Tags: Fluff. Gender neutral. No use of Y/N. No NSFW.
Note: I feel like this was one of my worst ones because Isagi may be quite OOC here. Apologies ahead of time if it is very cringe⌠Anyways, divider is not mine and from Pinterest.
Blue Lock Masterlist
He is genuinely such a sweetheart. I can only imagine him being head over heels for his lover and stuttering over his words when trying to talk to them, before they start dating. The whole âscratching the back of the neckâ and looking away is what I picture, when he decides to ask you out for the first time, LOL.
Whenever he has a game, the moment he steps out onto the field, he always searches to look for you in the crowd. Heâs usually able to get you front row seats for each game of his, but he doesnât always know which section youâre in. He has a big smile when he spots you and makes sure to give you a big wave as well.
Probably a good cook. Heâs close with his parents and always lived with them, but he made sure to learn about cooking well from his mom. He recently started trying out baking and always takes suggestions from you. Thereâs something cute about cooking/baking food for you and how you smile when you first taste it. (Although, the first time he overcooked some cookies and you insisted on trying it because it was his first time making them. Letâs just say heâs improved a lot since then and you learned not to eat something fully burnt.)
His main love language is probably quality time. He loves spending time with you no matter what, whether tagging along when you run errands or going out on a date to an amusement park. He makes sure to balance his time with his career and you. There are days where youâre working from home and he has the day off, to which he could go out with his teammates or go practice on his own, but he often chooses to spend it with you. Heâll be in close proximity and on your bed playing on a Switch as your work but will remember to keep quiet so you can focus.
He probably likes picnics and barbecues. Ways to spend his time with you outside but he also likes eating too. Before you guys head out, you both work on bentos (boxed lunches) for each other but you canât look at them until itâs time to eat. He makes sure it has a healthy combination of the five food groups (from which he learned in health class lately). Itâs cutely decorated, including an onigiri (rice ball) with salted salmon filling (because thatâs his favorite) that looks like a tiny panda with seaweed used for the facial features and sausages that are cut up octopus-style. He loves seeing your reaction when opening it and he lights up when he sees you enjoying the food he made.
While he does love spending days out with you, he loves them just as much as days spent in. He does his best to take advantage of his rest days and theyâre usually spent watching Ghibli movies, playing video games, or overall, just having quality time together. Staying in also means that youâll be in your loungewear and he always loves the sight of seeing you in your natural state. (*Bonus if you wear shorts because for some reason, they decided to mention his fetish for thighs in the Blue Lock Bible, lmao.)
Although one thing I feel that wouldnât be great is how he kind of just does the bare minimum when it comes to being in a relationship. Like it feels like youâre dating him, but at the same time, it feels like things you do with him, you could do with friends as well. Now donât get me wrong, he still asks you out on dates and holds your hand when going out, but you just feel like your connection isnât that strong. When you bring it up to him, he isnât offended and probably admits that he doesnât really know what to do since he hasnât had much dating experience and doesnât want to do anything that might hurt your relationship. He tells you to bring it up to him anytime you feel that way or want to do something in particular because heâs not the best at taking hints or context clues (sorry Isagi, metavision doesnât work for this type of situation).
When he first brings you to meet his parents, theyâre very welcoming and glad that at least someone was able to like their son, based on how they acted in one of the âAdditional Timeâ sequences where his parents said it was lucky for him to get accepted into Blue Lock. Theyâre grateful to you and even offer to let you stay overnight if youâd like. After dinner, Isagi gets embarrassed because they decide to show you all his pictures from childhood. Heâs got another dark pink blush on his cheeks but feels reassured when you call all of his pictures cute. Youâre also probably unable to hold back from pinching his cheeks.
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This work has been reuploaded from my AO3 account, âmvsaomiâ.
Tags: Fluff. Gender neutral. No use of Y/N. No NSFW.
Notes: Ugh, I have such a sweet spot for Kunigami. Heâs literally such a star boy. As Iâm putting these old HC chapters out, Iâm still thinking of more ideas. Maybe some drabbles? Anyways, enjoy!
He doesnât exactly enjoy shopping but will happily accompany you if you ask him to. Will always help carry your shopping bags and gives you his honest opinions if you decide to try on some clothes and ask him what he thinks.
Loves to always have an arm around your shoulder on your waist, whether walking about in public or hanging out with a group of friends. The other boys call it out sometimes, saying that he canât stand a moment without holding onto you, to which he denies (though he wonât admit that itâs sort of true).
Already canon, but awful at taking compliments, especially from you. On the days that you decide to go out for a fancy dinner date or attend the afterparty of a championship game, he makes sure to dress for the occasion. You canât help but tell him how handsome he is and give him a kiss on the cheek for it. His cheeks will be burning up and his blush will take awhile before it goes away because heâll be repeating your compliments in his head after.
Will stand in front of the sun to provide you shade during hot summer days (Japanâs humid summers are no joke, Iâm not lying T-T). With his tall stature, heâll definitely be able to give you full shade. If youâre feeling too hot, heâll run to the nearest convenience store and buy you both popsicles.
He does not forget important dates. He remembers your birthday, when you started officially dating, and the day he truly fell in love with you. Every year, he never fails to ask you to be his Valentine and always gets you some roses and your favorite chocolates. You might think that itâs a bit corny but you wouldnât have it any other way.
He isnât the type to be jealous. He trusts you enough that he doesnât feel insecure about your relationship if you have a few close guy friends. Though, that doesnât mean he wonât take a stand if someone tries flirting with you while waiting for your drink at the pick-up counter.
Probably went through the whole formal process of asking you out before he officially asked you to be his partner. He was able to make the best plan by getting advice from sisters. He asked you out on a date to go bowling, have dinner, then visit a cafe after for sweets and coffee (heâs not really into coffee so he opts for a hot cocoa instead). The date went better than expected and you were the one to ask for a second one rather than him, which definitely surprised him. Of course, he didnât refuse.
Making sure that youâre always okay, there for you both physically and emotionally. After he picks you up from class, he always asks about how your day went and how youâre feeling. When youâre sick, he cooks your favorite soup and runs to the nearest drugstore to buy any medicine that would help. Doesnât let you get up out of bed and insists that you rest and even if he isnât in the room with you 24/7, heâll come running in the moment you call out for him.
One of the things you two end up arguing about is his dedication to soccer. Donât get me wrong, you admire his dedication and passion for it, but sometimes, you feel like he always puts the game over you. While he doesnât miss out on important dates, there are times when you just wished you could spend the day at home with him just relaxing, when heâd rather go out or practice. Yes, he doesnât miss important dates, but if itâs not as important as your birthday or anniversary and has a game that day, he will unfortunately miss it. He always apologizes beforehand and afterwards, but it hurts more as it continues to go on. But when you bring this up to him, he reassures you that he prioritizes you and heâll slowly start to change his schedule up a bit and have you in mind when he does so.
Heâs definitely more of a morning person than you. He sticks to his routinely morning run and by the time you wake up, heâs already eating breakfast. One day he invites you the night before to go with him and you hesitantly accept it. You werenât exactly fit for it, as his routines are more intense than the average person, but he slows down to keep up with you. He decides not to ask you again and doesnât want to push you, but you decide to join him at least once a week or so. Not just to spend some more time with him, but also to bond with him over his favorite hobby (exercising) and get yourself to try and be more active as well.
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This work has been reuploaded from my AO3 account, âmvsaomiâ.
omatikaya!reader x neteyam headcanons.
unforgotten [lo'ak x na'vi!sibling!reader]
haptic. [slightly aged up! loâak x blind!naâvi!reader]
the veil. (part I, part II) [lo'ak x omatikaya!na'vi!reader]
Tags: Fluff (seems like it always is LOL). Gender neutral. No use of Y/N. No NSFW.
Notes: Unfortunately I only have three more chapters of headcanons left, but that also means new content after I finish uploading all of them! Divider is from Pinterest. Please do enjoy.
His love language is gift giving, no doubt about that. Itâs something heâll do easily for you. But when you decide to give him a handmade gift, whether itâs a knit beanie or a ceramic mug, he nearly has tears in his eyes. Heâs extremely generous and is used to being the giver and gets super emotional, super grateful for the work you put into something (even if itâs small) just for him.
Decides himself that heâll pay for the datesâ But you donât let him. Not all of them at least. He only accepts that if you take him to your favorite, smaller and less fancy places on the days that you take him to a small mom-and-pop shop you used to frequent as a child or a local night festival in the next town, you opt to pay. Even if itâs not the same price as the Michelin 3-star sushi that cost your salary last month, you believe that itâs the least you could do for him.
Forgot to do last nightâs homework? Screenshots sent. Didnât get time to work on the poster over the weekend? No worries, heâs a creative genius as well. Had a month to work on a 3k word essay but was procrastinating the whole time? âYou could turn in my essay instead,â he says. âMy grade wonât change much because of one assignment.â (The essay is worth 20% of the overall grade but heâs done a shit ton of extra credit work because the regular work was too easy.
His love for gift giving might be a bit overbearing at times. Heâll buy anything for you if youâre feeling down or angry at him. He doesnât fully understand yet that an item doesnât exactly correlate with oneâs happiness. Sometimes you just want his presence there with you, and thatâs all you could ever ask for from him.
He doesnât care about hiding you from his peers or family. Heâs proud to be with someone like you and would only think itâd be worse if he tried to keep you as a secret. He wants to show the world how lucky of a man he is (and perhaps maybe to reiterate his idea of how he always gets what he wants). But if you want privacy, he still respects your choice. He might not mention your name or what you look like, but best believe heâll find a way to bring you into his conversations.
He loves kisses. On the lips, cheeks, forehead, you name it. But heâs not the super overbearing type about it. Heâll never forget to give you a small goodbye kiss whenever leaving you for practice or for classes and heâll sneak in a few kisses on your cheeks every now and then when he canât help the sight of you being so cute.
Ba-Ya knows everything about you, since he loves talking about you and everything you guys do together. This tells her how much Reo truly loves you and how much he feels for you. Sheâs grateful for him to have someone like you to have him always smiling this much. After all, sheâd been the one accompanying him the most since he was a child, because his parents were always busy. Now that you were also by his side, it was like you were much needed sunshine in order for him to fully bloom.
Similarly to a K-drama, his parents did offer you money in exchange for leaving him. That obviously didnât work because the love you had for each other was worth more than what they offered you. You had initially planned on not telling him, but he found out through Ba-Ya, who was listening in on the conversation his mother had with you. It didnât hurt him that you hid it from him, knowing you didnât have ill intentions. If anything, it made him love you even more, the fact that you continued to stay with him and wanted him to maintain his (somewhat) stable relationship with his parents, since you knew heâd have an outburst if he heard about it.
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This work has been reuploaded from my AO3 account, âmvsaomiâ.
Tags: Fluff, and even more fluff. No uses of Y/N. Gender neutral. No NSFW.
Notes: Hereâs another one of my old chapters. Barou is my favorite and always has been. I had a mini shrine at my desk at my old apartment just for him, LOL. Also, I didnât rewrite anything, so I apologize ahead of time for any typos or cringe. Enjoy! Divider is not mine, from Pinterest.
Very respectful towards customer service workers, especially those who work in the food industry. He couldn't imagine cleaning up after the messes people leave. Why can't people clean up after themselves?
The other BL boys knew he took an interest in you when he decided not to call you "donkey" or "trash". Instead, he opted for a simple "stupid", as calling you by your first or last name would still be too direct for him. (It sounds so derogatory but it's endearing, I swear T-T)
Will refuse to laugh at any of your sarcastic or dad jokes. He can feel himself cringe inside every time you do so, but doesn't call it out or anything. If someone else calls you out for it though, that's a different story for him.
Although, something I feel like he wouldn't be able to hold back at least a chuckle for is seeing you attempt to pay soccer when he teaches you. You probably wanted to try and spend more time with him by participating in some of his exercises and outright failed.
Probably wouldn't even be playing soccer. It'd probably be the agility ladder when you try to run at his pace and you end up faceplanting instead. Don't worry though, he'll help you up and clean up the turf that gets on your face.
For your first few dates, he'll take you to places that he frequents the most since he knows them pretty well and knows what to expect. A sweets parlor in Omotesando, a crepe food truck in Harajuku, and an all-you-can-eat dessert restaurant in Shibuya.
It's not rare for people to question how you are able to date someone with a personality like Barou's. But one look at how dedicated he is when picking you up from your apartment to head to school together (even if he lives closer to campus), how he listens to every single song you recommend to him (it reminds me of you, you'd say), or how he never fails to mention you once every time a person musters up the confidence to talk to him (during his post-match interviews, they always ask what he'll be up to after and it's always just practice and you)-- they know it's genuine love.
He's blunt, but he's genuine and sincere. Perhaps one of the only people you've met that you feel like you know everything about because of how true to he is to his words. He doesn't like lying and he for sure does not like liars.
That doesn't mean that he isn't a confusing person though. It always feels like there's always things to unpack and learn about him because he isn't the type to bring things up unless prompted to. (Hence he's thankful that you were the one who started talking to him, or else he definitely would've never gotten the chance to be with you like this. But he won't ever mention that, tbh.)
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This work has been reuploaded from my AO3 account, âmvsaomiâ.
Tags: Fluff. Lots of it. Gender neutral. No mentions of Y/N. No NSFW.
Notes: Hopefully rereading my old works will give me inspiration to make new ones. Hello to everyone just joining me as I venture back out into writing for the Blue Lock fandom! Divider does not belong to me, acquired from Pinterest.
Word Count: 316
Heâll wait and pick you up after your classes. Itâs more of a pain to go back and call you rather than just wait and spend time with you in-person.
When he goes on his bi-weekly grocery haul, he picks up snacks and food that you like, or spotted you eating when together.
Has trouble understanding your feelings and emotions often, but that doesnât mean that he doesnât try. He still cares about you and asks to explain it. Heâs not experienced with things like this at all.
If youâre indecisive, making decisions with him will be difficult to deal with. âWhateverâs fineâ or âwhichever you wantâ will always be his response because itâs too much of a hassle to think and choose something.
Will smurf and help you rank up as long as you can make the account and finish all the challenges that allow it to play comp.
Not very much into PDA as in he isnât usually the one to initiate it, but doesnât mind it if you are the one to. Sometimes heâll randomly come up behind and wrap his arms around you instead of saying something to let you know heâs there.
Rest assured, heâll let you borrow any of his clothes. He thinks it looks pretty cute on you and will definitely say something about it. He wonât tell you to wear it more, but heâll easily compliment you.
When it comes to serious conversations, he gets serious. He understands that thereâs always a time to put down his games for later and that you are more of a priority to him than his games will ever be.
Definitely the type who can text âI love youâ but have trouble saying it in-person. The longer you two are together though, he eventually gets more comfortable and will say in in moments that he genuinely feels the need or want to.
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This work has been reuploaded from my personal AO3 account, âmvsaomiâ.
Iâve been slowly getting back into Blue Lock, so Iâll upload my old headcanons from AO3 to here. The writing is kinda bad because those were all uploaded and typed up on a whim, but will still move it here nonetheless! And a bit corny, but it lowkey had me giggling to myself and kicking my feet in bed when I reread it because I forgot about what I wrote đ
Tags: Emotional. Hurt/Comfort. Reader is self-conscious about their scars. No use of Y/N. Gender neutral. No NSFW.
Link to Part 1.
Note: Here I come back again before I disappear once more into the abyss. Been dealing with a lot of lifeâs obstacles such as moving, job hunting, etc. so I hadnât had the time to put this up. Although, since my last upload, Iâve joined new fandoms so maybe I will start expanding with other characters. This is uploaded on my phone so I apologize if the formatting is off. Please enjoy!
Word Count: 1,108
Your world shrank to the feeling of his hand over yours as he pressed the cloth to the stinging cut on your arm. The rain was a cold curtain, the wind a dying roar, but in the pocket of stillness that you and Loâak occupied, there was only the sound of rugged breathing and the drumbeat of your heart.
"Can you stand?" His voice was close, stripped of its usual bravado.
You nodded stiffly. You felt the strong instinct to cover your chest, but your arms felt limp, useless. He shifted and weight lifted before offering a hand. You took it with numb fingers as he pulled you up, his other hand never leaving the bandage on your arm.
The clan was already regrouping, calling out to one another, assessing damage. Ayo was safe, wailing in his mother's arms. No one had looked towards the two of you, muddy and disheveled in the tree line.
"Here," Lo'ak muttered, guiding you not back to the clan, but deeper into a nearby shelter with a moss-choked rock overhang. It was a space barely big enough for two, a forgotten pocket away from the eyes now tending to more pressing matters. Water dripped from the ferns above, creating a soft, private percussion that rang in your ears.
He gently pushed your back against the cool stone wall. "Let me see it."
You held your arm out, your gaze fixed on the damp moss beneath you, your cutâ anything but meeting his. You just couldn't look at him. The torn wrap hung open, and the scars on your chest and ribs exposed to the air.
You were a cracked vessel, and everything you'd kept inside for so long felt like it was leaking out into the silence between you.
Surprisingly, he worked with a gentle focus. He tore a clean strip from the hem of his own tunic, soaked it in the clean water dripping from a fern, and began to clean the cut. His movements were efficient, learned from a lifetime of patching up his own mistakes. His head was bent, his braids falling forward. He didn't even glance at the scars that sprawled across the landscape of your skin just inches away. He attended to the one, new, simple wound.
The silence stretched, filled with the echo of the storm and the unasked question that now screamed in the air. You knew what was coming next.
"It was a Symphony Tree," you heard yourself say. The words were flat and detached, as if someone else was speaking them from far away.
His hands stilled for a second, then continued wrapping the clean strip of cloth around your arm, securing it with a tight knot. He didn't look up.
"I was small. A dry lightning strike. It... the sap inside caught fire. It rained down." You swallowed, the memory coming to you like a ghost of heat against your skin. "It was sticky. Warm... But the Omatikaya saved me, Loâak. Your tsahik used the moss and the fungus poultices. Yes, it healed, but this is how."
You finally glanced at him. He had finished with the bandage, but he still hadn't moved away. He was looking at your arm, his fingers now resting lightly on the new bandage. His thumb absently stroked the edge of the older binding beneath it. His expression was unreadable, a mask of intense concentration.
Then, slowly, Loâak lifted his gaze to meet yours. It didn't jump to the scars. From the bandage on your arm, up to your shoulder, across your collarbone, and then finally, it rested on the whorling patchwork of scars over your heart. His eyes weren't wide with shock anymore.
He didn't give you an 'I'm sorry.' He didn't say 'That's terrible.'
His hand lifted from your bandaged arm. He hovered it with his palm up, a silent request. His eyes flicked from the scars to your face, asking a permission his own words couldn't.
A sob threatened to crack your sternum. You gave the barest, almost unnoticeable nod.
Loâakâs touch was nothing like you'd ever imagined. It wasn't the clinical prod of a healer, nor the awkward skim of a curious clanmate. His index finger landed on the thickest, most prominent ridge, just below your clavicle down toward your ribs.
He didn't stroke it. He traced it. His touch was as light as a feather, following its path with the reverence of a scholar reading sacred text.
You stopped breathing.
"It's like a root," Loâak murmured, his voice so low it was almost part of the dripping water. "The biggest, deepest root of the oldest tree." His finger paused at the end of the ridge. "This is where you held on. This is what kept you from being washed away."
His hand moved, his fingertips brushing over a wider, patchier area where the bioluminescence was a scatter of silver pinpricks in a sea of duller blue. "This here... this is a delta. Where the fire river split. Your strength here... it had to flow out into a hundred little channels to survive." His brow was furrowed, not in disgust, but in the effort of translation. "It's smart. A good tactic."
A half-laugh, half-sob, escaped you. He was analyzing your scars like a battlefield, a survival strategy.
His eyes met yours, seeing the tears welling there. He didn't shy away from them. His hand lifted from your skin to gently cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing away the first tear that fell. His own face was stripped bare of every joke, only leaving a startling, raw honesty.
"You think these are a thing to hide?" he asked, and his voice cracked on the last word. "Skxawng. These aren't... they're not a flaw. Far from it, Iâd say." Loâak struggled, grappling for the words he was so bad at wielding. "My scars," he gestured vaguely at his own collection of marks, "they're just... stupid things I did. But yours..."
He looked back at your chest, his gaze sweeping back over your unveiled scars and his expression shifted into one of awe. "This is a map. A map of a war you won." His eyes found yours again, blazing with a conviction that stole the air from your lungs. "It's the most powerful thing I've ever seen."
The story you had carried as a burden of shame was being rewritten. Not with pity, but with a fierce, unflinching respect. Lo'ak, the boy who spoke in actions, had just given your history a new language. And for the first time, you dared to believe it might be one you could actually learn to speak.
Tags: Emotional. Fluff. Reader is self-conscious about their scars. No use of Y/N. Gender Neutral. No NSFW.
Note: Thank you for waiting so long for me to upload another fic. Life has been throwing shit at me lately, so I've got quite a lot on hand but writing has kept me at ease. Please enjoy!
Word Count: 1,260.
The world of the Omatikaya was a tapestry of sound and scent. But for you, it was also a world of careful drapery. The soft vine cloth of your chest wrap was your constant companion, woven tight and high like a second skin that covered the map of ruin etched across your chest. Your left arm, from shoulder to wrist, was always bound in supple leaf strips, even in the stifling humidity of the summer season.
The clan knew, of course. In a community so close, such a secret was impossible.
They saw the edges of ropey skin at your nape when your braids shifted. They noticed the way you never joined in the river games. But the Omatikaya were a people of deep respect. No one asked.Â
The story of the Symphony Tree and the child caught in its burning tears was an old story, filed away with other tragedies. You were simply you: the quiet forager with an eye for the ripest fruit, the patient mender of nets, the one who could calm a spooked pa'li with a soft hum.
And then there was Lo'ak.
He was the opposite of careful. He was a living collision of impulse and heart, his own body a public record of mishapsâ a white slash from a viperwolf claw across his ribs, a bump on the bridge of his nose from a poorly judged slide down a rock face, and a recent burn on his palm from grabbing a hot cooking stone.
He wore his scars like casual badges, stories he'd tell with a grin and a wave of his hand. "Ah, this one? That's from the time I tried to ride a young sturmbeest. Not my brightest moment, skxawng."
You watched him sometimes, a strange ache in your chest. He moved with an non-self-conscious freedom you could only imagine. Heâd strip off his tunic in the heat without a thought, his skin gleaming under the sun, a canvas of lived-in, unashamed life.
He noticed your carefulness. Not in a prying way, but with the same focused curiosity he gave to a strange insect or a tangled predator track.
Youâd catch his golden eyes on you during a meal, following the way your fingers automatically checked the knot of your arm binding. He saw how youâd subtly shift to keep your left side under the shadow.
One afternoon, while you were gathering moss by the stream, he appeared beside you, as sudden and unannounced as a sun shower.
âYou always pick the best moss,â he said, crouching down. His knee brushed yours, and you instinctively leaned away. âThe stuff I get is always half dead or full of mites.â
âThatâs because you just grab the first clump you see,â you said, not looking up, your voice mild. âYou have to listen. The healthy moss hums. Very softly.â
He went still, tilting his head. For a long moment, the only sound was the water. Then, a slow smile spread across his face.Â
âHuh... It does.â He plucked a piece from your basket, rolling it between his fingers. âSee, you know the quiet things. The things you have to actually pay attention to.â
His gaze wasnât on the moss. It was on the careful wrap covering your arm, just inches from his hand. You froze, a familiar cold dread seeping into your veins. But his eyes held no pity, no morbid curiosity. It was just⌠observation.
He didnât ask. He never asked. But his noticing became a new, silent pressure. A question hanging in the air between you.
---
The storm answered it.
It was the kind of storm that spoke of Eywaâs fury. The sky turned the color of a bruise, and the wind arrived not as a gust but as a wall, screaming through the canopy. The clan scattered from the central clearing, rushing to secure huts, herd animals, and gather children.
You were helping an elder secure the weave of her family pod when a scream, as sharp as lightning, cut through the wind. Her youngest grandchild, a little boy named Ayo, had been playing near the Songwood trees. Those trees were known for their long and brittle seed pods that became deadly projectiles in high winds.
You were already running before the thought finished. Lo'ak was a blue streak ahead of you.
You reached the tree line as a pod the size of your leg snapped free and spun through the air like a blade. It wasnât headed for Ayo, who was being scooped up by his mother. It was arcing, directly toward you and Lo'ak.
âGet down!â Lo'ak roared.
He didnât dive for cover. He dove at you. His body collided with yours, a forceful, protective tackle that sent you both crashing into the muddy undergrowth.
The world was a roar of wind, tearing leaves, and the sickening CRACK-THWUMP of the seed pod embedding itself in the earth where youâd stood.
The impact drove the air from your lungs. Lo'akâs weight was heavy on top of you, his body a shield against the debris now pelting the forest floor. You could feel the rapid drum of his heart against your back, the tension in every muscle.
As the worst of the wind passed, he pushed himself up on his arms, his face inches from yours, eyes wide with adrenaline. âYou okay? Are you hit?â
You shook your head, gasping. It was then you felt it: a cold, wet drag against your skin. The force of the fall, the scrape of a broken branch, had caught your chest wrap. The central knot had been torn loose, and the fabric was slit from collarbone to sternum, gaping open.
The cold wasn't from the rain. It was the exposure of air on skin that hadn't felt it in years.
Lo'akâs eyes, flicking down to check for injuries, saw it. He saw the complex, whirling landscape of shiny, ropey flesh. The altered bioluminescent patterns that glowed in a faint, discordant silver against the blue of your skin. It was a sudden, brutal unveiling.
Your body felt completely locked. Every instinct screamed to cover yourself, to scramble away, to disappear into the storm. Humiliation, hot and acrid, burned your throat.
His expression shifted. Not to horror. Not to the revulsion youâd braced for a lifetime to see. His eyes widened further, but with a different kind of shock. Then they darted to your upper arm, where a sharp fragment of wood from the branch had sliced through your leaf binding and opened a shallow, bleeding gash.
âYou are hit,â he said, his voice losing its adrenaline edge, dropping into something low and urgent. All his focus zeroed in on the fresh wound, the immediate threat. The scars, the vast history of pain they represented, seemed momentarily irrelevant to him next to the present, bleeding cut.
His hand came up, his fingers careful but firm, pressing the edges of the torn binding against the seeping blood. His touch was practical, grounding. âItâs not deep. Hold this here.â
In the chaotic gloom of the storm, with rain sheeting down and the clan shouting in the distance, he saw your scars⌠And his first, unthinking reaction was to stop you from bleeding.
The world tilted on its axis. The secret was out, laid bare in the mud and rain, and the boy you thought would flinch was applying pressure to a cut, his brow furrowed in simple, fierce concern.
The storm raged on, but inside you, a different tempest had just broken, leaving a terrifying, quiet stillness in its wake.
I apologize once again for the inactivity⌠𤧠I went on a trip to Thailand and Singapore and Iâm back home now but I got sick. đ Struggling quite a bit out here.
Apologies for the lack of content recently! I just got accepted into my dream university for a postgraduate program for criminal law and justice so Iâm sooo excited. Hope everyone is doing well! :)
Working once again on another Loâak x Reader fic. Iâve found that I really enjoy writing Loâakâs character. I donât know how long this one will take, but it might be sooner than later since I might get a rush of inspiration soon. Iâm planning to watch Fire and Ash in MX4D on Saturday morning so I canât wait. I know Iâll be more than motivated after watching it. đĽ°
Arranged relationships for âpolitical alliancesâ. (ex: Omatikaya & Metkayina)
RDA! Reader.
I donât think any are necessarily bad, I just feel like thereâs a lot of them and I donât want to oversaturate these categories more than they already are. Some arenât a lot, but I just donât think Iâd enjoy writing.
Hope you continue to enjoy my future works. Iâll put out other works with different fandoms in the future, but Iâm still loving working on Avatar right now. đ
Tags: Fluff. Emotional. Light-hearted. No use of Y/N. Gender Neutral. No NSFW.
Note: Please let me know if I wrote anything insensitive, as I donât mean to cause any harm if I do. I wanted to give a different perspective and show how the beauty in Eywa and its inhabitants don't just stem from its beautiful sights, but also the beauty within. Please also comment if youâd like to join a taglist for my future âAvatar x Readerâ fics.
Word Count: 2,402.
The world was not in darkness.
It was a symphony of pressure. It was a cool, velvet kiss of humidity against your skin as you passed from sunlight into the forestâs shade. It was a map of soundâ the chattering gossip of viperwolf pups a hundred yards to the east, the rustle of a hexapede browsing in the ferns, the distant, everlasting sigh of Hometreeâs remnants. You could feel the path under your bare feet, not just its texture, but also its history.
Your hands knew the shape of things. Your basket, woven from sturdy vines, had a ridge on the third coil where youâd mended it. The leaves of the herb you were harvesting were smooth on top, but veined and slightly rough underneath. You didnât need to see to know when the gathering was good. You felt it in the weight of the basket, the resinous scent that bloomed in the air as your fingers brushed the stems.
You were humming to yourself, a low tune your mother had sung, when a new pressure entered your symphony.
Footsteps. Not the balanced tread of a hunter, nor the shuffle of an elder. These were quick, slightly off-rhythm, kicking up small sprays of pebbles. They came to an abrupt halt a few paces away.
âYou always know itâs me, donât you?â
Loâakâs voice was a texture all its own. It was brash and warm, like sunlight on river stones, with an undercurrent of something restless, always vibrating just beneath the surface.
You smiled, not turning your head. âYour right foot lands heavier than your left. And you breathe like youâre about to speak, even when youâre silent.â
A huff, amused. âOkay, okay. What are you up to?â
âGathering herbs. The patch by the stream is strong this season.â
âNeed help?â
It wasnât the offer that was unusual, but the tone. Not pity. It was pure, unadulterated curiosity.Â
Heâd been hovering at the edges of your world for weeks, Youâd often feel his presence watching you, his energy like a sudden warm breeze. And youâd heard the stories, of course. The second son, the storm-chaser, the one with the too big of a heart that kept leading him into trouble.
âThe basket is almost full,â you said.
âNot with that. I mean⌠Come with me. I want to show you something.â
That gave you pause. âShow me?â
âYeah! The sky today⌠It's insane. The clouds over the Floating Mountains look like a herd of fleeing sturmbeests, all pink and orange. And I found this new flower that just bloomed near the old training grounds! Itâs this crazy blue that almost glows, even during the day.â
His descriptions were like splashes of paint, vivid and chaotic. You couldnât picture the fleeing sturmbeests, but you could feel the vastness he implied, could hear the earnest wonder in his voice. It was⌠charming.
âAnd how do you propose to âshowâ me these things, Loâak?â
âIâll tell you! Iâll describe it. Iâm good at that.â He said it with a confidence that was both endearing and entirely unearned.
Your smile widened. âAlright then. Lead on, guide.â
---
It became a strange, delightful ritual. Loâak would be your self-appointed herald of the visible world. Heâd come find you, and his voice would become your brush, painting landscapes you would never witness.
âOkay, so weâre at the lookout,â heâd say, his arm probably sweeping in a grand gesture. âThe valley is all⌠deep green, like a pool of moss, and the rivers are these silver threads. And way, way out there, the mist from the waterfalls looks like smoke from a thousand campfires.â
Youâd listen, head tilted as you broke down his descriptions. Silver threads meant fast moving water over rocks. Deep green implied a dense, healthy canopy. Youâd file it away, building your own internal map made of sound, scent, and Loâakâs impressionistic poetry.
But he was terrible at practical guidance. âWatch out for that root!â heâd cry, a second after your toes had already expertly identified it. âTurn left here!â heâd instruct, when the acoustics of the clearing clearly indicated a path straight ahead.
Youâd gently correct him. âThe root here, itâs soft. And this left turn leads to a sinkhole, Loâak. The good path is ahead. Listen to the echo.â
Heâd grumble, but without heat. More with fascination. âHow do you do that?â
âYou just have to listen past your own voice,â youâd say softly.
His descriptions were his gift, flawed and beautiful. And you accepted them, not as a window to a world you lacked, but as a key to understanding him.
The way his voice softened when describing the delicate veining of a leaf told you more about his heart than any hunt ever could.
---
The day it all changed began like any other. His energy was different, though. A nervous, thrumming excitement vibrated from him, tinged with a solemnity youâd never felt in him before.
âTodayâs different,â he announced, his voice tight. âIâm taking you to my place. My real place. No one else knows about it. Not even Neteyam.â
This was a serious offering. For Loâak, a secret shared was the highest currency.
The journey was longer, through terrain that grew unfamiliar. This time you relied on him completely, your hand resting lightly on his shoulder as he navigated narrow passes and down steep, leafy inclines. You heard the world change first. There was a resonant hum of falling water growing louder, the air chilling and carrying the clean, electric scent of ozone and wet stone.
âWeâre here,â he whispered, his voice full of awe.
He led you forward a few more steps. The symphony was breathtaking.
The waterfall was a deep, thunderous percussion, shaking the air. The mist was a constant, cool kiss on your face. The bioluminescence here was a living blanket, where you could feel its faint, warm energy on your skin. It was like a tapestry of light you could only sense as a gentle, pulsing warmth.
âOkayâŚâ Loâak breathed, the guide preparing for his greatest performance. âOkay, youâre standing in it. Itâs a glade, a perfect circle. The walls are all smooth, black rock, covered in yovo vines that are glowing⌠every color. Like someone spilled the stars. And in the center, thereâs this pool, so clear you can see every pebble at the bottom, and the waterfall comes down on the far side, all white and foamy, and when the mist hits the light from the vines, it makes these little rainbows that danceâŚâ
He was trying. Eywa, he was trying so hard. But his words, usually so fluid, began to clot and stumble. The pressure of itâ the need to make you see this sacred beautyâ was strangling his gift.
âItâs just⌠itâs the most beautiful thing. The colors, the way the light moves⌠Iâve never seen anything like it. I wanted you to⌠I mean, you have to be able toâŚâ His voice cracked, not with sadness, but with the sheer, desperate frustration of inarticulate love.
The frustration turned to distress. You could hear it in his ragged breath, in the way his shoulder tensed under your hand. This was his test, his offering to you, and he was failing.
You could feel the old, familiar demon of his. The fear of never being enough, of always falling short. Rising up to choke him here, in his own sanctuary.
He fell silent. The glorious symphony of the glade was now underscored by the quiet, ragged sound of his defeat.
It was enough.
You lifted your hand from his shoulder and reached out, finding his arm. Your fingers closed around his wrist, stilling his restless fidget. The connection was solid, an anchor in his storm.
âLoâak.â
He flinched.
You tightened your grip, just a little. A firm, grounding pressure. âStop.â
A beat of silence, filled only by the waterfallâs roar.
You turned your face toward him, though your gaze, as always, was turned inward, listening. Your voice, when you spoke, was calm, a clear stream cutting through his turmoil.
âDo not tell me what it looks like.â
You paused, feeling his pulse hammering against your fingertips.
âTell me what it feels like.â
Your words hung in the mist, a simple command that seemed to stop the very air between you. Loâakâs breathing hitched, his frantic energy draining into confusion. You felt his arm tense, then slowly relax under your touch.
âWhat⌠what do you mean?â he asked, his voice smaller than youâd ever heard before.
You didnât answer with words. Gently, you guided his hand downward, away from the empty space heâd been trying to paint, and pressed his palm flat against the rock face beside you. It was cool and slick, humming with the waterfallâs vibration.
âStart here,â you said softly. âIs the rock smooth or sharp? Is it wet from the mist or dry? Does it feel alive?â
A long pause. You could almost hear the frantic scrambling in his mind cease, replaced by a new, focused attention.
âItâs⌠smooth,â he said, wonder seeping into his tone. His fingers began to move, exploring. âBut not like glass. There are tiny grooves, like old scars. And itâs cold. Really cold, right here, but just a few inches overâŚâ he shifted his hand, âitâs warmer. Where the vines are touching it.â
âGood,â you murmured. You led him a few steps forward, to where the mist fell like a constant, fine rain. âNow, the air. Is it cold or warm? Does it move in one direction, or does it swirl?â
He was silent, his face turned upward. âItâs⌠both,â he said, astonished. âThe mist is cold, just like the rock. But under it, the air is warm, rising from the pool. It dances on my skin.â He was no longer describing for you; he was discovering for himself.
You knelt, pulling him down with you before your hands found the moss at the waterâs edge. You took his hand and buried his fingers in it. âDescribe this.â
âItâs⌠so deep,â he breathed. âSofter than the finest sleeping mat. Itâs springy. And it smells⌠green. Like life itself, but quieter than the forest. Richer.â
âAnd the water. Not its color. Its sound. Its touch.â
You guided his hand to break the surface of the pool. He gasped, a short, sharp intake.
âItâs not cold! Itâs⌠itâs the same as the warm air under the mist. Itâs like liquid sunlight.â He cupped some in his hand, let it trickle through his fingers. âThe sound⌠itâs not just the crash up there. Here, where it meets the pool, itâs a gurgle, a laugh. And over there, by those other rocks, itâs a deep, hollow chuckle.â
He was talking faster now, a river of sensation breaking its banks. You simply listened, a smile gracing your lips. He had found the language.
âClose your eyes, Loâak,â you suggested gently.
He did. And with his own sight voluntarily gone, his other senses bloomed. He described the symphony you lived in every day. The layered percussion of the falls, the high, sweet chime of dripping water from a specific fern, the way the bioluminescence wasnât just light but a faint, tickling warmth on the left side of his face where the densest cluster of vines hung.
He was quiet for a long moment, his eyes still shut, a look of profound peace on his face you could hear in his steady breath. âIâve never⌠I just always looked at it,â he whispered, raw with revelation. âI never just⌠felt it before.â
The frustrated guide was gone. In his place was a fellow explorer, humbled and awed by a world he thought he knew.
You both sat in the moss, the silence between you now comfortable, filled with the shared understanding of the gladeâs true essence.
It was he who broke the silence, his voice so low it was nearly swallowed by the waterâs roar.
âI justâŚâ he began, the words stumbling out with the last of his guarded fear. âI wanted you to have something of mine. Something beautiful that no one else knows. I wanted to put it in your hands. And I thought⌠if I could make you see it, then it would be real for you, too. And I couldnât even do that.â
The confession hung in the humid air. This was the heart of him, the boy who fought so hard to be worthy, to share his soul and terrified he had nothing of value to give.
Your heart ached with a fierce tenderness. You reached out, your movements sure in this space you now both knew intimately. You found his hand where it rested in the moss and brought it up, not to your eyes, but to your chest. You placed his palm flat over your heart, letting him feel its steady rhythm against his skin.
âYou did not give me a place, Loâak,â you said, your voice clear and sure as the waterâs song. âYou gave me your way of feeling it. The cold of the rock, the dance of the air, the laugh of the water⌠ is your gift. That is a piece of your spirit. And it is far more beautiful than any color.â
You felt his breath catch.
âI have never seen anyone,â you continued, the truth of it shining in your sightless, focused gaze, âthe way I see you right now.â
A shudder went through him. Then, his hand shifted under yours. He didnât pull away. Instead, his fingers curled, his grip tightening gently on the tunic over your heart, as if holding onto the words youâd just spoken.
âI see you.â
The final wall crumbled. He let out a long, slow breathâ not of defeat, but of release. Of being seen, in a way he never imagined possible. He didnât try to describe the moment. He simply shifted closer in the moss, until his shoulder pressed warmly against yours.
After a moment, you felt the gentle, tentative weight of his tail as it sought and curled softly around your own. You sat like that, in the heart of his secret glade.
You built your shared understanding not from pictures, but from the quiet synchronicity of your breaths, the solid warmth of his presence beside you, and the profound peace that came from knowing you had, together, learned a new way to see.
Warnings: AFAA spoilers. Heavy angst. Character death mentioned. Self harm.
Tags: No use of Y/N. Hurt and comfort. Gender neutral.
Note: Quite a sad scene compared to anything Iâve ever written before but it really made my heart ache when watching it the first time. This is an alternative version of the scene. I always find myself being pouring too much of my feelings out whenever I write too late in the evening, haha. Please enjoy. :)
The air in the village tasted of salt and sorrow. It was a weight pressing down on your chest, making each breath feel like you were drowning on dry land. The laughter of the reef children was a distant, foreign sound. Your world had shrunk to the hollow silence of your family's marui. It was a silence your brother, Lo'ak, could no longer bear.
You knew he was gone before you saw the empty sleeping mat. You knew where he had gone.
The path to the secluded cove, where he went to escape the disappointed stares and the unspoken comparisons was a blur. Your heart was a frantic beat against your ribs. The trees and its leaves hissed past you, a smear of blues and purples in the twilight.
You burst through the final curtain of vines and saw him.
He was standing chest deep in the dark water, the gentle waves lapping at the fresh, angry wounds on his chest. Not the marks of a beast or a battle, but precise, terrible lines carved into his own skin.
The ritual knife lay discarded on the rock beside him. A silent, damning witness.
His head was bowed. His shoulders shook not with sobs, but with a profound stillness.
"Lo'ak!"
Your voice didn't sound like your own. It was a raw, fractured thing, torn from the pit of your stomach.
He didn't flinch. Didn't turn. It was as if he had already left, and only his body remained, waiting for the tide to take it.
You didn't think.
You waded into the water and the cool shock of it felt like a slap against your burning skin. You didn't stop until you were right in front of him, where the water swirled with faint, pink tendrils that made your vision tunnel.
You reached out, your hands trembling violently, and cupped his face, forcing him to look at you.
His eyes were the worst part. Not empty, but full of a stormâ a hurricane of guilt, shame, and a pain so deep it had sought out this terrible escape.
The golden fire you were used to, the defiant spark, was drowning.
"Look at me," you whispered, your thumbs brushing the wet trails from his cheeks. "You look at me, brother."
A shuddering breath finally escaped him. "I couldn't... I couldn't save him," he choked out, the words a broken confession to the sea, to Eywa, and to you. "It should have been me. Itâs always supposed to be me."
The reference to Neteyam was a fresh knife to your own heart. But you swallowed the grief, letting it harden into something else.
"No!â you said, voice was stronger now, edged with a command you didn't know you possessed. "You do not get to add your ashes to his pyre. Do you hear me?"
You let go of his face and instead grabbed his arm, your fingers pressing just above the newest wounds. "The Great Mother did not weave your spirit for this. She did not give you this stubborn heart, this fierce love that feels too much, just for you to spill it on the rocks."
You began to pull him, gently but insistently, back to the shore. He was pliant as it appeared the fight was utterly drained from him. "You come with me. Now."
You made him sit on the sand. You retrieved the pouch of medicinal paste and the clean, soft kelp strips you always carried (it was a habit born from trailing after two reckless brothers). Your hands, which had trembled moments before, were now steady as a stone.
You worked in silence at first, cleaning the wounds with water from your gourd, applying the soothing paste. Each touch was deliberate, a physical rebuttal to the violence he had inflicted upon himself.
"This painâŚ" you began, finally breaking the silence as you began to wrap the kelp around his chest. ââŚyou do not get to keep it locked in here where it can fester."
You tied the bandage firm, but not tight. "You will give it to me⌠You will give it to motherâŚ. You will scream it at the waves until your voice is raw. But you will not let it turn your own hands against you again."
You finished and sat back on your heels, looking him directly in the eyes, holding his gaze with the full force of your shared blood, your shared loss.
"Neteyam," you said his name, and it was both a prayer and an anchor, "carried his duty. You carry his spirit. His fire is in you, Lo'ak. And I will be damned to the eclipse before I let you snuff it out."
And for a moment, there was only the sound of the waves and his ragged breathing. Then, without a word, you moved. You didn't reach for his face or his hands. Instead, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace.
It was not a gentle hug. It was an anchor. One hand fisted in the fabric of his loincloth at his back, the other pressed firmly between his shoulder blades, like you could physically hold the pieces of him together. You tucked his head under your chin, your cheek resting against the top of his head.
"You are not alone in this," you whispered, your voice thick with an emotion too intense for words. "You have never been alone, so stay. You will heal. And I⌠Kiri, Spider, Tuk, mom, and dad⌠will be here, every step the way to remind you why."
In the quiet cove, with only the sigh of the ocean as witness, your brother finally broke. He didn't stiffen or pull away.
His arms came up around you, clutching at you with a desperate strength. He buried his face against your shoulder, and the first real, shuddering sob tore from his throat. It came out as a raw, guttural sound of pain finally finding its exit.
You held him there, rock solid against the tide of his grief, as the water washed the last of the ashes from his skin. You held him, and you did not let go.
