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Tamed by the Starlight is my Roman Empire 🫠

/The reader's appearance is still just a mood.🫢/

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In the next chapter, they'll finally spend a bit more time together — I'm so excited (^~^)/🎉

Soon in the Tamed by the starlight "Chapter 4 - Avatar" ☺️

/The reader's appearance is just an illustration — there are no specific physical traits described in the fic./

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Today is a good day so second Netememe 😌

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everything for him

🤭🤭😌

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Title: Tamed by the Starlight Chaper 3 - Fracture

Rating: 18+ / Mature/NSFW

Pairing: (VERY obsessed) Neteyam x GirlBoss! Human/Avatar Reader

Genre: Medium burn, Enemies-to-Lovers, Post-canon AU /Neteyam survived the shot and all the Sullys went home/

Synopsis: General Frances Ardmore asks her ambitious and strong-willed daughter, who stayed on Earth, to help convince Jake Sully to cooperate. If she succeeds, she promises to give her what she values most in life: a huge amount of money.

Neteyam feels completely tired of all the expectations and duties. He just wants to be happy, but he feels like no one understands him — until life brings him face to face with his greatest enemy, and he realizes they have much more in common than he ever thought.

/I know it’s been a while since the last update, but a lot of emotional waves flowed into the story that weren’t originally planned. Also, I did some research to make the story even more faithful to the Avatar canon world. I can promise that after this chapter, the story will become much more colorful and romantic, but before that, I wanted to reach the breaking point for both of them. Enjoy the read, and feel free to share your ideas and opinions in the comments! ^^/ Previous chapter Chapter index

Chapter 3 – Fracture

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: Tamed by the Starlight :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

A restless silence reigned at the base. Jake and Neytiri paced impatiently, glancing up at the camera feeds, tense and on edge along with the other warriors and avatar leaders, waiting for the brothers to return. The radio's silence weighed heavier with each passing minute, as if the whole forest held its breath, foreshadowing something ominous.

Jake watched the distant tree line on the screen with a tense expression, his fingers instinctively gripping the handle of his weapon. Still no movement. The connection had been lost twenty minutes ago—if there was still no sign of them in ten more, he would launch an attack. He’d made up his mind. He knew the risks. But they couldn’t wait any longer.

He noticed Neytiri staring at the same spot—where their sons had disappeared into the thicket barely an hour earlier—with a look that was growing darker by the minute. She tried to maintain a calm appearance, but he knew exactly what she was feeling. As a soldier, he had to listen to reason. But as a father...

“They're fine,” he said at last, placing a hand on Neytiri's shoulder in an attempt to reassure her—though the tension in his voice betrayed his own doubts.

Lo’ak and Neteyam were no longer children, and he was slowly beginning to realize he couldn’t treat them as such. Especially since their return to the Omatikaya, both had strived to become worthy pillars of support for their father and their people. Before he knew it, the two reckless boys who once got into everything had become remarkable warriors. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t doubt them now.

Still, Lo’ak was prone to impulsiveness when emotions ran high, and Neteyam... he knew all too well how a single injury could leave a lifelong scar, even if the body was capable of healing. He’d lived it. A new body, a new life—it didn’t erase the memories. And now, with his children going to negotiate with an RDA envoy, Jake knew the worst was entirely possible.

He’d intended to go himself—if only his eldest hadn’t been so insistent. So much so that he’d even convinced his mother: he needed this mission, to feel useful again after so long. Jake hadn’t stood a chance against them both. And though he knew he couldn’t keep him under his protection forever, the thought of another tragedy like the one five years ago was unbearable.

He had suggested more than once that his son leave the “warrior stuff” behind, find a mate, start a family—live in as much peace as the war allowed. But every time, his advice had fallen on deaf ears, only making Neteyam more withdrawn, convinced even his own father no longer believed he was worthy to fight for his people.

He knew from his own experience—once life turns you into a soldier, no bullet can take that away from you. But Neteyam was different.

Jake had always thought his eldest was born to lead a family—much more than he himself ever was. The kind of man who would find joy in teaching his children. Even though Neteyam proved to be a capable warrior, Jake never believed he truly enjoyed it. So then... why?

His thoughts were abruptly cut off by movement at the edge of the forest. The camera chirped as it zoomed in on the figures approaching. Two shapes emerged from the shadows—to their parents’ great relief, it was Lo’ak and Neteyam, apparently unharmed.

Jake and Neytiri rushed toward the door to let them in as quickly as possible and make sure they were truly safe—even if the negotiations hadn't gone as planned. Right now, that hardly mattered.

As the airlock clicked open, the outside world revealed itself, and with the rush of fresh air, the two boys stepped through the heavy metal frame in perfect unison. Neteyam’s face was pale, his expression blank, his hands slightly trembling. Jake didn’t miss the glance he cast toward his younger brother—a meaningful look, as if confirming a pact they’d made. He knew them well enough not to push just yet.

Lo’ak tried to act normal, but every movement was filled with tension.

“Did everything go all right?” Jake finally asked, his voice low, but firm. His face darkened, gaze fixed on his silent children. Neytiri’s lips trembled, but she said nothing—she probably had her own suspicions. Instead, she visually inspected her eldest, as if checking whether a single strand of hair had bent. Ever since she’d almost lost him five years ago, she’d become even more overprotective—though that only made things worse when it came to Neteyam’s mood and self-esteem.

“Neteyam? Are you all right, son?” she asked carefully, but he didn’t look up, only stared at the floor. Something was clearly wrong.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: Tamed by the Starlight :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

Neteyam

“I’m fine,” Neteyam said quickly, raising his hand in protest, sounding much calmer than he felt. He made sure his voice didn’t tremble, and that no odd grimace twisted his face—even as the image of the gun flashed through his mind over and over: the cold metal, the barrel aimed straight at him… and the paralyzing fear. He couldn’t stop the nervous flick of his tail; it twitched and lashed behind him in small, jerky movements, like it had taken on a life of its own—but the rest of his body remained still.

His mother stepped closer and gently touched his arm.

“Ma’itan, you’re shaking,” she said softly—and only then did he realize maybe he hadn’t hidden it so well after all. Damn. He wasn’t fine—he could admit that, if he had to—but this cautious concern from his parents only made things worse. He wasn’t a little boy who got hurt and needed coddling! He represented his entire people now, and there were much bigger dangers threatening them all than his personal weakness.

“I’m all right, Mom.” He took a deep breath, trying to pull himself together. His mother didn’t seem entirely convinced, but after a short nod, she stepped aside so he could move to the central table within the ring of the room.

He hated attention—but right now, every pair of eyes was on him, only intensifying the pressure already crushing him from the inside. He paused for a moment and pressed his hand gently to his chest. His fingers trembled, but he quickly lowered them and continued—as if nothing had happened.

He’d always hated being the center of attention, but he pulled himself together (as always): his lips were dry, his heart pounded in his chest, but he couldn't afford to let any emotion escape his control. He stayed serious and focused as he began to speak.

“There are important decisions to make. What they want this time... crosses every line,” he began slowly, carefully. “The woman they sent laid out their plans in no uncertain terms. And what they offer is far from promising—whether we accept it or resist.”

Lo’ak snorted angrily, cutting in.

“They want to build a city, supposedly for civilians. Right where Tsahel’va is!”

Neteyam inhaled sharply. He had tried to present the information in a less alarming way—but of course, he should’ve expected that subtlety wasn’t Lo’ak’s strong suit.

A stunned silence fell over the bunker, quickly giving way to chaos as everyone began to speak at once in outrage. Wonderful… so much for the calm approach.

The pressure in his head grew stronger, threatening to make him throw up, only intensified by the rising volume of voices. The walls seemed to close in, the air thicker and harder to breathe. But he held firm. He had to hold firm.

“What?!” someone shouted, furious. “They’re insane!”

"If we don’t comply, they’ll attack us," Neteyam continued tensely, snapping back to the present. His fingers clenched into fists on the edge of the table—not overtly, just enough to steady himself. "If the footage they sent us is real, they already have weapons we couldn’t possibly defend ourselves against."

Neytiri’s face went pale, and something flickered across Jake’s expression—caught between shock and anger.

"It’s always been impossible to transport nuclear weapons to Pandora," Norm said with his arms crossed. "And even if they could, it wouldn’t be in their interest. One such strike would tear Pandora’s surface apart. Most likely just an empty threat."

Neteyam noticed his father's brows furrowing in concern. That was never a good sign.

"I’d like to think the same, but ever since that deranged bitch started commanding the RDA units… That woman isn’t normal. She’s a cold-blooded killer who wouldn’t be fazed by the idea of losing most of her own men in an operation like that. We all know it's happened before."

He glanced briefly—almost as if something had just occurred to him—at Max, whose hand froze above the touchscreen for a moment while managing the environmental camera feeds.

"Tsahel’va is forbidden land," a deep voice finally said from the back of the room. Tarsem, the current olo’eyktan, stepped out of the shadows.

He was still incredibly young, even though he had grown and matured a great deal since being chosen as a leader practically in his childhood, forced to protect his people in the midst of a war without aid. His voice carried no accusation—just a stark, powerful warning.

Neteyam had liked him as a child, secretly thinking him far more intelligent than their peers. Since they had trained together often, a kind of friendship had developed between them, despite the fact that Neteyam was never particularly good at those things.

" Txampayä /The Deep Watcher/ sleeps there. If it’s disturbed…" He trailed off and turned silently to Jake for help. Though Jake no longer held an official leadership role, his successor welcomed his return and always sought his counsel.

"…destruction will come to our entire world," Neytiri finished for him. Her voice trembled, not from fear—but from rage. Her grip on her bow was so tight it looked like it might snap in two.

"So we’re in a stalemate," Norm commented. "No matter what we choose, we might end up dead. Fantastic!"

Since Jake didn’t seem any more tense than before—his calm demeanor, even if only superficial, helped settle the others—Tarsem, as if reaching a decision, nodded and slowly looked around at everyone present.

"My brothers and sisters, Tsahel’va is not just a sacred place. It is the boundary between beginning and end. If the sky people disturb it, the awakening will be inevitable. There will be no more negotiations—only ash and death. For all of us. We must prevent them from getting close."

Jake pressed his lips together but said nothing. His gaze settled on his eldest son, studying his slumped shoulders, the rapid rise and fall of his chest. Neteyam feared being exposed under that observant gaze, afraid that attention would once again shift from the most pressing problem. So he forced himself to offer more detail.

"That woman... she gave a warning. Not directly. But she said if we didn’t act in time, they’d move within two weeks, by force if necessary. And… she gave me this, like she was sending a secret message. Dad… Sir. Do you understand it?"

With a weak hand, he pulled the paper the girl had given him from his pocket. His father took it, and as he unfolded it, his expression grew even darker.

After a moment’s thought, he tossed the sheet onto the table with a troubled sigh. "These are military markings. Scouts use them among themselves. Who the hell were you talking to?"

Thankfully, Lo’ak answered in his place—Neteyam wasn’t sure he could speak about that woman. He could still see her piercing gaze, so sharp and threatening that—even though he hated to admit it—his legs had gone weak, and his stomach had twisted with fear.

"She said she’s Ardmore’s daughter. She looked like just as much a demon as her mother."

Norm’s avatar face contorted into a grimace. "Good God, Ardmore has a daughter?! As if one of her wasn’t enough!"

But Jake quickly moved past the information, now studying the hastily but precisely drawn sketch on the paper. He focused on the strange symbols and codes, looking more and more uncertain.

"This doesn’t make sense." Jake narrowed his eyes. "These are the marks of mobile bases—designed specifically to be damn near impossible to locate. They’re used for enemy surveillance, meaning they were likely placed to monitor our movements in secret. If we were to attack one… no, it doesn’t make sense for someone from the enemy to hand us intel like this."

"Probably a trap," Norm mused. "Unless Ardmore’s daughter is one of her mother’s defectors. I don’t find it likely, but if she is, this information is pure gold. We haven’t managed to scout a strategic point in years—if we could capture this, and tap into the RDA’s systems, our supply issues could be solved for a long time. And we might find out how far along they are in development."

"We could buy time," Jake nodded. "But we can’t rush it. If it is a trap, we have to find a way to turn it to our advantage."

"If we fail, we’ve got two days to give them an answer," Lo’ak interjected, sounding ready for action—though Neteyam wasn’t sure it was anything more than another attempt to prove himself. Then again… right now, he didn’t have the strength to worry about it. He wanted the solitude of the maruija and silence. As soon as possible.

His vision began to twitch, and it felt like the air had vanished from his lungs. The world spun faster and faster—until the voices around him blurred into indistinct noise. His hand instinctively moved to his chest—he couldn’t tell if there was real pain, or just the memory of it haunting him.

"If you’ll excuse me…" he said softly, and without looking at anyone, he headed for the door.

"Neteyam?" his parents called in unison—but thankfully didn’t stop him. They must have remembered what happened last time they pressed him during an episode. He’d lost control, screamed at them to just leave him alone. He never wanted to lose himself like that again—never wanted to become someone so unlike who he truly was.

No one could see him as weak. Not now. No one could know that he no longer had control, that he couldn’t let go of the past, that he lived in constant fear, feeling like death’s shadow was always at his heels. He just wanted to reach his ikran, fly home at full speed—back to the only place where he didn’t have to wear the mask anymore, and could collapse in peace.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: Tamed by the Starlight :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

You

The atmosphere of the hall vibrates like an overcharged induction field – the conference room is filled with buzzing, whirling voices, like the hum of a disturbed beehive.

You're seated, leaning against the cool metal table, hands pressed together, silently judging. Idiots. You’re the only one here with a right to be angry – they sent you into negotiations without properly scouting the place first!

“If the Na’vi think there’s something there, then something is there – that’s been proven time and time again!” the shaven-headed leader of the topographer group gestures passionately over the map. It’s painfully obvious he’s a confidence-lacking loser trying to compensate for his nonexistent authority with men's clothes. “How many times are we going to make the same mistake?!”

“The entire sector has been scanned from multiple angles, using high-resolution GPR and electrogravitational echo analysis,” replies one of the old bastards from the geologists’ team coolly, his voice filled with the cold calm of scientific protocol. “There’s no indication of any substructural anomaly or unstable formation. The region is no more geodynamically hazardous than Pandora’s surface in general!”

Some things never change. Even though you’ve left Earth, it feels like you’re still in the boardroom with the shareholders – only the topic has shifted.

Now it’s not just about profit anymore: it’s about survival. Of course, survival and profit.

“Do you geniuses even know what a two-day delay in transport means?!” someone from the finance sector spits furiously. “Forty-three containers are floating unidentified in orbit! If the on-site installation is delayed, the reactors won’t be calibrated on time! This isn’t just a theoretical issue anymore – it could cost lives!”

Of course, no one says out loud that by “lives,” they mean their own skins. Tough luck.

You don’t say anything. For now, you’re just a small cog in the machinery here, so for the first time in a long while, you’re enjoying that no one expects you to fix things. Let them yell at each other – you couldn’t care less. You’re not listening. The atmosphere of the hall, the datasheets, the projections with tables, the maps, the wavelength analyses – they suddenly seem laughably distant.

Instead, images float before your eyes that make this entire madhouse feel like a simple movie – one you’re not a part of. You’re somewhere entirely else.

If you’re honest with yourself, you don’t fully understand it. Every moment, you miss your home: your luxury studio apartment on the 40th floor at the edge of West Side Park, with the snow-white, LED-threaded furniture you personally designed and had built by your own company’s contractors.

The starry sky projected on your ceiling – a reflection of a past sky you never saw, thanks to the thick smog choking the atmosphere. You liked looking at the tiny glowing dots before falling asleep, even in this artificial way, searching for the few constellations you could actually recognize, though you never thought you’d one day see them for real.

You always wished humanity had invented time travel so you could experience what it’s like to walk barefoot on grass, to see flowers that aren’t artificial, that actually smell, to bathe in azure water, to hear birdsong live – not just on a recording. Too many nights you fell asleep realizing that money couldn’t buy everything.

But today – even though your soul aches with the hollow pangs of homesickness – today, you experienced something you never believed was possible: when the armored vehicle emerged from the death zone surrounding Bridgehead, and you saw the real Pandora, you felt something you’d been yearning for your entire life.

Vibrant green grass thrived beneath your boots, and the sky... it was unimaginably blue, with tufts of clouds, and golden sunlight filtered gently through the trees' canopies. You almost risked instant death and tore off your mask, just to take one breath of that air – but, of course, your dignity and common sense won in the end. Still, you can’t forget that moment. It keeps replaying in your mind ever since.

Who would’ve thought you’re this childlike inside? You see a patch of green and nearly forget your mission? Your goals?

While negotiating with the Na’vi, you managed to suppress the giddy little girl inside you, but now that the threat of a poisoned arrow to the chest has passed, you can’t bring yourself to care about this whole local circus anymore.

You want to see it again – when no one’s around, and you don’t have to maintain your ice-cold mask. You want to kick off your boots and sprawl out on it, rolling around like you did at age six in the dirt (before Major Blackridge, that prick supervisor at military school, whipped your back for it).

It’s such a stupid idea, and yet... the thought draws you in like a glass of red wine after a stressful day. Is there alcohol on Pandora, you wonder? If you ever get out of here, that’s the first thing you’ll look into. You’re not a big drinker, but right now, it would hit the spot.

You exhale a long breath, trying to suppress the eye roll that naturally wants to escape you. You should be paying attention, you remind yourself. Assessing who in the room might be worth hunting down later, for your own benefit – but honestly, none of them seem worth the effort. Maybe the scientists still have some sense, but even if they’ve learned from the previous generation’s mistakes and don’t openly side with the Na’vi, you sense they’d never stand up to your mother if push came to shove. And if it’s up to you, that time will come.

The rest of the departments’ bickering is nothing but petty squabbling, even though all of them want the same thing. You see right through them: every last idiot here plays the saint – just like your mother – but none of them actually care about humanity’s fate. They’re already here, in secure positions, with relatively stable supply chains. As for humanity… don’t make you laugh.

Even if this project succeeds, the city they’re building will have room for – what – five hundred thousand people? At best. And the money it takes to build it? Only the richest can afford it – the ones who aren’t doing too badly on Earth anyway, thanks to tech advancements.

You’re not a heartless monster; you’re rooting for humanity too, if it comes down to it. But this whole charade they sell to the civilians, giving false hope even to the destitute (as if the real goal wasn’t to save the rich and leave the rest to rot on a planet with no food, water, or breathable air) … is disgusting.

Not your problem, you shrug inwardly, convincing yourself they were never your target audience anyway. You could’ve ended up like them – but you didn’t. No matter how hard it was to make it on your own, you got here. You never once stopped to whine about your fate – not even when school ended and you found out your mother had only paid your tuition and housing up to graduation, and then suddenly you were all alone. Broke.

You’re getting déjà vu now: once again, you’re in an unknown place, far from everything and everyone you ever knew or trusted. And once again, you know no one’s on your side.

Your mother sees you only as a tool, and everyone else? Her spies. You catch their worried glances sometimes – just before they quickly look away. Lucky for them, you were never the snitch type, and besides – the less you had to talk to that bitch, the healthier your blood pressure stayed.

We barely had time to dread her when the door burst open—and in stomped the devil herself. All grace and charm, as always.

The argument died in an instant, and everyone fell silent, following General Ardmore’s heavy steps with apprehension. Trailing behind her was a too-smiling girl—possibly of Indian descent—walking with the pride of a well-trained lapdog. She wore the same repulsively ugly military uniform as your mother, and both of them scanned the room with equally slap-worthy expressions.

General Ardmore didn’t waste time with even the appearance of politeness.

“Enough of the panic and hysteria,” she snapped, her voice slicing through the air so sharply it could freeze the blood of any decent human. “You don’t get paid these generous salaries to rip each other’s throats out like stupid children! If everyone just did the job they were hired for, we wouldn’t need these unnecessary theatrics!”

You could practically see her words physically impact the room: the soldiers’ shoulders slumped pathetically, the scientists clasped their hands together in trembling silence, trying to hide behind their documents, while the finance team sat with lowered eyes, attempting to don the mask of the diligent worker.

Ardmore’s presence always had this effect. She spoke only in commands and expected absolute obedience. A single glance from her could turn a room into a crypt.

“The next steps are simple,” your mother continued, stepping up to the edge of the table, hands confidently clasped in front of her. “Site survey is complete. The location is perfectly suitable. In five days, the first field-clearing brigade will set out. And anyone who dares hinder the operation again with their personal insecurities—well, I’ll personally arrange their return trip. One way. Back to Earth.”

You scan the reactions quickly: no one dares object. It reminds you vaguely of shareholder meetings in the past, where they’d managed to push you to harden up—but it’s hard to see any similarity between yourself and that woman.

Come on, don’t get distracted, you remind yourself. You’ll never be like her. Her only tool is intimidation; you’ve always moved forward through contracts that—mostly—benefited both sides, even if they didn’t always know it. A situation like this, though, is excellent for assessing potential in the participants.

The topographer’s hand clenches into a fist—she has thoughts but is too much of a coward to voice them. One of the older geologists raises his eyebrows approvingly: a nodding dog turning toward power, whoever holds it. The finance group sits silently and, relieved, returns to fiddling with their spreadsheets—evidently your mother’s reach doesn’t extend into fiscal matters, even if she’s in charge here. You make a mental note of that.

Then Ardmore’s gaze sweeps the room like a precision laser scanner. You freeze slightly when her eyes linger on you, but when she sees you holding her gaze, she moves on—likely a deliberate move, her way of silently letting you know she doesn’t consider you worth addressing.

She’s done this before, and while it crushed you as a child, now it leaves you entirely cold. In fact, sometimes being ignored is an advantage—especially in your current position.

“That said, for the skeptics in the room,” Ardmore continued, her voice rising again to draw every eye back to her, “let me make something clear: the RDA has learned from its past mistakes. Ignoring religious, cultural, or strategic anomalies has cost us dearly. I understand your concerns. That’s why I’ve assigned a special unit to thoroughly investigate this so-called… Tsahel’va, whatever it is. I can guarantee we’ll be prepared for every contingency before we make any irreversible moves—and we will minimize losses. Any objections?”

She looks directly at you. Firm. Steady. Too long for it to be coincidental.

Ah. Perfect. So, you’re almost certainly going to die for this, if she has her way. Wonderful.

You say nothing—you know this isn’t a question, it’s an order. No one else reacts either, as if even they don’t believe it’ll make any difference. Only the strange girl beside your mother shows a flicker of something in her eyes—a glint that tells you she knows something. And you really don’t like that.

“Excellent,” Ardmore concludes. “The science team has no further tasks. If the Na’vi issue proves to require it, we’ll resolve it through military means. Do your jobs—and at next week’s briefing, I want results, not excuses. Dismissed.”

You were just about to exhale and slip out unnoticed when those ice-blue eyes turned directly to you—pinning you in place like a knife.

“Except you.”

Everyone turns your way, then quickly relaxes, relieved it’s not them, and starts to file out. Soon, it’s just the three of you: you, your mother, and the girl. You’re not even sure which one irritates you more.

“Yes?” you ask, raising an eyebrow, doing your best to ignore the pulse pounding in your neck.

“Apparently, trusting something based on assumptions is the height of foolishness,” Ardmore begins, walking up to your desk and planting both hands on it. “I spent twenty years investing significant resources into developing a weapon I believed could, in a single strike, change the fate of an entire species.”

You already know where this is going—and you don’tlike it.

“I admit, I’m disappointed,” she continues, as dispassionately as if discussing the weather. “The ‘businesswoman,’ the supposed ‘big shot,’ queen bee of the West Coast back on Earth—maybe she’s not as effective as I was led to believe.”

You glare at her.

“Oh, really? You sent me out there alone, no military escort, to subtly threaten giant blue cat men in the middle of a warzone. One of them pulled a knife on me. In better-run operations, you pay extra for that kind of risk.”

“You knew exactly what you were signing up for!” she snaps. “Extra? For what, exactly? If even half of what they say about you is true, the deal should already be on my desk! Instead, we’re still standing around waiting for an answer!”

So the famously unshakable General Ardmore can lose her temper after all? Honestly, that alone almost made this worth it.

“They asked for two days to talk it over with their people. They didn’t say no. I guarantee they won’t.”

Ardmore’s face tightens, her icy gaze drilling into your chest like a steel spike.

“Because you showed them a few doctored recordings? Please. Jake Sully was a trained Marine—he won’t fall for cheap tricks like that. And even if he did, he’s surrounded by former scientists of ours who know we can’t use nuclear weapons on Pandora!”

You’d almost forgotten how much you loathe everything about this woman—her voice, her sneer, her whole being. No one else could make you tremble, but your leg muscles twitch faintly beneath the table. This is bad. Really bad.

“If we don’t lie, those savages won’t give up their sacred swamp. If there’s no deal, it’s back to war. And judging by previous results, they’re better at it—with their primitive bows and arrows—than we are with our arsenal,” you say coolly, allowing yourself just a hint of arrogance. “If you want results, let me do it my way—since General Ardmore’s four-star strategies have all failed spectacularly.”

“If you were half as useful as you are arrogant, that deal would already be on my desk,” she shoots back, her voice low but razor-sharp. “I’ve invested too much in you to watch you collapse at the first obstacle!”

Yeah. There’s no way you’re letting that go unchallenged.

"By ‘too much energy’, do you mean dumping her off at a military elite school full of muscle-bound morons who knew about as much about raising a child as you do?" you ask dryly, tilting your head slightly, your face marked by a faint but unmistakably cynical smile. "If that ‘investment’ had really meant anything to you, maybe you’d have checked in on her yourself—once a year, say?"

The atmosphere thickens instantly around you. Your mother’s face pales slightly, as if her fury is just barely contained beneath the surface. The girl standing beside her looks away, flustered, caught somewhere between discomfort and awe at the confrontation.

"Don’t forget who’s been financing your bankrupt little company all this time," Ardmore hisses, her body language laced with threat. "I won’t tolerate you turning against me—especially not now. Do you have any idea why we’re here? What’s at stake? If, just once in your life, you stopped thinking only about yourself, maybe you’d manage to achieve something worthwhile. Something more than flashy theatrics!"

Maybe once, as a child, her words would have hurt. Maybe you’d have cried for hours, like you used to. But not anymore. She holds no power over you now. Your heart is solid stone—this weak attack doesn’t even scratch the surface.

Probably.

Hopefully.

"You know," you shrug casually, "my ‘bankrupt little company’ provided stable income for over two hundred thousand employees across five years—and gave millions a chance at survival on Earth. Built it from nothing. Just a handful of us. And we didn’t have to kill anyone to do it—quite the opposite. We developed tech your own people are using here on Pandora. So tell me... what have you accomplished in comparison? Failure? Corpses?"

Her eyes flash, fists clenched tight, as if she’s two seconds away from using force to silence you. You wouldn’t be surprised—she’s never been known for her debating skills. Intimidation has always been her only weapon. Which, in your mind, is exactly why she never gets anywhere. Her people fear her—but they don’t follow her.

Then, with a loud bang, the door bursts open, and a panting soldier storms into the room. His face is red with panic, his eyes wide.

"General! Emergency! Code red!" he gasps, barely able to speak through the lack of air. "The Na’vi attacked Mobile Base 17! Heavy casualties—we need reinforcements now!"

Silence falls like a curtain. Ardmore’s eyes narrow to dangerous slits as she turns her gaze from the soldier to you—suspicion burning. But you hold her stare with a perfect poker face.

Inside, you’re air-punching with triumph.

It worked. The coordinates you slipped to Neteyam led them right to the spot where it would hurt the RDA most. Or rather, where it would hurt someone most.

Ardmore finally waves the soldier to follow her with an irritated gesture. But before she leaves, she throws one last look your way.

"We’ll finish this conversation later," she growls coldly, then adds with a dark glint in her eyes: "And if I find out you had anything to do with this..."

It takes every ounce of discipline not to let the corner of your mouth twitch upward.

One last ice-cold stare, then she turns and strides out of the room, the soldier hot on her heels.

Only then do you let yourself exhale slowly—deep from the lungs—and lean back into the cold chair with something dangerously close to satisfaction.

"Good kitten," you whisper into the air, your smirk widening.

You were just about to close your eyes when a faint sound catches your attention—soft footsteps.

And then you realize: you’re not alone.

The other girl—Ardmore’s overly smiley companion—was still there, standing in the middle of the room, watching you with a look far too knowing for comfort. The kind of look that makes your gut sink.

Shit.

How the hell did you forget she was even there?! You haven’t made that kind of rookie mistake in years.

"Seems we finally get the chance to meet properly," she says, stepping forward with a casual ease that doesn’t quite match the tension in the air. "Sidy Patel, Avatar driver. And apparently..."

There’s something in her eyes—something you usually only see in predators. Her baby face doesn't soften it; her smile spreads wider, not girlish at all, but sharp. Dangerous.

"...your new number-one teammate in General Ardmore’s special unit."

You don’t miss how she says your mother’s name with the reverence of someone naming a god.

Fantastic. Just when you thought there weren’t enough complications, your mother throws you a walking surveillance system with legs.

Goddamn it.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: Tamed by the Starlight :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

Neteyam

The marui was bathed in dull twilight, only the phosphorescent patterns on the woven sides giving off some light. Neteyam didn’t mind; he could gather himself much easier in the darkness. He sighed deeply as he pushed himself up into a sitting position and buried his face in his hands.

He didn’t quite understand himself…

More than five years had passed. Why hadn’t he been able to simply move on during all that time? He was a man, a warrior, and he knew well that injuries were inevitable during missions. He remembered his father’s awkward attempts at counseling when he told him how, as a human, a failed mission had severely damaged his spine, causing him to lose both legs and leaving him unable to move without a so-called “wheelchair,” a miraculous invention from the skies.

But all he could think afterward was that his father had managed to get past that alone, while compared to that, he had only become more fatigued—nothing that seriously impacted his life! Moreover, his entire family was constantly trying to help him. He reluctantly admitted that all his problems existed only in his mind.

At that moment, the fabric covering the entrance fluttered suddenly, and soft, light footsteps passed through.

“This place is more depressing than a deserted palulukan pit,” a quiet, familiar voice said.

“Tuk,” Neteyam sighed. “Why aren’t you asleep yet?”

His little sister hesitated for a moment, as if weighing what to say—not a new habit, but increasingly intricate, he noticed. Then she simply shrugged as if there was no particular reason, just a strong desire to drop by well past curfew. She held a small woven basket containing some roasted mushrooms and juicy fruits—it wasn’t a coincidence that she had come, he was sure.

“The others said you didn’t have a very good day today and even skipped dinner. I brought something; maybe it’ll cheer you up!” she replied, settling down opposite him.

Although in his eyes she would always be the restless little sister, he couldn’t help but notice how much Tuktirey had changed over the years. She was no longer the bright-eyed little girl he once carried on his back through the treetops to keep up with the older kids; now, sitting before him was a young teenage girl with a slender frame that carried more childlike than womanly traits, and her face was still adorably round, but her eyes... —there was now a kind of hardened resilience in her eyes, forged by the events of the war.

Neteyam hated that he couldn’t protect his family from all the horrors that had happened in the last six years since the sky people returned.

“Before you outright refuse, I’m warning you, I’m not leaving until you eat at least a few bites!” the girl stated firmly, tossing her long hair decorated with bright green stones and ancient wood beads over her shoulder.

He had given her some of those himself, and Tuk was always as happy with each one as if it were the first. Because of that, he couldn’t help but bring home and carve or weave special materials into jewelry for her whenever he found them. She loved being showered with gifts.

“You guys keep wandering in here,” Neteyam said, rolling his eyes in mock annoyance. In reality, his family’s presence—as long as they were truly his family and not just his squadmates—always eased the raging battles inside him. He wished he’d never be separated from them, but... no, he had to remind himself. “What’s the use of building my own marui if you’re all moving in here anyway?”

Tuk just giggled and then broke off a piece of one of the fruits, offering it to her brother.

“See? You could come back! Since you’ve been gone, Lo’ak keeps kicking my bed in his sleep. It’s totally annoying!”

The thought somewhat shook him out of his reverie, and with a small smile at the corner of his mouth, he took the pale purple yovo piece and began chewing it with lazy tail-wagging motions. Then he continued watching his sister.

“Okay, spill it. Who sent you?” he asked quietly.

Tuk didn’t answer right away, then, as if caught, sighed and plopped down on her rear.

“Don’t I even miss my brother anymore?” she shook her head. But like her siblings, she was no good at lying or keeping secrets. “…Okay, Dad asked me to, but I wanted to see you anyway! Originally, Kiri wanted to come too, but…”

“But?”

Her lips twisted into a grimace, trying to keep silent—as she obviously was told—but at the same time, she could never lie to her brother. Never to him.

“Mom and Dad took her with them. Just in case, to heal…”

The words burned his throat like acid as he realized what that meant. Oh. So they went on a mission—a really dangerous one—while he licked his wounds deep in his tent like a pathetic kid. A disappointment... a real disappointment, useless, and if anyone got hurt, it would be his fault alone.

Neteyam closed his eyes. Slowly he breathed in, then out.

“Hey, it’s okay, alright?” Tuk placed her hand on his shoulder. “If it makes you feel better, Lo’ak wasn’t taken either. You’re handling it better; right now Spider’s trying to stop him from hanging himself.”

“I knew it,” he said quietly, mostly to himself. “I knew something was wrong.”

Silence settled between them. His sister nervously fiddled with the edge of the bowl, then timidly spoke:

“They didn’t want to hurt you. They just saw you weren’t well and didn’t want it to get worse. This isn’t punishment.”

“What else would it be?” Neteyam snapped, harsher than he meant to. “They treat me like a fragile child, like I’m no longer… whole. Like I’m not enough. They risk their lives while I…”

Tuk went silent, her gaze dropping.

“Don’t worry about it; they’re already back.”

Neteyam stiffened.

“Dad, Mom, Kiri… everyone. They returned an hour ago! The mission’s over.” She looked up at him, trying to read his face, but it revealed nothing. She always tried her best to make him smile again like in the old days. “They won. Kiri pushed herself too hard, but everyone’s fine, so don’t worry about them!”

For a moment, there was silence. So deep it felt like the world was holding its breath.

Neteyam nodded quietly. His chest rose and fell slowly, but no relief came, only hollow emptiness.

A stupid, painful thought spread through his mind: they won without him.

He should have felt happy, relieved that everyone returned safe, but… something still hurt. It hurt like a piece of his soul was torn out and thrown to the ground: He wasn’t needed. He wasn’t missed.

Without a single word, he pushed the basket aside. Not out of malice—he simply couldn’t swallow the food anymore. Not even the thought of it.

“Go back to the others, Tuk. Get some sleep, it’s late,” he said quietly but firmly.

His little sister’s face showed confusion and worry. She didn’t understand what she’d said wrong, and though she knew he was behaving poorly with her, he couldn’t hide the truth threatening to break out.

Right now… he couldn’t be her brother. He wasn’t her support. He himself was about to fall apart, so the only thing he could do to protect himselfbwas to push her away.

“Neteyam…?”

“Please, go.”

Tuk stayed still for a moment. He saw that she wanted to say more—a comfort, a kind word to reassure him how much she loved him and that he didn’t need to be sad; anything to pull him out of this—but she saw something in his face and didn’t try. Unsure, she slowly got up and hesitantly looked back from the entrance before finally leaving.

The fabric curtain covered the entrance again, and Neteyam was left alone with the silent stillness. The real, all-encompassing silence. There was no Tuk’s laughter, no battle noise, no Kiri’s sarcasm, no Lo’ak’s loud complaints. Nothing.

Just him and the dull emptiness that started to choke him from the inside until he silently curled up.

He bent his face to his knees, his hands clenched into fists, his body trembling. He tried to hold back, swallow, hide, destroy it—but it didn’t work. The walls seemed to close in, the air thickened, and he felt alien in his own skin, as if he had been expelled from who he was.

His thoughts swirled—images flashed: that moment. The sound of gunfire. The metallic noise as it seared through his flesh, too painful to comprehend; he nearly lost consciousness immediately. He never could forget, never fully recover… and now, looking back, he wished he could have died. He wished he could have given his life for those he loved, instead of living this pathetic half-life, a burden to all he had always wanted to support and protect!

Then came the fall. A real one. He collapsed forward, strength slipping from his knees, cushioning his fall with his palms. He rested his forehead on the cold ground, and then… finally, the dam broke.

The first sound was quiet, hoarse. He tried to choke it back in fear, but before he could, the second came—a stifled moan. And the third—the third was a fragile, raw, erupting sob he had been trying to bury for years, now unstoppable. His heart hurt just as much, yet this pain seemed even more unbearable than before.

The marui’s dimness swallowed his tears, and for the first time, he let them fall freely—because after a long time, he no longer had the strength to keep fighting himself.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: Tamed by the Starlight :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

You

  Sidonie Patel’s footsteps echo softly down the corridor as she stubbornly follows you. You didn’t ask her to walk you back to your quarters—you absolutely didn’t want her to—but it seems she doesn’t care. It’s as if she lives in a completely different world where her decisions carry no weight—and you desperately want to show her that they do, even if it means punching her in the face, just like a woman. Throughout, that unsettling smile lingers on her face, like someone who knows something about you that even you don’t.

“You handled today pretty well,” she suddenly says. Her voice is light, almost casual, but behind every word is an artificially concealed sneer. You hate it. “Most people get sick during their first days on Pandora, and you were negotiating with Na’vi right away. Disgusting creatures—they’re more intelligent as monkeys than as humanoids. They pull weapons on anything unfamiliar.”

Interestingly, those “monkeys” still managed to crack the code, while humans weren’t smart enough to hide the exact coordinates of the military bases in the system—but of course, you only add this to yourself.

You don’t react outwardly, hoping she’ll catch herself, but it seems she couldn’t care less whether you care about what she’s saying. You’re damn tired for this. Your brain is overloaded, and all you want is to reach your door, close it behind you, and disappear from the world.

“You know,” Patel continues, stepping beside you, a little too close for you not to notice it’s deliberate— “I’ve always admired General Ardmore. A tough woman. Just the kind a leader should be.”

Your fingers clench. Your quarters are only a few steps away—you can make it. “Incredible how lucky you are,” she goes on, still smiling, though her eyes are completely cold. “Your mother is a living legend. Mine’s just a pile of DNA remnants at the bottom of some old container that nobody even remembers.”

It’s deeply touching, but what the hell is she telling you this for?! Then she pauses and delivers the blow.

“General Ardmore raised me since I was six, but no matter how many Na’vi villages I destroyed, how many I killed, in the eyes of humans I was always just that half-orphan the General took in. And you come here, and everyone respects you because you belong to her. Lucky…”

Despite her words, she stares at you like she’s plotting your execution. The feeling is mutual, although you’re experienced enough not to show it. You stop. Your door is just within reach, but you can’t open it. Because something suddenly snaps inside you. Her words echo in your head: ‘General Ardmore raised me.’

You turn your head to the side, your voice low and tense, sharper than you intended: “Oh, so she raised you.”

The sentence bursts out so suddenly you even scare yourself. Sidy falls silent. At the corner of her mouth is that little self-satisfied twist she can’t shake, but at least she doesn’t reply immediately.

“You, who she has nothing to do with.”

You can’t help it—a laugh bursts from your lips. Your eyes meet, and for a moment you stare each other down. Though exhaustion weighs on you, you hold out until she blinks and loses the battle.

“Such luck.”

Your voice trembles, and you don’t care anymore whether Sidy is still standing there. You don’t care about anything. With one motion you push down the door handle, step into your room, and slam the door shut behind you.

The door thuds dully against the frame, and for a moment you just stand in the dim light of your simple, yet luxurious-for-Pandora room, bathed in the blue glow of LEDs. Your body trembles inside, your heart races as if you’d run a marathon, even though you’ve only taken a few hurried steps. You lean against the wall, but it feels like even it wants to get away from you. You just laugh, pitying your own misery.

She raised her. Maybe she even loved her.

You really don’t want to go down this path of thought, but before you can stop it, the question is right in front of your eyes, overriding everything else:

“Why not me?!”

Your gaze suddenly finds the mirror on the opposite wall, and for a moment you just stare at it.

You look at the face you never could love, even though… honestly, you don’t even really look like her. It’s like your genetics rejected her—there’s almost nothing in common between you—but now, somehow, in a strange ironic way, you see Ardmore in your face.

In your eyes, your mouth’s curve, your cold, distant gaze. And that’s enough for something inside you to crack. With an almost animalistic, suppressed scream, you strike your fist into the center of the mirror, right where her face would be in place of yours.

The glass cracks sharply, shattering into a spiderweb pattern in an instant, painted with thin droplets of blood across the remaining surface. Your hand stings sharply, but you don’t care. You hit again and again until the cracks become shards, and red liquid drips faster and faster from your hand. Then, when you’re only staring at the empty wall ahead, you collapse to the floor, shoulders shaking, gasping for breath, and start to both cry and laugh.

First softly, then loudly, irregularly, wildly, like a madman. All the pain, all the humiliation, all the unspoken questions surface at once, like a long-blocked poisonous spring.

Why weren’t you good enough? Why couldn’t she love you? Why did she have to force you into this world only to throw you away afterward?

But there’s no answer—only the blood-spattered floor, the pain, and the shards of glass around you, broken just like your own soul.

And now it's time to give the little babies some fluff ^~^

Tags: @gardenladysworld @jakesullyfatjuicypeen ☺️❤️

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#dailynetememe 🤭

Fun fact: My girlfriend is a way bigger Neteyam fan than I am — I only started watching Avatar because I was curious who the heck Neteyam even was. And now here we are... Neteyam obsession has become our family business 😆

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Hey sweeties!

Incoming emotional post. 🥹

So, there's this series I've been writing [Tamed by the Starlight] and swimming in Delulu-land with it, but... for the first time, I’ve hit a point where the story has become so much deeper than I originally planned.

What started as a medium burn is slowly turning into a brutal slow burn, especially as I’ve been digging deeper into the trauma of both Reader and Neteyam.

And then there’s the whole human colonization angle — such a rich theme that Cameron barely scratched the surface of in the second movie, even though it raises so many thought-provoking questions. I’m trying not to answer everything, and to keep the fic what it was always meant to be: an enemies-to-lovers romantasy.

But honestly, once their story kicked off with that first meeting, it felt like they both leaned out of the text and said: “Seriously?? Medium burn?? Sis, we’d sooner kill each other at this point!”

So yeah, I finished the next chapter......and then it slapped my hand and sent me back to rewrite it, because it just wasn’t enough. There’s too much going on for them to just randomly run into each other again and boom, love sparks instantly. The spark is there — but right now, there's still too much fog and dust on both sides for either of them to see it clearly.

I do feel a bit guilty for not posting a new main story chapter in over a month, even though I’ve been writing every single day — tweaking scenes, shifting moments, translating, editing, crying over commas — and all I want is to finally get to the fluff 😩

But for it to be as deep as I want it to be… we have to struggle through the rough stuff together with Reader. Ahhh... slow burn is a magical pain 😆

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😩😫❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

@gardenladysworld

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Neteyam x girlboss! Reader is my delulu 😚

Tamed by the starlight

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"But a few days ago, while sleeping, something happened that had haunted him since.

In his dream, he saw you: your thighs straddling him, your eyes half-lidded, lips trembling faintly as both his hands wrapped around your waist."

Mild NSFW-Fluff ficlet from the Tamed by the Starlight main story (Finally, the third chapter is done, but I'm really struggling with translating it into English, so in the meantime, here's a little glimpse into the future ^^)

Pairing: Neteyam x human-avatar (girlboss!) Reader (you are Frances Ardmore's daughter)

Genre: Enemies-to-lovers, 18+, smut & fluff, ATWOW post-canon AU /Neteyam survived/

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: Tamed by the Starlight :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

Neteyam

A faint blush spread across Neteyam's cheeks as he glanced sideways at your figure kneeling just a bit too close.

Before this, he had never brought anyone other than family into his kelku, and although he knew you'd only asked for help learning the traditional weaving technique—and that nothing would happen between you that should make him nervous—his gaze kept drifting back to you.

You were quieter than usual, which made him wonder: was it because of him?

He was convinced that no one could be more hopeless at weaving than his brother, and that conviction remained even now, though you'd been making the same mistake over and over for a while.

Had his parents not encouraged him since childhood to help teach the younger ones in the village—especially since he’d mastered the patterns flawlessly on his first try and even the elders praised his beadwork—he might not have noticed that, just before you twisted the thread the wrong way, your hand would reflexively begin in the correct direction. As if you realized it would work, and then deliberately got it wrong.

He had to summon every ounce of self-control not to smile at the game you were playing. And if he thought about the possibility that you just wanted to stay longer in his company, he couldn’t bring himself to call you out on it. Instead, joining the performance, he kept patiently explaining how to correct the sequence so the pattern wouldn’t twist.

He watched you in silence: the irritated little wrinkle at the corner of your eye, the soft curve of your face, the downturn of your lips—he lingered there the longest—then silently cursed himself for letting his thoughts drift where they shouldn't.

But now, alone with you in this private space, despite all logic, he remembered Mo’at’s teachings—years ago, when she told him and Lo’ak about mating and birth customs.

About how, by Na’vi tradition, a man who chooses the woman his soul desires, brings her into his private place, offering her his energy, which the woman may accept if she wishes. You knew nothing of this, and though the memory embarrassed him slightly, he had no plans to tell you.

He remembered his brother's flustered reaction vividly—how his little brother turned pale and forgot how to speak—while he himself was just mildly intrigued. He was convinced, back then, that beyond the strange curiosity, it simply didn’t concern him.

He had been a naive boy—and he hadn’t met you yet.

He figured that one day, if he found the right mate, he might not be against such intimate connection. Until then, it was just stored away as general knowledge. He never fantasized about it... not on purpose.

But a few days ago, while sleeping, something happened that had haunted him since.

In his dream, he saw you: your thighs straddling him, your eyes half-lidded, lips trembling faintly as both his hands wrapped around your waist. He lay beneath you, completely vulnerable to your will, offering you everything he had: his body and his heart, broken yet overflowing with devotion.

He had never wanted anything more fiercely in his life. He didn’t know how it happened—his soul had chosen you without his permission, had bound himself to you, and then handed himself over, leaving you the choice to accept or shatter it.

Oh, how he yearned for you to show him mercy! To relieve the ache of this consuming longing that slowly drove him mad. His whole body burned, feverish, his hips twitching at every teasing rub as you pressed yourself against him. Dignity no longer mattered, nor did principles—he would have begged if he had to.

The way you looked at him—eyes gleaming with warmth, affection—like you never had in real life, made him feel damned. This was everything he'd ever needed, even if he’d never admitted it to himself.

He thought you couldn’t drag him deeper into that sinful dream, but then—somehow, all clothing between you vanished. His hot desire pressed against your naked heat, his hips bucked instinctively beneath you, craving something he’d never had, but somehow knew he would go mad without.

You whispered his name, a sound that alone overwhelmed his senses, and with a look of bliss, you slowly lowered yourself onto him, wrapping his trembling member in your welcoming, wet warmth. The sensation knocked the breath from his lungs.

His grip tightened—he hadn’t wanted to be rough or ruin the moment, but he was sure his desperate fingers left marks on your skin. It felt so... devastatingly good he thought it might kill him.

So tight. So perfectly made for him.

The desire blazed through his veins like lightning, and when you began to move your hips in slow, deliberate circles around his length, he could no longer hold back.

He woke with your name on his tongue, grinding desperately against the blanket, and before he was fully awake, he came violently in his tewng, his entire body shaking from release.

Shame and guilt overwhelmed him. He hated you for a moment—then himself—and tried to rationalize that it was just exhaustion, that he'd spent too much time around you lately. But every time you crossed his mind, the dormant fire inside him erupted anew. He told no one. Tried with all his strength not to relive it. Unsuccessfully.

Since then, he couldn’t look at you without feeling that moment thudding beneath his ribs. You invaded his thoughts more and more, and worse still was how his body responded whenever you were near—tense, strung tight like a drawn bow, starved in a way only you could satisfy. And the hunger kept growing.

Sometimes he feared losing control entirely and doing something he couldn’t take back, but he clung to reason, barely managing to restrain himself.

Now, though, you're testing him. You're in the very spot from his dream. The two of you alone. And he can't help the way his gaze keeps flicking to your impossibly soft-looking thighs on his rug—they seem to call to him.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: Tamed by the Starlight :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

You

Your hands "accidentally" twist the threads wrong again. Just to keep up the act, you don’t even try to hide the little grimace at the corner of your lips—you’ve been secretly enjoying this ever since the third restart, the way Neteyam patiently explains over and over what you did wrong. You’re completely losing it, you admit to yourself with a silent shake of your head.

In truth, your dexterity has always been sharp: you've disassembled and reassembled weapons, reloaded cartridges in seconds, drawn maps with precise accuracy, and there wasn’t a single science you couldn’t master in no time—so long as emotions weren’t involved, because you’ve always been terrible at those.

Who would actually believe that something as childish as weaving wouldn’t come easily to you? In fact, if you even tried a little—if you stopped deliberately messing up—you’d probably be better at it than the scatterbrained Omatikaya girls who’ve been doing this since they were toddlers.

But then Neteyam leans a little closer again, and with a cheerful tone says, 'Much better! See? That’s almost perfect.' His fingers brush yours again and again, allegedly just guiding you through the motion of aligning the threads... and somehow, right after that, you always “mess up” the order.

You don’t usually play games unless the stakes are high—at least six figures high—but this childish, painfully transparent performance between the two of you just refuses to end. If anything, it’s escalating.

Neteyam keeps inching closer, until you can feel the warmth of his body radiating against your skin. He’s too close, and it awakens something strange, unfamiliar, annoyingly uncontrollable inside you.

His touch is never intrusive, but it lingers just long enough to mean something. And his voice... that calm, confident tone laced with patience and pride—somehow, it always convinces you to continue the charade.

Even when it starts to bother you—not him, but what he stirs in you. Then, suddenly, when his warm palm boldly rests over your hand to show the proper motion, and every nerve in your body lights up like a struck wire—you can’t take it anymore.

"I can see it from a distance," you say softly at last.

Your voice doesn’t accuse, it just reminds. You withdraw your hand from under his—not abruptly, but firmly, no words needed: 'You don’t have to touch me.'

You don’t look at him. Instead, you adjust the thread again, focusing as the loop forms with precise perfection. For a moment, you forget that you’re supposed to be bad at this.

Neteyam says nothing, but the air between you freezes, as if you’d dumped a bucket of ice water over him. The next moment, he leans back. He doesn’t touch you again. The steady, encouraging smile that had never left his face—gone, even his ears droop, like a sad kitten's.

He just points to the thread and says quietly, "You twisted it here."

His voice is deeper now, more serious, with the faintest tremor—like he's... disappointed?

You nod and silently fix the strands. Why does that neutral tone in his voice bother you so much? It’s how he probably speaks to everyone else. It’s not hostile. It’s not hurt. It just scratches at something inside you that wants to comfort him—even if he doesn’t look sad.

Not that he needs comforting, you remind yourself. He’s a grown man, for God's sake, not some boy. And you’re not some lovesick village girl pining after the Toruk Makto’s eldest son—you’re a woman, with standards! No matter what hormone-fueled, syrupy thoughts are currently rioting in your brain.

Neteyam kneels quietly across from you now, avoiding your eyes, just observing—but the distance he keeps feels almost painful, even though you were the one who asked for it.

The silence settles heavily between you, and suddenly it’s much harder to weave the threads than when you were only pretending to mess up.

Just great. Happy now?

You try to concentrate, but your mind keeps circling back to that one moment—his palm resting over yours, the soft heat of it spreading through your chest like a ripple. You’ve never felt anything like it before, and it irritates you.

You thought in any game, the winner is the one who keeps control—but now that he’s withdrawn, it doesn’t feel like you’ve won anything.

You have to admit, no matter how much you try to deny it: you... miss his closeness.

You miss the light in his eyes when he told you—again and again—that you were getting better, not to give up (not that you ever needed a cheerleader). The next loop you don’t mess up. Nor the one after that.

Your hands move on their own, as if they remember everything you pretended you couldn’t do. The threads practically fly between your fingers, and before long, the finished piece lies before you: a small, ornate band, its pattern so neat and symmetrical it couldn’t be blamed on chance. Made of fibers so dark they’re almost black, woven with crimson threads—your colors.

You glance up at Neteyam uncertainly, expecting some sarcastic remark for clearly faking your incompetence. But he just watches you with a small, sad smile, as if he knew all along. And somehow, that only makes it worse.

For a few moments, you just stare at each other, separated by an imaginary wall—thick and silent—that you yourself had raised. Then you’ve had enough. You exhale in resignation, as if that single breath could tear it all down—even if it leaves you terrifyingly exposed. To hell with this. Why are you so messed up?!

You want to scream at yourself, and after a few seconds of hesitation, you make a decision—and lean forward. You have no idea which of you is more surprised, but judging by his wide eyes, parted lips, and the way he instinctively pulls his arm toward his chest—you guess it's not you.

When you lift the armband and take his wrist, starting to fasten it around his upper arm with movements that are firm yet gentle, he sharply inhales and stares at you as if he’s seeing a ghost.

You lean closer than you should, your hair brushing his chest. You feel his entire body tense, like he’s holding his breath, trying to make sense of what you're doing.

"Thank you," you whisper, and your voice sounds completely different now from the last time you spoke to him. "For teaching me. Even when I’m not easy to deal with."

You don’t look up—not even once—your attention fully on the knot, but his hand hovers midair, unsure whether to stop you or let you finish.

His muscles go taut as he watches you, as he senses every deliberate movement.

The small, ornate band now embraces his upper arm, tied with care and precision. The black and red threads form a striking contrast against his skin—a perfect complement.

Before you can fully retreat, Neteyam reaches for your wrist, as if suddenly coming to a decision. Not forcefully—rather, like there’s something important he has to clarify before he can let you go.

"Do you know what this means to us?" he asks softly, but there’s something in his voice that makes time itself pause.

For a moment, you just look at him. His eyes are locked on yours, his chest rising and falling more slowly now—but you can feel the storm beneath his calm exterior.

"Judging by your expression," you reply lightly, masking your nervous confusion with a teasing tone, "I suppose I just proposed to you."

Neteyam's gaze flashes, and he mutters something in Na’vi under his breath that you can’t quite catch—but you have a good guess. Probably something like 'Eywa, grant me patience.'

"In our way..." he begins again, releasing your wrist—as if reminded you’d just rejected his touch moments ago—and instead places his palm over the armband. "...a woman only gives something like this to a man if she’s committing to him. If she’s ready to share her energy with him. Her spirit. Her... body."

Your heart skips a beat. His words seep into you slowly, like some heavy, ancient truth you’ve always suspected but tried to avoid. The game you’re playing is starting to feel like Russian roulette—and in this version, there’s no lucky chamber. One way or another, you both know someone’s going to get hurt.

Neteyam doesn’t look at you—his eyes remain fixed on the armband, his fingertips gently brushing its contours like he’s searching for answers in the threads. You know this is where you should stop. Tell him you had no idea what it meant, that he shouldn’t read into it— But something inside whispers not to. Don’t break the moment.

His eyes return to yours, serious and searing. He’s too close. His gaze lingers on your face for a second, then dives into your eyes. There’s not enough air.

Your heartbeat is suddenly deafening, and you’re terrified he might hear it—might realize how weak you really are when it comes to him. The movement you make to lean away is too sudden—and for a heartbeat, you lose your balance.

You don’t fall, not really—just stumble forward, enough to instinctively grab onto something— And your hand lands on his thigh. Like a spark snaps in the air, Neteyam moves to catch you, but the second he realizes where your hand is, you feel the heat of his skin under your fingertips, the tense shift of muscle beneath them.

You freeze. So does he. Only his tail flicks sharply behind him, and you’re sure it’s unconscious.

He just stares at you, as if turned to stone—and it’s no longer embarrassment you see in his eyes, but something else. Something wild. Instinctive. Something you’ve only ever sensed in the air between you until now.

His gaze drops to your hand resting on his skin, then rises slowly to your face. His chest rises and falls with deep, deliberate breaths. Then a sound escapes him—from somewhere low and buried—that sends a jolt through every nerve in your body.

"I thought..." he begins cautiously, as though afraid of your answer, "...you didn’t like being touched."

You go still.

Your hand is still resting in that forbidden place. You should pull away, but you can’t. Not when the awareness hits you so clearly: you’ve found where you belong.

The answer stirs inside you before it ever reaches your lips: "I don’t like it... when it doesn’t mean something."

"And this—does it mean something now?" he asks, voice rough.

He watches you with such intensity your throat tightens. Something inside your chest cracks and spills out—but the feeling isn’t painful. It’s terrifyingly good. Like falling and flying at the same time.

"Maybe more than it should," you murmur, breathless.

And when he moves, it isn’t rushed. There’s no pressure. Just slow, deliberate motion. He leans in, gently, carefully—close enough to stop at any moment, should you wish. But you don’t. You can’t.

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Just Baby Bro 🤭🤭🤭

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I don't care if he will be reborn as Ronal's child, as an Ash people, or as a Tulkun… give me back my baby!! 🤧

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Fitting in (In all the Right Ways)

Tamed by the Starlight Sneak Peek: Your first time with Neteyam as a human - Part 1

Pairing: Neteyam x Girlboss Reader

Enemies-to-lovers

/Since in the main story these two still strongly dislike each other, here's a little glimpse into the future, where they will be much more into each other. 🤭 Smut with fluff in two acts, where Neteyam and You realize that maybe you can enjoy each other’s company not only in your avatar body./

Original Story's Chapter index is here

WARNINGS: EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT, Size differences and kinks, masturbation, extremely affectionated sex / Neteyam is totally obsessed with you/

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: Tamed by the Starlight :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

Neteyam

The Oey’ukiya Tirea'lan, the Dance of Lights, had always been one of the most important celebrations for the Omaticaya people. When the Vitraya Ramonung shed its seeds for the first time in the year, families gathered to seek blessings from Eywa for their homes and loved ones, and the songs said: if you embraced your loved ones within the ring of dancing atokirina, this bond would protect you in times of trouble.

As a child, Neteyam was always excited about this celebration, and he was always the first in his family to embrace his parents, siblings, and grandmother. He enjoyed how even his father became more lenient at this time: once, he even told a story about a celebration called Christmas in the Sky People's homeland, which was quite similar to the Oey’ukiya Tirea'lan, only it was held in the darkest, coldest season to bring hope through the love and unity of family.

Neteyam liked the idea, though he would never have admitted it, especially not in front of his mother, who didn’t particularly appreciate it when his father talked about the customs of the Sky People.

But now, as he looked at your body lying on the floor of his kelku, he understood why: it was painful to think that the one he wanted to share every moment with belonged to another world, not his own. This feeling, now gripping his chest, was like an invisible hand that wouldn't let him breathe freely. He lifts your avatar into his arms and places it in his hammock, in safety, protecting it from the coolness of the ground that would eventually seep through the weave. For a moment, he hesitates, but then he lays the traditional festive wreath on your hair, the one he hadn’t dared give you face-to-face—knowing how much you disliked Na'vi customs, especially anything related to "family."

Yet... this time, he wanted you to stay with him. Instead, you only left him with this: a body that breathes but doesn’t live.

His mind knows it’s nothing serious, just that you disconnected for the night to finally get some proper rest, to take care of your human duties—nothing permanent. You are safe at the base with the scientists, and you will meet again tomorrow—but his heart still aches.

This was the deal you made: one night when you could finally sleep in your own body, in a normal bed, while Neteyam could celebrate with his family without you ruining their fun with your constant complaints and remarks (which he seemed to enjoy, though his tribe did not as much).

You had left half an hour ago, and he knew he should go, but he couldn’t bring himself to join the others and leave you alone. Again and again, he runs his fingers along your cool blue skin, as if physical touch could bring you back, as if it could wake you. Bring you back to him...

But in the silence, he hears only his own heartbeat, and his thoughts settle over him like a dark cloud.

"Why is everything so complicated with you?" he whispers softly, his trembling hand caressing your face—as a decision begins to take shape within him. Today is a celebration of family and love. It makes no sense to spend it without you.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: Tamed by the Starlight :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

You

Sighing, you close the door behind you after your forty-seventh hour awake, and you first peel off the tight top and bra, pulling them over your head in one motion, not bothering with the clasps.

Then your pants join them on the floor, and now, alone, without having to care about your image, you leave the whole pile where it is, sprawling on the bed in nothing but a miserable pair of panties. You somewhat miss the queen-sized bed you once demanded from the RDA, where you could sprawl out in all directions, but here, in the Hallelujah Mountains, you’re just glad to have a mattress at all, rather than just an uncomfortable woven mat—like the one your avatar body is currently lying on, abandoned in Neteyam's tent. Soon in his arms...

Okay, maybe you are a little bit jealous.

And speaking of Neteyam... today, it seems, the honorable good boy in him has surfaced, and after such a tough day, he recognized that you needed some sleep far more desperately—after a week—than to be dragged into another absurdly ridiculous tribal séance; only to be carried home and fucked senseless in his kelku before he’d let you disconnect.

Not that you could complain about that, but it’s still surprising how someone who was so shy and reserved at the beginning—getting flustered just from a brush of your hands—has now turned into a beast in bed, who takes it as a personal failure if he doesn’t manage to make you come at least four or five times in a row.

In front of others, his perfect warrior façade remains unbroken. The Omatikaya people all praise him—not just the women, but the men too—whispering that he could become a wonderful olo'eyktan. (Sometimes you almost feel sorry for poor Tarsem, who, no matter how hard he tries, just can’t measure up to Neteyam. But you can’t blame him—no matter how much you were born to lead, even you sometimes find yourself overwhelmed by him, and you even enjoy it.) Damn. Are you acting like a proud mom just because he’s stuck his cock in you a few times?! Not even in your real body!

And yet, it fills you with a strange joy to know something no one else does: that the flawless, rule-following guy, Toruk Makto's adored heir, can be a true monster, demanding with such fierce passion that even your carefully crafted, hardened personality melts in his arms. What a shame...

You can’t help but dream about it: his lips exploring your body everywhere, his teeth on your neck, licking and sucking until you arch beneath him, touching every spot he knows, the bastard, that opens the gates to your subconscious—so possessively, as if he intentionally wants to leave a mark on you. As if he wants everyone to see that he is the only one who has a claim on you.

Though you’re not exactly an expert in Na'vi anatomy, it has become clear since you started this that every male from his people reacts differently around you—they no longer stare so openly, they don’t approach, but instead, they act more respectfully around you, almost bowing to the knowledge that you already belong to someone. You don't think Neteyam has told anyone about what you two do at night, so one possibility remains: he has marked you in some way that only the Na'vi can perceive.

The thought itself… isn’t as bad as it should be. In fact, it even excites you a little, that you—who no one has ever been able to break—now bear the traces of someone's devotion, especially because it’s him, this endlessly kind and good-hearted boy who restored your faith that honest, noble people still exist in the world.

Making love with Neteyam—ugh? You never thought you'd ever use that expression for sex; but with him, nothing else would be fitting.

Every single time feels like a prayer on his part, where every moment is only about you, about your pleasure, which he chases even more eagerly than his own, and his attention is always entirely focused on you.

If necessary, he will spend hours just caressing you, pampering you, pushing aside his own desire, no matter how hard it is for him to restrain himself. He waits until your body has become nothing but a trembling, molten heap of helplessness, then he carefully lifts your legs onto his arms with utmost respect, telling you how beautiful you are and that you have no idea what you’re doing to him.

All your hatred and resentment that you’ve accumulated toward other men over the years remain outside that unique category to which only he belongs. Him—you simply... cannot help but love, when his every move, every action is in pursuit of your happiness. Even if the thought terrifies you.

You remember that every time he offers his tswin, you can sense the tension within him, as if this is what he fears most—your rejection. He doesn’t know how much you actually love connecting with him, feeling that depth within his soul, his emotions for you, the endless affection and care—you're always just a hair’s breadth away from being completely crushed by these unfamiliar tender emotions, ones you are not used to. You never were.

And then, as if sensing what you are going through, he always pauses for a moment, giving you time, immersing himself in you, in your emotions, almost trembling with the intensity of your experience. And then, when he's sure you've relaxed enough, and every inch of your body is ready to accept him—well, after that, he refuses to hold back.

His passion, the wildness pulsating in his blood, which he keeps under iron control every day, breaks free, and he takes you with such intensity that you become dizzy, and your desire only grows insatiable. Even when he gets close to his own climax, he always makes sure to push his hips at just the right angle, slightly upward, forcing the air out of your lungs, making it impossible for you to stifle your voice.

At first, you were ashamed of this, but then one day you realized he actually enjoys it when you lose control over yourself—when you scratch and bite his shoulder in your frenzy—and it’s no coincidence that he instantly gets even harder inside you because of it.

And when he's buried deep inside you, it’s as if he’s come home, watching your every reaction with sparkling eyes, unblinking, as though he doesn’t want to miss a single moment. His thick, bead-adorned braids fall forward over his shoulders, swaying enticingly back and forth in the air with the slow, powerful rhythm of his hips, and you have no idea why it affects you so mercilessly, but just the sight of his hair is enough to push you past your limits.

... Excuse me?! What the hell are you even thinking about?

If you still have the strength to think instead of sleeping, there are a few more useful topics you could be obsessing over! Among others, the fact that when this whole project is over, you’re going back to Earth and breaking the heart of the only one who has ever been genuinely kind to you in your life—not out of interest, but for who you are. Normally, you never feel this bad about trampling on others, no matter how much they deserve it or not!

But it’s useless. You can only see Neteyam before you, so clearly that you could recall every tiny, glowing dot on his face. Painfully beautiful, and despite his secret, primal wildness, he is heartbreakingly gentle and loving. You’re a total scumbag for letting this whole thing go this far between you two. Why do you lose all your common sense whenever it’s about him? Why does he have such an intense effect on you, even in this body?

You want him—above you, beneath you, merging with you both physically and spiritually, basking in his devotion and his love. The mere thought makes you feel hot, and you can feel yourself getting wet. Maybe you should have stayed in the avatar body after all—just for one more night?

Ahh, no. You need to take care of this one, too, you tell yourself, grimacing at the thought that you’ve spent the better part of a week mostly lying in the machine, and your muscles are slowly wasting away—then you shove a portion of your reluctantly assembled MRE meal into your mouth.

It doesn’t taste bad at all, but you have to admit that the disgustingly looking smoked root stew Neteyam made with his mother for lunch somehow tasted much better. It wasn't a Chateaubriand steak, but somehow the Sullys always seemed to have a knack for getting your taste just right.

Especially when they brought Neteyam into existence.

Oh, for heaven's sake!

After the last bites, you simply toss the leftover packaging from your dinner beside your bed and cover your eyes with both hands. You hate being messy, but after a whole day of being overworked, you'd rather die than start cleaning up. Maybe in the morning... or someday. Whoever it bothers can do it for you!

You should be happy to finally rest and recover from the day's exhaustion after spending hours rolling around in the dust since early dawn, practicing how to properly brace your new rifle with four fingers, training with Larry [your ikran] to get him used to the sound of gunfire without going wild and throwing you off, then thoroughly checking on the contractors, yelling at a bunch of useless idiots, and finally getting dragged along by the boys to hunt six-legged goats for the evening celebration—obviously with a bow, because they have a fetish for the "clean kill"—which earned you several bruises on your arm.

Well, on your avatar's arm. It’s a bit strange that nothing hurts right now; sometimes the two bodies blend together in your mind, and you have no idea which is which. But one thing you know for sure: no matter which one you're in, the mere thought of a certain blue alien is enough to make the knees of both weak.

Damn! No matter that you’ve been fucked to tears every night in your avatar lately, in this other body, your hormones are practically raging. Maybe you’re ovulating?

You can’t think of anything but Neteyam’s adorable dimples, that cheeky smile of his, and the little bunny teeth that appear when he’s teasing you with some bullshit, dancing on your nerves—just because he knows he can, and that you won’t judge him for having a secret, silly boy side.

And then... his strong arms, his broad shoulders that you love to hold onto, the toned muscles on his stomach that flex with every thrust as he takes you straight to heaven.

The muffled sigh when he first enters you, as if he’s been longing for this for an eternity, his always restrained groans as he tries to stay quiet but sometimes can’t hold back—and you’re already on the edge just from listening...

That tail of his, which starts swishing excitedly behind him whenever you deliberately clench your inner muscles around him, and, when you feel him somehow grow even larger inside you because of it, stretching you even more.

...You can’t take it anymore.

The mere thought of his cock is enough to make you lose your mind, and you don’t even notice when your hand slips between your legs, desperately rubbing yourself.

Just from this, you’re already insanely wet, your body trembling for him, and you almost feel like crying because, no matter how much of a simple routine this used to be, you never realized how empty and soulless it was doing it alone—it doesn’t even come close to what he can do to you, how he can play you like a talented musician plays his instrument.

You thank God (or Eywa—long live the identity crisis!) that no one can see you in such a humiliating state, whimpering painfully into the blanket pressed between your legs, pathetically grinding yourself against it while your hand kneads your breasts, trying to imagine how he would do it. Surely… so much better.

You still prefer being human over being an avatar, but right now the temptation is strong to climb back into the machine, fish him out from the celebration—who cares if you’d probably get banned from the village for it?—and then ride Neteyam until dawn breaks over you both.

Honestly... you want to spend every single moment with him, ignoring your mother’s increasingly impatient threats—even though, thanks to you, the project has far exceeded expectations. She has no idea you’re slowly sawing away at the branch she’s sitting on, and while you’re still not a Na'vi fan, if you’re being honest, you would betray all of humanity for Neteyam’s sake.

For the first time in your life, you’re truly, completely in it!

And instead of feeling ashamed of it all, you’re smiling to yourself as you masturbate under your blanket, his name on the tip of your tongue like some stupid teenage girl. Where is your self-respect? Your famous iron will?!

You just... miss him so much.

Two knocks on your door, and you want to scream. At first, you decide to ignore it—but then someone slaps the metal even harder, sending a chill down your spine. Seriously, you really hope someone has at least died!

You’ve spent the whole day supervising the construction, you’ve been fed worms, your muscles have been pushed to the limit—could you not get just one minute of peace?! If it’s one of those know-it-all scientists, you’re going to tell them to get lost, and you won’t care what they want! Even if it’s Max.

Grumbling, you wrap yourself in your simple but at least comfortable local robe and wrench the door open with the most annoyed expression you can muster, snapping, “What is it?” in a clearly foul mood—only for two strong hands to drop onto your shoulders from above.

The familiar scent fills your senses as he leans forward, just before he bumps his forehead against the doorframe.

After a brief moment of shock, you quickly pull him inside and lock the door behind him before anyone can notice. You stare at him in disbelief as his tall, powerful figure nearly fills the entire doorframe. An ATR mask hangs around his neck, and just for that alone, you feel the urge to kick his ass. He’s been pushing himself all day, and now he’s burdening his heart with this too, just to—why, exactly?!

"What the hell?!" you ask, your voice a mix of scolding and surprise. "What happened to the great advocate of the rules?"

He just smiles and doesn't answer right away. His gaze is piercing, and you start to get the feeling that he knows exactly what you were doing just a few moments ago. Does he know? No, that’s impossible. How could he? Just act natural.

Your heart begins to race as you search his eyes for any small sign that might reveal his thoughts, but you only find a strange determination that you've never seen so openly from him before.

Neteyam Sully, who has always been so consistently well-behaved, now stands in your room, completely disregarding the rules, well past curfew—while he’s supposed to be attending one of their most important rituals—and he’s looking at you like a starving man staring at a piece of bread.

"What did you say this morning?" he asks back, his voice deeper and softer than usual. "That I should 'step out of the comfortable golden child shell and start living?'"

"Yes, but I meant with guys your age, you know... going off vandalizing RDA property or something—" Oh, crap, you never stumble over your words! Still, it’s hard to argue when someone quotes you directly, even for you.

"You have some great ideas, but ours aren't that fond of that kind of thing," he laughs, then adds a bit more quietly, "And well, I’m not really that close with anyone, except my siblings and... you."

You stare at him like you used to look at the awkward freshmen in school. You’re not exactly an expert in making friends either—most of your life, you’ve only gathered useful allies or subordinates, perfectly happy entertaining yourself otherwise—but you can’t understand how this walking sunshine and kindness can be so insecure when he has every opportunity to wrap everyone around his finger! Or at least if he didn’t completely ignore his fanbase.

"Neteyam, that's just sad, even for you," you raise one eyebrow. "Every single little blue rascal is lining up for your attention, and they adore you! You’d have no trouble making a few friends if you didn’t always act like you had a stick up your ass and actually acknowledged their attempts!"

It seems you’ve mentally kicked him again, judging by the expression on his face.

"You overestimate me," he sighs, resigned. "Most of that attention is because of my parents. I’m... not that interesting."

This guy can be so frustratingly clueless! Is he that blind, or just plain stupid? How can someone who’s so good at everything—who can learn anything in seconds—be so utterly hopeless when it comes to socializing?!

"Bullshit!" you snap. "You don’t even give anyone a chance. You just suffer in silence about how damn lonely you are while taking up space in my life when, believe me, you have way better options!" Not that you could stand the thought of him spending time with anyone else who isn’t you, but he doesn’t need to know that. "And by the way, aren’t you supposed to be at that world-changing party of yours tonight, rolling around the tree in ecstasy, worshipping Eywa and each other? Why aren’t you—"

"Yes, that’s tonight. But if you don’t mind, I’d rather worship someone else," he interrupts, a little offended, but then, as his gaze sweeps over you, his lips curl into a soft, almost imperceptible smile. Finally, he steps closer and pulls you into his arms. "I couldn’t stand it anymore. I was bored. I missed you..."

The height difference that would normally separate you now feels like part of the magic: Neteyam’s massive frame, and you, barely reaching his chest even on your tiptoes; yet you feel so close to him, as if he’s holding together every corner of your world.

The air you breathe is filled with his soothingly familiar scent—the freshness of the wilderness and something else that is just him, something you’re completely addicted to. You’d recognize it anywhere, and it would drive you wild every time. Even from down here, you can feel his heart pounding rapidly, irregularly against his chest, and... the slight bulge pressing against your breasts through his tewng suggests that there’s something less innocent in that "I missed you" as well.

"It’s barely been an hour since I left," you shake your head with feigned annoyance, but in truth, you’re deeply touched—especially because it’s him, the one who would rather face exile than walk around at night against his father’s orders, skipping the goat sacrifice or whatever, for which you’d bet he’ll get a scolding. Sure, it’s flattering that he chose you over his entire tribe, but you can’t resist teasing him: "And I left the avatar behind too. If you were just 'in the mood,' I probably wouldn’t even notice if you had some fun with it tonight."

In the next instant, as if even the suggestion is an insult, he pulls back just enough to lean down comfortably, his hand firmly threading into your hair—careful that the grip is secure but never painful—and his lips find yours in one gentle, tender touch.

The kiss, despite the anticipation, is not rushed, not rough; instead, it is indulgent and filled with all the suppressed emotions that can only now be released since Neteyam decided to no longer follow only the rules of his world, but to expand them enough for you to have a place in it. No matter how many teachings he breaks in the process.

His hand gently caresses your face, slowly trailing down to your neck, and when your knees weaken slightly, he notices immediately, catching you with a strong but careful movement—so naturally, as if he had always known exactly when you would need him. His touch is a little hesitant, familiarizing itself with this other body of yours, which is so small and so foreign to him compared to the other.

"I wanted to sleep beside you, not just holding a soulless body," he whispers close to your lips, his gaze almost burning. "With you, no matter which form you're in."

Then he leans up, his mouth brushing against your forehead, then the corner of your eye, and finally your chin. He doesn’t rush. It almost hurts how unhurried he is. Your heart has long been trying to leap out of your chest, and every inch of your skin that his body touches trembles.

His hand gently strokes the outside of your thigh, reaching as far as his fingers comfortably can, respectful, not even nearing the more problematic areas, slowly sliding higher and higher until it finally reaches your hip.

He freezes the moment he realizes that, aside from a single thin strap of your panties, his palm is touching nothing but your bare skin, and he stares at you in disbelief.

You never thought you'd see him blush again after the past few weeks, but those tiny, faint purple spots blooming just above his cheekbones are unmistakable. Your stomach does a flip.

His eyes widen for a moment, then he ducks his head with a quiet laugh, as if trying to hide his embarrassment—but of course, you see it perfectly, having seen him like this plenty of times over the past months.

"If it weren't impossible, I'd think you were waiting for me," he says cautiously, a note of hope in his voice. Normally, you'd rather die than confirm something like this, but seeing him look at you so awkwardly, you can’t bring yourself to shatter his hopes.

"Maybe," you mumble as coolly as you can—surprisingly successfully, given how close you are to pouncing on him. "I had a feeling you let me go too easily, though I was hoping you wouldn't break down my door before dawn."

"I'm sorry. If you don't want me here, I'll leave, but..." His fingers are still beneath your robe, resting along your hipline, but they are no longer just caressing your body—it’s as if they are waiting, testing, seeking any sign that you might flinch, withdraw, or invite him closer. As if you could ever turn him away!

He buries his nose in your neck, taking a deep breath before instinctively pulling you closer, practically lifting you onto his thigh, pressing your most sensitive parts against one another.

Even through the fabric, you can feel how hard he is, how desperately he wants you. He lets out a soft sigh as his hands slide unconsciously down to your backside, gripping slightly, as if he is gradually losing the last shreds of his self-control. And then, with a damnably deep voice, he murmurs into your ear, "Your scent is so... different tonight. It feels like it’s calling me."

Okay. The thought is growing stronger in your mind that you’re not going to get much sleep tonight.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: Tamed by the Starlight :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

To be continued, from Neteyam's perspective.

Tags: @gardenladysworld @jakesullyfatjuicypeen ☺️❤️

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EVERYTHING FOR YOU MY LORD 😩

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Priorities 🫢

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Daily NeteMeme hits hard 🥲