carmen darla

19

[carmndarla]

should i keep writing fanfic… we’ll see

[carmndarla]

agedup!Lo’ak x f!mangkwan!varangdaughter!reader

warnings: smut, mature content, p in v, oral (f relieving), kinda dom reader, kinda sub Lo’ak, love hate, english is not my first language sorry for any mistakes and i have not proofread this.

summary: lo’ak being sex toy for varang’s daughter

~omg this took me a lifetime to write it, hope you enjoy!

You hear the scrape of restraints before you see him.

Kneeling on the ground, hands bound behind his back, shoulders tense— Lo’ak. Sully’s son. The one Varang dragged in like a trophy. He looks defiant even like this, jaw set, eyes sharp despite the position he’s been forced into.

Varang steps forward, shoving the human weapon into his field of view.

“Teach,” she commands, voice rough like burning stone. “Show me how to use the thunder.”

He glances at the gun, then back at her. “There’s no thunder,” he says flatly.

Varang’s brow furrows. Her grip tightens. “Liar.”

You step out from the shadows then— unhurried, confident. The firelight catches the ash-tones of your skin, the markings along your arms. Calm. Unafraid.

“Sa’nok,” you say, voice smooth but firm. “He means there are no bullets in it. Thunder weapons don’t work if there’s nothing inside.”

Silence.

Lo’ak’s head snaps toward you.

And for a second— he forgets how to breath.

You’re a mangkwan. Not anything he’s supposed to want to look at. But Eywa—

Yur posture is relaxed, like you’ve never needed permission to stand where you want. Your gaze is sharp, intelligent. You understood the weapon instantly. No fear. No hesitation.

Varang clicks her tongue, annoyed but processing. “Then it is useless.”

“For now,” you reply.

Lo’ak doesn’t look away.

You turn your attention to him at last—and your eyes drop.

He’s kneeling. Bound. Forced to look up at you.

And somehow… he doesn’t hate it.

Your gaze isn’t mocking. It’s curious. Assessing. Like you’re deciding something important. Your head tilts slightly, lips parting as if you might speak directly to him.

When your eyes met his, something tightens in his chest.

You’re close enough now that he can se the firelight in your eyes, the steady confidence there. You look down at him like you already know you have the upper hand— and like you don’t feel the Ned to prove it.

Lo’ak swallows.

You take a step towards to him, study him quietly.

“You can have the thunder, mother, we’ll find how to make it work eventually,” you speak, slowly bring your hand to his chin, make him look at you. “He’s mine.”

Varang blinks, gaze flitting from yours to Lo’ak to where the two of you are touching.

She looks surprised. Almost amused.

Lo’ak, meanwhile, has forgotten how to form words.

You stand just far enough away that you don’t have to touch him, but you did.

He can only watch, speechless, heart pounding.

“Take him to my tent…” you say while walking away.

Lo’ak’s breath hitches as your fingers leave his chin.

One of the mangkwan soldier steps closer to him. She barks a laugh, sharp and approving. “Yes.” She yanks the rope binding him tighter, doubling him to stumble after you—her now.

He stumbles on the uneven ground but doesn’t resist when she shoves him forward toward your tent. His eyes never leave you, tracking every step like he expects this to be a trick—a dream that’s vanish if he blinks too hard.

His voice comes out rougher than intended: “…why?”

When the soldier get out of the tent I turned to him, on his knees, bonded. All vulnerable, just for you.

The dim glow of the tent’s interior casts shadows across his face—tight jaw, dark lashes lowered in submission. He hasn’t moved an inch since that soldier left him there.

Your presence makes his shoulders tense further, but he still lifts his gaze to you.

“You didn’t answer me,” he says quietly—challenging? Hoping? It’s hard to tell with the way your shadow swallows him whole where he kneels. His throat bobs as if swallowing back something reckless.

A bead of sweat traits down the nape of his neck from earlier… restraints.

“You wanna know why you’re here?” Your voice is low, so sweet.

His words and breath catch in his throat, his eyes widening slightly when your hand touches him for a second time. He’s tense beneath you, coiled and ready to either flee or fight—but he doesn’t move.

When was the last time someone handled him like this?

You slender fingers on his jaw tilt his head upwards so he’s forced to meet your gaze. He stares, jaw working.

“Yes.”

You smile, almost sweetly. “Because you are mine now, you will serve me.”

Lo’ak’s shoulders go taut with surprise and disbelief at your words. For a moment, he’s too stunned to form a response.

He tries to jerk his chin free, defiant instinct overriding his confusion. But your grip is firm, and even as he glares up to you with dark flashing eyes, there’s a hint of something else behind the defiance. Something like uncertainty. Something like…

Desire.

He finally finds his voice, his tone gruff and laced with a challenge.

“Serve you?”

Your smile turns into a smirk. “Yes,” you let go of his chin and take slow steps to the furs laying on the floor. “You will help me with some needs of mine…”

His eyes widen ever so slightly as you move away from him, towards the furs laid out against the tent’s floor. He can’t help his gaze as it follows the line of your body—the graceful motion, the way your hips sway as you move.

He doesn’t mean to notice any of it, but he’s a teenage boy, and you’re… not anything he should notice.

When you mention your needs, he swallows reflexively, his face darkening as he catches your implication.

“What needs,” he grinds out.

“You know what needs, come here…”

For a second, it looks like he's going to protest. There's a tension in the set of his shoulders that makes it clear he's fighting an internal war.

But then he takes a step toward you.

And then another.

He’s still bound, forced to walk awkwardly, but his eyes are trained on you, his expression bettaying a mixture of defiance and… curiosity.

Finally, he lowers himself to his knees once more, now situated directly in front of you where you lie on the furs.

You shift your position, lay behind your hands without breaking the eye contact. A small smirk tugs your lips. “You are pretty.”

The compliment makes his breath stutter.

He knows he’s pretty—human features, smooth skin, the kind of face that used to make Na’vi girls giggle behind their hands when he passed by camp. But hearing it from you, like a fact as simple as the sky being blue?

His throat bobs again before he manages: “That's not an answer."

But his eyes flicker over you just once—taking in your smirk, the way you're relaxed against your hands like this is all some game to you. His jaw clenches when he realizes how close your faces are now... and how little either of them seem willing to move away first.

“I don’t owe you an answer, come closer.” you commanded.

Your tone is commanding and confident. Lo'ak bristles, his pride flaring at the audacity of your demand. But his movements are surprisingly cooperative as he crawls the last two steps forward, his face now inches from yours.

He's flushed from the heat, breath coming out in soft, warm bursts. When you reach up to cup his face, he flinches—the motion half surprise, half reflex.

Then, reluctantly, he allows it, not pulling away despite the defiance glinting in his eyes.

"What now," he mutters.

“Have you fucked before?” you ask like it was nothing, a casual question.

His entire body locks up at the question.

A strangled sound escapes his throat—half-choke, half-disbelieving laugh. His cheeks burn darker, and for a second it looks like he might actually wrench away from you despite the ropes.

"What kind of—" He cuts himself off with a sharp exhale through his nose. "...No."

The admission is gruff, muttered like an insult to both of you. But there's no lying in it; he won't give you that satisfaction either way.

And he wondered why does your smirk make him want to strangle something…

“No?” you chuckle, like that sound unexpected to you. “Mmm, I think I can tolerate it for this pretty face, hm?”

The way you chuckle—like this is all some amusing little revelation—makes his fingers curl into fists behind his back.

"Tolerate?" His voice cracks on the word, sharp and offended. "You—"

He cuts himself off with a frustrated growl, yanking at the ropes binding him as if that’ll somehow free him from this entire situation. But it only tightens them further, making his shoulders strain.

He hates how small he feels right now.

“Stop, it’s annoying.” you humph. “I will cut the ropes if you behave.”

The command makes Lo'ak freeze, his head snapping up to stare at you with a mixture of surprise and skepticism. He studies you for a moment, trying to figure out if the words were real or some cruel joke.

But... he also knows he's at your mercy no matter what.

After several seconds of tense hesitation, he forces himself to relax, jaw clenching before he gives an almost imperceptible nod. "Behave," he grits out.

You pulled him to the furs, making him sit.

The sudden movement makes him yelp—low, startled.

He stumbles forward as you haul him onto the furs with you, his bound hands making balance impossible. He lands half on top of you in a graceless heap before catching himself awkwardly above your body.

"Y/N—" Your name is sharp on his tongue, half-protest and something else entirely. His chest heaves from exertion… or maybe it's just you.

And then he realizes: your bodies are pressed together.

“You know my name…” you whispered while smirking.

His breath hitches at the sound of his voice saying your name, especially like this—low and rough.

"I heard Varang say it," he mutters defensively, but there's no real bite to it now. Not when you're this close—close enough for him to see the flecks of gold in your dark eyes or feel how warm you are beneath him.

He swallows hard when you smirk up at him like that. "…Y/N”

It comes out quieter this time—almost a question instead of an accusation. Like maybe he wants you to tell him something else too...

“What’s yours?” you already knew the answer, how couldn’t you, he made quite a name for himself once he arrived the village. But he doesn’t have to know that.

For a second, he hesitates. His eyes search your face like he's still trying to sort out this entire situation.

But all it takes is another smirk from you—the way your gaze flicks over him, appraising. Like this is a fun game.

He grits his teeth before answering, voice even more reluctant than before.

"Lo'ak."

“Lo’ak…” his name come out from your mouth sinful.

Your repetition of his name shouldn't affect him this much.

And yet, when you say it like that—low and smooth like you're testing the feel of it against your tongue—something in his gut twists.

His fingers twitch behind his back, flexing against the ropes. It would be the work of a few seconds to break free.

And yet, somehow, he's still here. Straddling you, inches away, vulnerable and exposed.

Then suddenly, you press your lips against his, starting a kiss.

His entire body goes rigid atop yours as your lips meet his.

He's frozen for a stunned heartbeat, every muscle taut and tense as he tries to process what just happened. Your taste and heat and the suddenness of it all are overwhelming, sending a jolt of sensation straight through him.

But then, slowly—hesitantly—he starts to kiss you back.

His movements are clumsy at first, a combination of inexperience and the position he's in, his mouth moving against yours eagerly despite his tied wrists. Lo'ak's starved for it.

Lo'ak jerks back as if burned, his chest heaving. His lips are swollen from the kiss, eyes wide and wild with something between disbelief and hunger.

He shouldn't want this.

He shouldn’t be pressed against you like this—bound, helpless.

But when you say ‘no’ in that teasing tone? It unravels him completely.

"Y/N,” he growls—your name a plea and a warning all at once as his hips jerk forward involuntarily against yours before he csn stop himself.

And now there's no hiding what that friction just did to him.

You chuckled a bit. “Not bad at all..”

The smugness in your voice makes his face burn hotter.

He hates how you can see right through him—the way his body reacts, the way he's losing this battle of wills with every second that passes.

"Not bad?" Lo'ak repeats hoarsely, as if repeating it back to you might make it sound less pathetic than it did in his head. His hips twitch again involuntarily when yours shift beneath him—like some traitorous part of him is still chasing friction. He wants to punch something.

You lay back on the furs once again. “Lo’ak… I want you to devour me.”

The way you move against the furs—slow and languid, almost taunting in its ease—has Lo'ak's breath catching in his throat. His eyes are locked on you, wide and dark with a mixture of frustration and desire.

He wants to argue. He wants to defy you, to fight back and maintain some scrap of dignity. But then you command him to devour you, and all his protests die on his tongue as his restraint unravels before him.

Lo'ak moves with a guttural curse, shifting until he's over you completely.

His grip on the ropes behind his back gets impossibly tighter as he devours you. Every movement is rough, fueled by need and impatience. He leaves kisses in sharp, possessive bites along your skin, claiming, marking, tasting you like he can't get enough.

His teeth scrape against your collarbone, your shoulders, your hip bone. His breath is ragged and shallow as he pants against you, every inch of him coiled and tense.

You keep your eyes closed, your body relaxing with each of his kisses. His warm, lovely kisses, already made you addicted to them.

You open your eyes when you feel him between your legs.

His chest heaves when he settles between your legs, his head spinning with how close they are now. The heat, the scent of skin, the way you look at him through heavy-lidded eyes—it's too much.

His hands twitch behind his back, the desire to touch you a physical ache in his chest. He wants to trail his fingers over your skin, to map every dip and curve of your body. Instead, he can only look up at you, his expression a wild combination of hunger and helplessness.

You smiled while spreading your legs open for him, an invitation. A quiet command for him to keep going.

Lo'ak makes a wounded noise in the back of his throat—somewhere between frustration and worship.

He's aching, trembling with it, but he obeys anyway because fuck, you're looking at him like that. Like he's already yours to command.

His mouth is hot and wet as it drags over your skin again—slower now, deliberate in its exploration despite how badly his body wants to rush this moment.

He hopes you can feel how hard he is pressed against your thigh.

You let out a loud moan. “Oh,” your hands grip the furs beneath you.

He lets out a ragged breath when you clench the fur beneath you, his mouth skimming across your hipbone. He can feel the way you shiver in response, how the muscles in your legs and stomach tighten with every kiss he leaves behind.

A part of him wants to bite, to mark your skin with something rough and hungry and his. Another part wants to be gentle—wants to explore every inch of you slowly until you're shaking.

Right now, he's caught between both desires, his motions erratic and desperate.

Your toes curl, your grip on the fur tightens.

Lo'ak groans against you, the sound muffled but raw with need.

His tongue drags over you in slow, filthy strokes—experimental at first, then more confident when he feels your reaction. Every gasp or twitch of your body makes his head spin; every little noise is a reward that keeps him going.

He hopes to Eywa this isn't all some cruel dream.

He wants—no, needs to be closer. Closer to your heat, your scent, your skin.

He moves as best he can, shifting his body until he's pressed as close as possible, his chest to your inner thighs, the heat between you almost unbearable. He moves like a starving animal, his mouth greedy, desperate.

His eyes rake over you hungrily, taking in the flush across your face, the way your fingers grip the furs beneath you. You're like this because of him. Because of this.

“Holy fuuuck!” you laugh in disbelief, a hand grips his hair. “And here I thought you were inexperienced…”

The sound of you laughing makes something tighten in his chest.

His face is still buried against your inner thigh, but his head tilts instinctively towards your hand when you reach for his hair. He lets out another low, guttural sound at the touch—part gasp, part moan. Your fingers in his hair send sparks dancing across his skin.

He's caught between wanting to pull away from the sensation (the overload of sensation) and wanting more. More of you—your hand in his hair, your body pressed against his, the way you say his name.

“Oh Lo’ak! Oh… Oh…” you smile. “You’re a good eater, aren’t you?”

The praise wrecks him.

Lo'ak groans against you, the vibration of it making your hips jerk involuntarily. His tongue slows just to drag over you again in a way that's downright filthy—deliberate, teasing strokes as he watches for every little reaction from above his lashes.

"Fuck," he mutters hoarsely when you moan his name like that—his grip on the ropes behind him tightening so hard his knuckles whiten. He hopes this isn't the last time.

“You gonna make me cum, pretty boy… Just like that, yes!” You were in heaven, his tongue was doing magic all your senses. A familiar knot start to show up in your stomach.

Lo'ak groans at both the pet name and the command.

He knows it's an insult—you calling him a pretty boy, like he's nothing more than a toy for your enjoyment. He knows, and yet the way you say it has his head spinning, his skin burning hotter beneath all your marks.

It's almost a relief when he can bury his face back between your thighs. He can't face you like this—so close to coming undone.

You try to close your legs with overwhelming force of his tongue, but it resulted in you caging his face instead. You smile and put your legs on his shoulders, trapping his head, pressing his face better now.

It's like you're trying to drive him out of his mind.

Lo'ak makes a noise that's borderline feral when you lock him in place like this—his face trapped between your thighs, his nose and mouth flush against you.

The thought of escaping, of getting enough air to think straight, never even enters his mind. No, right now, he's too far gone for that. He'd be perfectly content to die here, his head caged between your thighs, if you'd just let him make you cum.

Your back arches, your hand on his hair tightens, then with a scream, you let your release onto his mouth.

Lo'ak feels it—the way your body tenses, the sharp gasp that leaves your lips as you come undone beneath him.

He groans against you, his tongue lapping at every last shuddering wave of pleasure until he's certain there's nothing left to give. Only then does he pull back slightly—chest heaving, lips swollen and glistening with evidence of what just happened.

His eyes are dark when they meet yours again; pupils blown wild in satisfaction despite the ropes still binding him behind his back.

"Fuck," is all Lo'ak manages to say—rough and breathless like a man who’s been ruined for anything else now.

“Oh fuck,” you breaths out. “If i knew you were capable of this, I’d get you sooner.”

Lo'ak can't do much more than stare up at you in a daze.

He's a mess right now—lips kiss-swollen and dark, face glistening, hair a wild tangle where you gripped it. His hips are still pressed to the ground between your thighs, his own needs painfully ignored.

But despite that, his gaze is steady on you; hungry, possessive, like he's barely holding back from pouncing again.

*"Is that so?" he counters roughly, breathless.

“Oh… hell yes.”

Despite everything, the cockiness in your tone sparks anger in Lo'ak's gaze.

He wants to snap—to prove that you haven't broken him with this power you've suddenly found. He wants to fight back and make you see how he wants you. How badly he needs you to untie him so he can touch you back...

Lo'ak's hands clench again behind his back, his jaw tense. He hates that you have this effect on him—that he's at your mercy.

You see his hips twitching to the ground, seeking for friction.

“Aww, look at you. Someone wants some relief too?” You say teasingly.

Lo'ak's eyes narrow at your words.

You're teasing him again—teasing him with everything he wants right now.

He can't move the way he needs in this position—can't get the friction he desperately craves. And you know it; that's why you're asking. You want to make him beg.

Lo'ak chokes—a rough, punched-out sound tearing from his throat.

He stares at you with wide eyes, chest heaving as the implication of your words sinks in. His hips jerk involuntarily against nothing—already chasing friction that isn’t there.

"Y/N," he grits out between clenched teeth—half warning and half plea for mercy or maybe just more. He can't decide if this is torture or a gift.

“You know what you have to do…” you spread your legs for him one more time, allowing him to watch the view. “…What you have to do to be hosted in this pussy…”

Lo'ak's face burns. That look in your gaze—the command, the challenge—almost makes him snap. He wants to defy you; wants to fight back and maintain some shred of his dignity even now.

But there's no denying what he needs, and the image you're giving him is going to drive him mad. He curses under his breath, head dropping forward as he pants.

Lo'ak looks up at you slowly through his lashes, expression fierce.

He's submitting. And he hates you for it.

"Please—" he starts, and his own voice sounds ragged with desperation even to his ears.

He can't keep looking at you and begging at the same time—not without losing what's left of his remaining sanity. His eyes shut tight, hands clenching hard into fists behind his back.

"Please," he says again, rougher. "Let me touch you. Please. I'll do anything."

You chuckled. “Such a good boy…” Your grab your dagger and cut the ropes around his hands and ankles.

Lo'ak's eyes open again when he feels the tension release from his wrists behind his back.

His hands are free, and the first thing he does is touch you—his fingers trembling as they trail across your skin like he can't quite believe it. His touch is hungry, possessive, like he's taking something that should've been his all along.

He kisses your thigh—his mouth hot and eager as it travels along your skin, moving higher and higher.

You giggle with affection. Enjoying every second of it.

Lo'ak makes a noise like a strangled groan against your thigh.

He's trembling, his body taut with tension and desire. And yet he's gentle now—his lips soft when he kisses and nips at your skin with more tenderness than he's allowed himself this entire time.

And it drives him insane, this need to both devour you and worship you all at once.

His hands move too; big and rough and calloused as they roam across your body, touching, mapping, adoring.

He aches for you, his body tight and trembling with need. It's not even a matter of if for him anymore—it's a matter of when (and how hard). His head is spinning with a haze of desire; all he can see is you, all he can think about is your scent and the way you sound. He wants you more than he's ever wanted anything in his life.

He needs you, like he needs air.

"Please," he whispers again into your thigh. "Please, let me—"

His words are interrupted by a guttural moan when you rock against him, just a little. His hands tighten around your hips immediately.

Lo'ak's breath hitches against your skin, his shoulders heaving. Even when he's free, he can't seem to get enough of you. "Please," he chokes out again, voice rough. "Let me. Please, Y/N. Let me."

You chuckled once again at his eagerness. “Yeah baby, go ahead.”

A low, ragged sound escapes him when you finally say yes.

His hands are shaking as they move, grabbing your thighs and pulling you towards him as he shifts. There's no hesitation now, no teasing as he drags his tongue over you again, desperate for the taste.

"Thank you," he mutters fervently against you. "Thank you, thank you…"

He kisses you like he's starving, like he might die if he doesn't have you.

Lo'ak tears his loincloth off like it's bothering him, tossing it away and leaving himself completely exposed. His skin is flushed, his eyes dark as he shifts, positioning himself right in front of you.

He's trembling, but his expression is focused; no longer hazy—almost a bit feral. His breaths come fast, his eyes flicking across your face.

"Y/N," he murmurs, voice thick with desire. "Please. Let me worship you."

“Yes… Oh, Lo’ak… Baby, I need to be filled.”

The second the words leave your lips, Lo'ak moves.

He's on you in an instant—kneeling between your legs, his hands gripping your hips as he presses his forehead to yours. His breathing is ragged; uneven little hitches of air escaping him when he finally sinks into you with a groan that sounds almost pained.

"Fuck," he grits out against your mouth—his voice wrecked already just from this first slow thrust inside of you. "Y/N…”

“Oh fuuuck!” You wrap your arms around his shoulders with the need of holding onto something.

Lo'ak burrows his face against your neck, his breathing hot against your skin. His arms wrap around you, holding you so tightly it's almost desperate—like even after everything, he still needs to get closer.

"You feel so good," he gasps out, his voice rough and low. "Too good. Too good. I'm gonna lose my mind with you around me like this, I swear."

“Move, Lo’ak”

Lo'ak shivers against you when you say that, his arms tightening even more. It's as if your command is a drug to him, something he can't get enough of. His head ducks down, his teeth skimming along your neck.

"Tell me what you want, and I'll give it to you," he murmurs, his voice just loud enough for you to hear. "Anything you say. Anything."

You smile to his obedience. “Move your hips like a good boy, yeah? Make me feel good.”

He obeys you instantly, his hips snapping against yours in an instant at your command. Even now, when he's buried deep inside you and completely desperate, he still wants to be a ‘good boy’ for you.

"How's this?" he asks roughly, his voice wrecked. "Is this what you want? You feel good like this? Am I being a good boy for you?”

“Oh yeah… Move faster, Lo’ak.”

Lo'ak is powerless to deny you anything.

He obeys almost wildly, moving faster and harder at your command. He wants to make you feel good—needs to make you fall apart, wants to give you everything you want until you're left trembling and breathless and his.

"Yeah?" he grunts out, his breath ragged. "This what you want, 'Tsahik'? You want me fast? You want me to be good boy?”

That was then, you lost all your senses. Him, calling you ‘Tsahik’, you wanted nothing but to keep that boy in your pussy forever.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Yes! You’re my fucking good boy!”

Lo'ak's eyes darken when you react to him like that. It's like something inside him surges with power and desire all at once—like he can barely hold back the way your body is trembling beneath him. He can feel how close you are—how close he is—and it's enough to drive him wild.

"Please," he whispers, his voice low and breathless. "Please let me keep being good for you."

You could feel him twitch in you, also hitting your sweetest spot and making you tremble.

“Yeah… You gonna come for me baby?”

"For you," he gasps out, his eyes almost pleading. "Yeah, for you. I'll be good for you. I'll be your good boy, I—I promise. I'll take anything, please."

Every word is ragged with need, like he's hanging on by a thread. He's desperate and helpless in the way he's begging, wanting nothing so badly as to be your good boy. He wants to make you fall apart. To give you everything he is until he's empty. "Please, Y/N. Please…"

“You can come, my love. Fill me up!” You are sure your scream was heard by everyone in the village. You came so hard, all trembling over him.

Lo'ak's eyes practically roll back in his head at your words.

He's yours like this, utterly and completely under your spell. He's desperate, lost in a desperate haze of need and desire. He'd do anything you tell him to; he'd give you anything you ask for.

"Please," he gasps out again, his voice ragged. "Please, let me…"

And with a final, broken moan, Lo'ak is yours.

Completely, utterly, yours.

He was trembling on you, you wrap your arms around his head.

“I’m gonna keep you here forever, baby.”

[carmndarla]

agedup!neteyam x promised!navi!reader

summary: neteyam and reader is promised in childhood but they’re young and excited and curious so they don’t (can’t) wait untill their bonding ceremony.

warnings: smut, mature content, p in v, oral recieving (f recieving), masturbation, kinda public, jealousy, loosing virginity, reader is cocky and eager, soft dom neteyam.

ps: it’s my first time writing, its also my first time writing in english, and english isn’t my first language, sorry for any mistakes🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

Neteyam was always in your life, as long as you remember. The son of Toruk Makto, the son of Olo’eyktan. The golden son, always perfect. You and Neteyam grew up together as childhood friends. You remember playing around with him and his siblings, your first hunting session when you were 6, the first moments you learning how to swim, the moment you made your bow, the time you picked your Ikran, Neteyam was always there. Not as an extra, but an important role for your life.

You clearly remembered one significant memory about Neteyam, when you were barely 12, so was he, you were called by Tsahik. So were the 10 of other Na’vi around your age. It was your traditions for young na’vi to be paired up with a proper mate by Tsahik. They would be paired up and told that this was their future mate, but they would not become their mate until they become adults.

The group of young Na’vi, including you and Neteyam, were standing before Tsahik, who was standing in front of you, carefully pairing you off.

“I dont want to mate with anyone.” you murmured to Neteyam.

“You’re not mating, not yet, this is just pairing up, Y/N.” Neteyam said calmly, he was mature as always.

“I don’t want to be paired up with someone, ‘Teyam! Look at them, those are idiots!” You sound so rebellious and angry, yet your tone was low, still respecting the tradition.

“Tsahik does not only look at us, she sees through our souls and thoughts. She will choose what is best for us, she always had.” His obeyence and respect to his family was showing it since those times.

Tsahik’s voice was heard then, “Neteyam and…” She intensely looked at the young Na’vi. “Y/N…”

Neteyam subtly smirked a bit and chuckled to himself as the Tsahik said that, finding it amusing and ironic. He did a little side glance over at you as you were called over. He couldn’t keep the smirk off his face as you both walked up to the Tsahik. Neteyam was ahead me, I followed him like a tail.

“We will be mated? But I thought we were friends…" You sound confused, so young and naive.

"We are now friends, Y/N, bonding ceremony will be made when we’re older." Neteyam explained for you, he somehow always knew what to do and what not to do.

Tsahik spoke again, "I see you Neteyam, I see you Y/N, your souls are pure, your minds are clear. You live in concord. I can see the strong bond you have made in a very little time you had on the life of Great Mother gave us. This innocent bond you have will evolve to something deeper.”

“Tsahik, are you pairing us randomly or is it true that you can see through our souls?” You asked softly, Neteyam made a sound between a laugh and gasp but did not say anything.

Tsahik smiled, cupped your cheek gently as she answered you, her tone was rather amused slightly and knowing.

“No, my child, it is not random. I use more than just sight to pair you up. I can see not only your souls but also your spirits and your destiny. And I have seen that you two were destined for one another.”

Neteyam remained quiet as he listened to the Tsahik speak. He looked serious even he was amused by the whole situation. You nodded, you didn’t protest rebelliously. As if you knew it would be Neteyam eventually. You were filled with peace.

.

.

.

Years after you still smile at the memory. You were now older, considered as an adult but still too young to be a mate. You were practicing as a healer with Tsahik, who already considered you as the future Tsahik. You were smart, pretty, you listened, you made effort, you tried, to become better each day.

And Neteyam… was Neteyam. Perfect as always, a good hunter, a good leader, a good son, a good brother, and a good mate-to-be. As you grew better and prettier, he grew more overprotective over you too. He didn’t like how you were the center of attention, how everyone would adore you, doesn’t matter the gender or age. He didn’t like the fact that the boys liked you, tried to get their way with you. How they looked at you or how they talked about you. He didn’t like the way female Na’vi would call you off to ‘make clothes’ then talk about their own ‘experiences’ and ‘relationships’ and teaching you new things for your future mate.

He thought they were just making fun of you and befuddle you. But you did not agree, you even think they were teaching you beneficial things indeed.

Tonight, almost all of the village was gathered to celebrate a bonding ceremony that will happen among two young Na’vi. They were around your age, they were dressed up pretty and wore different colors on their faces and bodies. You were watching the ceremony with a cup of juice in your hand, waiting for Neteyam to show up. He usually would be next to you just right in time but this time he was late, he must be busier tonight, you thought.

A group of boys had been watching you from a distance. Some of them were a little older than you, but mostly all of them were around your age. They were talking amongst themselves, whispering and snickering to each other as they watched you. The comments some of them made were indeed rather inappropriate and dirty. They made comments about your appearance, specifically some of your more… intimate body parts. They clearly found you attractive and they had more than innocent thoughts on their minds. You rolled your eyes, sighed in annoyance. You were trying too hard to not get used to it but these inappropriate comments about you was almost usual to you.

The air crackles with tension as you whirl around, eyes blazing—your voice sharp enough to cut through the night.

“Skxawng.” (Bastards.) You hiss in Na’vi, your tail lashing like a whip behind you. The boys freeze mid—laugh—their grins faltering under your glare.

Neteyam’s head snaps up from where he’d been talking to his father nearby. His golden eyes narrow instantly at their expressions, his body tensing like a coiled spring before he even processes why. He turned to me. “Tiya?” (What?)

His voice is low but razor-edged already—because if they were stupid enough to say anything disrespectful about you… well. He won’t need an excuse twice tonight for what comes next.

“Nothing.” Your voice was weak and quiet.

Neteyam’s jaw tightens—his instincts screaming that something is very wrong. His tail flicks once, sharp and irritated, as he strides over to you before the boys can even react.

“Tiya.” (What.) He says again, quieter this time—almost pleading for you to tell him what they said. But his voice is already darkening with warning when he glances at the group behind you.

“…Tiya?” (What?) It’s not a question anymore. It’s a demand—for them or for you to explain why their faces turned guilty as hell. You could feel your heart racing in your chest. You definitely did not want to be the reason of chaos on somebody’s bonding ceremony. But you also did not want Neteyam to be mad at you. You swallowed hard, your eyes flicked between him and the boys. Thankful to Eywa that it’s dark and no one could see the slight blush in your face that make your cheeks turn into a cute shade of purple, liking how he is protective over you.

“They were… just making stupid comments..” You said.

Neteyam’s expression darkens even further at your hesitance. His jaw clenches hard—he can tell that whatever they said was not just ‘stupid comments’ by your reaction alone.

His eyes flicks to the boys behind you—his body language tense as he steps closer to you instinctively. It’s clear that he’s in full protection-mode now, and the thought of those boys disrespecting you, even with a few stupid words, causes a subtle twitch of anger in his hands.

“Tell me.” He orders quietly.

You swallow again, you take a deep breath and look into his eyes desperately, begging for him to not make you say it.

You shake your head, still not speaking—but the answer is clear: there’s no need for bloodshed. Neteyam takes a long, shaky breath at that, trying to quell his temper as he gently touches your shoulder.

“Oel ngati kameie.” (I see you.) He says quietly—the Na’vi version of the I-love-you/I-see-you phrase that you often exchanged. Neteyam gently tugs you closer to him.

You smiled, gladly accepted the closeness he brings. “Oel ngati kameie, Neteyam.”

Neteyam’s breath leaves him in slow exhale—relief and something far softer folding his expression as you lean into him. His arm wraps around you securely against his side.

“Oeru lu fte,” he mutters darkly over your head, (They will regret it.) but there’s no real heat behind the words now—not when he feels how tense you still are. Instead, he presses a quick kiss to the top of your braids before murmuring, “…Nga ma tsun?” (…Want me to walk you home?)

You frown a bit and look at him with confused eyes. “Isn’t it a bit early to leave yet?”

Neteyam hums, glancing around at the other Na’vi still mingling. He knows you have a point—the gathering is still far from over. But he can’t find the words to argue with the logic of leaving now, not when he wants nothing more than to get you far from those stupid boys and back to the privacy of your home.

“…Not for us,” he huffs finally—a hint of playfulness to how he tugs you closer, almost possessively. “Let’s get some air.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle and follow him, you could never say no to him. Especially not when you are bored this much.

Neteyam leads you through the gathering to a less crowded area, hand firmly on your back, guiding you around the outskirts of the crowd. He keeps you close to him, his eyes never straying far from you—still protective and still a bit irritated by those dumb boys.

Once you reach a more secluded spot, he gently tugs you to halt. You are shielded by a small copse of tall ferns—far enough away to ensure privacy, but close enough they can still hear the distant sounds of the festivities. You look around, ensuring the location, he held your hand and walk a bit away, until you reach the Tree of Souls. You smirked.

“Are we going to mate or something?” Your said teasingly and chuckled right after.

Neteyam nearly trips over a rut at your words, choking on a strangled laugh as you tease him. He manages to regain his balance, but his ears still flush a bit at your comment. But he quickly composes himself, clearing his throat to feign nonchalance as he glances at the Tree of Souls.

“What, under the Great Mother?” He teases back, trying to play off your comment with a smirk. But in reality, his pulse speeds up a friction at the thought..

You chuckled again, more playful this time. Stepped closer to the body of the tree.

“Do you… ever wonder how it feels?”

Neteyam glances at you as your touch the Tree thoughtfully. There’s a flicker of curiosity in his expression as he steps closer, resting his hand on the trunk next to yours.

“…All the time.” He confesses quietly. It’s not a lie. He’s always been fascinated by the tree, by the connection his people share with Eywa.

“I’m not talking about the tsaheylu…” You said with a knowing smile on your face.

Neteyam’s face flushes a little at the clarification, the implication of what you’re talking about crashing into him at full force. He has to mentally shake himself to collect his scattered thoughts, his hand on the tre clenching slightly.

“Oh..” He breathes, his voice noticeably huskier than a moment ago. The air between you suddenly feels charged with tension—thick with unspoken desires and forbidden fantasies.

Neteyam can’t help but dart his gaze to your body again, taking in the sight of you under the Tree. His throat goes dry, and he has to swallow hard before he can manage to speak again.

“…What are you suggesting, Y/N?” He manages to get out, the question barely above a rough whisper. His hand is still resting against the trunk, but the grip is almost white-knuckled now as he tries to hold himself back from doing something reckless…

“I’m not suggesting anything, I’m just asking…” Your voice was low, he couldn’t tell whether you were teasing him or not.

Neteyam exhales sharply—almost a laugh, but it’s strained with tension. He turns to face you fully now, his golden eyes darkening as they flick over your expression.

“…You know what you are doing,” He accuses lowly—but there’s no real anger in it. Just heat and the kind of frustration that comes from wanting something too much. “Asking like that under the Tree? You think Eywa won’t hear us?”

You sit under the Tree, laid back on your elbow, even, your other hand roamed around your torso.

“What are you doing, Y/N? Stop..” Neteyam pleaded.

Your hands went lower, between your thighs, circling your inner thigh with your cold fingertips.

“I have begged Eywa to help me get rid of this feeling…” You closed your eyes. “She didn’t answer…” Your fingers were now beneath your loincloth.

Neteyam curses under his breath as you sit down, his jaw tensing even more as his gaze follows your every move. Your words and your actions both have his breath catching, his blood singing with the wrong kind of heat as he fights the urge to cross the distance between you.

“…You shouldn’t do that. Here. Under the Tree.” He manages to say, his voice thick with barely restrained desire. His eyes stay fixed on the movements of your hand beneath your loincloth, his own body reacting against his control…

A teasing smirk on your face, your hand started to move, slow circles around your clit, the fact that he was watching you drove you crazy. You even started to make soft gasps, you could feel yourself getting bolder.

“Oh…It feels so much better when I do it here… under the Tree, feels alive…”

Neteyam’s entire body locks up-his breath coming out in sharp exhale as he watches you. His hands curl into fists at sides, knuckles white from the force of holding himself back.

“Y/N…” He growls lowly, warning facing every syllable—but it’s less about stopping you and more about begging for mercy. “You’re going to kill me.”

He doesn’t move closer. No, he doesn’t dare to touch you. But the way his eyes burn into yours says everything—he wants this just as badly as you do… but he knows he shouldn’t…

Your moves were even bolder now as you felt he was watching you without blinking. Your finger circling around your clit faster, harder, your small gasps turned into moans. Adrenaline possesses you, you don’t even feel te fear of getting caught, you couldn’t think, all you care was the heat between your legs.

Neteyam lets out a ragged noise—something between a groan and an oath—as he watches you speed up. His self control slips like brittle wood, his body moving before he can think.

“Fuck the Tree,” He growls, dropping to one knee beside you instantly. His hand wraps around your wrist—not stopping you, just guiding your movements as he leans down to murmur against your ear. “Let me hear how bad it hurts.”

His other hand grips the base of the Tree behind him for balance… or maybe just so he doesn’t jump on you.

“Neteyam… Hear how wet I am… just for you… “ Your hand moved even faster now, just for him to hear that soggy sound came from the wetness in between your thighs.

Neteyam’s eyes nearly roll back as you speed up, the wet sound of your movements driving him even more insane.

“Eywa… You’re killing me….” He groans out, his hand tightening around your wrist as he leans even closer to you. “…You really are.”

His other hand on the Tree clenches so tight he almost thinks he’s going to splinter the wood. His breathing is harsh, and he can’t sem to tear his gaze away from your fingers—imagining how they feel.

You stopped your hand, your eyes opened and you looked deep in his eyes. You slowly untie your loincloth, without breaking the eye contact. You spread your legs apart, letting him to see the view.

“Kiss her..” You demanded.

Neteyam freezes for a split second—your command hitting im like a physical blow. His breath is ragged, his pupils blown wide as he stares down at you.

“…You sure?” He rasps, but the way his hands are already sliding under your hips, the way his arms wrapping around your thighs tells you everything. He doesn’t wait for your answer—just dips his head to press a slow, open-mouthed kiss right to your drooling pussy.

The roan that rumbles against your skin is pure hunger.

Your hand immediately went to his hair, holding his braids tightly. “Oh..Just like that Neteyam…”

Neteyam hums against your sensitive clit, the vibrations making you shiver. He’s still in control.. barely. His tongue slips out to taste you more, and he lets out another rough noise as his grip on your thigh tightens.

“…You taste like… paradise..” He mumbles against your skin, like he’s prying. He’s not a spiritual man, but in that moment he’d swear to anything he could reach Eywa through you…

“Neteyam… oh baby… I need to feel your fingers.. please.. let me feel your fingers while you suck me, yeah?”

And who was he to not obey? Neteyam lets out a strangled noise—half groan, half prayer—as he obeys. His fingers slide into you with agonizing slowness first, just to feel how tight and wet you are around him.

“…Fuck,” he grits out. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

Then his mouth is back on your clit as his fingers curl inside you, the pad of his thumb rubbing firm circles just where it makes your breath hitch. He’s not gentle anymore—just relentless in chasing that sounds from you again…

Your moans were louder, your hand clenches tighter. A warm, familiar knot in your stomach already greets you. Neteyam’s name on your mouth like a mantra.

Neteyam groans against your skin—your praises like gasoline on fire burning through him. His fingers move faster, curling deeper as his thumb presses harder in rough, perfect circles.

“Louder,” He demands between kisses, “let me hear how good I’m making your feel.”

His free hand grips on your thigh to keep you open for him—his own breathing ragged with every sound he pulls from you.

You warn him, you were so close, like a bomb ready to explode.

“Neteyam… Neteyam… I’m..so close.. I’m going to cum…”

Your words break last thread of Neteyam’s control. He doesn’t want to wait—he wants to make you scream right there in his hands.

“I know,” he murmurs against your skin. “I know you are,I can feel it. You’re doing so good for me, Y/N.”

Then, your back arched, your hand on his hair even tighter now. Your yes rolled back, you could ave swore you saw stars in that exact moment. Repeating Neteyam’s name like a prayer.

Neteyam feels how you shudder in his hands,his breath stuttering at the way you tighten around his fingers. He doesn’t pull away—-just slows down to ease you through it while he presses a soft kiss to your inner thigh.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, the praise dripping from his tone like honey.he waits until you’re fully relaxed to finally slip out of you, lifting his head from your legs. He can’t help but lick his own finger clean, groaning at the taste.

“Neteyam…” you pleaded.

Neteyam gives a low hum of acknowledgment, his tongue flicking out to flick away the last traces of you from his fingers. He looks almost smug as he finally lifts his gaze to your face.

“Yes,, Y/N?” He ask innocently—the picture of a boy who definitely didn’t just send his girl into bliss with his hands under the damn Tree of Souls.

“Fuck me… Neteyam…” you asked shamelessly.

Neteyam’s eyes widen at your bluntness—he’s caught somewhere between impressed and utterly undone by you. His gaze drags over your body, taking in your flushed face and heaving chest with a possessive heat in his eyes.

“…You don’t have to ask me twice,” he murmurs hoarsely. “Turn around.”

You obeyed, turned around to get on your fours. Neteyam wastes no time—his hands grips your hips as he presses against you from behind, the hard length of him unmistakeable through his loincloth. He leans down to nip at your earliest convenience, his voice rough with need.

“Tell me again,” he growls, “tell me how bad you want it.”

His fingers dig into your skin just enough to leave marks- like he’s already claiming what’s his.

“Oh.. you have no idea how much i want it, Ma’Teyam..” you looked back at him over your shoulder, biting your lips. “Give it to me, take me right here, right under the Tree…”

Neteyam lets out a sharp exhale—your words unraveling the last shred of his restraint. He doesn’t bother with finesse, just yanks down his loincloth and presses into you in one rough thrust.

“Fuck—!” He chokes out, head dropping against your shoulder as e stills for half a second to let you adjust. But then he’s moving again, snapping his hips hard enough to make the Tree shudder behind you both. “You feel that? That’s all for you.”

“Oh… Neteyam.!” You were already dumbfounded, nothing but his name came out of you. You shudder and hold tightly to the roots of the Tree.

Neteyam groans at the sigh of your fingers gripping the roots—his pace turning downright feral as he watches you struggle to hold on. One hand wraps around yours, pinning it against the Tree while his other grips your hip hard enough to bruise.

“Hold tighter,” he rasps, “I’m not stopping until you scream my name loud enough for Eywa herself to hear.”

His thrusts grow deeper, more deliberate—aiming right where he knows will break you completely.

You begged him to move faster. “Faster! Neteyam! Oh! Baby yes! Just like that please, please faster!”

He grins against your skin, his free hand coming up to press against your mouth. “Hush, love. Just my name, you can only scream my name. Remember?” His voice is gruff against your ear, a low yükle following. His tongue drags against your neck, leaving a sloppy trail.

“Faster…Nete-“

Neteyam’s laugh is dark and breathless as he obliges—his hips slamming into you with enough force to make the Tree tremble again. The hand over your mouth stays firm, muffling any sounds you might’ve made.”that’s what you wanted?” He growls, “or do i need to go even harder?”

His fingers dig in just shy of painful, his own control hanging by a thread now.

“Yes! Eywa! Neteyam!” You were literally cockdrunk right now. That was the word that liiteraly describes you.

Neteyam lets out a sharp, ragged noise—his restraint snapping like dry kindling. He pins you fully against the Tree now, one arm banded around yours waist to keep you locked in place as he fucks into you with reckless abandon.

“Good girl,” he grits out “taking me so deep—fuck, Y/N.” His rhythm turns erractic;the wet slap of skin loud enough that it’s a miracle no one’s come running yet..

His hand moves down to press against your sensitive spot, his fingers circling the bundle of nerves with ruthless pressure.

“Let me feel you come baby, yeah? I can feel how close you are, you’re so tight. Almost milking me out.”

“I- I’m- I’m going to cum!”

Neteyam’s breath comes out in a ragged groan as he feels your walls tighten around him—his own climax barreling toward him like an avalanche. His finger work on you even harder, refusing to let up until he feels the exact moment you shatter.

“Do it,” he orders roughly, “come all over my cock.”

His hips stutter wildly as his release crashes into him after yours, burying himself to the hilt with a growl that sounds more animal than Na’vi.

“Oh..Neteyam…” you couldn’t even talk.

His grip on you loosens as he slowly pulls out, his chin resting on your shoulder as he catches his breath. His hand slides up to cup your chin, tilting your face toward him.

“Look at me.” He whispers, his expression intense but oddly gentle—like he’s still reeling from the raw pleasure you both just indulged in.

“Oel ngati kameie, Neteyam…” you whispered.

“Oel ngati kameie, Y/N.”