☆ love you like a dog (i just keep coming back) ☆
synopsis: losing your mate means losing yourself. it's too bad the little part of you that cares for his brother didn't die with him. aged-up!lo'ak x na'vi!fem!reader.
warnings: ANGST IN THIS ONE Y'ALL, graphic descriptions of death, death of a loved one (neteyam), loss, heavy descriptions of grief, taboo/complicated relationships, explicit sexual content [18+ MINORS DNI], oral fem!reciving, size kink, mention of stomach bulge, dirty talk, slight dom/sub dynamics, i don't know how to write smut sorry friends, unedited to the max i apologize in advance
the first time it happens, you repent. chain yourself to charity like a fork-tongued saint, devout and forlorn. purification becomes purpose. lifeblood. you had to atone for your sins somehow, didn't you? (you still thought of lo'ak's canines, sinking into the side of your neck, one five-fingered hand threaded in your hair, the other pulling at the ties of your tewng {loincloth} like he'd die if he didn't touch you—). you know better. you know lust cannot fill the vacancy slithering through your exoskeleton, marrow-deep and unyielding. it eats at you, the emptiness. engulfs you whole, spits out a mass of azure skin, eggshell bone, bloodied teeth. and you let it. what else are you supposed to do? who else are you supposed to turn to but that personified ache in your subconscious, that nagging worm in your head that begs you to bloodlet? begs you to make it better, make it easier? dislodge yourself from the longing that keeps you reaching for a hand that has long slipped out of your grasp? you were only doing it because you needed to. because there was no other way to escape your own mind.
(it's been years. and yet, you remembered the blood, the way it had painted your hands in seeping layers of thick, tacky crimson. you remembered the way your mouth had opened in a silent scream, tongue heavy and thick in between lips forming the syllables of his name, over and over and over. neteyam, neteyam, neteyam, my mate, my mate, my mate. you remembered the way you'd shirked away from the tangy bite of metal in the air, the taste of iron down your throat akin to a barrel of a gun, the heat of a bullet. the gush of an exit wound. you remembered how neteyam's gaze had clashed with yours when you'd pressed your hands firmly to his chest, a silent plea written in the flecks of gold dotting his irises: "take me home, ma'yawne." you remembered neytiri's face, frozen in time, streaked with crystalline tears, her eldest son laying lifeless in the arms that had birthed him.)
the second time it happens, you make a choice. a calculated, deliberate decision. an instigation. kiri notices your tense silence during dinner that night, and reaches a hand over her crossed knees to pat at the side of your thigh comfortingly. she leans in as you shift, meeting her appraising gaze with apprehension floating precariously at the surface of your own. her eyes flash honey-gold, nearly glowing in the tangerine gild of the raging pyre beside you. although the feast you face is beautiful - lines of emerald rock orchid leaves, crimson mushrooms, and freshly-caught flat skate fish - your stomach contracts around nothing, appetite lost.
paranoia is fast to appear. kiri couldn't know, could she? you'd been careful. you'd left before he had, had hidden the indentation of his teeth lining your collarbone that had rapidly turned a rather unsavory shade of purple—
"are you okay?" she whispers, tilting her head. there is something accusatory the way her eyes linger on the restrained trembling of your bottom lip, and for just a moment, a single ghost of a second, you find yourself wanting to tell her everything. your throat closes up, and you swallow heavily.
"i'm fine," you choke out, straightening. her hand jostles on your thigh. "just tired." kiri's forehead creases—she doesn't believe you, of course—as she retracts her touch, leaving your skin feeling inexplicably colder. she doesn’t bother to ask questions, doesn’t stop you as you hastily make excuses to exit (i think i might go lie down, i think i'm coming down with something, i'll find you tomorrow, tsmuke {sister}, i promise), hands trembling as you efface the sticky sweat lining your palms on your bare stomach. you can feel kiri's gaze lingering on the back of your neck as you begin towards the pods; your skin prickles in response. she sees right through you. your fallaciousness is nothing but a shadow. a barricade made of sand.
your resolve is steely by the time you cross the reefs, the steady drone of the log drums behind you fading softly from earshot. lo'ak must have known you were coming; he does not stand to welcome you, nor does he lift his gaze from the dull blade in his right hand as you duck under the adorned mangrove-wood reinforcement of his marui [home] and step inside, the grating hiss of metal against a sharpening stone slicing through the eerie quiet. you linger at the entrance, your intake of breath sharp. lo'ak adjusts his grip wordlessly with practiced ease, forearm flexing as he draws the blade across the stone in slow, calculated arcs, as if coaxing the metal into submission. into perfection. oh. oh. there is a strange ringing in your ears, thrumming alongside the rapid, bird-like beat of your heart. you consider remaining silent, but you just can't help yourself. restraint is a virtue you find yourself no longer able to practice.
"lo'ak," you whisper. it is just his name. but it speaks volumes. the air between you thickens excruciatingly.
his head lifts, eyes glazing over your figure, and you self-delude when you determine you do not like the way his gaze goes slightly slack. there is a hunger in the sharp curve of his jaw, in the firmly-set, downturned line of his mouth. a need. a visceral urge that mirrors your own. it is achingly sweet. saccharine in your mouth, rotting your teeth. pounding in the space between your temple and ear like a tangible, carnal throb, spasming wildly at the sight of him. (you still find yourself jolted awake in the middle of the night by a feeling you could have sworn was the ghost of a four-fingered hand tracing unintelligible patterns into the curve of your spine, the phantom of your mate's body curved around your own. his tail curled around your calf, or his arm slung around your waist.)
you see it in his eyes, the longing. he stands, holstering the knife on the sheath looped around his thigh. his steps towards you are silent, charged with the boundless energy pouring through his veins. to chase. to hunt. to kill. to keep. he shrouds you in his shadow as he approaches, tilting his head. there is an erotism to the the way he assesses you. the cognizance he possesses of your lips, your tongue, the column of your throat. you blush midnight blue when you catch sight of the bloomed purple notch in the side of his neck. you'd done that. "this hasn't faded," you breathe after a moment, reaching a hand up on instinct to graze the spot. lo'ak's entire frame goes stiff under your touch, but he huffs out what sounds like a soft laugh.
"y'got me good," he responds, and the rough quality of his voice makes you shiver.
"i'm... sorry." (you're not sorry.)
he shakes his head, mouth curving up in a sly smirk. "don't be." his pulse point throbs under the tip of your index finger, and it jumps when you press down. "i liked it."
you try to breath normally as your hand stills, then drops back down by your thigh. "you weren't at dinner," you murmur thickly, eyes darting across his face. it it sickening, his beauty. his grace. he wears faux arrogance like a second skin, and you despise the fact that it suits him. enhances what is already there.
he shrugs, lips pursing. "i wasn't hungry."
he's lying. he nerve of him is laughable. there is a color of indigence in your voice when you scoff. "don't lie to me. you just didn't want to see me, did you?" (you have to remind yourself that you don't want to start a fight. you don't want to face the fact that there is a lecherous, macabre fragment of your soul that craves the feeling of his haughty hands on your skin. you want to hate him. you want to hate yourself. but this is the only way to make it better. the only way to cease the ache left behind. and neteyam would want that for you, wouldn't he? he wouldn't want you to hurt. he never did).
"doesn't matter," he responds, and his answer downturns your lips. the lazily, fervid lowering of his eyelids acts as an aphrodisiac of sorts. he is playing with you. relishing in the way your eyes seem everlastingly drawn towards the curve of his mouth, the tantalizing taste of his tongue. "you always come crawlin' back anyway."
you see red. your hand lifts before you can stop yourself. it is halfway to his cheek — you can already imagine the sting the contact will induce — when his own encircles your wrist promptly, halting your motion midair. the sheer strength in his grip is nothing short of breathtaking. astounding. your inhale catches in the narrow arch of your throat, and you resist the urge to cough. your eyes jump to his face.
"y'don't wanna do that, tìyawn {love}," he warns lowly, and the expanding of his pupils, the darkening of his expression, terrifies (excites) you. he lets you wrench your wrist out of his grip, flexing his hand as though he misses the feeling of yours in it. your navel stirs, a sliver of heat traveling rapidly up your spine. you imagine he can smell the change in your composition, can sense the suggestive direction of your thoughts.
"i'm not an animal," you snap, vexed. "i don't crawl."
he raises his hands in mock surrender. the braids at the forefront of his head following the movement of his head tipping downwards, gaze towards the ground. you realize he's laughing at you when his bare stomach contracts under the leather of his cummerbund. "we both know that's not true."
(neteyam used to make you crawl to him. he'd lean against the bed, temptation incarnate, his burning perusal of you leaving heat pooling in its wake. and then he'd tell you to get on all fours. tell you to arch your back. present to him, for him. "crawl to me," he'd whisper. "show me who you belong to. show me who owns you.")
lo'ak's stare pulls upward. and then he pounces.
he doesn't kiss you, no. what he gives you isn't a kiss—it’s consumption, all teeth and tongues and the scent of his arousal making your head spin, a battle for dominance that neither of you endeavors to win. his control slips, and you're suddenly aware of the way his mouth finds your neck, his teeth dragging along your skin like he wants to mark you, claim you. his touch is rough, desperate, searching for skin, gripping your hips, pressing into your thighs. he pushes you roughly towards the tangle of his sheets just as he finds the soft curves of your breasts, marveling at the way you go still under him. he tweaks your nipples, running his thumbs over the ridges, and you twitch in response. everything—everything—smells like him: fresh, damp earth, the faintest touch of smoke and salt, wet stone and metal. your cunt squeezes around nothing when you loop your arms around his neck and pull him onto you, draping his body over yours.
"i said this would never happen again," you whimper when his kiss drops to the valley between your breasts, then to the line of your abdomen, the flare of your waist. he works his way down your body, worshipping his skillful entrapment. his prey. "i-i said it wasn't right."
"you did," is all lo'ak responds with, seemingly drawn towards your clothed cunt. he palms it, expelling a breath at the way your ragged moan catches brokenly at the edges. "and yet."
"it isn't r-right." you swallow thickly, fighting to keep your voice steady. wordlessly, lo'ak simply undoes the ties of your tewng {loincloth}, peeling the fabric away from your hips as though unraveling an exquisite fruit. you jerk away when his breath fans over your unshielded skin. oh, he was so close. just an inch and his lips could lock around your clit. just an inch and his fingers could be embedded where you desperately needed him to touch you (inside, inside, inside, inside, as close as you could possibly get him, as deep as you could physically take him—)
"you want me to stop?" he asks as his mouth drops to press a kiss to your mound, his tongue swirling around the soft flesh. you buck upward. "y'sure look like you do."
he was teasing you. rapturous ecstasy explodes beneath your closed eyelids when his mouth finally, finally meets your clit, messily spreading your slick across the bottom half of his face. "great mother, you smell good," lo'ak moans out, voice muffled. your thighs close around his head before you catch yourself, your own tipping backwards. "tastes even better," he continues, euphoria painting his words in raw need. "like honey."
he dips into you the second you open your mouth, trying to regain some semblance of control. "oh— lo'ak—"
he hums against you, hands planted under your bottom, digging into the flesh there. your skin turns an ashy shade of slate under the strength of his grip, a frenzied voice in your mind urging you onward, rousing every part of your body that had wished for this, hoped for this, dreamed of this with your own hands attempting to replicate this feeling of blinding, sparkling warmth. your body tightens, every muscle wound to snap. "i t-think i'm gonna—" you sob with relief when the pleasure comes to a peak, shattering in his hold. your lower stomach contracts and expands uncontrollably, a rush of molten heat flooding his mouth. lo'ak pulls himself back up over you with smack of his lips, lapping up the tear tracks staining your cheeks with the same tongue he'd just had halfway up your cunt.
"such a pretty girl," he murmurs, almost absentmindedly, staring down at the way your chest heaves, the way a drop of sweat flows into the indented notch right above your winged collarbones, almost as though he seeks to memorize the places his brother's hands had been. "y'can't help yourself, can you?" his tone is satirizing, though an undertone of gentleness discards the bite. "pretty girl just keeps comin' back to me, doesn't she?"
"asshole," you pant, gently framing his face with your thumb resting in front of his ear. the impassioned fire in his gaze softens, giving way to something that resembles—no, is—pure, unadulterated adoration, quiet and unspoken, yet unmistakable. it taunts you. alarms you. his amatory look returns just as quickly as it had disappeared when his hand stretches downward to undo the string of his own tewng [loincloth], discarding it beside you. his tail curls around your leg, and you hoist yourself up into your forearms to survey the unexpected movement, but before you can open your mouth to question it, his hand wraps around the base of your own and tugs.
your entire back arches straight off the sheets. lightning shoots up your spine, and in an instant, you're presenting for him, your body developing a mind of its own. "look at you," lo'ak murmurs, swiping his cock up and down against your leaking slit, spreading your folds over his tip. pleasure wanders along your navel, and you flinch when his tip nudges your tender clit. "you should've come to me sooner, baby." no resistance meets him as he slides the first, then the second, then the third, fourth, fifth, eighth, tenth inch inside of you. your eyes roll back in your head as the aching stretch subsides, replaced by a feeling of complete and utter fullness. paradise.
"i would've helped you," he continues, but his voice wavers, betraying his control. "would've made you feel g-good. would've had you like this a hundred fuckin' times." the sharp, sky-language curse falls from his bruised lips in a rushed exhale of breath. tears gather on your lash line when he thrusts up— just once, just enough to bottom out inside of you, shaft twitching against the spongy entrance of your cervix. his palm presses hastily against the protruding bulge in your lower stomach, feeling for the outline of his cock. his eyes widen, just as transfixed as you are at the sight of himself moving under your cyan skin.
he swallows your high-pitched squeal as his thumb reaches downward to draw tight, small circles around your swollen clit, his length settling into a smooth, even rhythm that had a a quick, breathless shout spilling out of your open mouth. "cat got y'r tongue?" he whispers when you go blank, blinding pleasure rendering you speechless. "c'mon, honey. y'talk a big game, don't you? show me what y'got." ("show me who you belong to," neteyam had said.)
you keel, eyes rolling back in your head as his teeth move down, down down, latching onto the hardened peak of your nipple. your legs thrash under the weight of him, and his low growl in lieu of a response vibrates across your skin. an obscene, wet sound reverberates in the air around you as his head lifts from your chest, a string of saliva following the curve of his mouth. his hips buck forward even further on their own accord when your cunt tightens at the sight of him. feral, like an untamed animal, droplets of sweat canvassing the corded muscle of his abdomen. you lift yourself up onto your forearms shakily, collecting the briny fluid on the jagged surface of your tongue. his entire body quivers as he folds forward. "yeah," he breathes, taken aback, bracing one hand beside your shoulder and the other at the base of your neck, holding your mouth to his chest. your lips close obediently around his nipple, and he chokes, grip faltering. "there y'go. that's good, baby."
you barely have time to gasp his name before he begins to rut his cock deeper, pushing past your cervix to ram the head against your womb.
you nearly scream, feeling him everywhere, all over you. somehow he was touching parts of you his hands were nowhere near. his voice cuts through your bleary-eyed pleasure, the familiar drawl sending a current akin to lightning through the curve of your spine. "say somethin', baby," he coaxes through gritted teeth, hands lingering on the dip of your hips as he presses his thumbs into the bone. he rolls his pelvis steadily, the muscle flush against yours, eliminating every modicum of space in a calculated effort to get closer, closer, closer. "y'know i like hearin' you talk. always so mad at me, hmm? always talkin' back." a rhapsody of noise escapes you when his tongue swipes a line from your collar to your jaw. "don't worry, though," he exhales, his hips snapping harshly against your inner thighs. "we'll fix that."
"lo'ak," you finally croak out, hands flailing in the air to grapple for an anchor, sinking hungrily into his hair. he hisses when you tug, tail wrapping tighter around your calf on instinct, as if to hold you in place. "y-you’re so deep." your lips part shamelessly around soft, choked sounds, clit pulsating as your hips jerk, scrambling for purchase.
"yeah?" he responds, ever the cocky bastard. his grin is sly, fangs bared. you would have done terrible things to feel them in the side of you neck. you already had. "am i fuckin' you good?" when coherence fails you, and you emit strings of half-sentences accompanying a withheld moan of his name, his smile only widens, pools of liquid gold simmering with unrestrained desire. "i asked you a question, mama, c'mon." you only nod frantically, gripping his cock like a vise when it jumps inside you. (the rational part of your mind bristles, reminds you embarrassment is a virtue you posses too little of. but you're too far gone. lost to the ocean. to the salt on lo'ak's skin left over from the hunt he'd gone on this morning. to the taste of someone who is not your mate, who is not neteyam.)
lo'ak huffs softly when you flutter around him, careening forward until his face tucks itself into the side of your neck, licking a stripe over your pulse point. your body thrums, glistening desire dangerously close to a precipice, an apex, and your hand flexes in his hair, clutching a fistful of his braids for dear life. "lo'ak," you whisper, breathless. "lo'ak, i-"
"i'm here, tìyawn {love}," he assures you, his lilt rough and unrestrained. wild. his canines flash as he growls, and you tighten around him; you fight the pull to break into tears because, oh, ewya—this is different. it's never been like this, so raw, so intoxicating. you’ve never felt so utterly claimed. so owned. it is inevitable. the fall, the crash, the burn. when you reach your climax with a startled shriek, lo'ak comes with you, a kiss pressed quiveringly to your throat, three words whispered delicately into the space between your collarbones. i love you. i love you. i love you.
(tsireya once told you that the way of water had no beginning and no end. it is your home, she’d said. before your birth, and after your death. you wonder, therefore, it he knows. if one day, you will meet your mate at the crest of where the sun meets the sea, and he will know what you've done. how you've betrayed him. you wonder if neteyam will still love you. you wonder if he will gaze upon your face with the same devotion his brother offers so fiercely. so violently.)
lo'ak loves you like a dog. you force yourself to kick him down like one.
note: this is my first fic!! reblogs, likes, and comments are more than appreciated!! love you all!
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