew he was awake.

You’d heard his footsteps moving upstairs before the sun had fully risen. He always woke before you now, falling into your rhythm like he was meant to be here. For over a month now, he’d been a presence you could rely on. You’d gotten used to the way his voice rumbled through your house, to the way he touched things gently, to the sound of him breathing next to you.

He was leaving. And you didn’t know how to hold onto something that was never really yours.

You heard him descending the stairs, and your breath caught without permission. When you turned, he was there, shoulders squared, spear-clothes replaced with something more familiar to him. A satchel was slung over his shoulder, and for the first time since the day you found him, he looked like he belonged to another world.

His world.

Not yours.

He stepped closer, wordless, and took the mug from your hands, setting it gently on the counter. His fingers grazed yours. They lingered for half a second too long. It wasn’t an accident. You didn’t pull away.

You said quietly, “You don’t have to say anything. I get it.”

He held your gaze. The look in his eyes was careful, unreadable—until it wasn’t. You saw it in the way he blinked a little too slowly, like he was trying not to let it show. The conflict. The sadness.

“You shouldn’t be alone out here,” he said.

You gave a half-hearted smile. “I was alone before you. I’ll be fine after.”

He didn’t agree. But he didn’t argue either.

Instead, he stepped forward and rested his forehead against yours. His hands lifted to your cheeks, cradling your face like something breakable. You closed your eyes and let your breath catch in your throat. The moment stretched, full of everything you couldn’t say—everything you wanted to ask but already knew the answer to.

“So that’s it?” you whispered.

There was no reply.

He kissed you. Soft. Intentional. Not rushed. It wasn’t heat or hunger—it was a goodbye. His lips moved against yours like he was trying to memorize you. His hands trembled slightly at your jaw, but he didn’t let go. Not until you had to breathe.

When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours one last time.

And then he stepped back.

You didn’t stop him. You wanted to, but your feet wouldn’t move.

He looked at you once more. Just once.

He stood there for a moment, shoulders tense, back straight—like he was bracing himself. Then he looked over, just enough for you to see the conflict in his eyes.

“I keep thinking if I look at you too long, I’ll stay.”

His voice was low, almost hoarse, but steady. “You made this place feel… like more than just a place to heal. And I wasn’t ready for that.”

His fingers tightened on the handle. “But this, whatever this is between us, it’s not nothing. You know that, right?”

He looked at you long enough to see you cover your lips with your fingers and nod.

Then he turned, opened the door, and walked out.

The air was thick with the warmth of the afternoon sun as the waves lapped gently against the shore, and the village hummed with life. Tuk and a few of the younger Metkayina children were playing near the edge of the water when the distant figure of a Na’vi appeared. At first, they couldn’t be sure, but then—

“Neteyam?” Tuk’s voice was barely a whisper, but it cut through the air like a knife.

In an instant, her eyes widened, and a breathless gasp escaped her lips. “NETEYAM!”

Her scream rang out, drawing the attention of everyone around. Tuk’s small body shot forward, running as fast as her legs could carry her. Her feet kicked up sand as she rushed toward the figure now stepping onto the shore. The other villagers froze for a moment, watching in shock as the younger girl sprinted toward her brother.

Tuk reached him first, her small arms wrapping around his legs as she sobbed, her tears flowing freely. “You’re alive… You’re alive!” she cried, her voice cracking with emotion.

Tuk never let go of him, clinging desperately to her brother as she looked up at him, still not fully believing her eyes.

Neteyam knelt slightly to pick her up, arms wrapping tightly around her. “Hey, little one,” he whispered, burying his face in her hair. “I missed you too.”

Lo’ak didn’t speak. He didn’t move. He just stared, lips parted, his heart thundering in his chest. Then, like something snapped loose inside him, he moved, fast, running to them, barely stopping before he threw his arms around his older brother in a crushing hug. Tuk was squeezed between them, but neither seemed to notice.

“Neteyam,” Lo’ak breathed, voice cracking. “You’re…here.”

Neteyam laughed under his breath, voice thick. “I here baby bro.

Behind them, Kiri came forward, blinking rapidly against her tears. She smiled through them as she reached out to touch Neteyam’s arm. Since one arm held tuk and the other rested on the back of Lo’ak’s head, Neteyam rest his head on kiri’s when she hugged him. “Brother…you are safe.” he whispered as if to confirm it was him.

He had missed them so much, he thought about this day everyday since you saved his laugh.

“Where are mom and dad?” Neteyam asked them.

“They are at home...” Kiri spoke up softly.

“Come let us go to them,” Neteyam ushered them along putting Tuk down for her to run ahead, Lo’ak walked next to him with Neteyam’s arm still on the back of his head and Kiri holding his other hand on the other side of him.

They walk along the path together until they made it in front of the Mauri. Tuk was hyperventilating trying to explain to them Neteyam was there but her words were so fast and jumbled they didn’t understand.

Tuk burst in with a breathless cry, her voice high and jumbled. “He’s here! He’s— I saw him— outside—he’s here!”

Jake’s brow furrowed. Neytiri looked up immediately, alarm in her eyes. “Tuk,” she said carefully, “slow down—who is here?”

But Tuk just spun, pointing to the entrance, tears already brimming. “Just look!”

Jake and Neytiri exchanged a glance, uncertain, cautious, and then stood, slowly, like they were afraid to hope.

And then he stepped into view.

Neteyam stood tall in the doorway, backlit by the soft glow of the evening. His body was leaner than before, marked with faint scars and sun-darkened skin, but he was there. Whole. Alive.

Neytiri didn’t breathe. Her eyes locked onto his face, wide and wet before her lips even parted.

“Neteyam?” she whispered, voice cracking.

Jake was frozen beside her, shoulders drawn tight with tension that hadn’t left him since the day they lost him.

But when Neteyam took one step forward and murmured, “Hi, sa’nok,” that was all it took.

Neytiri let out a sound somewhere between a sob and a prayer as she crossed the distance in seconds, throwing her arms around him. Her hands clutched at his back, his hair, his face, like she needed to touch every part to believe it was real.

Jake was only a breath behind her, wrapping both of them up in his arms.

Neteyam, once the calmest in the family, trembled under their grip.

“I’m sorry,” he said, barely audible, voice rough with emotion. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Agh!” Neytiri hissed cutting him off, “you are not at fault my son.” She reassumed him quickly.

“I should have come back sooner, I was healing. I am sorry.” Neteyam continued softly.

“All that matters is that you’re here now.” Jake said as he held his face looking him in the eyes. “You are so strong, and we are so proud of you.”

Neytiri nodded as she sobbed hugging him once more. “Thank you, great mother! Thank you!”

Neteyam gave a small, broken laugh. And then Tuk wrapped herself around his side, Kiri touched his arm gently, and even Lo’ak, head lowered and eyes red, pulled him into a fierce hug from behind.

He was home.

They sat together in the family mauri, close like they hadn’t been in weeks—no, months. The woven floor creaked softly beneath them as if it remembered their weight. Neytiri hadn’t stopped touching him: her hand brushed over his arm again and again like she couldn’t believe he was solid, real. Jake sat beside her, face unreadable, but his eyes never left Neteyam.

Kiri and Tuk sat cross-legged in front of him, and Lo’ak curled beside his older brother with his head on his shoulder. The silence that had followed the reunion lingered for only a few more seconds before Jake spoke.

“Where the hell have you been?”

The question wasn’t sharp, his voice cracked, it was full of awe and something that sounded like fear still clinging to his voice. Neytiri looked at Neteyam quickly, her brows pinched, echoing the question without saying it aloud.

Lo’ak added quietly, “We thought something must’ve taken you. One minute you were on the rock and when we returned you were just…gone.”

“Were you taken?” Kiri’s voice was gentler, more cautious. “Did someone find you? How did you survive?”

Neteyam’s eyes dropped to the floor, his fingers moving slowly against the edge of the mat. “It’s… a long story,” he said finally.

Jake frowned. “We have time.”

But Neteyam just shook his head. “I was lucky. That’s all. I got out of the water. I healed.”

“Alone?” Neytiri asked softly.

His jaw shifted slightly. “Not exactly.”

They all looked at each other, waiting, the questions thick in the air.

But Neteyam didn’t offer more.

Lo’ak frowned. “You’re not gonna tell us what happened?”

“I’m here. That’s what matters.” His voice was calm, but firm. Unmovable as he rested his hand on Lo’ak’s head once more.

There was a long pause.

Jake’s shoulders sank slightly, but he didn’t press. “Alright. We won’t push.”

Neytiri reached for his hand and squeezed it gently. “You’ll tell us when you’re ready.”

Neteyam met her eyes, a flash of guilt there, but also protectiveness. “Yeah.”

The silence settled again, but this time it wasn’t heavy. It was filled with the sound of being together again. The sound of breathing. Of warmth. Of a family no longer broken.

But the mystery remained, where had Neteyam gone? And who had helped him heal?

Over the next two weeks, the cracks in Neteyam’s armor began to show, subtle at first, but impossible to ignore.

It was little things at first, like the way he’d go rigid at the sudden crack of a fish net snapping, or the sharp clang of a pot dropped onto stone. He would still himself completely, eyes darting around before relaxing, but always a second too late, always too visibly. The others noticed. His father said nothing. Neytiri frowned often, quietly watching him from across the marui.

He wasn’t cruel to his siblings, but he wasn’t as patient as he’d always been. One afternoon, Tuk was playing with her shell collection, chattering brightly, when she accidentally dropped one. It cracked sharply on the floor and she let out a high-pitched scream, part startle, part sadness.

Neteyam was on her in an instant.

He knelt in front of her, hands gentle as he turned her arms and checked her legs for injury, for blood, for anything. But there was nothing. Just a wide-eyed little sister with a broken toy. He exhaled shakily, then said, just a touch too sharp, too strained, “Why? You have nothing to be screaming for.”

Tuk’s lip trembled. She didn’t cry, but her small voice whispered, “I’m sorry.”

He softened immediately, brushing her hair back with a tender sigh. “No. I’m sorry, Tuk. I didn’t mean it like that.”

His thoughts spiraled in quiet waves, always leading back to you. How you held his face in your hands. How you smelled after your shower. How your fingers twitched when you embroidered, always pulling too tight on the first stitch. The memory of your breath, warm against his throat.

He tried to bury it, keep himself moving. He picked up the bracelet work again. Lo’ak walked in one day, brows furrowed. “You don’t even give those to people.”

Neteyam didn’t answer. He just kept weaving the pattern you’d taught him. Tight, crooked in one corner. Familiar.

It was the singing they noticed first.

Soft and low, barely more than a breath, but always the same melody. A tune no one in the family had heard before, one with an unfamiliar rise and fall, notes that sounded like comfort… and ache. Neteyam hummed it without realizing, usually when his hands were busy—carving, weaving, or washing. Even when he walked along the shoreline at dusk, the melody trailed behind him like a shadow.

His siblings started to pick up on it. Kiri heard it while braiding her hair one morning and paused, tilting her head toward him. Lo’ak noticed it when they were spearfishing—Neteyam would drift off, his lips moving soundlessly until he jerked himself back to the moment. Tuk hummed it too, mimicking him unconsciously, but when she asked where it came from, Neteyam just looked away.

The song belonged to you, though he never said your name.

The silence he carried was louder than any melody.

And the sleep… or lack of it… that was next.

He didn’t sleep on his pillow anymore. Not like before. Instead, he wrapped his arms around it, buried his face in the cottony middle, and curled himself tight like he was afraid of unraveling. His tail no longer lay relaxed across the woven mat; it was tucked close to his body, tense. Every few hours, he’d toss and turn, then sit up, wide-eyed and disoriented, breathing hard like he’d just been yanked from some far-off place.

Some nights, he paced in front of the marui, arms folded tight across his chest, jaw tense. Other nights he sat on the edge of his sleeping mat, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor while the rest of the family lay still. His eyes looked bruised with fatigue, but he never said he was tired.

And when he did sleep, it was only for a little while. A flicker of peace, until something small, a shout, a crashing wave, a shell hitting the ground, snapped him back to the surface.

Like the day Kiri accidentally dropped a basket and screamed when it fell apart. Neteyam had flinched so hard he nearly stumbled. He whipped his head to look at her, eyes scanning her arms, her legs, checking for blood, for breaks, for pain. But she was fine just startled. And when he realized there were no injuries, his face shifted.

“What the fuck Kiri? Get a grip. Literally,” he said, calm, but short, his voice clipped and colder than she’d ever heard it.

Kiri blinked up at him, surprised. His hands were still on her shoulders, but his touch was lighter now. Gentle again. Like he knew he’d overstepped but didn’t have the words to fix it. He stood without another word and walked away. Later that night, he brought her a sweetfruit and kissed her hair in apology, but didn’t bring it up again.

His parents were quiet about it, but they noticed too.

They saw how he’d zone out during meals, fingers moving in patterns they couldn’t recognize, embroidery, little woven strands, sometimes bracelets he didn’t give to anyone. The designs were different from the ones he learned growing up. Too intricate, too… specific. Clearly taught by someone else but who? They couldn’t say. They watched how he braided strands of twine for hours, all different colors and patterns, then tucked it under his sleeping mat like a secret.

Jake and Neytiri exchanged glances but didn’t press. Not yet. Because their son had come back to them alive… but not entirely whole.

And while they didn’t know who he was grieving, they could see it in everything he did.

Even the way he hummed that melody in the middle of the night, just loud enough to keep himself company, just quiet enough to mourn.

The glow of the bioluminescent lanterns outside the marui flickered faintly, casting soft light through the woven walls. Neteyam lay on his side on the sleeping mat, eyes half open, his arm loosely clutching the pillow he’d once only used for support. Now, he held it as if it were grounding him, something to anchor him in the silence of his own mind.

Behind him, Lo’ak’s forehead was pressed gently to his back, breathing slow and even. He’d done this every night since Neteyam came home. Said nothing about it. Just curled up behind him like he needed to be sure he was real, listening to the steady beat of his heart before he could sleep himself.

A soft rustle stirred the quiet, and Neteyam’s ears twitched before he turned his head slightly toward the sound.

Neytiri stood at the entrance of the marui, her presence light, careful not to startle. Her eyes searched his in the dim glow soft, loving, concerned.

“Can’t sleep?” she asked gently, crouching beside him.

Neteyam didn’t speak at first. Just blinked slowly, then nodded. “Some nights are harder than others.”

She reached forward, brushing her fingers through his braids the way she had when he was younger. “You do not have to hold it all inside, ma ’itan.”

“I’m not,” he murmured. Then quieter, “Not all of it.”

Neytiri tilted her head, watching his face. “You jump when things fall. You are quiet when you used to laugh. You are here, but your spirit is still traveling.”

He swallowed, shifting slightly, careful not to wake Lo’ak. “I’m just… tired, sa’nok. That’s all.”

“You hold your pillow like someone who misses the weight of a body beside them,” she said softly, her tone tender, not accusing. “You hum songs you did not know before. And you walk at night like the stars will answer you.”

Neteyam’s jaw tightened, but his eyes glistened with something unspoken.

“I am not asking for your secrets,” Neytiri added. “Just your heart. Let it rest, even for a little while.”

“I’m trying,” he whispered. His voice cracked just slightly. “I really am.”

She leaned in and kissed his forehead, then rested her own there for a long moment. “You don’t have to carry the whole war inside you anymore.”

When she pulled back, she smiled gently, brushing a thumb along his temple. “Goodnight, ma yawntu.”

“Goodnight, sa’nok,” he murmured.

Neytiri glanced at Lo’ak still sleeping soundly behind him, pressed to his back like a second heartbeat. Her eyes softened again. Then, without another word, she slipped out, leaving the siblings bundled in quiet comfort, one dreaming, the other still chasing peace behind heavy eyelids.

The sun had barely climbed above the tide when voices echoed outside the Sully family mauri — familiar, lighthearted. Lo’ak stepped out first to greet them, the sound of splashing feet in the shallows carrying over the breeze.

Aonung and Tsireya.

It had been nearly a month since the clan believed Neteyam was dead, taken by the sea before they could say goodbye. Now, he was alive. Healing. Quiet. Changed.

Neteyam sat cross-legged on his sleeping mat, back straight, hands loosely clasped. His shoulders tensed when he heard their laughter. It was strange, he’d missed them. He’d once teased Aonung over every clumsy spear throw and laughed until his stomach hurt at Tsireya’s mimicry of her father’s scolding tone. But today, something coiled tight in his chest.

They stepped into view.

Tsireya.

His breath caught.

She looked just like you in the sunlight.

The wide, curious eyes. The soft shape of her mouth when she smiled. The way her hair framed her face, falling like waves over her shoulders. His mind buckled beneath the weight of memories, the scent of your skin after a shower, your laugh when you danced around the cabin, your fingers pulling thread through cloth as you taught him embroidery. Tsireya’s presence was a mirror, not a perfect one, but close enough to sting.

He stood slowly, greeting them with a half-smile. “You came to see if I’m real.”

Tsireya laughed, warm and sweet. “You’re not a ghost. That much is clear.”

Neteyam’s eyes didn’t leave hers. Not a ghost, she said, but he felt like one, like something still tethered to someone not here.

Aonung clapped him on the shoulder. “You look like you wrestled a palulukan and won. Barely.”

They laughed. Neteyam smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Later, when they all sat for lunch, Neteyam made space next to him and wordlessly tapped the mat, motioning Tsireya over. She glanced at Lo’ak, who gave her a subtle nod. She settled beside Neteyam, and he immediately rested his hand on her knee, a gesture so natural, no one questioned it. Except Lo’ak, who paused mid-bite.

Neteyam didn’t notice. He was focused on the way Tsireya’s lips curled as she bit into a piece of grilled fish, not because he was interested in her, but because he remembered the way you did that. The way you’d wrinkle your nose at certain spices. The way you’d hum without realizing it when food made you happy.

He leaned in and murmured something, making her laugh again. She was flattered — she thought he was just being sweet. He’d always been her best friend, like a big brother in a way. She assumed this was just him returning to who he was.

But Neteyam wasn’t who he was. Not anymore.

The longer the visit went on, the more attached he became. He walked with Tsireya to the reef where she helped tend to the clan’s younger swimmers, always a step too close. When she crouched to fix a child’s fins, he stood behind her, hand resting lightly on her shoulder. When she laughed, his eyes softened. When she smiled, his lips parted, as if a memory had just hit him like a wave.

And he didn’t even realize what he was doing.

Lo’ak noticed, though. He noticed everything. The way Neteyam always found a reason to pull Tsireya aside. The way he no longer sat by him at meals, how he had a hand on her arm, her waist, her shoulder, always.

Lo’ak watched his brother quietly spiral, swallowed by a grief he never named, and a need he didn’t understand.

And Neteyam?

Neteyam just kept seeing you.

Everywhere.

It started with subtle glances. The way Neteyam’s eyes lingered too long when Tsireya smiled. The way he’d fall silent mid-sentence just to watch her laugh. At first, no one said anything. Maybe they thought it was joy, the kind of light-heartedness that came with healing. Maybe they were just relieved to see him alive.

But it didn’t stop.

It got worse.

Neteyam followed her. Everywhere. If Tsireya helped prepare meals, he was beside her, his hands brushing hers when she reached for seaweed or fish. If she went to the shoreline to teach the younglings, he stood behind her, arms crossed, eyes never straying. When she turned, she always found him already watching.

It was obsessive, quiet and unspoken, but visible in every move.

When she sat, he sat behind her and pulled her between his legs like it was instinct. When she laughed, he laughed, even if he didn’t catch the joke. When she reached for something, his hand was already there. Too eager. Too close.

Tsireya didn’t question it.

Neteyam had always been kind, comforting. And she thought, maybe after what he went through, he just needed familiarity. He was her friend. Maybe he missed her.

But it wasn’t her he was seeing.

It was you.

Every movement, every look, every word she spoke it reminded him of you. But not in a nostalgic, gentle way. No, it consumed him. When she smiled, he swore his heart clenched. When she walked ahead of him, he blinked and saw you — your hair bouncing as you turned to grin at him. When she laughed, he imagined your voice beneath hers. It all blurred. Like a fever dream. Like he was drunk on a memory.

And his family began to notice.

Kiri watched him during dinner, chewing slowly, her brow furrowed. The way he always offered Tsireya food first. The way his arm always found its way around her back. The way he no longer looked at anyone else.

Tuk noticed too. She was too young to name it, but she stared a lot. Her big eyes darting between her big brother and Tsireya like she didn’t understand what she was seeing, but she saw the way he stared at her. Almost in the same way she noticed Lo’ak looks at her.

Neytiri, sitting near the hearth one evening, turned to Jake and whispered, “He’s holding on to something. Do you see it?”

Jake only nodded. His eldest son sat across from them, hands idly weaving another bracelet. Another one with strange knots and colors. Patterns he never used before. Patterns only you had taught him.

But it was Lo’ak who saw the most.

Because Tsireya was his.

He’d been so happy when Neteyam came home. He missed him more than words could carry. And for a while, everything felt whole again. But it cracked slowly — painfully — when he started seeing Neteyam reaching for Tsireya’s hand before he could. When Neteyam stood too close. Sat too close. Touched her hair without asking.

When Lo’ak came back from a dive one afternoon, dripping and breathless, he saw Neteyam laughing with Tsireya — his hands gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She smiled, oblivious.

Lo’ak stopped mid-step, staring.

Neteyam didn’t even notice him.

Didn’t see him.

That night, Lo’ak didn’t sleep. He lay on his side, staring at his brother’s back, the rise and fall of Neteyam’s breathing. And like every night since Neteyam came home, Lo’ak gently rested his forehead between his brother’s shoulder blades, listening to his heartbeat.

But that night, Neteyam’s heart was racing. Too fast.

Lo’ak whispered, “What’s going on with you, bro?” But Neteyam didn’t answer. He never answered.

The next day, Neteyam got quiet. Detached. Like he knew something was wrong and couldn’t explain it. He started singing softly while working, that same strange song again. The one no one recognized. Over and over. A lullaby. Your lullaby.

Neteyam’s affection for Tsireya was no longer subtle. His family had begun noticing it in clearer moments, when he wasn’t trying to appear collected. One afternoon, while Lo’ak was off gathering shellfish, Neteyam spotted Tsireya weaving fishing baskets with his sister and without hesitation, walked over, crouched beside her, and brushed her hair back from her cheek with a tenderness that startled even her. She smiled, unsure, assuming it was one of their old familiar gestures, but Kiri saw the look in Neteyam’s eyes, intense, distracted, reverent and felt something in her chest tighten.

During a communal meal, he asked Tsireya to sit next to him, again. When she hesitated, glancing between him and Lo’ak, Neteyam gently took her wrist and guided her down beside him, handing her a piece of roasted fruit with a soft smile. Neytiri watched silently from across the mat, her eyes narrowing just slightly.

Neteyam started making things for her. One evening, Kiri walked past him at the edge of the reef, where he sat alone, stringing a bracelet with the exact knot pattern you had taught him. But when Kiri asked who it was for, he tucked it behind his back and murmured, “No one. Just practice.” Hours later, it was braided into Tsireya’s hair.

Lo’ak tried to ignore it at first. Tried to explain it away, Neteyam was healing, disoriented, confused. But it kept happening. Neteyam started offering to escort Tsireya during her clan duties, would walk with her in silence, his gaze fixed forward, occasionally slipping his hand into hers like it was the most natural thing in the world. Once, when she stopped to fix her net, he sat behind her, wrapping his arms loosely around her waist while she worked. Lo’ak saw them. He didn’t say anything. Not yet.

The others noticed too. Aonung, usually quick to tease, grew quiet, throwing glances between Neteyam and Lo’ak with a furrowed brow. Kiri kept her distance, choosing silence over confrontation, though her gaze lingered on her older brother longer than usual, trying to decipher what had broken in him.

Neteyam was drifting. Delusional in a way he couldn’t admit to himself, not even when the truth pressed down like a wave about to pull him under.

He didn’t even see Tsireya anymore.

Not really.

Every time she laughed, it was your laugh he heard light, airy, wrapped in something only he had ever known. When her fingers brushed his, his skin prickled like yours had touched him instead, soft and certain, with that quiet boldness you always carried. Tsireya would smile up at him, wide-eyed and kind, and all he could think was there you are.

In the curve of Tsireya’s mouth, he saw the way you used to smirk at him when you knew he was watching you. In her eyes, he swore he caught the same stormy glint you’d get when you were teasing him or trying not to smile too wide. Her hair when it clung to her shoulders after a dive looked just like yours had that night when he kissed you in the kitchen, his hands in your wet hair, your mouth all heat.

It happened slowly, then all at once.

One morning, Tsireya handed him a fruit and her fingers grazed his palm, and he smiled—not at her, but at you. He looked right at her and called her by your name. Softly. Naturally. Like it was always meant to be that way.

She tilted her head, confused, but Neteyam didn’t notice, he didn’t even notice the way he brushed it off when she questioned it changing the subject to something that distracted her..

In his mind, you were smiling at him. You’d just brought him something to eat, you were laughing like you did when he stole bites from your fingers. You were standing right there in front of him, just like always.

When Tsireya asked him to help gather shells for the clan’s ritual, he agreed without hesitation, thinking it was you asking him to take a walk by the shoreline, to do something domestic and sweet and yours. He barely heard her voice anymore. His brain filtered it into something softer. Your tone. Your cadence.

At dinner, when everyone was seated and Lo’ak beckoned Tsireya to sit beside him, Neteyam’s hand was already tugging her wrist toward the spot next to him. He didn’t even glance at Lo’ak. His eyes were glued to her no, you like if he let go, you’d disappear all over again.

And when she settled beside him and laughed about something someone said, he turned to her and whispered, “You’re beautiful when you laugh like that.”

She blinked. “Neteyam?”

But he didn’t even hear the hesitation in her voice. He only saw the faint light on her cheeks, the way her hair swayed against her collarbone. He leaned in like it was natural. Like he’d done it a hundred times before. Because he had with you.

“You always do that,” he said, voice low, fond. “You tilt your head like that when you’re trying not to blush.”

Tsireya blinked again. “What?”

But Neteyam only smiled, thumb brushing the edge of her jaw gently. He was gone. Fully, entirely lost in you.

To him, this wasn’t Tsireya anymore.

It hadn’t been for days.

It was you, back from the cabin, here in front of him again. He didn’t realize how often he whispered your name. How his voice wrapped around it like a prayer. How his grip lingered too long, his eyes saw someone else, his heart responded to a ghost.

The only person who noticed the unraveling was Lo’ak.

He watched his brother sit beside his girlfriend like she belonged to him. Watched him touch her hair with a faraway look. Watched him smile at her like she held the entire sky in her hands—and not once, not once, did he call her by name.

Lo’ak’s chest tightened with dread. Because he didn’t know who this version of Neteyam was. And he was scared to find out what it would take to bring his brother back.

The tide was low and gentle that afternoon, the water pulling rhythmically at the sand with soft hushing sounds. Lo’ak was returning from a dive task, surfacing with a bundle of netted sea urchins slung over his shoulder, droplets dripping from his hair as he approached the shore.

That’s when he saw them.

Tsireya sat on a woven mat of dried reeds, a shallow basket resting between her crossed legs, her fingers nimbly sorting through small, polished shells and tiny coral pieces. And behind her—Neteyam. Legs outstretched on either side of her, his arms looped loosely around her shoulders, chin brushing the side of her head, body curved around hers like she belonged to him.

They were laughing.

Not loudly, just that shared, intimate kind of laughter between two people lost in each other’s orbit. Neteyam was murmuring something to her, soft and teasing, his voice low near her ear. She leaned her head back lightly against his chest and smiled, relaxed, content.

He plucked a shell from her hand, pretending to inspect it dramatically before holding it up in mock approval. “This one?” he asked, eyes on her. “Too pretty to be left alone.”

She giggled, reaching up to nudge his chin. “You’re not even helping.”

“I am,” he protested lightly, wrapping his arm more snugly around her. “I’m the emotional support.”

Lo’ak stood still, halfway between the ocean and the sand, saltwater still clinging to his skin. At first he thought maybe it was innocent. His brother and his girlfriend had always been close. But something was different now. Something in the way Neteyam held her like it was second nature. The way his fingers brushed hers when she reached into the basket. The way his gaze lingered on her smile a fraction too long. The way he looked at her like she was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

It hit Lo’ak like a sucker punch.

Neteyam wasn’t looking at Tsireya like a friend.

He was looking at her like she was his.

Like she was someone he needed.

Lo’ak’s gut twisted. The weight of it made his chest feel tight. He watched for one more second, then turned sharply on his heel and stormed up the path, each step heavier than the last.

He couldn’t ignore it anymore. Tsireya was the love of his life, Neteyam knew that before he got shot.

Lo’ak stormed into the family mauri, chest heaving, dripping wet from the ocean, salt still clinging to his skin. The sack of gathered shells fell from his shoulder with a dull thump onto the floor. The sound made Neytiri’s head snap up from where she was weaving. Jake looked up from carving a small piece of driftwood, and Kiri paused, hand midair with her gathering bowl.

He stood there, fists balled at his sides, trying to keep it in, but it spilled out anyway.

“I can’t keep watching this.”

Jake frowned. “What happened?”

Lo’ak didn’t answer right away. He stepped deeper into the room, rubbing his hand over his face like he couldn’t believe what he saw.

“I went to the reef after the storm. I was helping gather shell bundles the current dragged out…” His voice was unsteady. “And I saw them.”

“Who?” Kiri asked softly.

“Neteyam. Tsireya.”

Neytiri’s hands went still in her lap.

Lo’ak scoffed, a bitter sound. “He had her between his legs. They were sitting in the sand like they do it every fucking day, his arms around her, helping her sort through little fucking shells, whispering to her. She was laughing. Leaning back against him like they were… like they were together.”

Jake’s expression tightened.

Lo’ak’s voice cracked. “He never looked at her like that. Never. Before he—before the ship, before everything—he- she was his friend, his best friend.. She was mine. I brought her into our family, I brought her home, and not him…”

He shook his head like it physically hurt. “Now he won’t leave her side. He follows her when she walks. He sits next to her at every meal. He touches her shoulder when he talks. He’s always smiling at her. I can’t even get a minute alone with my own girlfriend. He just pops up out of fucking no where and takes her away casually.”

He looked between them, desperate. “Why is he doing this?”

Kiri’s brow furrowed. “Maybe he’s trying to reconnect—”

“No,” Lo’ak snapped. “This isn’t about reconnecting. He’s obsessed. He acts like he’s known her forever. Like he sees something else when he looks at her.”

Neytiri stood, slowly approaching him. “Lo’ak, your brother went through something we don’t understand. He almost died. Maybe he’s not—”

“He’s not right,” Lo’ak whispered, his voice breaking. “He’s not who he was. He looks at her like he loves her, he looks at her the way I look at her, but I swear to Eywa, he doesn’t even see her. It’s like he sees someone else in her face. Like he’s talking to a ghost.”

The silence that followed was heavier than the storm that had passed that morning.

Jake’s jaw was tight. Kiri looked away, worried and thoughtful. And Neytiri, heart aching, placed a hand on Lo’ak’s shoulder.

But Lo’ak just looked at the fire, eyes flickering.

“I don’t know who my brother is anymore,” he said. “And I don’t think he does either.”

Jake’s jaw was tight, his hands clasped together as he leaned forward. “We need to figure this out,” he said, voice low and tense. “This isn’t just about him acting strange—he’s not here. He’s somewhere else in his head.”

“He’s obsessed more like it, with My tsireya.” Lo’ak muttered, still fuming, pacing with his arms folded.

Kiri watched him, eyes sharp with worry. “He is. I think there was someone else… when he was gone. That’s why he’s not himself. He left part of himself behind—maybe with her.”

Neytiri, quiet until now, looked toward the entrance of the mauri. “Then we need to draw it out of him gently. He won’t talk if he feels cornered.”

Jake gave a slow nod. “So, here’s what we do—we keep him close. Watch. Ask things that sound innocent, things that might slip past his defenses. Especially things about where he was, how he survived.”

“We bring Tsireya around less,” Kiri added. “Maybe if he’s seeing someone else in her, maybe distance will help him see clearly.”

Lo’ak’s shoulders dropped slightly. “And if he doesn’t come around?”

Jake looked at his son, his voice firm but calm. “Then we help him remember who he is. Even if it means dragging it out of him piece by piece.”

Neytiri nodded. “Together.”

They all sat in the quiet a moment longer, the hum of the ocean beyond their walls steady waiting. Watching. Planning.

Because something was broken inside Neteyam… and they couldn’t ignore it any longer.

“Neteyam is scary bro… no way this works. I think he’ll lash out if you take tsireya away from him, even if it’d slowly. He’s like her shadow. He’ll notice.” Lo’ak says after a beat of silence.

“Your right but Neteyam would never hurt us” Kiri went on looking between them. “But we’ve seen what he can do, we all know what he is capable off.”

“Like when that shoulder knocked spider over?” Lo’ak added. “Neteyam practically tore him apart. He didn’t even blink.”

Jake exhales through his nose, he was the reason Neteyam was so highly trained. “He’s trained to end threats, not negotiate with them.”

“We are assuming here from Lo’ak’s description that he’s seeing someone else. The. He is right. What if he snaps?”

Silence.

It was Lo’ak, surprisingly, who voice the next idea, “what if we do the opposite?” Everyone looked at him. “What if we use Tsireya? Not as bait but as a way in, maybe he’ll open up and talk to her.”

Kiri frowned, “he is not going to admit anything. Assuming he doesn’t know he’s doing it.”

“But maybe she can lead him there,” Jake said, catching on. “If we prep her, really explain what we think is going on, she could ease it out of him, ask the right questions.”

Neytiri’s frown depends, “you are assuming she’ll even believe us. My son is leveled headed in any situation. Everyone knows that. Why would she believe that Neteyam if all people is delusional and seeing someone else if her eyes?”

Sure enough the next morning they gentle pulled tsireya aside and say her down explaining what they thought might be going on with Neteyam. They explained they thought he was lost, fantasizing about someone else. And she blinked, wide-eyed and confused.

She shook her head genuinely puzzled. “But…he’s not in love with me. He never was. I am with you Lo’ak. And now he’s just… sweet. Clingy, yes, but…not delusional.

Jake stepped in, “we think that it’s not you he’s seeing tsireya. We don’t have another explanation for why he’d act like this out of nowhere.”

Lo’ak’s voice was tight, more hit than angry now. “You’re not who he thinks you are. But if you talk to him, if you help him open up about what happened when he wasn’t here. When he was healing that gunshot wound that should have killed him. He’ll go back to being your friend. My brother.”

She was quiet for a long time but ultimately decided to help. “What do I even ask him?”

The truth was, they were all worried this could go wrong. Neteyam was a weapon forged in war. But he was also a son, and a brother, a friend. And he was loved, they cared.

It was nearing twilight when Tsireya entered the Sully family mauri, soft-voiced and tentative. The air inside was still, heavy with the scent of the ocean and herbal smoke. Jake sat cross-legged near the fire pit, feigning focus on carving. Neytiri was sorting through drying herbs. Kiri shelled seeds in the corner. Lo’ak had returned from his task not long before and stood off to the side, jaw tight, watching.

Neteyam was sitting on his sleeping mat, hair tied back loosely, a bracelet half-finished in his lap. His expression shifted the moment he saw Tsireya — softened, lit with affection. “Hey,” he murmured. “Come sit with me.”

She did, settling cross-legged beside him, close as always. She gave a polite nod to the rest of his family, then turned to him. “I wanted to ask you something.”

Neteyam nodded, relaxed. “Anything.”

“Do you remember the first time you woke up? After you got hurt?” she asked, gently.

His gaze shifted to look at her for a second, “of course I do. I remember everything.you were there.”

Tsireya hesitated, “what was I doing?”

Neteyam chuckled, “she- you stitched me up and stopped the bleeding then put me on your couch to sleep and I woke up after a while and you were asleep in the couch right in front of me. You remember…. I had threatened to stab you I thought I was captured by the RDA. But I wasn’t it was just you and me in the cabin.”

They all heard it, ‘She’ they were right.

Jake subtly looked up. Kiri had stopped shelling seeds, Neytiri’s hands slowed and Lo’ak rubbed his hands over his face.

“And….the song?” Tsireya continued carefully, “what song did I sing?”

“You know it?” He said quickly. “You turned on the radio in the windowsill, you sang the words so much I memorized it, you said it was one of your favorite songs, it was…. we danced in the kitchen.”

He looked at her with pure devotion.

His family was reeling. They didn’t know what to think.

“And the brackets,” she went on, “when did you learn to make those?”

He smiled. “You taught me, my second week. We sat outside in the grass, and you taught me. Made me promise one day I’d teach someone else the patterns, so they’ll stay alive?”

His face dropped a little.

Kiri’s brow pulled together.

Lo’ak had stood up, taking a step then back.

Tsireya whispered, “and…where are we right now?”

Neteyam blinked.

“You and me” she clarified. “Where are we?”

He looked around at the mauri, his family seated around, and for a second his face twisted in confusion, “we are in my family home. It is not the forest though.”

He knew where he was, they noted.

Tsireya swallowed. “Neteyam… do you see me?”

He stared at her confused, “of course I see you.”

“No.” She pressed, voice breaking a little. “Do you see…me? Not the woman you spent time within the cabin, not who saved your life. Do you see me Neteyam?”

He frowned, visibly disturbed, “why are you talking like this? Why are you pretending?” His voice was strained now, shaken. “Why are you pretending it wasn’t you who saved me? You are. You kept me alive. You were there.”

The room held its breath.

Tsireya didn’t respond.

Neteyam reached for her hand, gripping it tightly. “why are you doing this to me? Don’t you remember? The cabin on the cliff, nice open yard space, private garden where you grow fruits and vegetables to cook and eat. The..porch swing? How could you forget?”

Tsireya’s breath hitched, her voice nearly there. “I wasn’t there.”

He froze.

Slowly her grip on his hands tightened. “That wasn’t me, Neteyam.”

The world around him tilted. His moth hoarded, but no sound came out yet.

“Why are you saying this? All of this happened, and so much more.” He stressed, “and then I brought you here. Home! To my family, I- you….you had dinner and my parents, my brother, my sisters they like you!”

His eyes dart around to his family.

Kiri stood up, Jake stepped forward, face tense calm, but wary, “son—”

“No! Dad! Don’t you like her? Isn’t she amazing? She saved my life she… for once I didn’t have to…she took care of me!” Neteyam’s voice was getting louder.

He let go of her hands and stood up fast, the sleeping mat shifted under his feet. “No. No, no, no, don’t do think. Why are you all doing this?”

“My son, you are not well,” Neytiri said softly.

“I am fine,” he snapped, “she just… she’s confused, why are you confusing her?”

Tsireya stood up her hands on his shoulder as he tried to calm him. “Neteyam please—”

His eyes dart from here to everyone else. “Why are you all acting like she isn’t here? She is here! She was there! She saved me!”

Lo’ak stepped forward, “you're not talking to her. You think you are but yours not.” He tried to be as gentle as possible.

Neteyam turned to him trembling, breathing shallow.

“I don’t know who yours seeing, I don’t know who you think is here brother. But it’s not Tsireya.”

“Tsireya? I don’t want Tsireya she’s your girlfriend bro, what are you saying?”

“Neteyam.” Lo’ak walked up to him holding his shoulders as he spoke again, “look at her.” Neteyam eyes darted unsure. What were they saying to him. “Look at her.” He repeated and he did. He looked at her. He saw you he still saw you and he was about to protest but then he saw it. A flicker of blue where your golden eyes were and it changed. Straight hair to curly, lighter skin, thick arms, legs, tail. He said tsireya.

He stumbled back abruptly, almost tripping over his own feet. His hand push Lo’ak away and he rubbed them over his face. He shut his eyes and open them, and you were gone.

“No, no… this isn’t…” he whispered. The memory of you flickering like flame behind his eyes, “where did you go?” He asked the air. “Where did… what the fuck!”

“I’m not crazy I swear I’m not crazy, you’re- she’s real! Mom! She’s real!” He was practically shouting now.

“She saved me life when you all left to get Kiri and tuk off that ship! You thought I died you left! She came up from the ocean and saw me! Saw life in me and she saved me! Stopped the bleeding and stitched it up so I could wake up! She…she cooked and helped me regain strength; she was peaceful. So peaceful and I- she… I brought her home..” he whispered the last part.

Neytiri with tears in her eyes walked up to her son, “I believe you, calm down—”

“Calm down? I- where is she!?”

Jake quick on his feet, held onto his son to ground him. “Hey, hey, hey. Look at me boy.”

Neteyam listened, still panting.

“What’s her name?”

“…y/n”

He knows now, you were not here. You were never here. Did he really leave you in the cabin. Eywa, he wishes he didn’t. He couldn’t leave everything behind. He wanted you to come. Why didn’t he ask you to come?

“How much time passed since I came back here?”

“Almost two months son” Neytiri answered.

Two months. Two whole months you’ve been alone while he’d been delusional and in love with you to the point where he imagined you in another person. Why did he leave you there? The question echoed. What was his excuse. You didn’t mean nothing. You meant everything.

Neteyam bolted outside, his family confused followed him watching him call his ikran and bond quickly shooting into the sky. His mother didn’t let him get far before she called her own and they all followed. Tsireya riding with Lo’ak followed Neteyam into the sky.

“Neteyam!” Jake’s voice cracked through the air.

“Bro, STOP!” Lo’ak yelled, desperately chasing the blur of blue and war paint ahead.

But Neteyam didn’t hear them.

Or rather, he did, but it didn’t matter.

He couldn’t stop. Not now. He knew where he was going. The wind stung his face; his eyes burned with salt and memory. He gripped Seze tighter, as if she could sense the ache in his soul. And maybe she could. She flew harder, faster.

His shoulders trembled. His mind replayed the look on your face when you first reached for him that night in the cabin. How you pressed a cloth to his wound. The warmth of your hands. The quiet strength in your voice.

“You’re safe.”

He let out a low, broken sound, part gasp, part cry.

He had to find you. He needed you.

Behind him, the Sullys followed in silence. Watching him, helpless and afraid. Jake’s jaw clenched. Neytiri’s heart raced with mother’s dread. Lo’ak… Lo’ak couldn’t even feel angry anymore.

“He’s not stopping,” Kiri murmured.

“No,” Jake said grimly, eyes locked on his son. “He’s not.”

The wind howled around them as they cut through the sky, chasing after Neteyam, who chased the only piece of peace he had left. You.

The cliff winds howled around him as Seze descended sharply, banking with precision toward the narrow ledge beside the cabin tucked into the trees. The ocean stretched wide and wild below, waves crashing violently against the cliff, but Neteyam didn’t hear them. All he could hear was the hammering of his heart and the blood rushing in his ears.

The cabin stood where it always had, carved partially into the stone, half wood and half earth, smoke curling faintly from the chimney. That meant someone was here.

That meant you were here.

His eyes dart around sharply looking for you and he saw you. Sitting in the porch swing cleaning some fruits from a basket you had on the table next to you.

Neteyam bolted. Ran as fast as he could to get to you. When you didn’t see him and look up your thought you were dreaming. ‘He came back?’

You stood up slowly and he didn’t slow down, he didn’t stop. He just crashed into you, arms wrapping around you like you were the most importantly thing in the world.

He was much stronger than when he had left. You almost lost track of time, it had been…nearly two months since the last time you saw him. He was leaner, more muscular, his hair was braided again. “Neteyam…” you whisper into his chest.

Your hands had slowly wrapped around his back molding into him like you did a million times before.

“I thought I…I thought I imagined you. Eywa you’re real.”

He pulled back and held you face in his hands, stroking your cheek idly, “of course I am real.” Your hand went up to rest on his. He was about to pull you in for a kiss but was stopped.

“Neteyam.” He knew that voice, his mother’s sharp tone cut through the air.

Neteyam didn’t let you go; he pulled you back to his body shielding you from them. His mother stalked towards them, her knife held in her hand, he knew if she got the opportunity she’d strike.

His father, brother and sister were behind her moments after. The tension was thick even though they were several paces behind his mother. Lo’ak watched in dread, holding tsireya’s hand to keep her close to him. Kiri furrowed her eyebrows. And Jake stood, jaw clenched.

Your eyes darted from his mother to his father, then his siblings. You had no idea who they were. He didn’t talk about them. You didn’t ask but you just knew in your gut. They were his family.

His mother’s voice was low and furious, “she’s one of them Neteyam.”

“She is not,” he snapped, still holding you close, “she saved me.”

“We thought you were dead. You vanished. For weeks!”

“She found me bleeding on that rock.” He yelled, voice cracking. “I wouldn’t died if not for her. She stayed, she cared for me. She—”

He looked down at you again his hands bringing you impossibly closer. His breathing hitched, “she never left.”

Neytiri turned to you. Her eyes were sharp, untrusting, like a blade drown just before it strikes. “Why?” She asked, voice low and hard, “why help him? Why hide him? Why not bring him back to us?” Her voice got louder, more strained.

You opened your mouth be no words came, before it could, Neteyam a stepped in again, more desperate now. “She didn’t know who I was. I threatened to kill her the first night—had a knife pointed at her. And still…she took care of me. She didn’t even know my name! She just…helped.

His mother’s lips pressed into a tight line. Her stare hadn’t heft you. Every instinct in her screamed danger, this was no ordinary woman. You were from the RDA, an avatar. And her son had chased hallways across the sky to fall into your arms like a wounded child seeking home.

Lo’ak broke the silence with a step forward, “so what now?” His voice was low and heavy. “We just…leave him here?”

Jake placed a hand on his shoulder, steadying him.

Kiri whispered, “he is not the same. You saw him these past weeks… he wasn’t himself without her.”

Still his mother didn’t back down, “that does not make her safe.”

But Neteyam turned back towards her, tears barely held back, “she is. She is the only reason I am alive, the reason I’m standing here. Please, sa’nok.”

For the first time in her life, Neytiri hesitated.

She saw her son not as the warrior, but as the boy, fractured and trembling. She looked again at you, not as a soldier, but as someone holding him like he mattered.

She didn’t lower her guard. Not yet. But she took one step back.

Jake’s voice finally broke in, loud and firm. “Alright enough! You will tell us everything! And I mean everything boy. Right now.”

Neteyam sat bringing your body down with his. Held you close legs wrapped around you as if to crest a barrier between you and everyone else. Jake walked to Neytiri and took her knife sitting her down gently and sat next to her, Kiri and Lo’ak on the other side of him and tsireya slightly behind Lo’ak.

“What happened brother?” Kiri asked him softly.

He looked at her before his eyes dart to his parents then brother, “the day I got shot on the rock, I didn’t die. I’m sure you all thought so but I didn’t. She was in the ship and swan up, only noticed me on the rock after.”

“I noticed he was alive and I… couldn’t just let him die” you finally spoke. You sat up as straight as you could since it was clear Neteyam wasn’t about to let you go.

“I brought him here because I didn’t have anything on me out there to help him. He was unconscious and he felt until almost the next day, when he woke up naturally, he had questions. Threatened to stab me, when he found out I was RDA he tried to leave but his injury was severe, he couldn’t even walk.” You explain softly.

The next few days I didn’t trust her, I didn’t even want her help, but she stayed with me all night in the couch since I couldn’t go anyways her else. Helped me clean up the dry blood if my skin in places I couldn’t reach. She cooked and fed me, helped me regain my strength.” Neteyam said softly.

“And I thought about you all… everyday. But I was in no condition to travel, and I couldn’t make her take me home. For her to fly in there and get an arrow to the chest? She’s the reason I’m alive, she… I...” he couldn’t find the words.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Jake asked.

“I didn’t know how’d you would all react to this. It’s not that I wanted to keep it from you. It’s more I didn’t want you to think that she is a bad person because of where she comes from. Dad she…didn’t even know my name.. if she had some alternative agenda I would have been in a jail cell of dead. Not here.” He gestured to the cabin.

“We bonded over music and stars, we didn’t talk about the past or the RDA we were just in the moment, I didn’t have to worry, I wasn’t on guard for the first time in years, I relaxed.” He continued.

Jake exhaled through his nose and rubbed the bridge of it, his elbow propped on his knee. “So l-let me get this straight,” he said slowly, glancing between the two of you. “You were out here. With her. For over a month. And you didn’t think to send word back to us?”

“What was I supposed to do dad? Send a carrier pigeon? A text? Say ‘hey dad I’m alive, this pretty girl from the RDA saved me and now I’m living in a cabin in a cliff I’ll be back in a couple weeks.’”

Lo’ak snorted and Kiri covered her mouth to stop from laughing. Neytiri let out a hiss and Jake raises a hand, “don’t sass me boy. You can see where I might have issues understanding this situation.”

The words hung in the air like a storm cloud.

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