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It all happened so gradually, slowing unfolding over the course of many, many months, that Neteyam didn’t realize it was happening at first.
The duty of an olo’eyktan was to keep things from falling apart. Keeping the order that his father had set before him, while also following into Toruk Maktos footsteps to protect the people. Everyone knows this.
For Neteyam, that meant his day would begin long before the first rays of sunlight filtered through the canopy of hometree. Long before the elders could wake, shaking out their hammocks before they attended to their early morning prayers, he was already on his feet. Not because anyone had told him to, but because it felt wrong not to.
Neteyam had memorized these routines until they became automatic.
An olo’eyktan was meant to be visible. So, the very first hours of his days were usually spent just greeting his people.
He knew where to find the early risers without thinking about it. Hunters preparing their gear near the lower platforms, speaking in low voices so they wouldn’t wake the children. Young mothers who had not fallen asleep at all, cradling babies who were now finally asleep. Elders who came to the healers tent, before visiting the tree of voices to speak to ancestors, some even to their passed mates and long lost friends.
Neteyam greeted each of them by name. If someone looked tired, he noticed. If someone avoided his eyes, he especially noticed that too. And he kept count without meaning to. Who was present. Who wasn’t. Who had been absent the day before.
As an olo’eyktan, perfection wasn’t optional. It was expected. And to him, that meant upholding routines and structure.
After his morning walk, came his daily inspections.
Neteyam observed as his warriors checked each bow for tension, guns for malfunctions, the gatherers overseeing the supply baskets for rot or insects. He adjusted straps, retied knots, corrected things that didn’t technically need correcting yet, but it mattered to him that everything was ready before it was needed.
Problems were generally easier to deal with before they announced themselves.
Before he left, Neteyam would oversee hunting schedules and patrol routes too, adjusting them in case the humans of his clan needed safe passage or hunters would ask him to move further away from the village. Of course he walked those routes himself whenever he could, memorizing each new fallen branch and tracks that didn’t belong to him and his people. He also remembered which hunters preferred the eastern paths and which ones grew careless when paired together.
Living between the Omatikaya and the humans meant constant adjustment. As an Olo’eyktan, Neteyam knew that.
Attending meetings and councils was next on his schedule.
Some days, they were held mainly between the humans at hells gate and him, sometimes some of his best warriors were there too, other times even the elders of his clan or the olo’eyktans of neighboring clans, depending on the matter.
For an Olo’eyktan it might’ve been an unusual thing to do, but later on these days, Neteyam himself participated in training the young tsamsiyu [warriors] of his clan for their iknimaya. None of their training was ever considered complete unless he had been there to oversee it himself.
The humans at hells gate were as much part of his people as the omatikaya were. Respecting them was as important to him as it had been to his father before him, and he made sure to honor and respect his ways, even if he might not agree with them.
The humans came to him in the same way that his own people did. And Neteyam always made notes in his head about their complaints, about power usage, machines that sometimes malfunctioned, if they needed more weapons, medical supplies or even water. He double-checked their agreements, walked the fences of their camp after dark to check them for any safety concerns, and at the same time made sure nothing they brought in disrupted the land more than necessary.
This is what had been drilled into him since he was a child. Not in so many words, but in expectations. From a very young age, Neteyam had understood that mistakes were not meant for him. Others were allowed to stumble, to learn and to be corrected. But he was meant to know already. Neteyam had been raised on expectations, expectations that told him he had to be nothing less than perfection.
The love his father had for the sky people was an expectation to be carried on by him too. And while he himself wasn’t exactly fond of them, he had accepted this without complaint.
Many months ago, when a new group of humans had stood at his doorstep, begging to be left in after leaving their old lives behind to fight for the na‘vi and the resistance, he did not hesitate to aid them.
As per usual, Norm oversaw all the details when it came to his kind, but Neteyam was the one to check them. Rechecked them— twice, sometimes three times. He wanted to know who slept where, who worked best together, who struggled to adjust and most importantly, who made problems. He insisted they be given rooms at Hell’s Gate, not temporary quarters. If they were staying, they would stay properly. The omatikaya clan was now their home.
If one were to ask, Neteyam would say this was all part of his duty. He was Olo’eyktan after all. And this had absolutely nothing to do… with you.
Certainly not because you intrigued something in him. Because never before had a human female ever caught his attention in a way that you had on the day of your arrival.
Your hair had been a little messy back then. One side tucked back, the other falling loose, as if symmetry had never occurred to you as something worth striving for. Your laugh had been loud, with your head tipping back and hands moving as if your body didn’t know how to stay still. When you talked, you had this tendency of interrupting others and even yourself, changing topics mid-sentence. You would apologize, but then kept talking anyway, so eager to fill every space with stories that Neteyam had to wonder if there was even enough air in your mask for you to keep talking like this.
There was something so messy and careless about you too, in the way you would just let your stuff laying around if you didn’t need it, or when you didn’t care at all about the mistakes that you made, even if they disrupted your precious work. So far from perfection that it had Neteyam on edge constantly with the urge to correct them and take control.
Because opposites, he reminded himself, required management.
The Olo’eyktan made sure the humans were given purpose too, not just shelter. Some were immediately assigned to research under strict guidelines at the laboratories, others to maintenance, translation work, medical support or even safety patrols. Whatever they were useful at.
There was a good enough reason for him to give the new, pretty human female a task that permanently placed you especially close to him in the structure of the clan. Close enough to observe, but not so close that you would grow wary of his eyes on you, that was a risk he did not take. Although he was sure you didn’t even notice when he was around, too occupied in your own world. Because why would the busy Olo’eyktan himself even bother wasting his time and energy on an insignificant little human like you?
This was all just for practical, efficient purposes anyways.
Of course Neteyam came to check on the new additions of his clan more frequently than he would normally. Just to be sure the new humans could be trusted. No other reason. That didn’t mean he purposefully walked past your quarters, sometimes up to five times a day… for the last eight months.
He told himself it was just to check whether you were present, whether you were resting when you should be or working when you said you would be. It was useful information. Knowing people’s habits always came in handy.
And Neteyam visited often. More often than necessary, some might have said if they dared to say it to his face. He walked the corridors of the human base as easily as he walked the platforms of Hometree— like it belonged to him.
Technically, it did.
Nodding to familiar faces, stopping to ask questions he already knew the answers to. He checked on their sleeping conditions, their food supply and the air filters, if necessary.
To Neteyam, it came naturally to learn your daily schedule. Faster than he had thought it would take, not that you put up any real effort on hiding your tracks and making sure you were not followed. Just days after your arrival, he already knew when you would sleep, when you woke. He knew on which days you lingered too long at the clan, when you were working or spent time with your new friends. He also knew about your friends too, their names, their relationships. And he knew when you left early to take extra care of your hair on wash-days. It helped him plan meetings more efficiently, he reasoned. Avoid interruptions. Anticipate availability. There was nothing strange about planning ahead!
Needless to say, as chief of an entire clan made of na’vi and humans, Neteyam had to know all the passkeys to every single room in hells gate.
Every quarter, every office, even all the storage and the communal room. He was olo’eyktan— access was part of his responsibility. Emergencies happened, he always told himself. He needed to be able to get anywhere, at all times.
Months ago, when Neteyam had let himself into your room for the very first time, it didn’t feel like a disruption of your privacy. It merely felt like one of his routine checkups. He was simply being responsible!
He didn’t stop to consider why he couldn’t remember the last time he’d checked anyone else’s room personally. To him, it mattered little at the time.
Attentive, that’s what he was. And a man of honor and duty.
Neteyam never touched anything he didn’t have a reason to touch, that would’ve been against everything he stood for. It wasn’t his fault that your tendency to keep your quarters messy was forcing him to intervene.
If anything, this was all your own fault!
At first, it had started out with small, insignificant things, like picking up empty water bottles from the ground or sweeping the floors. Small things, that you didn’t even took notice of.
He emptied your trash when it got too full, even though it wasn’t technically overflowing yet. Food packaging attracted pests if left too long, that was just a fact. He replaced it with a clean liner, folded neatly, edges tucked the way he preferred.
So far, you had never commented on any of these things. Probably assumed you’d done them yourself and had simply forgotten. Humans were like that.
But the more time Neteyam spent fulfilling his duties here, the more he learned about the woman he found so intriguing, the harder it became for him to stop. And over time, things that had started out as insignificant and small, slowly turned bigger and more significant.
The books you read gave most about you away, specifically the ones he’d frequently had to pick up from all around your quarters.
Neteyam can’t read. Or, he couldn’t, not until a few months ago when you had started bringing more and more of them to your home and he was ultimately forced to teach himself how to interpret these strange drawings that he came to know were called letters, which ultimately made the words that he could read. The first couple of books you possessed were innocent at first. Normal ones, about plants and animals, just stuff you borrowed from Norms office.
But then one of your pink skinned friends had gifted other ones to you from their own collection. Fairytales they were called, about things such as kings, princesses and knights in shiny armor. Entirely made up stories, purely for entertainment purposes. When Neteyam read the first book in which two of the people in it had kissed, his hairless brows had raised all the way up to his hairline in surprise. Until then, he hadn’t known it was possible for a book to hold anything else than simple facts and small pictures of things that already existed.
But soon enough, he figured that these could also hold fantasies, made up stories to satisfy the readers desires. And then a simple kiss between a knight and his princess turned into a demon who found enjoyment in shoving his head between a nuns thighs, or an innocent woman taking a rich man’s cock in her mouth because he’d called her a good girl one too many times.
There was a clear pattern in all of this, he figured. About things you were into, things you were not. It seems, praise was something you were strangely interested in. Back then, Neteyam didn’t know one could find sexual pleasure in being called similar things one frequently said to his ikran or palì, but the woman in your books enjoyed them a lot. Therefore that meant, you did too.
'Good girl. You’re a very good girl. You’re doing such a good job for me.'
'You’re mine.'
The last one specifically was something he himself had grown to like very much.
Neteyam told himself he only meant good, that he was just trying to make you feel comfortable and content around him when he had started praising you a while go. Just over small actions, like whenever you picked up your things instead of letting them lay around carelessly while you worked. He slipped past with a hushed whisper of 'good girl', just to see you stumble over your own feet and blush in that deep shade of red as you mumbled a quiet 'thanks, sir'.
It had confirmed his theory and from then on, the praise came naturally, but only ever directed at you, and only if you truly deserved it.
Slowly but surely, the stories you read turned intense and explicit in a way he hadn’t expected you to be into either.
At the same time, the playthings that he had found in your nightstand drawer expanded in the same way you added each new book to your collection. They became bigger, more colorful, bolder. As if you were slowly figuring out what you wanted.
When he‘d first discovered them, he hadn’t known what they were for, until the obvious shapes had started to give it away.
And so, Neteyam figured, if you didn’t spent time at the clan, chatting with your friends, you found enjoyment mainly in books and also in playing with yourself.
It didn’t take long for him to learn which of these toys you used frequently and which ones were your clear favorites, more so because of the way your bed linen was especially messy the following mornings. The messier, the more you had enjoyed yourself.
Of course the ones that came closest in size to an average na‘vi male were the ones Neteyam figured you wouldn’t actually need. Because what for? To practice?
No, you and him both knew that a small human woman like you would be far too fragile to even try. Neteyam was simply being the reasonable one here, throwing them away so you wouldn’t get any ideas about trying out the real deal any time soon. None of the men in his clan would have been ideal suitors for you anyways, that much was clear.
Being the good Olo’eyktan that he was, it was Neteyam’s duty to take care even of these things. With practiced ease, he exchanged the batteries on some of your smaller toys every other day, the tiny ones that vibrated were certainly his favorites. He would’ve been lesser than a honorable male if he were to take away your pleasure entirely, but that didn’t mean he had to approve of your na‘vi-like toys and the ideas that could bloom from using them too much.
Neteyam knew he had to keep an eye on this. It was part of his job after all.
Carefully then, he would change your bedding for fresher sheets, before laying them out neatly on your bed.
Your scent was a mixture of things he could catalogue easily if he tried. It filled the air, especially whenever he shook out your bedding to soften the cushions.
Soap first, whatever the humans obsession was with those sharp and clean scents, meant to strip everything down to neutral. Thankfully, it took only two days before Neteyam had replaced your soap and filled the empty bottles with the same cleansing oils and herbs that he himself used. They would make you smell more like him— like a na‘vi, obviously. It would make living among his people so much easier for you, that was all.
Beneath that smell of soap, there was the scent of something sweeter, but it was hiding under all the other different layers of scents. It stuck to your clothes too, fabric that had absorbed whatever clung to your skin, sweat, a trace of recycled air from Hell’s Gate. Coffee. Dust. The faint metallic tang that clung to everything human-made no matter how often it was cleaned.
And so, he decided, your clothes were another problem entirely. Left in piles instead of containers. Worn once, then discarded as if they were already finished being useful. So wasteful. Neteyam told himself it was unsanitary, that this was the reason it was so hard for him to detect your natural scent. It was extremely important to the na‘vi to smell each other, free from soaps and other chemicals. It would also make it easier for him to detect and track your scent —in case you got lost, of course— if neither you nor any of your things would continue to smell like all the other humans.
From then on, Neteyam gathered your clothes carefully whenever he came over, separating colors the way Norm had once explained humans were supposed to. He washed them in the river, using only natural materials that were pretty much odorless. Dried them in the sun just as he did with his own clothes. Folded them with precision and placed them back where they belonged— or where they should have belonged, before you’d carelessly thrown them on the ground.
Naturally, Neteyam took the time to sort out any clothes that he figured you didn’t need anymore, now that you lived with his people. Those overly flimsy shorts and dresses, they were impractical anyways! You were now living in the forest, what use could lingerie even be out here? It wasn’t like you were actively wooing for a male— not without the Olo’eyktans permission, at least. You could have them back when you asked for them. Eventually.
Until then, these would go with him to his home.
As he folded your clothes, Neteyam noted the different textures. Your personal preferences, which fabrics you wore most often and which ones you avoided unless necessary. You liked soft things, things that didn’t itch and scratch, not too loose you might catch on anything, but not too tight either. Just right to be comfortable while you worked.
That, however, didn’t apply to your panties.
It was not his fault that especially your undergarments often found their ways into his hands, as they were often tangled between bed sheets, laying on the bathroom floor or simply discarded to somewhere next to your bed.
That’s how Neteyam had learned your favorite color was pink. That you liked them soft and tight around your curves.
It’s the color most of your slips are painted in, with little white bows on the front. Some of them looked more childish than others, most of them adorned with lace and see-through fabric, cute little hearts or no pattern at all. To him, these decorations mattered little.
What was important was, that these were the only pieces of clothing you possessed that truly smelled of you.
The Olo’eyktan told himself that it was normal. That it was unavoidable to not scent them when they smelled so potent of you. It was a wonderful scent, rich and warm. There was something floral and earthy about it too, a messy mixture of things that were so unmistakably you.
Neteyam, by all means, was no pervert. He had to know your scent, like he had to know the scent of everything else that lived under his protection.
The truth was, he could excuse the many things that he did for you, could reason with himself that these were all part of his duty, but what he did then— this he did solely for himself.
It was a reward for everything that he had done for you. For cleaning your quarters, sorting your things, washing your clothes, filling your fridge with healthier food, especially the fruit that you liked so much. For being a good Olo’eyktan.
This week he had even left a new book for you at your doorstep. Your friends favorite, the one she told you she didn’t want to lend you because it was so dear to her, he just had to take matters into his own hands. It was his duty to make his people happy after all.
And most importantly, for never waking you up.
Today he had been extra quiet. You had only stirred once, earlier, when he had slowly taken your blanked away. It was his luck that this time you were already sleeping on your back, so he wouldn’t have to carefully maneuver you around.
Each time, when Neteyam was done with his tasks, he would kneel at the edge of your bed. His hands would be slow and steady as his thumbs hooked under the waistband of your panties, before he pulled them down to your ankles.
Being the considerate male that he was, he would always watch your breathing for any signs of distress. When he deemed you ready enough, he would pull your panties off of you completely and replace them with a fresh pair. He would caress the little marks on your hips that the other pair had left on your soft curves, always too tight, and then settle back to sit next to you.
The slip in Neteyams hands was warm from soaking up the heat of your skin. He feels the fabric between his fingers, turns it over until the tiny wet patch comes into view. It’s the spot that had been pressed closest to your body.
A smile spreads out over his lips as he finally brings the tiny piece of fabric to his nose and inhales, deep enough that his eyes momentarily roll inside his skull and he’s left only with his sense of smell.
He would think of you then, how messy you were. Messy enough he could smell it on you. The way you had left your clothes laying around and your sheets all wrinkly again, as if you were begging for him to return and do it all over again. And then he would inhale again, letting your scent invade his body.
The sweetness of it made him shudder.
Neteyam can’t help his thoughts from running to different, darker places as he holds your underwear to his nose, nuzzling against its warmth. He imagines you wearing them earlier as you read your filthy little books. That sweet thang must’ve been your arousal as it soaked the fabric over hours.
"Such a messy, dirty girl…" he muttered quietly under his breath, shaking his head with tsk tsk. "Always in need of your Olo’eyktan to take care of you."
Leaning over, Neteyam then carefully pulled open your nightstand drawer and fished out a bottle filled with clear, thick liquid. Afraid of letting your underwear go even for a second, he pinched the fabric between his canine to hold it between his teeth while he slipped his loincloth down enough to free himself.
Turning the bottle over, he then squirts a generous amount of its contents into his palm.
He doesn’t know for sure what the humans were using this for, but he could use his imagination enough to think of it as the same sticky liquid that sometimes stuck to your slips and often covered your playthings before he’d cleaned them. A lubricant to make them fit.
With his cock slowly unsheathing at the thought of you trying and failing to push these na‘vi-sized toys into your greed little pussy, Neteyam leaned back on his elbows, your slip pressed against his nose while the other one worked its way over the length of him.
A shudder tore through him at the first contact of the rather cold liquid covering his palm and his cock that had been protected by the warmth of his sheath.
Neteyam lets his eyes flutter closed for a moment, just focusing on your scent right under his nose and his hand wrapped around his cock. The lube warms up quickly, and if he closes his eyes hard enough, he can imagine that the wetness surrounding him was something else entirely.
His head is so full of duty and expectations, that even now the first thing that comes to mind is punishment.
Neteyam thinks of bending you over his knee first, and his fist wraps a little tighter around his base.
"Hmm my dirty girl," he says in his head as he flips your skirt up to expose your pretty backside to him. "Did I not tell you to keep your quarters clean and tidy, hm?"
"Yes, sir," you would whimper. Your messy hair would obscure your face, so he would have to brush it behind your ears. He knows you would behave for him, that you would be obedient for your Olo’eyktan. But he also knows deep down you want this. There’s a reason you keep making a mess after all. You’re purposefully doing this because you want him to come here everyday, you need him to take care of you just like you need to be put in your place every once in a while.
The hand he has wrapped around his cock slides up, slick and tight, squeezing his tip just right, forcing the very first droplets of pre-cum to form and spill over his knuckles. Already, there was this tightness, a warmth that swelled inside him. It was only growing worse whenever he inhaled deeply, your scent filling his nostrils.
"Ah!" The noises you would make for him whenever his outstretched palm would land on your ass would be a mixture of a moan and a scream. One, two, three times he would spank you just to get his message across. "I’m sorry, Olo’eyktan! I‘m— sorry!"
"Sorry for what, paskalin [honey]?"
The look he imagines on his face as you would glance over your shoulder with those big doe eyes made his hand stroke faster, harder, and he groans against the soft cotton, his voice muffled against it.
"For being such a—"
"—dirty, dirty girl… fuck," Neteyam breaths. When he feels there is no more of your scent left in your panties, he switches his hands, wraps the cute pink fabric around the base of his cock and squeezes. He doesn’t know if he likes the friction against his sensitive length or if he hates it, but that doesn’t matter.
What matters is, that he would always make sure to reward you. A good Olo’eyktan knows how to treat his people right, what to do to reward them for doing their best.
Neteyams gaze wanders over your sleeping form, the steady rhythm of your breathing, the way your nipples poke through the flimsy top you’re always wearing to sleep. His hand moves a little slower, the cotton scratching his cock in all the right ways as he imagines those hard little pebbles in his mouth.
"Keep going, good girl," is what he would say, when his tongue wasn’t flicking over them. He would have to hold your pretty tits in his hands, the movement of your hips making them shake and bounce as you ride his cock. He knows how much you would enjoy the praise, your fluttering walls giving away just how much you liked it.
Riding him was no small feat. Your thighs would be shaking with the strain of raising yourself up and then sinking down his length, over and over, making yourself feel good. Sweat would bead in your soft cleavage from the effort of it.
"Feel this, sevin [pretty]?" Neteyam would ask, his hand brushing against the bulge of your tummy where your body struggled to hold all of his cock. "This is all for you, all for my good girl. Yeah, you like making yourself feel good like this?"
"Mhm, y-yes! Yes, sir, I do," you would moan, oh so sweetly for him. Then he would help you with his hands on your hips —it’s your reward after all. He would move you against him, slowly grinding at first, just enough so your neglected clit would get dragged over his pubic bone, the friction enough to make you clench hard around his throbbing length. Before he would hold you still and rock his hips against yours, bouncing you on his lap, thrusting with enough force you would have no choice but to come for him, again, again, shaking and sobbing from how good he would make you feel.
Neteyams hands were relentless as they worked every inch of his throbbing cock, twisting, stroking and massaging, as more and more images of you flooded his mind. The slip wrapped around his tip was so soaked with his pre-cum already that the cotton had started becoming see-through with how wet it was.
The friction of it all felt so intense, so good that it had Neteyam bite back a groan as his breathing came out heavier. Besides him, you stirred a little in your sleep, subconsciously curling in on your side and letting out a sigh of comfort.
You looked so peaceful in your sleep, not at all like that loud and chaotic woman that plagued his mind every waking hour of the day.
With his cock in hand, Neteyam imagined what would happen now, if you would wake. Would you scream? Or would you be good for him, letting him use that pretty body of yours to thank him for bringing order and routine in your life?
You should, he thinks. Even an Olo’eyktan deserves an outlet for all of this pent up stress, all the tension that sat deep in his muscles and his mind.
You were responsible for the most of it, he realizes. So, the least you could do was roll over onto your stomach and let him fuck all this stress out on your tiny little cunt.
Neteyam knows that this would be an honor to every woman, spreading yours cheeks for him as he pushed his length into your tight body. Slow at first, but harder over time. Deeper, deep enough until his name and title would be the only coherent words coming out your mouth as he fucked you into the mattress.
Some day, he would let himself get caught by you, just so you could thank him properly. Whether that be on your hands and knees, or with his cock down your throat, he’s sure you could think of a way. He’d seen the books you read, after all.
"You’re mine," he whispers through greeted teeth, "isn’t that what you want to hear, tawtute [human]? You’re mine."
It doesn’t take long thought, before Neteyam feels that familiar tightness in his core. The wet plap, plap, plap of his fist as it furiously strokes over his cock is almost too loud in the dimly lit room of your quarters. Any louder and he’s sure you would wake from it. His chest heaves with the pressure of trying to hold all these noises in.
With his last remaining strength, he manages to pull your panties taunt over the mushroom-like tip of him, before he doubles over and curses low under his breath. His orgasm shudders through him as if he had touched a live wire, toes curling and ears flattening. His cum shoots in thick, warm ropes of white, seeping through the cotton of your slip, soaking the fabric until it’s all messy and filthy.
There’s this urge that he has, as he watches his cum stick to your slip. The urge of wanting to put it back on you. To let you walk around in panties covered in his seed, his salvia, his scent, so the whole village could smell the Olo’eyktan on you. It would be for your own good, he tells himself. To protect you from evil eyes and greedy hands.
When Neteyam finishes, he feels lighter. His head clearer.
A final shudder raises through him once he manages to detangle his length from your underwear.
In all honesty, Neteyam doesn’t know why he does all of this. Why, when there is his seed sticking to his thumb, he leans over and carefully swipes it over your bottom lip with a smile, watches as you subconsciously swipe your tongue over it and he feels a sense of accomplishment at that.
He knows it’s not obsession. Of course that’s not it.
Neteyam tells himself that it’s normal, that this is what an Olo’eyktan does. It’s all part of his duty. He just needed to let off some steam, got caught off guard because the scent of an unclaimed female was something every male would feel attracted to, that is all.
Neteyam tells himself it’s not because of you. That his actions just meant that he cared deeply for his people, for all of them, even the humans among them.
He doesn’t know why, when this was all just duty to him, he got up from your bed then, stuffed your used, cum drenched panties in a pouch on his loincloth and walked over to your door. But what he knows, deep down, is that this is something he would not actually do for everyone.
This, Neteyam thinks with painful clarity as he closes the door behind him, already antsy with excitement of returning tomorrow, is something that is strictly reserved for you.
But he’s not obsessed with you, no, that’s not what this is. You are simply his duty. And a good Olo’eyktan should always be obsessed with duty.