𑣲 purple rain
summary: neteyam who saves you, his not-so-secret lover.
—one-shots^ྀི
✩ neteyam who is obsessed with his mate
✩ arranged married with dark!neteyam
jake sully,
—fics^ྀི
𑣲 all he needs
summary: you are in a secret relationship with dilf!jake
—one-shots^ྀི
✩ helping stressed dilf!jake out
✩ teaching dilf!jake the ways of water
x-men franchise
logan howlett
—fics^ྀི
animals | summary: old man!logan catches you trying to finger yourself on his bed
house of balloons | summary: you and logan finally resolved some tension after pining at each other for months.
bed chem | summary: how you and logan become strangers-with-benefits & how he talks you through it for the very first time.
motive | summary: strangers-with-benefits!old man!logan punishes you out of his jealousy.
glory box | summary: calling old man!logan daddy for the first time ever…
latch | summary: you come up at logan at night and he finally gives in to his desires.
linger | summary: being another mutant who survived charles’ seizures, you are forced to live alongside logan. the things between you and logan goes on and off, fragile and indefinite—yet it always lingers.
—one-shots^ྀི
✩ old man!logan as an older bf
✩ first time with old man!logan
✩ being dilf!logan' babysitter
✩ jealous!old man!logan
✩ old man!logan's breeding kink
✩ dbf!logan 'just the tip' howlett
✩ dark!old man!logan
✩ make up sex with old man!logan
✩ old man!logan gets grumpy when you tell him he can't keep up
✩ old man!logan fucks while still wearing his glasses
✩ old man!logan with daddy kink
—headcanons^ྀི
✩ old man!logan obsessing over pregnant reader
✩ being old man!logan's housewife
neteyam loves hunting season. so much that it is basically one of the things he looks forward to. partly because he actually likes doing the activity—moving through the forest, hawkeying the animal before his arrow pierces its heart. and partly because he loves the way you look at him when he returns to the clan.
hunting season means bulking season, too. the days in the wilds make him do more physical activities than usual. his muscles get prominent as his figure drags his killings, his arms flex whenever he tightens his grip on anything. his hands are large as he cups your back when he gives you a longing hug, “my yawne.”
his back gets more muscular and it shows whenever he stretches. you were sure you gasped when you saw the visible thick thighs when he squatted in front of the campfire.
his body gets hot against your skin, too. the hammock makes neteyam drapes his big body over yours, his breath tickles your skin as he murmurs how much he misses you when he is out hunting. telling you his dirtiest fantasies when all you want to do is sleep (not really).
you are going crazy. he scratches his back in the morning after you wake him up and a sly smirk shows on his lips when he catches you gazing at the outline of his abs.
“you’re gonna stare all day, yawntutsyìp?”
your cheeks heat up to the point you’re sure you look like one of those red flowers in the forest. “don’t know what you’re talking about, teyam,” you mumble.
he laughs it off and kisses the top of your head on his way out. and when he gets back to the hut after doing his olo’eyktan duties all day long, he finds himself surprised. but not really.
there you are, greeting him with no attire, fully bare like a flower blooming. he can see the glistening skin between your legs, accompanied by your flushed face.
“ah, my olo’eyktan!” you gasp, putting out a ploy while you get into your hands and knees to present yourself to him.
he shakes his head after his loincloth fell so easily.
Remember that little omatikayan girl who was intrigued by jake when he first joined them at that biggg dinner in the 2009 movie. YEAHH HER, what if she grew up and prolly a grown woman now and GOSH JUST MAJOR DILFness cause he’s a whore.
WAIIITTT IS THIS THE SCENE? bcs the way he smiles makes me SOOO giggly 👀😮💨 she’s so real for that
just thinking of an AU where dilf!jake sully is a sugar daddy….. thinking lots lots of thoughts bcs he’s so dada
ik he would act subtly at first but over time u can see how he’s head over heels…. Like actually CONSTANTLY calling u his ‘baby’ like that’s his fav word EVER. 😭😭😭😭
tags: dark!neteyam. smut. p in v. protective!neteyam. obsessive behaviour. forced proximity trope. mentions of aircraft crashes. wilderness survival. follows the plot of afaa. unreliable narrator. neteyam would do anything for reader. nasty sequences
summary: neteyam rescues you when the mangkwan attacks your clan. it was a mere protective act until it turned into something more.
(gifs creds to @harcive 𑣲)
You feel a bad feeling creeping into your stomach when your father tells you the Sullys are traveling along on the gondola. Like a sense that something is going to happen. But you brush it off the same way your fingers part the skies, a habit you have had since you were younger. The wind gives and takes. They’re respected people after all, a good family.
That something turns out to be a Mangkwan attack. Shouts and strikes come to your left and right. It makes the large group you’re traveling with scramble around in erratic paces—the kind people do when they do not know where to go in a tight space.
The Mangkwan raid hurriedly with no planned movements. But the screams from those you know are enough to tell how viciously brutal they are. One of them finds you and straps your body to the gondola with the idle ropes around—you and some others, all done while spitting out, “Now beg your Goddess to save you.”
Catching a glimpse of your father, Peylak, you can feel the flying ground going down and down and down. Then you lose sight of him. You scream every bit of energy you have left out of your throat while trying to loosen the tight rope around you, failing. Please, Great Mother. Not today. Please. Save me. Save my people.
Your palms grip anything you can hold on to. This is just like one of those falling dreams you had when you were a child—déjà vu—but your belly tosses and turns in reality. You leave your beating heart somewhere above you in the clouds.
There’s a loud sound coming from the gondola, its parts tearing apart, some burning away. Someone screams. Another shouts, “We’re going down! Jump!” The man does exactly that, because you don’t hear his voice anymore. You can feel the tears flowing down your cheeks now, sharp wind prickling roughly against your skin.
So this is it. There is a loud boom as the view surrounding you blurs. And you hear something tear and fall and crash and—
Your eyes close.
Consciousness comes back to you shortly after. The rope that binds you still holds you tight—at least before someone cuts it away with a knife.
The oldest Sully, Neteyam, is the one who drags you from the ruins. His body shields you from seeing the dead bodies around you. He carries you into his arms while you whimper and cry onto his shoulders.
“Don’t close your eyes again, yawne,” he says.
It feels like you’ve lost your voice, but you make an attempt anyway. “My home—” your throat complains after all the screams you let out earlier. “My people— They…”
He keeps walking into the dense forest with furrowed brows and a cautious expression. The rumbling fear in your body after hearing the Mangkwan celebrations behind you makes you cradle yourself closer to him. You can see the bow and arrows slung over his shoulders, his knife sheathed at his hips.
“My leg…” you sob, the tips of your fingers lingering on Neteyam’s toned shoulders. “It hurts.”
He coos at you, and you can feel his thumb drawing circles on your back. When you see his eyes, there is a flicker of something raw and dark. It would frighten you if you weren’t wincing in pain.
“Shh. Don’t cry, sevin,” he replies in a gentle tone. “I’m going to bring us away from the Mangkwans first. And then I’ll take a look at your leg, alright?”
There are scattered things from the aircraft all around the forest: food, textiles, handcrafted goods, weapons, people’s belongings, and dead bodies. You cry out at the ugly sight, water flowing from your half-lidded eyes.
After a long walk—when you can no longer see the fire and ash—he sets you down onto solid ground. He makes sure you lie back in a comfortable, reclined position before standing upright and disappearing into the bushes. “I’ll be back.”
When he comes back into your vision, he uses the herbs and leaves he found to tend to your leg wound. There’s a leaf he uses to wrap your calf, which is slightly scratched open. Neteyam surely is no healer, but he does his best to close the cuts. You notice the serious expression on his face.
Green and yellow plains spread around you. Everything feels utterly alien. The forest pulses with life, layers of vegetation you have rarely seen before stacked over one another. From the ground, you can see bioluminescent creatures drifting slowly with their delicate tendrils in the breeze. Every element feels connected in one entity, a single ecology you find yourself in union with. Spending your head up in the clouds, this is the first time you have ever felt so close to the ground—the forest. This is his home, you think.
“Where’s your… family?” You sound careful approaching the matter, not knowing what he will answer. They could be like your father, possibly fleeing away in safety. Or… worse.
He makes an acknowledging sound. “I split up with them. My comms broke. They can take care of themselves.” The tight tension in your stomach grows more constricted. Most of his family are warriors, after all. So is Neteyam. But you, here, have never mastered arrow shooting or knife fighting. If the Mangkwans or the demons do not end you first, you are sure the forest will eat you alive. The thought almost sends you into a panic attack—your chest heaving rapidly.
Neteyam cups your chin and tilts your head up to face him. You realize you have never been this close to him before. You’ve only met him three, maybe four times before this while visiting the Omatikaya. His face up close is handsome—narrowed eyes, a strong jawline, and full lips. You can’t help but give in to his gaze.
“I won’t leave you,” he says, like it is a permanent decision. “My parents and my people are going to be searching for us. We were supposed to arrive in High Camp in a few days.”
His voice is reassuring. “The Mangkwans and demon ships are still around the forest. It’s better for us to stay on the ground and keep moving away.”
You nod, tears still falling down your cheeks even as he wipes them away with his thumb. Neteyam is right. There will be people looking for the both of you, but for now, the safest thing is to lie low.
A week goes by slowly.
The Mangkwans have decided to camp on the wreckage, possibly enjoying all the resources your clan stored. Sometimes you hear screams too. They must have tortured the ones they captured or who survived the crash. You pray to Eywa that your father is not one of them.
Neteyam carries you deeper into the forest. You can’t walk much with your stinging leg, so trips are rarely made. The place you are in right now is high enough from prying eyes, but not far enough to go fully unnoticed.
The shelter he makes is comfortable—almost like a nest—built and surrounded by various materials Neteyam scavenges from the forest and gondola pieces. He makes sure to choose a dense tree for you to sit under. Neteyam collects dozens of branches and leaves to make a small fire.
“Do you need help?” Your attempt to hobble-walk is halted when he abruptly carries you back to the nest he made from anything he could find around. He goes back around the wreckage once a day to see what remains can be used. You cry silently every time his body disappears between the bushes. The risk is too high—the Mangkwans and demon ships could capture him, remembering they are still around.
But he always comes back. It’s the only time, other than when he hunts, that Neteyam leaves you alone. You are not the only one who prefers to be as close as possible for the rest of the time.
“Sit down, yawne. Your leg is still healing,” Neteyam grunts as he places you back onto solid ground.
You frown, feet tracing circles in the dirt beneath you. It’s the worst feeling—to feel like a burden. When you know he could just leave you here and travel freely away. He has the resources and the skills. And you don’t.
In the early hours, Neteyam goes out to hunt for you, when the world is still quiet. The animals are sluggish and lazily sleeping on the forest floor. He comes back one day with a meer deer slung over his shoulders, a visible knife stab still pouring blood from its lower stomach.
Even if your leg is not badly wounded, you wouldn’t be much help either. Neteyam is remarkably self-sufficient, their golden child. “You are a great hunter, Neteyam.” The statement feels rhetorical; you just want to say thank you to him, in a way. It comes out of nowhere in the dead of night when you are sleeping close to him.
Neteyam is quiet for a moment. “Thank you. I had great teachers.” With the bioluminescent freckles on his face, you can see the wry smile that plays on his lips—like pride swelling from finishing a great conquest, even though it’s just praise from you.
You wake up with your head pressed against his chest most days. It’s embarrassing—since you are strangers—but you learn to give in when you meet his eyes and there’s nothing but reassurance.
Another week goes by, and your leg starts to heal better. In the intervening days, Neteyam dotes on you in a gentle sort of way, like mates do to each other, as if you have been doing this for years.
It starts when Neteyam insists on sleeping closer together, hugging every night. It’ll be easier to keep you close if something or someone tries to drag you off in the night (and that makes you lose your breath until he coos and soothes you). It goes further when he decides to feed you food, and the look he gives you when you lick your lips is borderline keen and raw.
It gets worse when he has you both strip all your attire off on a rainy night, wrapped around each other for heat. “Yawntu, you’re shivering,” you hear him whisper, one of his big palms pulling your back closer to him—chest to chest now. Your teeth chatter when a sharp wind gushes above. “Get closer. Let’s warm up.” He ends up placing kisses on your forehead and deeply inhaling your scent.
You wake up almost at dawn when your leg feels strong enough that you think you can walk to relieve yourself instead of waking Neteyam. Before you can manage to crawl away from his figure, a body pins you down until you go immobile.
“Where are you going?” Neteyam quips, almost sounding like the snarl of an animal.
Fear crawls underneath your skin—like realizing something is wrong but not knowing what exactly it is. Like that day in the gondola.
“I—I want to pee,” you whisper, your heart thumping loudly in your chest.
You think he’s still half-asleep, that’s why he acts so suddenly. His body moves on instinct because he is trained to do so—to always be alert to everything. That must be it.
He follows behind you because he insists on accompanying you into the bushes. It gets worse when he does not take his eyes off your squatting figure. Later in the bright morning, he gives a speech on safety and danger. If you go on to do something like that again, the Mangkwans could creep up behind you. The thought scratches at a part of your brain.
Things change a lot. When his gaze drapes over you, it no longer feels merely protective, but instead feels like… unfettered hunger.
There’s a palulukan that circles the area one day, striding around because of its curious nature. But Neteyam already has you behind him. He puffs himself up when the animal gets too close for his liking, keeping you hidden from its view. Neteyam growls and bares his fangs until the palulukan scrambles away in disinterest.
“You’re safe, yawntutsyìp.”
Since then, he reminds you of an animal. How could he not? Neteyam curls you around him in sleep, legs tangling and breath matching. When you both find a river down the side of the valley, you soak in it unashamedly—in need of clear water after days of lying on dirt. You almost hitch when he slips into the water and comes up behind you, his arms circling around your waist. But you are not surprised. It’s evidence of how long you have both been out here, how accustomed you’ve become to his lingering touches.
His lips trail from your shoulder to your neck and finally to the side of your lips. You only tilt your head toward him and stare out at the sky.
“Do you think they’ve gone away?” The question slips out of you. For at least three days, you haven’t heard anything or anyone roaming around the forest. Just you and him.
“No, yawne. They haven’t.”
So you wait and wait. Until one day, you look up at the sky and there it is—a dot on the horizon. Not just one dot. Many. A scream erupts from above. “Neteyam, brother, where are you?” You gasp in joy.
Neteyam stops skinning an animal when he hears his family’s voices calling out to him. You start waving your arms wildly in the air until they notice you. Neteyam is quick to reply and pulls you closer to his chest when the ikrans are mounted.
Each of his family members gives him a hug, muttering gratitude to Eywa. You ignore the way he answers for you when they start asking questions. You also ignore the way he pins you tightly when flying on his ikran, occasionally placing kisses in your hair.
It is safer traveling in packs. You can’t see a trace of danger anywhere along the way to Awa’atlu. Neteyam keeps you snuggled in front of him so he can hold onto you anytime he wants. The skin-to-skin touch is an act of grounding—more for his longing needs than yours.
As a nomad, you never had anywhere to call home. It’s everywhere and nowhere at the same time. But Neteyam’s embrace is another thing entirely.
“What is it, syulang?”
“I—I mean, you know you can go back to your family now, right?” You repeat, swallowing nervously. The question has been left lying there for a while. You both walk mentally around it, step over it. But your mind always circles back to why. Why does he not live in his family’s marui anymore?
Upon your arrival in Awa’atlu, you and Neteyam are placed in a new living space meant only for the two of you. It has one hammock and other necessities. It almost feels like it has been prepared for a while.
“And—and—you know, you don’t have to—”
That’s where the words get stuck in your throat.
You both sleep in the hammock—he can’t seem to stand more than an arm’s length away from you at any given time. He follows you around the beach when you need to clean yourself, crowding you into his arms. In gatherings, his palms never leave your flesh, always holding and patting and snuggling. “Eat up, syulang.” He still holds the habit of feeding you fruit, peeling the parts he knows you don’t like. The same goes for his sleeping habits.
Nomads live unattached. And now you are walking the opposite way. You often reminisce about the old days. A small thought is given to embarking on a journey to search for your father. Maybe even building another gondola and finding the rest of your clan. But that thought comes with uneasiness—like it’s something already behind you. It is not your life anymore.
You, from months ago, couldn’t even fathom this idea either. Receiving numerous gifts from the people around you, congratulating you and Neteyam and regarding you both as mates—but, and here’s where your brain scrambles a bit to follow—he never corrects any of them.
Neteyam lifts a brow, shoulders shrugging unimpressed. “Have to what?”
You gulp. “Y-you know. Stay here with me.”
“Do you want me to leave, yawntutsyìp?”
There’s the gist of it all. You don’t. In the dark, when the surroundings go quiet, your heart pounds in your chest until it recreates the feeling of falling.
“No,” you answer.
Often, you sleep with uneven breathing, your body shaking left and right. Your mind still unconsciously dreams about the dead bodies tethered around the wreckage—fire and ash engulfing their remains.
Then you wake up and Neteyam is there, already awake, hugging you from behind. Tilting your head so he can lay kisses across your tear-soaked face. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. You’re safe.” He murmurs whatever praises he can muster, reassuring you.
His body heats up against yours. It becomes a common occurrence for him to kiss your worries away. You let him roll you onto your back while he says those things. Let him be unified with you after all those weeks of saving you. Let yourself succumb to him because it feels right.
Neteyam spits on your pussy—you almost complain about how dirty it is—and he rubs your swollen button with his thumb. “Shh, mawey.” He only chuckles when you yelp from the sensitivity. He is always tender and soft when you fuck, especially after your nightmares.
“Mawey—yawntutsyìp, I’m here,” Neteyam breathes as he bottoms out inside your heat. His wide cock spears you so well, pulling high-pitched whines and broken sounds from your throat as tears brim in your eyes. “I’ve got you. I got you. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”
As long as I live and breathe.
That’s what he said to you in the second week in the forest. It should have creeped you out—a stranger saying that—but instead, it relieves you.
“Eyes, syulang. Look at me,” he coos when you have them shut. Neteyam places both palms on the sides of your face, giving you no choice but to stare into his darkened gaze. His muscled figure rolls every time he pushes into you. “Fuck. I see you, muntxate.”
It’s hard to reply to his trail of I love yous over the ringing in your ears. But reciprocity is not something he doubts from you—not when your kuru are connected and he can feel everything inside you. Tsaheylu, the fear, the need, the love.
And you feel his yearning hunger in return—an undying devotion. It cradles you and makes you whole.
So, no. You don’t want to acknowledge it as it is: that you found an animal in the forest, and it took you to its nest.
Hello.. would like to request younger jake/dilf!Jake + casual dominance… i feel like thats so.. him..
Thank you!!
that is so him…
casual dominance with dilf!jake
fem!metkayina!reader. dilf!jake sully. lots of fluff. smut at the end. yearner!jake.
prioritizing and caring for someone else beyond his own needs? that was a vague concept for jake. but fatherhood means doing more than that. and surprisingly, it comes easily for him. way too easy.
it starts when he saw you struggling to pick a too-high fruit from a too-high tree. it was funny watching you do little jumps whilst the tips of your fingers barely touched the oval-shaped thing. then something in his chest soars, he just wants to help you. or more like…he doesn’t want you to lift a finger ever again.
“need help?” he says it casually behind you. you just blush when he grabs the fruit without making too much effort. he tucks the strand of your hair behind your ear after you thank him sheepishly.
after settling down in awa’atlu for some time, he knows he is a part of the clan now. which means, he does what the people do. hunting, treading fish nets, mastering diving skills, etc. that does not stop him from locking his gaze on your figure, though.
he’d stack his schedule so he could be free whenever it is your time wandering around the beach. on the outside, he looks focused, sharpening one of his knives or cleaning one of his arm rifles. but anyone who looks at him for more than 5 seconds knows that his eyes are moving relentlessly, not so casually inspecting around to trace any sign of you.
he’d so not so casually look up to see what you’re doing, do you need assistance, are you distressed? most of the time your face is neutral, unaware of being watched. but he comes over anyway, giving you a hand at any task you’re doing. “jake… no, i can do it,” that’s what you always say. but you ended up not doing anything because he decided that it was his task instead.
one time he catches you not eating. being so busy with your duty as a tskarem, you fell into a strained routine of being occupied with healing someone. no one noticed, you’re too grown to be constantly looked over by your family. but jake does.
of course, he notices how you barely touch your food, maybe one or two bits, before someone called you over, a child fell on his knees, they told you. when he approaches you the next day, telling you “you should eat, sweetheart,” you laugh it off, saying you never feel any fuller.
oh, bullshit, he thinks. so he took approximately 1 hour or more to curate a specific meal for you. he’d sliced up your favorite fish, placed the fruits you like, and complemented it with a sweet drink. he is proud of his work, a little messy but the effort has never been more prominent.
jake would feed each of those to you, resulting in a blush on your cheeks. “open up, baby,” as one ripe fruit is being held up on your lips. “so full!” you exclaimed with a pout after eating half of the plate. but jake tuts and puts up a stern look, “no. eat more.”
after knowing what kind of fish you like eating the most, he makes it a mission to hunt for you. the fishes he caught ended up being too abundant for one family only. that is exactly his plan.
he knows you would be around tuk today, teaching her and other kids about herbs in the metkayina clan. that is why jake bothered to grill a fish, slicing it up and make tuk carry it. “but, dad, i don’t really like this kind of fish…” she grimaced with a questioning look. jake just smirks and say, “well, that’s a’right. you can share it with your friends.” by friends, he only means you. that is how he makes sure you will not skip a meal again.
secretly, jake asks kiri to teach him how to braid. even though he says it is for tuk, kiri is observant. she sees how his attitude changes in the last few months, more smiles, fewer furrowed brows. she also notices the amount of time her dad spent with you on the beach. helping, he’d say. so kiri taught him and at the end of the week, he had mastered a style. he learned how to do it because sometimes you complain that your current hairstyle bores you but you don’t really have time to style it.
you both have a staring contest when you act out—not being in a very good mood and ended up lightly lashing at him. jake just leans back, arms crossed, and stares down at you with that scolding look, “you done, baby?” and you just went putty on his hands.
always, always teaching how to defend yourself, making his job to guide you holding a rifle and shoot at the right direction. it goes beyond physical as well, he also tells you how to raise your voice when someone puts you down. it gives him a sense of relief that you can look out for yourself if he is not around, which are rarely anyway.
when he is around in a public space, he’d scan the surroundings for any sign of danger. if someone makes you slightly uncomfortable, he’d approach you, joining the conversation, and letting you slip away from the unfortunate situation.
there’s a time when someone starts handing a drink at the communal feast. jake knows what kind of drink that is, the one that makes your head dizzy—drunk. he watches you gulp down one, two, three— before asking for more. he lets out a harsh breath when your walk starts wobbling.
it is not long until you stumble on your own steps. that is when jake stands up, placing his large palm on your back, guiding you through the crowds. no one notices when his fingers start drawing circles on your skin, he whispers, “let’s get outta here, baby.”
jake is a big spoon. his body engulfes yours whenever he sleeps. when you try to get up, he’d just hold you tighter, mumbling a protest in his sleep-dazed state. to the point you ended up groaning, “you’re so heavy, jake!”
he is a giver king. no matter how much he loves to feel your lips around his throbbing cock, he loves to spit and eat your slick pussy more. loves to drape himself over you and let you be a pillow princess.
jake talks you through it, every goddamn time. it does not matter what the mood is, he always sings you praises after guiding you. “that’s it, baby, put your leg over here.” and “keep doing that, sweetheart. oh, you’re so good.” and “biiig stretch, hmm, you can do it.”
he loves to see you on top because it shows how much he is guiding you. hands on the sides of your body, he is the one moving your hips, rolling them in circles. enjoys seeing you make up a shy grin when you managed a pace, not very realizing that it is all his doing.
need to be cared for like that........... thank u for the request, anon! here's my late valentines gift for dilf!jake truthers
Hello.. would like to request younger jake/dilf!Jake + casual dominance… i feel like thats so.. him..
Thank you!!
that is so him…
casual dominance with dilf!jake
fem!metkayina!reader. dilf!jake sully. lots of fluff. smut at the end. yearner!jake.
prioritizing and caring for someone else beyond his own needs? that was a vague concept for jake. but fatherhood means doing more than that. and surprisingly, it comes easily for him. way too easy.
it starts when he saw you struggling to pick a too-high fruit from a too-high tree. it was funny watching you do little jumps whilst the tips of your fingers barely touched the oval-shaped thing. then something in his chest soars, he just wants to help you. or more like…he doesn’t want you to lift a finger ever again.
“need help?” he says it casually behind you. you just blush when he grabs the fruit without making too much effort. he tucks the strand of your hair behind your ear after you thank him sheepishly.
after settling down in awa’atlu for some time, he knows he is a part of the clan now. which means, he does what the people do. hunting, treading fish nets, mastering diving skills, etc. that does not stop him from locking his gaze on your figure, though.
he’d stack his schedule so he could be free whenever it is your time wandering around the beach. on the outside, he looks focused, sharpening one of his knives or cleaning one of his arm rifles. but anyone who looks at him for more than 5 seconds knows that his eyes are moving relentlessly, not so casually inspecting around to trace any sign of you.
he’d so not so casually look up to see what you’re doing, do you need assistance, are you distressed? most of the time your face is neutral, unaware of being watched. but he comes over anyway, giving you a hand at any task you’re doing. “jake… no, i can do it,” that’s what you always say. but you ended up not doing anything because he decided that it was his task instead.
one time he catches you not eating. being so busy with your duty as a tskarem, you fell into a strained routine of being occupied with healing someone. no one noticed, you’re too grown to be constantly looked over by your family. but jake does.
of course, he notices how you barely touch your food, maybe one or two bits, before someone called you over, a child fell on his knees, they told you. when he approaches you the next day, telling you “you should eat, sweetheart,” you laugh it off, saying you never feel any fuller.
oh, bullshit, he thinks. so he took approximately 1 hour or more to curate a specific meal for you. he’d sliced up your favorite fish, placed the fruits you like, and complemented it with a sweet drink. he is proud of his work, a little messy but the effort has never been more prominent.
jake would feed each of those to you, resulting in a blush on your cheeks. “open up, baby,” as one ripe fruit is being held up on your lips. “so full!” you exclaimed with a pout after eating half of the plate. but jake tuts and puts up a stern look, “no. eat more.”
after knowing what kind of fish you like eating the most, he makes it a mission to hunt for you. the fishes he caught ended up being too abundant for one family only. that is exactly his plan.
he knows you would be around tuk today, teaching her and other kids about herbs in the metkayina clan. that is why jake bothered to grill a fish, slicing it up and make tuk carry it. “but, dad, i don’t really like this kind of fish…” she grimaced with a questioning look. jake just smirks and say, “well, that’s a’right. you can share it with your friends.” by friends, he only means you. that is how he makes sure you will not skip a meal again.
secretly, jake asks kiri to teach him how to braid. even though he says it is for tuk, kiri is observant. she sees how his attitude changes in the last few months, more smiles, fewer furrowed brows. she also notices the amount of time her dad spent with you on the beach. helping, he’d say. so kiri taught him and at the end of the week, he had mastered a style. he learned how to do it because sometimes you complain that your current hairstyle bores you but you don’t really have time to style it.
you both have a staring contest when you act out—not being in a very good mood and ended up lightly lashing at him. jake just leans back, arms crossed, and stares down at you with that scolding look, “you done, baby?” and you just went putty on his hands.
always, always teaching how to defend yourself, making his job to guide you holding a rifle and shoot at the right direction. it goes beyond physical as well, he also tells you how to raise your voice when someone puts you down. it gives him a sense of relief that you can look out for yourself if he is not around, which are rarely anyway.
when he is around in a public space, he’d scan the surroundings for any sign of danger. if someone makes you slightly uncomfortable, he’d approach you, joining the conversation, and letting you slip away from the unfortunate situation.
there’s a time when someone starts handing a drink at the communal feast. jake knows what kind of drink that is, the one that makes your head dizzy—drunk. he watches you gulp down one, two, three— before asking for more. he lets out a harsh breath when your walk starts wobbling.
it is not long until you stumble on your own steps. that is when jake stands up, placing his large palm on your back, guiding you through the crowds. no one notices when his fingers start drawing circles on your skin, he whispers, “let’s get outta here, baby.”
jake is a big spoon. his body engulfes yours whenever he sleeps. when you try to get up, he’d just hold you tighter, mumbling a protest in his sleep-dazed state. to the point you ended up groaning, “you’re so heavy, jake!”
he is a giver king. no matter how much he loves to feel your lips around his throbbing cock, he loves to spit and eat your slick pussy more. loves to drape himself over you and let you be a pillow princess.
jake talks you through it, every goddamn time. it does not matter what the mood is, he always sings you praises after guiding you. “that’s it, baby, put your leg over here.” and “keep doing that, sweetheart. oh, you’re so good.” and “biiig stretch, hmm, you can do it.”
he loves to see you on top because it shows how much he is guiding you. hands on the sides of your body, he is the one moving your hips, rolling them in circles. enjoys seeing you make up a shy grin when you managed a pace, not very realizing that it is all his doing.
need to be cared for like that........... thank u for the request, anon! here's my late valentines gift for dilf!jake truthers
thinking about accidently calling him daddy and he lowkey malfunctions-
"yeah yeah. okay daddy" you murmur under your breath, looking back at the lab results. well that was why the avatar was here. just coming in to check on things. to check on you and remind you to take care of yourself.
"what'd you say?" jake asks, his ears twitching. leaning his lithe blue body against the tank. you bite on the inside of your cheek, realising what you had said out loud.
as a na'vi, the warrior's hearing was beyond excellent. so you don't even know if he's playing with you or if he truly didn't pick up on the fact that you called him daddy outright.
"hey, i know i heard you say something" craning his neck down to your face level. you smile innocently. "i didn't say anything" and he raises an eyebrow, not convinced.
you stumble towards him, when his palm spans over the entirety of your back. "no. you did!" cornering you and keeping you there, with him towering above you even with him bending down.
"jake people are going in and out of the lab!" you whisper yell, cheeks burning with shyness. the warrior doesn't seem to care about people stumbling in on the suggestive sight.
"tell me what you said and i'll let you go" tilting his head, silently establishing dominance. you let out a soft noise, embarassed at admitting it.
"what'd you call me, baby?" jake pries, his hand moving to rest heavily on your lower back. warm and reassuring.
"i just said yeah to you..." you mumble, resting your palm flat on his chest. "and?" his voice drops, impossibly lower. tail swaying curiously.
"and i said okay..." turning your gaze away in embarassment. heart racing as you say it out loud.
"..daddy"
the warrior's tail whips against the floor, curling at the name. his lips parting to release a breathy exhale. proud to take him off guard. "w-what?" he repeats, fingers squeezing your waist.
you smile rather innocently, standing on your tip toes to kiss the corner of his mouth. tugging his head lower so you can whisper in his ear. his eyes widening, tail wrapping around your thigh with need.
"mh-hm daddy" you moan purposely riling him up, slipping out of his hold and running off. heart racing with pride when you realise how fast his mood changes, turned on considerably.
GUYS!! i love comments under my fics, it is literally my fuel. u guys can write anything and i’ll reply it 😋 it’s so fun conversing with all of u so keep em cominggg
Nina!! I love your work so much, you’re such an amazing writer! I remember following you back when you were posting about old man!Logan so I feel blessed that we’re both in our Avatar phase together right now LOL.
Keep up the amazing work!
ANON!!! THIS MAKES ME SOO HAPPYYY THANKYOUU🥹 look how far we’ve come OMG <3
Hello.. would like to request younger jake/dilf!Jake + casual dominance… i feel like thats so.. him..
Thank you!!
that is so him…
casual dominance with dilf!jake
fem!metkayina!reader. dilf!jake sully. lots of fluff. smut at the end. yearner!jake.
prioritizing and caring for someone else beyond his own needs? that was a vague concept for jake. but fatherhood means doing more than that. and surprisingly, it comes easily for him. way too easy.
it starts when he saw you struggling to pick a too-high fruit from a too-high tree. it was funny watching you do little jumps whilst the tips of your fingers barely touched the oval-shaped thing. then something in his chest soars, he just wants to help you. or more like…he doesn’t want you to lift a finger ever again.
“need help?” he says it casually behind you. you just blush when he grabs the fruit without making too much effort. he tucks the strand of your hair behind your ear after you thank him sheepishly.
after settling down in awa’atlu for some time, he knows he is a part of the clan now. which means, he does what the people do. hunting, treading fish nets, mastering diving skills, etc. that does not stop him from locking his gaze on your figure, though.
he’d stack his schedule so he could be free whenever it is your time wandering around the beach. on the outside, he looks focused, sharpening one of his knives or cleaning one of his arm rifles. but anyone who looks at him for more than 5 seconds knows that his eyes are moving relentlessly, not so casually inspecting around to trace any sign of you.
he’d so not so casually look up to see what you’re doing, do you need assistance, are you distressed? most of the time your face is neutral, unaware of being watched. but he comes over anyway, giving you a hand at any task you’re doing. “jake… no, i can do it,” that’s what you always say. but you ended up not doing anything because he decided that it was his task instead.
one time he catches you not eating. being so busy with your duty as a tskarem, you fell into a strained routine of being occupied with healing someone. no one noticed, you’re too grown to be constantly looked over by your family. but jake does.
of course, he notices how you barely touch your food, maybe one or two bits, before someone called you over, a child fell on his knees, they told you. when he approaches you the next day, telling you “you should eat, sweetheart,” you laugh it off, saying you never feel any fuller.
oh, bullshit, he thinks. so he took approximately 1 hour or more to curate a specific meal for you. he’d sliced up your favorite fish, placed the fruits you like, and complemented it with a sweet drink. he is proud of his work, a little messy but the effort has never been more prominent.
jake would feed each of those to you, resulting in a blush on your cheeks. “open up, baby,” as one ripe fruit is being held up on your lips. “so full!” you exclaimed with a pout after eating half of the plate. but jake tuts and puts up a stern look, “no. eat more.”
after knowing what kind of fish you like eating the most, he makes it a mission to hunt for you. the fishes he caught ended up being too abundant for one family only. that is exactly his plan.
he knows you would be around tuk today, teaching her and other kids about herbs in the metkayina clan. that is why jake bothered to grill a fish, slicing it up and make tuk carry it. “but, dad, i don’t really like this kind of fish…” she grimaced with a questioning look. jake just smirks and say, “well, that’s a’right. you can share it with your friends.” by friends, he only means you. that is how he makes sure you will not skip a meal again.
secretly, jake asks kiri to teach him how to braid. even though he says it is for tuk, kiri is observant. she sees how his attitude changes in the last few months, more smiles, fewer furrowed brows. she also notices the amount of time her dad spent with you on the beach. helping, he’d say. so kiri taught him and at the end of the week, he had mastered a style. he learned how to do it because sometimes you complain that your current hairstyle bores you but you don’t really have time to style it.
you both have a staring contest when you act out—not being in a very good mood and ended up lightly lashing at him. jake just leans back, arms crossed, and stares down at you with that scolding look, “you done, baby?” and you just went putty on his hands.
always, always teaching how to defend yourself, making his job to guide you holding a rifle and shoot at the right direction. it goes beyond physical as well, he also tells you how to raise your voice when someone puts you down. it gives him a sense of relief that you can look out for yourself if he is not around, which are rarely anyway.
when he is around in a public space, he’d scan the surroundings for any sign of danger. if someone makes you slightly uncomfortable, he’d approach you, joining the conversation, and letting you slip away from the unfortunate situation.
there’s a time when someone starts handing a drink at the communal feast. jake knows what kind of drink that is, the one that makes your head dizzy—drunk. he watches you gulp down one, two, three— before asking for more. he lets out a harsh breath when your walk starts wobbling.
it is not long until you stumble on your own steps. that is when jake stands up, placing his large palm on your back, guiding you through the crowds. no one notices when his fingers start drawing circles on your skin, he whispers, “let’s get outta here, baby.”
jake is a big spoon. his body engulfes yours whenever he sleeps. when you try to get up, he’d just hold you tighter, mumbling a protest in his sleep-dazed state. to the point you ended up groaning, “you’re so heavy, jake!”
he is a giver king. no matter how much he loves to feel your lips around his throbbing cock, he loves to spit and eat your slick pussy more. loves to drape himself over you and let you be a pillow princess.
jake talks you through it, every goddamn time. it does not matter what the mood is, he always sings you praises after guiding you. “that’s it, baby, put your leg over here.” and “keep doing that, sweetheart. oh, you’re so good.” and “biiig stretch, hmm, you can do it.”
he loves to see you on top because it shows how much he is guiding you. hands on the sides of your body, he is the one moving your hips, rolling them in circles. enjoys seeing you make up a shy grin when you managed a pace, not very realizing that it is all his doing.
need to be cared for like that........... thank u for the request, anon! here's my late valentines gift for dilf!jake truthers
pairings: aged up lo’ak x tawtute to recom female reader
notes: a/b/o dynamics, omegaverse, dark alpha lo’ak, omega reader, reader has very generous boobies & it’s frequently emphasized here, shameless lo’ak, angst with comfort, miscommunication, lo'ak yearning in all sort of fonts, his family kinda tolerating the lie, scenting, manipulative lo’ak, character death, morally grey neteyam & spider, bite marking, tsaheylu, just an alpha taking care of his omega and not letting her lift a finger. smut, p in v sex, knotting, breeding, slick, no human x navi penetration cuz the size difference is immense it’s just not possible, somnophilia, themes of noncon & dubcon
an: u guys made dark lo’ak won the poll so dark lo’ak it is
word count: 20.5k
prompt: lo'ak would do anything to make you his omega and nothing — not death, not the truth, not tsireya, and definitely not you — can stop that. not when eywa has given him a second chance to make it happen, he’ll fucking play dirty if he has to.
Lo'ak sat on the woven mat by the marui pot while Tsireya's laughter filled his ears. She leaned in closer, her teal form brushing against his side, the warmth of her skin a gentle press through his thin armband. Her omega scent wrapped around him, it was sweet like ripe ilu fruit mixed with the salty tang of the ocean and it flooded his nostrils.
Several moons had passed since his family sought uturu among the Metkayina. He and his family were learning their ways, swimming with the ilu and breathing the water like it's air. Most would say his mother or Neteyam aches for Omatikaya the deepest but it was him. The forest calls in his blood, the vines and the ikran cries along with the life he left there.
But what choice does he have? Move on or drown in what he's lost.
Tsireya's giggles filled his ears again as she shifted, her shoulder nudging his with playful intent.
He remembered that first day of their ikran touching down on the shore after days of endless flight, the chaos swirling with the clan's wary eyes. Then she rose from the waves like a vision, water sluicing off her curves.
Beautiful yeah, an omega through and through.
Her face was softer than the fierce Omatikaya women he's used to, rounded cheeks and wide eyes framed by those intricate Metkayina patterns. Shy smiles given just for him and not his perfect golden brother beside him. She was everything an alpha could want in a mate.
But she wasn't you.
Lo'ak's gaze drifted out to the horizon, his mind pulling him back to the Hometree's forest edge, to the little tawtute who'd stolen his rutting heart without even trying. You, the omega tawtute who turned him away every damn time. Your scent haunting him like a fever dream, so potent it made his fangs ache even now.
He could still picture the day you stumbled into Omatikaya territory, your exopack fogging with ragged breaths, that sleek RDA gear clinging to your fuller frame like a second skin. You'd sought his father, your voice steady despite the fear flickering in those wide expressive eyes. You admitted you were one of them, the RDA. You were polished to hunt, to kill the traitor and his family.
But the fire in you burned for something else now.
Tears had streaked your cheeks as you played that stolen recording for Jake, your father's voice crackling through the device. He was a scientist, once loyal to the RDA but had help Jake slip the RDA's noose, rejecting his own people's greed. He helped his closest friend and was killed for it. They silenced him to claim his legacy and to remove a traitor in the RDA base.
And you? Just five, small and malleable, molded into their weapon as payment for your father's sins. Years of training to be a killing machine and you were damn good at it. Not until you had stumbled upon that recording and it broke everything you stand for. Since that day, it has become days of escape and trekking through Pandora's wilds, anything to flee the base that reeked of your father's demise.
It was your scent that hit Lo'ak first when you crossed into the clan's borders. It was delicious and intoxicating, wrapping around his alpha instincts so strongly. He'd been around plenty of omegas, their floral notes teasing but forgettable.
Yours?
It punched through him, it made his cock twitch and his mind flood with filthy visions of pinning you down and burying his face in that soft fuller body of yours.
Jake had taken you in, guilt carving deep lines into his face when he learned you were his old friend's daughter. The weight of that debt bound him still and he gave you a place in the Omatikaya.
You adapted quick like Spider. You traded guns for bows, your combat skills turning heads during hunts even if you were a tawtute. You were the prettiest face he'd ever seen, all soft angles and full lips that begged to be claimed, your curves straining against those human clothes in ways that drove him mad.
Spider had joked once with eyes wide and playful. "Back on Earth? She'd be a star, bro. Headlines, red carpets, the works."
But Lo'ak didn't give a shit about Earth. He wanted you here, under him, your slick coating his fingers as he worked you open. He knew the barriers though. Your human physiology, no kuru for tsaheylu and that tiny frame dwarfed by his massive Na'vi build.
Fucking you proper?
Near impossible without breaking you but Eywa the thought of it... his cock hardening at the edge of your heat, rutting against your thighs, marking you with his seed until you reeked of him. You'd satisfy him too, those clever hands and that sharp mouth drawing out his growls.
A soft touch on his arm yanked him back to reality, Tsireya's eyes sparkled with curiosity as her fingers lingered on his bicep.
"Lo'ak? You're far away again." She murmured, voice like a gentle current as her blush deepened, tucking a strand of curls behind her ear.
He forced a grin leaning in to nuzzle her head lightly as he pictured it was you in her place to get through the act, scenting her out of habit he developed from you, her omega sweetness blooming under his touch.
"Just thinking about the reef and the life here, Reya." His words were smooth, alpha charm laced with intent to coax her but inside his thoughts snarled back to you.
He remembered when he found you by the communal fire. The clan had gathered for a shared meal, you sat apart, your fuller hips shifting on the log as you sharpened a knife. Your movements precise, muscles flexing under sun-kissed skin that glowed warmer than the Omatikaya people around you. That pretty face of yours caught the firelight, lips pursed in concentration, a stray hair escaping your braid to frame your cheek.
His alpha instincts roared as your scent hit him across the flames, your body responding to the alpha scents around you even if you fought it. Lo'ak sauntered over, dropping down beside you with casual grace, his tail brushing your leg “accidentally.”
"Sharp as ever tawtute." He rumbled, voice low and rough, eyes tracing the swell of your breasts beneath your fitted top. "Bet you could pin me down with that thing. Or maybe you'd rather use those hands for something... bigger."
You glanced up, your eyes narrowing with that familiar mix of wariness and fire but he caught the subtle hitch in your breath and the way your thighs pressed together.
There it is, that slick starting to gather, calling to me.
He leaned closer inhaling deeply, letting his own alpha musk wash over you in a subtle claim.
"Back off, Lo'ak." You said firmly, though your voice wavered just a touch, cheeks flushing as you sheathed the blade. Your fuller body tensed, curves shifting enticingly but you scooted away, rejecting the heat building between you. "I'm not some prize for you to sniff around. Go chase Na'vi women."
He chuckled dark and hungry, not backing down yet. His hand ghosted near your thigh, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from your core. "That scent of yours is the one that drives me insane. Imagine it, me knotting up against you, filling you with my knot until you're dripping for me."
The words were lewd and whispered like a promise, his fangs grazing his lip as he pictured your slick-coated folds clenching around his fingers, your cries echoing in the night.
Your rejection came swift, a shove to his chest that barely budged him but the spark in your eyes betrayed the pull. "No. I told you before I don't need an alpha. Find someone who wants your... attention."
You stood hips swaying as you walked away leaving him hard and aching, your scent lingering like a taunt.
Lo'ak watched you go, desire coiling tighter in his gut.
She refuses me now but I'll wear her down. That body, that scent, it's mine.
Lo'ak's claws dug into the soft sand as the rhythmic crash of waves does little to drown out the ghosts in his mind and the memories of you. Tsireya's hand rested lightly on his shoulder, her touch warm and inviting but it felt like a hollow echo compared to the fire you'd ignited in him.
Months here and still the reef can't wash you away. His family pushed him towards Tsireya, Neteyam with knowing glances and Jake with gruff nods of approval, anything just to help him move on from the past. Move on they said but Eywa how could he? Your scent lingered in his nostrils like a curse, that honeyed vanilla twisted with the sharp bite of your slick pulling him back to the forest's embrace even if he was at the ocean now.
He remembered the days in Omatikaya, how he'd hunt you out like prey, your presence a magnet to his alpha core. You'd weave through the clan's edges, that fuller silhouette cutting through the underbrush, your skin glistening with a sheen of sweat from training sessions that honed your lethal grace. No one ventured to the hidden glade beyond the waterfall, a forgotten nook where vines draped like curtains but he'd found you there once, curled up in exhausted sleep after a long hunt.
Your body lay sprawled on the mossy bed, limbs lax and inviting, the curve of your waist dipping into the generous swell of your hips that strained against your worn shorts. Breaths came soft and even, your chest rising in gentle swells beneath the thin tank top, nipples pebbling faintly in the cool mist.
Vulnerable, so damn vulnerable. An omega's form laid bare for any prowling alpha like him to claim.
"Lo'ak." You mewled in your sleep, clearly displaying your interest for him despite your usual rejections.
Fuck, is she dreaming about me?
Lo'ak's pulse thundered as he approached, his nostrils flaring at the thick wave of your musky arousal, slick already seeping through the fabric between your thighs. He knelt, hands trembling with restraint as he parted your legs slowly, the heat radiating from your core slamming into him like a storm.
Fuck, smells so good.
He groaned inwardly, leaning in until his nose brushed the damp crotch of your shorts. Inhaling deep, he let your essence flood him, a sweet nectar laced with raw need it made his head spin. His cock throbbing painfully against his loincloth as he got drunk on it, his breaths ragged and desperate.
Unable to stop himself, his tongue darted out tracing the outline of your folds through the thin barrier, the salty tang bursting on his taste buds. He was perverted, he fucking knew it. He was licking at your clothed pussy while you slumbered but the filth of it only fueled his obsession, his hands gripping your thighs to hold you open as he lapped greedily.
You stirred then, a soft mewl escaping your lips as awareness bloomed, your nose twitching at the overwhelming crash of his alpha musk, smoky pine and dominant heat flooding your senses. Instinct took over as your hips bucked up instinctively, grinding your soaked core against his eager mouth, your slick soaking through to coat his rough tongue.
Lo'ak had grinned against you, yanking the shorts aside just enough to devour you properly. His tongue plunged into your folds, swirling over your swollen clit with rough insistent strokes, savoring the gush of your arousal as you arched, fingers tangling in his braids.
My little tawtute.
He thought sucking hard until your thighs quivered around his head, your cries muffled by the waterfall's roar.
After that stolen moment, you'd both tumbled into a heated agreement. Friends with benefits, nothing more, your eyes fierce as you laid down the rules.
"No claiming, no bonds. You're not my alpha." You whispered, voice husky from the aftershocks, your fuller breasts heaving with each pant. "Just this. I won't be your omega, Lo'ak."
He'd nodded, all easy smiles on the surface but inside? He was fucking thirsty for every scrap you offered knowing he'd erode your walls until you begged for his knot. It didn't matter if you reject him now because soon you'd be his.
Neteyam had caught it first, nostrils flaring during a hunt, his golden eyes narrowing at Lo'ak with a mix of amusement and warning.
"You've been marking her good, skxawng." He muttered, voice low and teasing.
Spider smirked beside him, elbowing Lo'ak. "Dude, she reeks of you like everywhere."
Lo'ak's chest had swelled with smug pride, the thought of his scent clinging to your skin a ward against rival alphas in a subtle brand that screamed his.
Those stolen encounters blurred into a haze of raw hunger, each one etching you deeper into his soul.
The first memory that haunted him now was of that late night in your shared alcove, the clan's fires dimming outside. You'd pushed him against the woven wall, your hands bold as they slipped under his tewng, palming his aching length through the fabric.
"Quiet." You hissed, eyes dark with lust, your tongue flicking out to trace his ear while your fingers squeezed, drawing a guttural growl from his throat.
He'd retaliated by shoving your top up, mouth latching onto one pert nipple, teeth grazing the sensitive bud as you whimpered, your free hand fisting his hair. Slick dripped down your thighs, the air thick with your mingled scents, his alpha instincts snarling to rut against you until you yielded but he held back, letting your strokes milk pre-cum from his tip, your thumb circling the slit with wicked precision.
Another time during a rain-soaked patrol, thunder masked your gasps as he pinned you to a massive tree trunk. Water cascaded over your curves plastering clothes to your body, highlighting the lush dip of your cleavage and the flare of your ass.
"Lo'ak, fuck." You moaned, legs wrapping around his waist as he ground his hips forward, his bulge nestling against your soaked heat.
No penetration, just the torturous slide of fabric on fabric. His hands kneading your plush ass while you rocked, your clit throbbing against the ridge of his cock. He'd buried his face in your neck, fangs scraping skin as he scented you deeply. Your omega purr vibrating through him, body clenching in waves of near-release.
Then came the evening by the river, the moonlight silvering your skin as you knelt before him, that pretty mouth of yours hovering inches from his straining erection.
"Your turn to beg." You teased, voice sultry and challenging, breath ghosting over his flushed length.
Lo'ak's hands shook as he guided you closer, your lips parting to take him in shallowly, tongue swirling the head with expert flicks that made stars burst behind his eyes. He thrusted shallowly, careful not to overwhelm your human limits while his fingers delved between your legs, two digits curling into your dripping channel, thumb pressing your clit until you hollowed your cheeks around him. Both of you teetering on the edge in a symphony of wet sounds and stifled cries.
One dawn hidden in the hollow of an ancient tree, your body arched beneath his as he feasted between your thighs again. This time you were awake and demanding, legs splayed wide, your fingers spreading yourself open for his view. Pink and glistening, clit peeking swollen and needy.
"Taste me." You commanded, voice breathy with command and he'd obeyed, broad tongue laving from your entrance to your bud, sucking until your hips jerked and flooding his mouth with fresh slick.
His own hand pumped his cock in rhythm, the lewd squelch of your arousal mixing with his grunts, your nails raking his scalp as orgasm ripped through you leaving him spilling over his fist with your name on his lips.
The last memory burned hottest. It was a heated tangle in the undergrowth after sparring, your combat-honed body slick with exertion, muscles taut under soft flesh. You'd straddled his lap, grinding down with deliberate rolls, your heat enveloping the bulge of his massive through layers of cloth.
"Feel that?" You gasped, nails digging into his shoulders, breasts bouncing with each motion as friction built a blaze between you.
Lo'ak's hands roamed your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your mounds, pinching nipples until they hardened like pebbles. His alpha pheromones surged, your omega response drenching you further, the air electric with unspoken claims.
Close, so close to breaking your rules, to flipping you and sealing you as his.
He'd been this close to making you his omega, your resistances crumbling under the weight of shared nights, your scent forever altered by his touch but then the RDA struck. The skies darkening with their demon weapons, gunfire shattering the peace. Chaos erupted and Na'vi war cries mingling with the roar of ikran was heard.
Lo'ak had fought like hell but his eyes locked on you across the fray. You, dodging blasts with that honed agility, your gun barking in retaliation.
The shot came from nowhere, a sniper's cruel precision.
It tore through your side, blood blooming dark against your gear, your fuller form crumpling to the earth. Time slowed as you hit the ground, eyes wide with shock, life ebbing from your small human body in shallow faltering breaths.
"Lo'ak..." You whispered voice fading, hand reaching out as crimson pooled beneath you.
Feral rage consumed him. He became a whirlwind of death, hands rending flesh, dagger sinking into throats as he tore through the soldiers brutally and unrelenting, their screams fuel to his grief. He couldn't save you but vengeance? That he claimed, bodies piling in his wake until the attackers fled or fell from his fury and despair.
It was quiet after, the clan's silence heavy as he carried your still form to a secluded grove, digging the earth with his bare hands, tears carving tracks through the blood on his face. His family knew, Jake's hand on his shoulder and Neytiri's soft keening. They understood the depth of your bond, unspoken but profound. He buried you there, under a canopy of glowing vines, a piece of his soul interred with you.
They fled Omatikaya soon after, safety demanding the flight to Metkayina's waters. Leaving behind the home where he'd met you, loved you in shadows, and lost you to the sky-people's greed. Months stretched on, the ache a constant companion and sharper than any wound.
Now with Tsireya's giggles resounding, Lo'ak stared at the stars with his heart fracturing anew.
He tries for his family as he feigned the desire to mate with another but you... Eywa, it's hard to let go even in death. Your ghost clung to his being, your omega scent still the one he seeks, a phantom ache pulling him under once more.
The ocean churned below the hulking Sea Dragon ship, its metal belly groaning under the weight of RDA machinery and malice.
Lo’ak's heart hammered as he surfaced from the depths, Payakan's massive form gliding away into safer waters. He'd ripped the tracker from his bonded tulkun's flesh, the device crunching in his fist like brittle bone and barked the warning into the comms.
"Sir, RDA's here. They are nearby now and—" Static cut him off as shouts erupted from the ship above.
His siblings and Tsireya had tailed him despite his snarls to stay back, their ilu slicing through the waves in reckless pursuit. Now as they hauled onto the platform, Quaritch's shadow loomed. Impossibly alive, his Na'vi form a twisted mockery of blue skin and yellow eyes. He remembered the clips of him that Norm had shown him and Spider back in the labs before.
Mother swore she ended him.
Lo’ak thought as bile rose in his throat, the shock freezing him mid-step.
Quaritch’s rifle snapped up and chaos swallowed them. Neteyam diving into the sea escaping but him, Tsireya, and little Tuk was snared in the net of the soldiers' grips.
Tsireya's scent hit him first. An omega in distress, her body trembling against his side as they were dragged aboard. Tuk whimpered, her small frame pressed to his leg, wide eyes brimming with fear. Lo’ak's alpha instincts roared to shield them, to tear free and sink fangs into throats but cold steel kissed his temple.
"Easy, boy. Wouldn't want to paint the deck with your brains." Quaritch's voice a gravelly drawl as he smiled cockily.
He strained against the ties, nostrils flaring at the metallic tang of fear-sweat mingling with Tsireya and Tuk's fear. The ship's corridors blurred in a haze of alarms and barked orders until the viewport revealed the Metkayina fleet closing in. His father’s ikran leading the charge and warriors streaking like arrows on their ilus. Quaritch and the other recom soldiers immediately got distracted that left an opportunity for their escape.
Neteyam burst through the fray moments later, a ghost of precision, slicing bonds with his knife and dropping guards in silent takedowns.
"Go!" He hissed, urgency etching his sharp jawline, golden eyes alert.
Lo’ak shoved Tsireya and Tuk toward the railing, the ocean's foam calling below. "Jump and swim fast!"
Tsireya hesitated, her hand brushing his with a desperate squeeze, her scent spiking with worry but she nodded, scooping Tuk into her arms and leaping into the abyss, their splashes lost in the din.
Lo’ak snatched a fallen rifle, the stock cool against his palm, grip tightening as resolve burned.
"Not leaving without Spider." He growled to Neteyam who masked a sigh with a nod.
They prowled the bowels of the beast-ship, shadows among crates, Lo’ak's tail lashing as they ambushed the guards. Neteyam's blade flashing across a throat, Lo’ak's rifle butt cracking a skull with a wet thud.
Spider huddled in his cell, human frailty stark under the lights but his eyes lit with relief. "Guys!"
Neteyam yanked the door, snatching a sidearm. "Move, now!"
They bolted with their breaths ragged, the ship's alarms wailing like wounded banshees. Freedom beckoned at the edge, the jump to the waves a heartbeat away when a silhouette blocked the hatch, rifle leveled and stance coiled like a predator's.
Lo’ak's nose twitched, a jolt ripping through him. That scent, honeyed vanilla laced with slick's primal edge, that familiar omega essence that clawed at his core like hooks from the grave.
Impossible.
The figure stepped into the flickering emergency lights, a tall female Na'vi, her azure skin stretched over curves that echoed your human fullness but amplified. Broader hips swaying with lethal grace, breasts straining against tactical webbing, tail flicking with tension.
Her face... Eywa, it was yours, translated to Na'vi perfection.
"Move and I shoot." You snarled, voice a husky whip-crack, rifle steady, your tail flicking from the adrenaline's pulse.
"(Y/N)?" Lo’ak's voice cracked, raw shock flooding him, his body going rigid as memories crashed of your human bloodied form in his arms and the life fading from those eyes.
Your brow furrowed, grip tightening on the weapon, confusion flickering across your features like shadows on water. "How do you know my name?"
Reeling, his obsession surged back ten times stronger, a tidal wave drowning his doubt. You were revived like Quaritch. Even if you had gone rogue, you were still the RDA's prized soldier and they had pulled you from death's jaws into this created body, just without the memories of him and your life in Omatikaya it seems.
But it was no problem, this was his second chance, his alpha blood sang for it. His cock twitching traitorously at your scent's assault, visions of claiming you anew flashing hot and unbidden especially now that your Na'vi body can take his cock and a kuru to make tsaheylu with.
"How could an alpha forget his own omega?" Lo’ak murmured, the lie slipping smooth and laced with dark hunger.
His gaze raked your form, the way your thighs flexed under the tight pants, your omega scent thickening the air with unwitting invitation.
Your expression twisted, lips parting in disbelief as a flush creeped up your neck to tint those cheeks. "What the hell are you talking about?"
He smiled fondly as he eyed the purple hue in your cheeks, it was once pink when you were his little tawtute.
"Put the gun down and I'll explain." He coaxed stepping forward, voice dropping to a rumble that vibrated with promise, his pheromones instinctively flaring in a smoky dominance that curled towards you.
"Fat fucking chance." You spat, finger hovering on the trigger as your body tensed, the rifle's barrel unwavering despite the turmoil etching your posture.
They saw Jake then, ghosting behind you, his form a silent storm. You didn't sense him, emotions roiling too strongly within you, the confusion and suspicion was a buried pull from Lo’ak's words that clouded your instincts. Just as your eyes narrowed aiming to shoot, Jake's arm snaked out with a precise strike to your temple dropping you limp, your rifle clattering to the ground.
Lo’ak lunged, scooping your unconscious body. It was warm and solid, your weight fitting against his chest like fate's cruel gift. Your head lolled against his shoulder with your soft lips slack, the curve of your neck exposed where your scent glands are and he ached to mark it. He was not letting you go this time, he vowed inwardly. The obsession coiling tight as he jumped, your form cradled close to his chest.
You stirred in fragments as your head throbbed like a war drum, body heavy and alien in ways you couldn't place. The world tilted, salt spray stinging your skin but strong arms held you fast towards a broad chest. Voices blurred with urgent commands then splashes, the familiar roar of engines fading. Your eyelids fluttered, catching glimpses of blue limbs churning water, a face hovering close, yellow eyes burning with something feral and possessive.
Who... what?
Panic flickered but exhaustion dragged you under again, the stranger's smoky scent wrapping around you like chains pulling you into the unknown.
Hours had bled since the Sea Dragon's retreat, Metkayina warriors' spears driving the RDA skimmers back into the horizon like scattering ikran. Lo'ak's family had spilled into the healing space earlier. Neytiri's eyes widening in stunned silence as he laid your limp form on the woven cot, her gaze tracing the Na'vi lines of your body, so eerily reminiscent of the human girl who'd captured her son's heart.
She knew the depth of his longing back then, the way he'd orbit you like a moth to flame and now... by Eywa's mercy or cruel jest, you breathed again.
Jake had woven the tale swiftly to Tonowari, voice steady with feigned sorrow of RDA men snatching you from Omatikaya soil and twisted your mind blank in their labs all to strike at the Sully's. He did this for his dead friend and the sight of Lo'ak's knuckles white around your waist, his son clearly not intending to let go of you no matter what.
The Olo'eyktan nodded gravely and Ronal's piercing gaze all but yielded as uturu was granted. A private marui was yours by the clan's edge and Lo'ak wasted no breath bundling you there and away from prying eyes.
Now alone in the dim glow of light, he perched on the mat's edge, thumb tracing the swell of your cheekbone, the skin now like polished sapphire under his callused pad. Months of hollow ache, of yearning, and regrets dissolved in this miracle.
You, alive and blue-skinned. Your human curves honed into this body by those RDA scientists, honed into something divine as your chest rose steady.
His fingers drifted to your kuru, the neural tendrils soft and pulsing, it was a siren's call to him. You can make tsaheylu at last and the thought made heat pool low within him as visions assaulted his mind. Your kurus entwined, your slick walls clenching his knot, belly swelling with his seed as he bites your neck.
The lie he'd planted on that ship earlier?
It was a seed to bloom and he will nurture it until you begged for his claim, until your body yielded under his relentless thrusts as he finally claim his reborn omega.
"My pretty little omega." He murmured, voice thick with reverence and hunger, leaning close enough to taste your exhales. "You came back to me."
Your lashes trembled, world sharpening from blur to the unfamiliar marui's woven confines. Pain throbbed at your temple but it was the face above yours that jolted you. A sharp jaw shadowed with intent, golden eyes devouring you whole. It was the same man from the ship who dared call himself your alpha. Instinct screamed within as you bolted upright, scrambling back until your shoulders hit the pod's curved wall.
"Shh mawey, omega." He soothed, palms rising in mock surrender though his tail betrayed him with a eager flick. "It's me, Lo'ak."
You pressed your knees to your chest, the tactical gear chafing against your skin that hummed strangely sensitive with every nerve alight.
"Why am I here?" Your voice emerged rough and edged with wariness as you scanned the space, something so different from the blank white walls in the RDA base.
He shifted closer on his haunches, his alpha scent blooming smoky and insistent as it wrapped around you like invisible vines. "I told you, you're my omega. Do you really not remember me, (Y/N)?"
His tone dipped low and laced with feigned hurt that masked the thrill coiling in his gut.
You shook your head, a void yawning where memories should be. "I don't know you."
A shadow crossed his features but his lips curved into something soft and forlorn.
"Of course you don't. The RDA kidnapped you, knowing you were my mate. They wanted leverage against me and my family, twisted your head until it all faded so you can be a weapon honed against us." He leaned in, voice dropping to a rumble that vibrated through the air, his golden eyes tracing the pulse at your throat.
Doubt gnawed at you but his words slotted into the fog like puzzle edges.
"I don't believe you." You crossed your arms, the motion pulling fabric taut over swells that felt too heavier and foreign for your body.
"It's true, (Y/N)." He pressed, earnestness dripping like honeyed venom, golden gaze locking yours. "Ask my parents, they'll tell you. Why would we drag an RDA stray into our home if you meant nothing? We'd have ended you on sight if you were just another faceless soldier. But you're here because you're mine, my omega. I’m not gonna let you go after too damn long without you."
The conviction rolled off him chipping at your resolve.
The emptiness in your skull pulsed with the flashes of sterile lights and needles when you woke up without memories. Just a clean slate only knowing your name and mission to exterminate Jake Sully along with his family. It fit this narrative of erasure he’s spouting, it explained the ache of absence of your memories, and the the way his scent tugged at something buried.
Still, your walls stayed high, trust wasn't easily surrendered to pretty tales. "I'm not gonna believe you that quickly."
He could see that you braced for fury, a snarl or grab from him but he only smiled wider, teeth flashing in the low light. He was a hunter savoring the chase. He’s done this before and he can damn sure do it again.
The long game it is.
He mused inwardly, pulse quickening at the fire in your stare.
As long as I end up buried balls-deep and knotting you full with my kids.
"I know." He said aloud, voice gentle as a breeze. "You have every right to be wary but I'll prove I'm telling the truth. Every day until it sinks in."
From a woven basket, he drew garments. A delicate weave of sea silk in iridescent blues, the beaded edges shimmering like lagoon foam. He offered them, fingers brushing yours with electric intent.
"But first here, change into these. Your gear screams sky people, it'll draw eyes we don't need."
Hesitation gripped you but logic won as you snatched the bundle, the fabric whispering soft against your palms. "Turn around."
His smirk ghosted quick, a flash of mischief before he pivoted with his broad back to you. The muscles rippling under his striped skin, his tail curling with barely leashed anticipation.
Silly little omega.
He thought, his cock stirring at the sound of rustles and clothes dropping behind him.
I'll devour every inch of you soon enough. By letting you have this? This will build the trust I'll shatter with my teeth on your throat soon.
For now, he'd indulge you by letting the illusion of safety root within you.
You stripped swiftly, peeling away the stiff RDA layers, the cool air kissing your bare skin that pebbled instantly.
The top draped like a second skin, thin straps framing the generous heft of your breasts. The RDA alterations leaving them lush and buoyant from the usual Na'vi body proportions. It was nearly overflowing the shell cups, nipples tightening against the weave from the exposure. The loincloth settled low, hugging the flare of your hips. Hips that still carries the human echo of soft fertile width. The fabric molding to the cleft of your mound, outlining the lower plush lips beneath with shameless clarity.
Heat flooded your cheeks, a shy vulnerability twisting in your gut at how the breeze teased your inner thighs but you swallowed it, straightening with forced poise.
"Done." You muttered, voice tight.
He turned slow, breath catching audibly, his growing bulge straining against his own minimal covering as his gaze raked you with raw and unblinking eyes.
Your form hit him like a spear. Those tits were swollen temptations begging for his mouth as it spilled toward the sides with each inhale. Your hips swaying unconsciously, promising the grip he'd rut into. The loincloth’s cradle accentuating your cunts heat, your scent blooming freer now, that musky arousal laced with your omega sweetness that slammed his senses.
His nostrils flared wide as he inhaled deeply, the tang of your untouched slick flooding him making his cock throb painfully.
You caught the shift, the way his pupils blew dark and jaw clenched as he drank you in.
"Stop looking at me like that." You hissed, arms folding over your chest though it only plumped your cleavage further as your ears flattened in irritation.
"Can't an alpha admire his omega?" He drawled, voice husky with barely veiled lust as he stepped a fraction closer, his pheromones thickening the air like a claim already staked.
"I'm not yours." You grumbled low, a frustrated rumble in your throat as your tail lashed behind you.
Oh but you will be.
He thought, his eyes gleaming with a dark promise for the the hunt that is just beginning.
Lo’ak extended his palm, fingers splayed in invitation, the veins along his forearm flexing with restrained power as he waited for you to grasp it. But you swatted it aside with a sharp flick of your wrist, the motion sending your hair swaying against your shoulders, a spark of defiance lighting your amber eyes.
He chuckled low and undeterred, the sound rumbling from his chest like distant thunder over the waves as he rose fluidly and gestured toward the marui's entrance.
"Come on, then." He said, voice laced with amusement, stepping out into the sun-dappled path without waiting.
You followed cautiously, bare feet padding over the woven floor, the iridescent top shifting with each step to tease glimpses of the deep valley between your full rounded breast and the curves engineered to perfection, their weight pulling gently at the thin straps.
The village unfolded around you as ilus glided through crystalline lagoons, people weaving nets with fluid grace, the air thick with brine and laughter.
"This is the Metkayina clan." Lo’ak explained glancing back with a crooked smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "My family and I sought uturu here after…"
His words faltered, gaze drifting inward, a shadow crossing his face as the memory clawed at him. You, limp and bloodied in his arms amid the Omatikaya ruins, your final breath a ghost that had haunted his nights.
He shook it off, jaw tightening briefly. "After the RDA attacked our people and kidnapped you. My father figured leaving would shield the Omatikaya as they were hunting him after all."
"Oh." You murmured, the syllable soft, absorbing the weight of his half-truth as you trailed him toward the shore.
The beach stretched wide, sands like crushed pearls underfoot, waves curling in lazy foam that kissed your toes.
You paused, head tilting back to drink in the expanse of the endless turquoise horizon, fronds rustling in a breeze that carried hints of coral and freedom. It was worlds away from the RDA base's sterile hum, those endless white corridors that had pressed in like a vise on your spirit. Here, your lungs expanded fully, the salt-kissed wind whispering against your exposed midriff, raising gooseflesh along the smooth plane of your belly.
You pivoted to face him, sunlight gilding the stripes across his broad frame highlighting the taut lines of his abdomen where they dipped toward his hips. He was handsome in a wild and untamed way with high cheekbones sharp as carved stones, lips full and curved in perpetual mischief, his kuru draped over one shoulder like a warrior's braid.
Could he truly be your alpha? The question swirled, pulling at fragments of curiosity of how had your paths crossed, what sparks had ignited this supposed bond and turned the two of you into lovers?
His scent hit you then, a heady rush of smoked wood and primal earth, wrapping around your senses like a heated embrace. It stirred something deep, your omega instincts humming in response, drawn to the raw masculinity radiating from him, to the promise of protection and possession. A true alpha commanding without force. Yet wariness lingered, a shield against the allure he displays.
You'd unearth the truth, one way or another.
"How did we meet?" You asked, voice steady despite the flutter in your chest, stepping closer as the tide lapped at your ankles.
Lo’ak's mind spun a tale effortlessly, threading lies with echoes of reality. He leaned against a palm trunk, arms crossing to accentuate the swell of his biceps.
"Your father was a close ally of my father before yours died because of the RDA. My father offered you sanctuary in the Omatikaya after. The first time I caught your scent..." His eyes darkened, pupils dilating as he recalled the genuine pull, that intoxicating bloom that had hooked him from the start. "It hit me like a storm. I knew right then I had to make you my omega."
Heat crept up your neck, staining your blue cheeks a deeper sapphire but you rolled your eyes to mask it. You crossed your arms beneath your chest, the gesture lifting the plush orbs higher, their soft undersides brushing the fabric's edge.
"And how did we fall in love? How did you make me your omega?"
He turned fully to you, grin widening into something wolfish, teeth gleaming as he closed the distance. His tail brushing your calf in a fleeting electric touch. This time, truth edged his words, laced with dark satisfaction. "You were a firecracker, always dodging me. I'd hunt you down and you'd push back every time with feisty rejections. But I wore you down, made you gave in."
You huffed, a breathy sound of exasperation as your ears twitched forward. "How?"
That sleazy grin stretched, predatory and unashamed, as he captured your hand in his larger one. The calluses rough against your smoother palm and he guided it downward, pressing your fingers firmly against the thick ridge straining his loincloth. The heat of him seared through the thin barrier, the rigid length twitching under your touch, pulsing with insistent need.
You recoiled with a hiss, yanking back as if burned, your tail coiling tight against your thigh.
"You’re so disgusting." You snapped, though your voice wavered, pulse racing at the sheer girth outlined there.
You could feel the prominent veins even through the cloth, a formidable promise that sent an unwelcome thrill skittering down your spine.
"Disgusting?" He laughed, the sound rich and teasing, stepping into your space without apology, his free hand hovering near your hip. "It's natural for an omega to touch her own alpha. This dick's yours after all, it was made for splitting you open."
His gaze dropped to your pretty face, smug as he caught the flush blooming across your collarbone.
"Is my baby getting shy on me?"
"I don’t wanna touch that." You glared, fangs bared slightly but the betraying warmth between your thighs deepened, your core clenching involuntarily as the omega in you urged to submit and to explore that alpha potency he emits.
He was massive. The outline suggesting a flesh forged for dominance and it made the hidden part of you, the slick needy omega, preen with forbidden excitement. A fresh gush of arousal dampened your folds, the scent rising sharp and sweet like ripe fruit begging to be plucked by his mouth.
Lo’ak's nostrils flared inhaling deeply, a smug curl to his lips as he savored your reaction. Your body's confession louder than any denial you display for him. He bit his lower lip, the plump flesh whitening under teeth, before recapturing your hand and drawing it to his mouth. His tongue flicked out, warm and wet, tracing the knuckles in a slow deliberate kiss that sent shivers racing up your arm.
"You've wrapped your fingers around it plenty before when I made you my omega." The lie slipped out velvet-smooth, his eyes locked on yours with heated intensity.
You groaned pulling away from the lewd promise in his touch, sinking onto the warm sand in a fluid drop, knees drawing up to hug your shins. The grains shifted beneath you, cradling the curve of your ass, the loincloth riding up slightly to expose more of your toned thighs.
He dropped beside you, thigh pressing boldly against yours, the contact igniting sparks along your skin. His body heat a tangible force, his muscles coiled like a predator at rest.
"What happened to you in that RDA hellhole?" He asked, voice dropping to a gravelly murmur, one arm draping casually behind you on the sand.
You shrugged, shoulders rolling under the light top, the motion causing your breasts to settle with a subtle jiggle, nipples peaking against the weave from the cooling breeze.
"They drilled me with training, said it was to sharpen old instincts. All I had was my name and the order to drag in Jake Sully. It was... hollow like pieces of me were carved out leaving echoes."
Lo’ak's jaw clenched, tendons standing out like cords along his neck, a flicker of genuine rage darkening his features at the thought of their violations. First they killed you and now remade you without your consent and your mind stripped of everything.
"You’re here now." He growled softly, leaning in until his breath ghosted your ear, sending tingles cascading down your neck. "And I’ll never let you slip away again. No harm touches what's mine."
Silence fell heavy with the crash of waves and you grew still, his vow sinking in like roots into soil stirring a tentative warmth amid the suspicion you harbor.
He nearly smirked sensing the crack in your arm from the way your posture softened and your eyes flicking to his with budding belief in this fabricated narrative he has.
"Let say it’s true, what if I never remember you?" You whispered, fingers tracing idle patterns in the sand, vulnerability etching lines around your mouth.
"It doesn’t matter." He replied, tone resolute yet tender as he shifted to face you fully, his hand brushing a stray tendril from your forehead, thumb lingering on the silky arch of your brow. "I’ll give you new ones to remember. Ones that will even make you forget you ever lost one."
Internally, he nearly laughed at the twist as he really was giving you new memories. He was scripting your shared history with one possessive thread at a time.
"Okay." You breathed, the word a quiet surrender, gaze dropping to where your knee brushed his.
"I’ve missed you, baby." He murmured voice thick with ache, leaning closer until his scent enveloped you completely in a cocoon of his desire. "So damn much."
You rolled your eyes, a playful scoff escaping despite the pull in your chest, and he threw his head back in laughter, the sound echoing free over the beach, sealing the moment in fragile intimacy he considered a win.
Lo'ak rose from the sand in one smooth motion, his form uncoiling like a vine under tension as he extended his hand once more with palm upturned. This time though, your fingers brushed his tentatively, sliding into the warm grip as curiosity edged out the caution. The contact sending a subtle current up your arm.
He smiled, a genuine curve softening the sharp angles of his face, fingers curling possessively over yours.
"It's getting close to dinner." He said, voice warm with invitation, thumb stroking a lazy circle on your skin. "Want to eat at my family's marui?"
You hesitated, gaze flicking toward the distant pods nestled among the mangroves, the reality sinking in. There were no other refuge, no familiar faces beyond this enigmatic man who claimed your past. With a small nod you agreed, the motion causing your kuru to sway gently against the nape of your neck where your scent glands pulsed faintly.
His grin widened into something triumphant and boyish as he tugged you along the winding paths.
The village was alive with the flicker of lanterns igniting against the deepening twilight. Voices drifted from the marui ahead of animated chatter laced with laughter and you faltered at the threshold as your ears pinned back slightly, the woven entrance flap fluttering like a hesitant veil.
But Lo'ak's hold tightened, his grip a steady anchor pulling you forward.
"No need to fear, baby." He murmured leaning close enough for his breath to fan your temple, carrying that intoxicating alpha musk. "You're my mate, they're your family, too."
He guided you inside, the space cozy with the glow of woven lamps and the aroma of spiced seafood simmering over a low flame. All eyes turned lingering on your intertwined hands, the air thickening with unspoken questions. Jake broke the silence first, his broad shoulders shifting as he set down a tool, his expression etched with regret.
"I'm sorry for clocking you earlier, kid." He said gruffly, voice heavy with apology. "Had to play it that way, there was no choice."
You nodded mutely, the memory of the blow still a dull throb at your temple. Lo'ak steered you to a mat beside him, his thigh brushing yours in casual ownership, the heat of his skin seeping through your loincloth.
"How are you holding up?" Neytiri asked, her golden eyes softening with casual concern, one hand resting on her hip.
"I'm... okay." You replied, the words tentative, your free hand fidgeting with the edge of your top as the fabric clung to the swell of your hips. "Just confused, mostly."
Lo'ak's fingers remained laced with yours, a constant pressure under the table, his pulse steady against your wrist.
"Is it true you've got no memories left?" Tuk piped up, her wide eyes curious and tail flicking with that youthful energy.
You flinched, the question a sharp prod at the void in your mind, your shoulders hunching instinctively.
Lo'ak's voice cut in firm, a warning edging his tone. "Tuk, easy."
"It's fine." You interjected quickly, forcing a small smile despite the sting. "And yes, nothing. Blank slate."
Jake leaned forward, his calm smile a reassuring anchor amid the family's scrutiny, the lines around his eyes crinkling with empathy. "No worries, we'll start fresh. I'm Jake, this is my wife Neytiri. Over there's Neteyam the eldest, Kiri the second oldest, Tuk the youngest, and Spider their human buddy who's basically one of us."
You nodded, committing the names to memory. Neteyam's steady gaze, Kiri's warm eyes, Tuk's infectious grin, and Spider's awkward wave from his spot by the wall. You were searching for any flicker of recognition in the recesses of your skull but only silence echoed back in the hollow expanse.
"Your father... he was a good friend of mine before the RDA took him out." Jake added, guilt shadowing his features, jaw tightening as he recalled the betrayal and loss. "They didn't give him a chance."
You bit your lower lip, the plump flesh yielding under your fangs, the story slotting neatly into Lo'ak's earlier tale, chipping away at your doubts like waves eroding stone. The belief for Lo’ak’s words stirring, it was tentative but it was growing.
Lo'ak suppressed the urge to smirk, inwardly thrilled as his father unwittingly bolstered the web of deception he had fabricated, the pieces aligning in his favor.
"Yeah, Lo'ak mentioned it earlier." You said softly, glancing at him sidelong, the warmth of his hand a subtle reassurance.
Neytiri slid two woven bowls your way, steam rising from chunks of fish and roots, her smile gentle as she nudged them closer.
"Eat up, you need your strength." She urged, voice laced with quiet care.
"Thank you." You murmured, accepting the offering, the savory scent curling into your nostrils.
Only then did Lo'ak release your hand, his fingers lingering a beat too long before withdrawing, allowing you to scoop up the meal. He watched you intently, a soft smile playing on his lips, his own bowl untouched as he savored the sight of your lashes fluttering as you chewed, the line of your throat working with each swallow.
His family exchanged subtle glances, noting the light reigniting in his eyes, that immense devotion he'd poured into chasing you before. They remembered the hollow shell he'd become after your death, the feral rage, the way he'd cradled your broken form before burying you under the sacred tree, Neytiri's heart fracturing at her son's raw grief.
When you finished, scraping the last bits from the bowl, you offered a grateful nod. "Thank you, all of you. That was... kind."
Lo'ak's hand found yours again, callused palm enveloping your smaller one as he stood pulling you up with him.
"I'll crash in her marui tonight." He announced casually, tone brooking no argument. "She needs me close."
Protest bubbled on your tongue but he leaned in grinning wickedly as his lips brushed your ear in a heated whisper. "You're my omega. I'm staying with you, end of story."
You rolled your eyes, a exasperated huff escaping, but bid the family farewell with a wave, their nods accepting as they were accustomed to Lo'ak's relentless pursuit back in the old days, his stubborn affection as predictable as the tides.
He led you through the cooling night, the path to your marui lit by glowing fungi, his steps buoyant with barely contained glee. Finally, no barriers between him and your warmth, no rejections and no distance. At the entrance, he ducked inside first then reached back, drawing you down onto the sleeping cot with insistent tugs, the woven surface yielding under your combined weight.
You settled beside him but instinctually shifted away leaving a deliberate gap between you, your body curling slightly on its side, the curve of your spine arching away from his heat.
He frowned, brows knitting over those piercing yellow eyes but the expression melted into a quick grin, predatory and playful.
"Baby, scoot over here." He coaxed, voice a low rumble.
You huffed, arms crossing over your chest, the motion pressing your breasts together in the dim light. "No."
He chuckled, the vibration deep in his chest, shifting closer despite your defiance. "You used to nestle right in my arms every night. It’s time to get that muscle memory kicking in, yeah?"
With another eye roll, you turned your back to him, knees drawing up, the position thrusting the firm globes of your ass outward, the loincloth's ties straining against the generous swell as you ignored his words. A yelp escaped you as his powerful arms banded around your waist, yanking you flush against his chest. The hard planes of his torso molding to your softer form, his heartbeat thundering steadily against your spine.
"Lo'ak!" You protested twisting slightly, your tail flicking in agitation.
"Don't deprive your alpha." He murmured, breath hot against your shoulder blade as he nuzzled deeper into the crook of your neck. "Been months without your heat, I’m starving for it."
You grumbled under your breath, the sound muffled against the mat but relented, your body loosening in his unyielding embrace. "Whatever."
Satisfied, he buried his face in your neck, nose pressing firmly into the sensitive glands there, inhaling deeply as he rubbed his own scent across your skin. He was marking you thoroughly, the musky alpha essence seeping into your pores until you'd carry him like a second skin. A deep purr rumbled from his throat vibrating through you, his tail snaking around to coil possessively along your inner thigh, the coarse hairs at its tip grazing the dampening fabric over your core in teasing strokes.
You bit your lip hard, fangs pricking the tender flesh, praying the growing slick wouldn't betray you but it did, the sweet needy aroma of your slick blooming in the confined space.
Lo'ak inhaled sharply, a smug edge to his purr. "Turn around, face me."
You ignored the command, squeezing your eyes shut, feigning sleep as your pulse raced.
"Face me, omega." He ordered, the alpha timbre lacing his voice like iron command, laced with unyielding authority.
Your eyes snapped open, body responding before your mind could catch up, twisting in his arms until you faced him with your noses nearly brushing, breaths mingling in the scant inches between.
"There you are." He breathed, gaze devouring the delicate fan of your lashes and the plush curve of your mouth. "My pretty little omega."
Silence stretched charged as he studied you. His eyes tracing the slope of your jaw, the subtle glow of your skin under the faint light. Then he nudged his nose against yours in a gentle eskimo kiss, the intimate gesture drawing your eyelids to flutter shut with a soft sigh escaping.
He grinned against your lips before claiming them in a filthy devouring kiss. His tongue plunging past your parted teeth without preamble, tasting of salt and hunger.
Fuck, so damn good.
The thought echoed in his mind as you let out a startled gasp, the sound muffled and swallowed by his mouth. He stole your air in greedy pulls, lips sealing over yours as his tongue tangled with yours sucking messily, wet and insistent, the slick slide igniting sparks that pooled low in your belly.
His mouth moved against yours with relentless hunger, tongue delving deep to lap at the sweetness of your inner cheeks, drawing out every muffled whimper as he ground his hips forward, the thick ridge of his arousal pressing insistently against your thigh through the thin barrier of his loincloth. The kiss was a storm, wet and bruising, his fangs grazing your lower lip in a teasing nip that sent jolts straight to your core.
"Love kissing these lips, baby." He rasped when he finally pulled back just enough to speak, his voice a gravelly purr laced with dark satisfaction, hot breath fanning over your flushed skin.
His eyes, those intense golden slits, locked onto yours, pupils blown wide with predatory lust.
A soft mewl escaped your throat, the omega instincts buried deep in your new form surging to the surface like a tidal wave. His pheromones flooded the air, thick and musky and and laced with the sharp tang of possession. It was clouding your thoughts until your mind went blissfully blank, every nerve alight with the need to submit, to yield to this alpha who claimed you so deliciously.
"Lo’ak." You breathed, the name a plea tumbling from your parted lips, your hands fisting in the woven mat beneath you as your body arched instinctively toward him.
He chuckled low, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours where your soft breasts pressed against the firm slabs of his pectorals. "Gonna let your alpha remind you how he made you his omega?"
His words dripped with manipulation, a velvet trap wrapped in seduction, his hand sliding down to grip the lush curve of your hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh with bruising intent. He knew the power he held, the way his scent could unravel you, bend you to his will without a fight.
Your inner omega preened at the command, tail thrashing against the cot in eager response as his pheromones intensified. It was wrapping around you like invisible chains stoking the fire in your veins until all you craved was to please him and to earn the approval of this dominant force. Slick gathered between your thighs, soaking through the delicate weave of your coverings.
"Please." You whispered, voice trembling with raw need, eyes half-lidded as you gazed up at him in desperate want.
Lo’ak's grin was feral against your mouth, teeth flashing white in the dim glow of the marui's inner light with a victorious gleam in his eyes. This was his win, another thread in the web he'd spun.
Back when you were that fragile tawtute, your human body was too small and too breakable for his Na'vi girth. He'd been forced to deny himself, rutting against your thigh or spilling over your skin in frustrated release. But now, in this altered form the RDA had twisted into something perfect for him. Your curves amplified, limbs elongated, core aching for an alpha's claim and he could finally bury himself to the hilt, reshape you from the inside out.
He shifted down your body with deliberate slowness, his broad shoulders nudging your thighs apart, exposing the glistening folds hidden beneath your loincloth. With a rough tug, he stripped the fabric away, the cool air kissing your heated skin and making you gasp. Your pussy was a vision, plump outer lips flushed a deep azure, inner petals slick and swollen, clit peeking like a ripe berry begging for attention. He inhaled deeply, groaning at the heady aroma of your arousal, it was sweet and fertile screaming omega in heat.
"Look at you, so fucking wet for me already." He murmured, voice husky with awe and dark triumph, his breath ghosting over your sensitive flesh. "This pretty cunt remembers its alpha, even if your head's playing tricks."
His thumbs parted you wider, exposing every inch to his hungry gaze, the cool tips contrasting the molten slick that dripped down toward your ass.
You whimpered, hips bucking involuntarily, the virgin tightness of your Na'vi entrance clenching around nothing. You had no inkling of this body's untouched state nor that it wasn’t your real body, no memory of past intimacies, only the overwhelming urge to be filled and claimed as well as the words of Lo’ak that he had already mated with you before.
"Lo’ak... need you." You panted, fingers threading into his braids, tugging lightly as your chest heaved, nipples hardening into tight peaks against the sheer top clinging to your full rounded breasts.
He didn't rush, savoring the power, the way you squirmed under his scrutiny. Leaning in, he dragged his tongue flat from your entrance to your clit in one long languid stroke, collecting your essence with a guttural moan escaping him. The taste exploded on his tongue, it was tart and addictive like the ripest fruit mingled with the salt of the sea.
"Mhm, fuck baby. Taste like mine." He growled, lapping again, slower this time, circling your clit with the broad side before flicking the tip precisely making your thighs quake around his head.
Your back arched off the cot, a keening cry spilling from your lips as pleasure coiled tight in your belly. His mouth was devouring you with sloppy obscene sounds, sucking and slurping, his fangs grazing just enough to tease without pain. He delved deeper, tongue spearing into your hole, fucking you with wet thrusts that mimicked what was to come, his nose bumping your clit with each push. Your slick coated his chin, dripping down his throat as he feasted, one hand pinning your hip while the other teased your entrance with a single finger circling the fluttering rim before sliding in knuckle-deep.
"Tight... so goddamn tight." He rasped between licks, pumping his finger slowly, curling it to stroke that spongy spot inside that made stars burst behind your eyelids. "Gonna stretch you open for my cock, omega. Make you take every inch like you used to beg for."
Lies woven seamlessly into praise, his words stoking your doubt into desire, making you cling to the narrative he fed you.
"Yes more, please." You sobbed, the coil winding tighter, your walls fluttering around his digit as he added a second, scissoring them to prepare you, the burn blending into exquisite fullness.
Your tail coiled around his wrist urging him deeper, body betraying any lingering resistance. He worked you mercilessly, mouth and fingers in tandem sucking your clit hard while thrusting deep, the lewd squelch of your slick echoing in the marui. Your orgasm built like a cresting wave, crashing over you with a shattered cry, walls clamping down as you gushed against his tongue, thighs clamping his ears in a vise.
Lo’ak drank it all humming in approval, not stopping until you trembled oversensitive then withdrawing with a final teasing lick. "Good girl, came so pretty for me."
He rose up, shedding his own coverings in a fluid motion. His massive girthy cock springing, the azure length veined and throbbing, tip beaded with precum and his knot already swelling at the base like a promise of lock and claim.
Your eyes widened at the sight, a flicker of instinctive awe and apprehension mixing with the haze of lust but he was already positioning himself, the blunt head nudging your soaked folds.
"Shh, baby, your alpha's got you." He soothed with tenderness in his tone as he rocked forward, breaching you inch by torturous inch.
The stretch was intense, your virgin walls yielding reluctantly to his size. A sharp sting giving way to burning fullness that had you gasping with your nails raking down his back.
"Fuck, so big." You whined, legs wrapping around his waist, heels digging into the taut muscles of his ass as he bottomed out, hips flush against yours.
The bulge of his cock visible under the soft plane of your belly, it was an obscene distension that made him groan in dark delight.
"Look at that." He panted pressing a hand over the swell, feeling himself inside you. "Taking me like a perfect omega. Feel how deep I am? This is how I claimed you, filled you up, and made you mine."
He rolled his hips experimentally, grinding against that spot within, drawing a moan from your depths.
You nodded frantically, lost in the sensation, the pain forgotten as pleasure bloomed anew. "Yours... Lo’ak, move please."
He obliged with a savage thrust, setting a brutal rhythm. Pulling out until just the tip remained before slamming back in, the slap of skin on skin mingling with your cries and his grunts. His knot bumped your entrance with each drive, swelling further, slick easing the way as your body wept for him, coating his length in glistening sheen. He fucked you like a beast unleashed, one hand braced beside your head, the other kneading your breast and pinching the dusky nipple until it pebbled under his filthy touch.
"That's it, scream for your alpha." He demanded, voice rough with need, leaning down to capture your mouth in another messy kiss.
He swallowed your moans as he pounded deeper, the bulge shifting with every plunge. Sweat slicked your bodies, his stripes glistening under the faint light, muscles rippling with each powerful snap of his hips.bThe coil tightened again, faster this time, your walls rippling around him as he chased his own release.
"Gonna knot you, baby. Lock us together, flood this tight pussy with my seed. Remember how it feels?" His words were a dark incantation, pushing you toward the edge.
"Knot me, alpha!" You cried, climax ripping through you like lightning, vision whiting out as you clenched around him milking his cock with rhythmic pulses.
Lo’ak growled, hips stuttering as his knot caught, popping past your rim with a wet pop, sealing him inside as hot spurts of cum painted your walls. The pressure was immense, your tummy bulging further from the sheer volume. He ground against you prolonging the bliss until you both shuddered in aftershocks. Panting, he nuzzled your neck, fangs scraping the tender gland there.
"Mine forever." He whispered possessively before sinking his teeth in a claiming bite that broke skin, bonding your scent and soul without the neural link he deliberately avoided.
No tsaheylu tonight. That would come later when his lies were ironclad, concrete, and unbreakable.
The pain-pleasure mix drew a gasp from you but instinct took over. Your own fangs finding his shoulder biting down in reciprocal mark, sealing the bond with your bite.
As the haze cleared, affection bloomed in your chest, his words echoing truer now. You nuzzled into him with his knot still keeping you locked, your fingers tracing the fresh mark on his skin, believing—starting to believe—the story of your shared past.
"Lo’ak... my alpha." You murmured softly, body lax and sated in his arms, the manipulative victory complete for now.
Lo’ak’s grin widened as your words hung in the humid air of the marui.
My alpha.
It was the echo of every fevered dream that had haunted him since the first glimpse of your human form amid the Omatikaya’s shadows, that intoxicating blend of vulnerability and fire drawing him in like a moth to your flame. All the calculated steps, the whispered deceptions, the nights of restrained longing, they’d led to this moment, his obsession crystallizing into reality.
His heart hammered against his ribs, a wild drumbeat syncing with the subtle throb of your shared bites, while his tail snaked around the supple curve of your thigh, coiling possessively to anchor you closer. The lean muscles of his arm flexed as he leaned in, lips brushing the fresh puncture on your neck in a featherlight kiss, the metallic tang of your mingled blood still faint on his tongue.
"I love you so damn much, baby." He murmured, voice rough with unfiltered emotion, the confession spilling out like a dam breaking.
Back in the Omatikaya, he’d swallowed those words a thousand times, fearing your casual arrangement would shatter under the weight of his truth. But now, with your body marked as his, your scent woven irrevocably into his own, he could unleash it all shamelessly.
A soft smile curved your lips, eyes fluttering shut as the combined aroma of your scent enveloped you like a soothing mist, rich with alpha claim and omega surrender. It lulled you into slumber, your breathing evening out against the woven fibers of the sleeping mat, limbs lax in the afterglow.
He couldn’t tear his gaze away, tracing the delicate fan of your lashes against your cheeks, the gentle swell of your mouth still swollen from his kisses, the way your chest rose and fell in rhythmic peace.
He was one lucky bastard he thought, a possessive heat blooming in his gut. He’d never release this hold. He would weave every lie and every touch into an unbreakable chain to keep you forever. With a contented sigh, he pulled you flush against his side, the warmth of your skin seeping into his and drifted off with a rare genuine smile softening his features.
Hours slipped by in the dappled light filtering through the marui’s entrance and you stirred to the sensation of warm lips trailing feather-soft kisses along the slope of your shoulders, each press igniting faint sparks along your nerves. Lo’ak’s breath was hot against your skin, his body a solid wall of heat spooned behind you.
"Hi, baby." He whispered, voice husky from sleep, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. "I’m just gonna get food for us. You can sleep more."
You nodded sleepily, a murmur of agreement escaping as his mouth captured yours in a lewd lingering kiss. His tongue teasing the seam of your lips before delving in with lazy hunger, leaving you breathless and boneless. As he pulled away, you sank back into the haze, eyelids heavy.
Lo’ak lingered for a beat, his eyes raking over you with unbridled satisfaction to the vivid red of the bite mark blooming against your azure skin, the serene beauty of your face in repose, and the tantalizing dip of your waist flaring into generous hips that still bore the faint imprints of his grip.
"My pretty omega." He breathed, a dark thrill underscoring the words, before rising as he donned a simple loincloth.
Stepping out into the morning bustle of Awa’atlu, his face split into the widest unapologetic grin, the claiming bite on his neck on full display like a badge of conquest.
The salty breeze ruffled his braids as he made his way to the communal breakfast area, where woven platforms overflowed with fresh catches and fruits under the watchful eyes of the clan. His family clustered around one such table, the air filled with the chatter of siblings and the clink of shells.
Lo’ak approached with that same beaming expression, grabbing two broad leaf-plates and loading them methodically with succulent slices of fish grilled with reef herbs for your sensitive palate, clusters of tart berries you’d once shyly admitted craving, and tender kelp wraps stuffed with spiced meats. Every choice was deliberate, a caretaker’s instinct laced with his obsessive need to provide.
Spider, perched cross-legged with a skewer in hand, caught sight of the mark first, his eyes widening in surprise.
"Yo, bro? You’re her alpha now?" He blurted, voice laced with teasing curiosity.
Neteyam shot him a sharp glare, hand clamping over Spider’s mouth mid-sentence while Kiri hissed a quick "Shh!"—both siblings’ gazes darting to little Tuk who blinked innocently over her bowl of fruit mash, oblivious to the undercurrents.
Jake and Neytiri exchanged a loaded glance across the table but neither spoke. Lo’ak merely flashed a serene smile, plates balanced effortlessly, and turned away without a word, his stride purposeful.
The path back to your marui wound through swaying palms and tide pools but halfway there, a familiar voice halted him.
"Lo’ak, I haven’t seen you since yesterday." Tsireya said, emerging from a cluster of huts, her frame poised with concern. "I was so worried when me and Tuk left you and Neteyam during the attack."
He paused, the realization hitting like a forgotten shadow. She’d slipped his mind entirely in the whirlwind of his victory and your presence. Her eyes, wide and searching, flicked to the jagged bite on his neck, then flared at the unfamiliar sweet feminine undertone threading through his scent.
"Why do you smell like that... and why do you have a bite mark?" She asked, voice cracking with dawning hurt, her hands twisting in the hem of her top.
Lo’ak met her gaze steadily, his tone calm and unyielding like a wall of finality. "It’s from my omega."
Her breath hitched, confusion twisting her features. "What do you mean my omega? You don’t have... I’m your—"
"I thought she was gone forever but I found her yesterday when saving Spider." He cut in with voice even, the lie about your history slipping seamlessly into place.
"What—" Tsireya’s world tilted, the vibrant hues of the reef blurring as rejection sank in like venom.
Just days prior, his touches and shared laughs had sparked hope in her chest, a budding bond she’d nurtured. Now, it crumbled to dust before an invisible rival.
"I’m sorry, Tsireya." Lo’ak continued, his words measured but cold, devoid of the warmth he’d feigned before. "I never planned to be with you. I was just doing all of that to make my family think I’m trying to move on from her. But now that she’s back, there’s no reason to. I’m not letting her go."
Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over in glistening trails down her face, her chest heaving with the sting of loss to this faceless woman.
Who was she to steal him so completely? To rob me of being Lo’ak’s omega?
Her lips parted in a silent plea but he was already turning away.
"You are beautiful and everything that an alpha could want." He added, almost as an afterthought, his voice flat with disinterest. "But it’s just not me. I am hers."
He left her standing there rooted in heartbreak, hurrying back to the marui with the plates warm in his hands. All he craved now was to care for you, his omega, his everything. Feeding you and binding you tighter with every act of devotion.
Lo'ak slipped back into the marui, the woven entrance flap whispering shut behind him, carrying the savory aroma of grilled fish and fresh berries on the breeze. His eyes softened at the sight of you, still curled in the nest of furs and mats, your form rising and falling in the deep even breaths of sleep. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, warm and possessive, as he set the leaf-plates down on a low shelf carved from coral.
My cock must've really worn her out last night.
He thought, a lewd spark igniting in his gaze as memories of your slick heat clenching around him flooded back, the way your walls had fluttered in surrender and milking every thrust until you shattered beneath him.
He approached with silent steps and knelt beside you. Leaning in, he began to pepper your face with tender kisses. First the smooth arch of your brow, then the high plane of your cheekbone, lingering on the plush curve of your lower lip before brushing featherlight across your eyelids. Each press of his mouth was deliberate, infused with the musky depth of his alpha scent, stirring you from slumber like a gentle tide.
Your lashes fluttered open, hazy with remnants of dreams, and you met his intense golden eyes, framed by the intricate braids that cascaded over his broad shoulders.
"You need to eat." He murmured, voice a husky caress, laced with unwavering command and affection as he gathered a piece of flaky fish between his fingers and the steam rising in lazy curls.
Propped on one elbow, you felt the pleasant ache between your thighs, a reminder of his dominance but his care wrapped around you like a protective cocoon. He brought the morsel to your lips, watching with rapt hunger as you parted them, your tongue darting out to taste the spiced flesh.
Bite by bite he fed you, his free hand tracing idle patterns along the line of your collarbone, dipping lower to skim the swell of your breast, thumb circling the pebbled peak through the thin fabric of your top. The berries came next, their juice bursting tart and sweet on your tongue, a drop escaping to trail down your chin. He caught it with his thumb, sucking it clean with a wicked glint in his eye, his tail flicking lazily against your calf.
As the plates emptied for you, a satisfied hum escaped him but he made no move to touch his own food, too entranced by the way your throat worked with each swallow.
"You should eat too." You said softly, reaching for a skewer, your voice threaded with concern and a budding warmth that mirrored his devotion. "I can feed myself."
He shook his head firmly, capturing your wrist in his large palm, the calluses from years of archery rough against your softer flesh.
"No, baby." He replied, tone brooking no argument, eyes darkening with obsessive fervor. "I have to take care of my omega first. That's my job. Keeping you fed, safe, and satisfied. Always."
His words sent a flutter through your chest, a sweet ache blooming there as you realized how deeply you believed him now. How his presence made the world feel secure, his alpha essence seeping into every corner of your being. You liked this, being his omega, cherished and commanded in equal measure.
When your belly was full and rounded slightly from the meal, he gazed down at it with a soft predatory smile. His big hand splaying wide over the taut skin just below your navel with his fingers curling possessively. The warmth of his touch seeped through, stirring a low heat in your core.
"Soon, there'll be a baby in here." He whispered, voice thick with longing and raw desire, his thumb stroking in slow circles that hinted at the life he envisioned swelling within you.
Heat flooded your cheeks, a blush painting your features in a darker hue as you rolled your eyes swatting at his hand with playful exasperation, though your pulse quickened at the intimate promise.
"Lo'ak." You chided half-laughing, the sound light and breathless, your fingers lingering on his for a moment longer than necessary.
He laughed then, a deep joyous sound that vibrated through his chest, finally turning to his plate. He devoured the remnants with quick efficiency but his eyes never strayed far from you, drinking in the way your hair tumbled in loose waves over your shoulders and along the arch of your neck where his mark still throbbed faintly.
In the days that followed, Lo'ak's obsession manifested in every fiber of his being in a relentless tide of love and lewd attentiveness that left you breathless and adored.
He moved into your marui that very afternoon, his few possessions of woven hammock, his ikran saddle, and a carved bead necklace he'd made in secret had been transported with the help of Neteyam who casted knowing glances but said nothing. The space, once solitary and echoing, now hummed with his presence. His scent saturating the air, a heady mix of salt-kissed ocean and primal alpha musk that clung to the walls marking it as yours together.
You woke each morning to his body curled around yours, his bulge pressing insistently against the cleft of your ass in a morning ritual of grinding and teasing whispers before he'd pull away with a groan, insisting on preparing your bath instead.
"Let me wash you, omega." He'd say, voice gravelly with restraint, guiding you to the shallow basin filled with warmed reef water scented with healing herbs.
His hands lathered your skin, sliding over the firm globes of your breasts, thumbs teasing your nipples to stiff peaks. Then down the dip of your waist, kneading the plush give of your hips then between your thighs, fingers parting your folds to cleanse the lingering slick from the night before. His breath hitching as you arched into his touch.
"So fucking perfect." He'd growl nipping at your ear but he'd stop short of more, saving his hunger for later as always to ensure you felt clean, pampered, and desired.
The clan's expectations for uturu weighed on you at first. The tasks assigned to earn your keep was weaving nets from dried kelp, gathering edible seaweed from the shallows, and repairing the communal fishing spears. But Lo'ak intercepted them all, his cunning alpha nature weaving through your routine like a shadow.
The first time you rose early, determined to contribute, slipping out to the weaving circle where the elders nodded approvingly at your arrival. Your fingers fumbled with the tough fibers, the sun warming the freckled expanse of your shoulders as you worked. He appeared like a storm cloud, all coiled energy and unyielding resolve, his frame cutting through the group.
"I've got this." He announced to the weavers, voice casual but edged with alpha authority, taking the half-started net from your hands.
His biceps bunched as he demonstrated a twist, eyes locking on yours with a silent command.
Let me.
You protested, cheeks warming under the curious stares. "Lo'ak, I can do it. It's my responsibility."
But he leaned close, breath hot against your temple as he murmured. "I know you can but why do it when I can do it for you? Let me handle it."
His tail brushed your ankle in a possessive sweep and despite your half-hearted grumble, a thrill coursed through you from the ease of being cared for settling like a balm.
By evening, the net was finished. His work, flawless and swift, delivered anonymously to the stores, the elders praising your “diligence” while you hid a smile behind your hand. He returned to the marui triumphant, scooping you into his arms with a filthy grin, his hips grinding against yours as he backed you toward the mat.
"See? All done. Now, spread those pretty legs for me. I've been thinking about your tight little pussy all day." His kisses were fierce then, claiming your mouth as he stripped you bare, worshipping every inch with his tongue until you were sobbing his name and your slick coating his chin.
The seaweed gathering was next, a dawn excursion to the tidal pools where the waves lapped at your ankles. You waded in, the cool water kissing the calves of your legs, basket in hand, when his voice called from the shore.
"Wait up, baby."
He dove in, water sluicing over the defined ridges of his abdomen, emerging to take the basket with a playful splash that dotted your chest.
"Too dangerous out here alone." He lied smoothly, though the pools were shallow and safe, his hand lingering on the curve of your lower back as he foraged instead.
You splashed him in retaliation, laughing as he growled and tackled you into the shallows, his body pinning yours against the sandy bottom, his erection throbbing against your thigh.
"Keep teasing and I'll fuck you right here." He warned nipping your jaw but he relented, filling the basket twice over before carrying you back, your protests melting into contented sighs at his insistence.
Spear repair became a quiet evening ritual he'd claim for himself in the dim glow of the marui's lanterns. You'd sit nearby, legs tucked under you, watching the play of muscles across his back as he sharpened the tips with a whetstone, the rhythmic scrape filling the air.
"I want to help." You say one night reaching for a dulled blade but he'd catch your hand, pulling you into his lap instead, his arousal evident as it nestled against your core.
"No lifting a finger, remember?" He rumble, voice laced with obsession, guiding your arms around his neck as he kissed you deeply, the spear forgotten until morning where he finished it in the dead of night while you slept.
Day by day, his care wove deeper, an unbreakable bond of obsession and tenderness as your alpha. He'd hunt extra fish just to watch you eat from his hand, murmur filthy promises about filling you with his seed while massaging your feet after a day of rest he'd enforced. You believed every word now, embraced the role of his omega with a quiet joy. Your body and heart yielding to the man who tended you like a sacred flame.
Now, the sun dipped low over the horizon, painting the waves in strokes of molten gold as you and Kiri strolled along the beach, the salty breeze tugging at your braided hair and cooling the flushed warmth of your cheeks. Your bare feet sank into the soft compacted sand, each step a rhythmic whisper against the shore, and you couldn't help but smile at the way the wind carried hints of distant blooms and ocean spray.
It had been a full day without sight of Lo'ak, his absence a nagging void in your chest and you hoped this walk might lead you to him. You had grown quite close to Lo’ak’s siblings especially Kiri and Tuk over the days. Now Kiri's easy company was a welcome distraction as she chattered about the clan's latest weaving patterns, her form swaying gracefully beside you, her tail flicking idly in the air.
Your gaze wandered ahead, scanning the clusters of palms and the figures dotting the shoreline, until it snagged on a familiar silhouette.
Lo'ak's broad back, the taut lines of his shoulders flexing under his sun-kissed skin. But it was the woman facing him that halted your breath, a striking Na'vi with intricate shell beads woven into her dark hair, her full lips curved in a smile, eyes sparkling like polished abalone under the fading light. She stood too close, her hand brushing his arm in a way that twisted something sharp in your gut.
"Who's that with him?" You asked Kiri, your voice light but edged with a tremor you couldn't quite mask, the words slipping out as your heart began to pound against your ribs.
Kiri's steps faltered, her expressive eyes widening for a split second before she glanced away. The hesitation carving a line of worry across your chest like a fresh wound. She bit her lower lip, the plump curve paling slightly under her teeth before sighing softly.
"That's Tsireya." She said finally, her tone gentle but reluctant as if the name itself carried weight. "The Olo'eyktan's daughter. She's... well, she likes Lo'ak. Spent a lot of time with him before you came back into his life. Teaching him the ways of the water, diving together, that sort of thing."
She paused, reaching out to squeeze your arm, her touch warm and reassuring against your cooler skin.
"But don't worry, okay? Lo'ak's in love with you. Completely. What you two have... it's different. Real."
You forced a smile, the corners of your mouth lifting in a brittle curve that didn't reach your eyes but inside, a storm brewed. You didn't like it, the way she leaned into his space. Being his omega meant trust and devotion but this? This felt like a crack in the foundation he'd so carefully built around you.
Tsireya's gaze lifted then, peering over Lo'ak's shoulder, and her expression shifted in an instant. From warm amusement to a cool assessing stare that pinned you in place. Her high cheekbones sharpened with the change, lips pressing into a thin line as a flicker of resentment darkened her ocean-blue eyes.
So this must be her, the one who stole Lo'ak from me.
Lo'ak turned at her subtle stiffening, his head whipping around with that instinctive alertness of his and his eyes locked onto yours. His reaction intense and surprised, a flash of warmth breaking through before confusion clouded them.
You mustered another smile, tighter this time, the knowledge of their past turning it forced and fragile. Your fingers clenching at your sides as the breeze whipped strands of your hair across your face.
"Baby." He said, voice dropping to that husky timbre laced with affection and a hint of wariness, striding toward you with his long purposeful gait. "What are you doing here?"
Kiri stepped forward smoothly, her hand linking with yours in a subtle show of solidarity, sensing the strain in your forced grin.
"We were just hanging out." She interjected lightly, her tone casual but protective as her eyes darted between you and Lo'ak. "Walking the beach, enjoying the air."
Lo'ak nodded, his focus solely on you now, reaching out as if to pull you close but you held back just enough to keep the distance.
"Come on, let's head back to the marui." He suggested, voice softening with that possessive edge, glancing over his shoulder at Tsireya who watched the exchange with an intensity that bordered on glare, her arms crossing over her chest.
You waved goodbye to Kiri, a quick flick of your hand that she returned with an encouraging nod, before falling into step beside Lo'ak.
The path back wound through swaying ferns and over low dunes, the air growing thicker with the scent of evening blooms but silence stretched between you like a taut bowstring. Each step amplified the upset feeling churning in your belly especially as a faint floral note wafted from him. It was delicate and feminine, like crushed petals and sea salt and nothing like his own earthy musk. It clung to his skin, insidious and accusing.
Tsireya.
You thought, the name bitter on your tongue even unspoken.
"Baby, are you okay?" Lo'ak asked after a few minutes, his brow furrowing as he glanced sidelong at you, the sharp angles of his face softening with concern, one hand hovering near your elbow without touching. "Why so quiet? Talk to me."
You stopped abruptly, the sand shifting under your feet and turned to face him, your eyes narrowing as the words tumbled out in a rush of frustration.
"You were gone the whole day. The whole day only for me to find you with another woman." You accused, voice rising with the hurt you'd bottled up, your chest heaving as you gestured sharply toward the beach you both left behind.
His eyes widened, a flicker of panic crossing his features before he shook his head vehemently, stepping closer.
"Baby, she’s nothing to me." He insisted, tone pleading and urgent, his hands rising as if to cup your face but dropping when you flinched back.
"Are you sure? You can’t even be honest to me with your past." You shot back, your voice cracking with anger, the floral scent hitting you again like a slap making your nostrils flare in hurt and anger at the thought of how he got her scent all over him. "Kiri told me everything. How she likes you, how you two were always together before me and you fucking smell like her, Lo'ak. Like her goddamn scent all over you."
The argument ignited then, words flying like sparks from flint as you paced a tight circle, your tail lashing behind you in agitation.
"Don't touch me." You snapped when he reached for you again, his fingers grazing your shoulder, the contact sending a conflicted shiver through you despite everything. "Not while you reek of another omega. It's fucking embarrassing Lo'ak and insensitive as hell. Spending your day wrapped up with someone who wants you like that when I'm here unaware. What if it was reversed? What if I was off laughing with some other alpha who liked me all day, letting his scent mark me? How would you feel?"
His face twisted at the hypothetical question, fury flashing in his eyes like a sudden storm, his jaw clenching so hard the tendons stood out along his neck with his fists balling at his sides. The thought alone ignited a dark possessiveness in him, a growl rumbling low in his throat, his alpha instincts flaring at the mere idea of you with anyone else.
"Don't even say that." He snarled, voice thick with barely restrained rage, stepping into your space despite your warning, his breath coming in sharp bursts. "I'd lose my mind, baby, I'd tear him apart. You're mine. No one else gets to touch you, scent you, or fucking look at you like that."
But his pleading followed the anger, his tone shifting to desperate supplication as he raked a hand through his braids, his eyes searching yours with raw vulnerability.
"Please, listen to me. It wasn't like that, I swear on Eywa. She cornered me and nothing more. I don't want her, I want you. Only you. Let me explain first, baby. Don't shut me out." He reached again, slower this time, his large palm hovering near your cheek, his thumb trembling with the need to soothe his omega.
You pulled away, the hurt too fresh and too raw, your arms wrapping around your midriff as if to shield yourself.
"No." You whispered voice breaking, turning toward the marui without another word, the silence falling heavy as you walked the rest of the way alone in spirit even with him trailing behind.
Ever since, the marui had become a battlefield of unspoken words, your silent treatment a wall he battered against with increasing desperation.
You moved through the days like a ghost in your own home. Preparing simple meals but eating apart from him, your back turned as you sat cross-legged on the mat, the curve of your spine rigid under the thin weave of your top. Your affections also evaporated, no more curling into his warmth at night, no lingering touches or shared glances. You'd slip into the nest alone, pulling the furs tight around your body, ignoring the way his eyes tracked your every motion, dark and hungry with yearning.
Lo'ak unraveled in the shadows of your withdrawal, his obsession twisting into a desperate dark fervor that shadowed his every step. He'd pace the marui at dawn, his frame coiled with tension, the defined planes of his chest rising and falling in agitated breaths as he watched you stir.
"Baby, please." He murmured one morning, voice hoarse from a night of pleading into the void, kneeling at the edge of the nest, his fingers itching to trace the slope of your hip but withdrawing at your stiff silence.
The air thickened with his alpha scent, musky and laced with frustration, a plea in itself but you turned away, your heart aching even as your stubborn pride held firm.
By evening, his desperation peaked, the dark undercurrent of his love surfacing in the way he cornered you gently against the woven wall. His body heat enveloping you like a cage of longing, the hard line of his arousal pressing insistently against your thigh despite the chasm between you.
"You're killing me, omega." He growl softly, lips brushing your ear in a ghost of a kiss, his breath ragged. "So stubborn, not even letting me explain the truth. I need you, your touch, your voice. Don't make me beg like this."
But you'd slip away, leaving him aching, his eyes burning with a possessive fire that promised he'd do anything—anything—to shatter your resolve and reclaim what was his.
Now, Lo'ak's frustration simmered like a storm trapped in his chest, every fiber of his being coiled tight as he slumped against the woven wall of the marui, the dim glow of the light casting flickering shadows across his tense jawline. His legs stretched out before him, thighs flexing restlessly against the floor mats while his fingers drummed an erratic rhythm on his knee.
You'd ignored his every gesture, the meals he prepared with trembling hands, the soft murmurs of apology that hung unanswered in the air, the way he'd trail after you like a shadow, desperate for even a glance. It had been days of this torture, your silence a blade twisting deeper with each passing hour and now as the evening deepened into night, the marui felt emptier than ever without your presence.
He pushed to his feet abruptly, the muscles in his back rippling under his skin as he ducked through the entrance, the humid air outside doing little to cool the heat of his agitation. The paths of Awa'atlu wound like veins through the village, lanterns swaying gently in the breeze but Lo'ak's sharp eyes scanned every cluster of figures and every hidden nook for you, his tail flicking with impatience.
It wasn't until he rounded a bend near the communal fires that he nearly collided with Neteyam and Spider, the two lounging against a cluster of smooth boulders and sharing a strip of smoked fish.
"It's like we haven't seen you in days, skxwang." Neteyam teased, his voice light but his golden eyes narrowed at the storm cloud etched on Lo'ak's face, clapping a hand on his brother's shoulder.
The touch was firm and grounding, Neteyam's broad frame steady as ever, the faint scars from old skirmishes tracing faint lines along his arms. Spider, perched cross-legged tilted his head, catching the rigid set of Lo'ak's shoulders.
"Where are you even going anyway?" He asked, his features scrunched in curiosity, the freckles across his nose standing out against his flushed skin.
Lo'ak growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating through his chest as he dropped onto a nearby stone, the cool surface doing nothing to temper the fire in his veins. He raked a hand over his face, braids shifting with the motion revealing the sharp hollows of his cheeks hollowed by sleepless nights.
"Looking for (Y/N),' he muttered, voice rough and edged with exhaustion. "She's been ignoring me for days. Won't even hear me out."
Neteyam exchanged a glance with Spider before settling beside him, the stone scraping under his weight. "What happened, bro? Spill it."
Lo'ak exhaled sharply, leaning forward with elbows on his knees, the tendons in his forearms standing out as he clenched his fists. He recounted it all, the beach encounter, your accusing glare, the way your voice had cracked with hurt as you called out the floral scent clinging to him, your refusal to let him touch you and the wall of silence that followed.
"She thinks I was... with Tsireya. Like it meant something. I tried explaining but she just shuts down. Turns away every time."
Spider shrugged, popping the last bit of fish into his mouth, his lean frame shifting as he wiped his hands on his shorts. "I mean if I was her, I'd react the same. Who would be happy if they saw their alpha with another omega and one who likes him at that? Smelling like her? That's a gut punch."
Neteyam shook his head, his long braids swaying with the motion, expression thoughtful as he traced a finger along the stone's edge. "Why were you even with Tsireya anyways? You know how that looks."
Lo'ak groaned, throwing his head back to stare at the starry canopy above, the frustration twisting his features into a grimace.
"I wasn't with her. The reason I was gone all day was diving past the outer reefs, gathering these iridescent shells for a bracelet. For (Y/N). Thought it'd surprise her, make her smile." He paused, voice dropping to a bitter rumble. "When I surfaced, Tsireya showed up with Ao'nung. He was hauling these shawls, all soaked in her scent from some weaving session or from wearing them, I don’t fucking know. Someone called him away and the idiot dumped the whole pile on me. I was drenched in it. Told her to take them back, that I'm not her errand boy but she refused all haughty. So I dropped them right there on the sand. That's exactly when (Y/N) and Kiri walked up.'
Neteyam let out a low whistle, leaning back on his hands, the muscles in his biceps flexing subtly. "Yeah, no wonder she flipped. Total misunderstanding."
Spider nodded, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Explains the scent bomb. You gotta tell her that, man. Clear the air because for sure she thought you let Tsireya all over you because of her scent."
Unbeknownst to the trio, hidden in the fronds of nearby palms, two figures eavesdropped from separate shadows. You crouched low behind a thick fern, your heart pounding as Lo'ak's words washed over you, the tension in your shoulders easing like a knot finally unraveling. The truth hit you square, he'd been out there for you, crafting something beautiful from the sea's depths, and Tsireya's meddling had twisted it into betrayal. Guilt flooded in hot and heavy, your cheeks burning as you pressed a hand to your chest feeling the rapid flutter beneath your skin.
I've been such a bitch.
Days of cold shoulders, of denying him the warmth he craved, all for nothing. Tonight, you'd make it up to him. You will crawl into his arms, whisper apologies against his neck, and let your bodies mend what words had broken. A soft smile curved your lips, the first genuine one in days, as you slipped away quietly, your steps light with anticipation, the sway of your hips carrying a newfound eagerness.
Tsireya, however, lingered in the underbrush on the opposite side, her form rigid as stone, ears perked to every syllable. Her fingers dug into the bark of a tree, nails scraping faint grooves as Spider's chuckle cut through the air.
"Looks like you lying about being her alpha at first really worked in your favor, bro."
Neteyam chuckled too, patting Lo'ak's shoulder with a reassuring squeeze. "I'm sure you'll work it out with her. Just lay it all out, truth's the only way."
They delved deeper into the conversation, voices low as they dissected the fallout, Lo'ak's responses laced with raw yearning but Tsireya's world narrowed to that one revelation. Her eyes widened, a predatory glint igniting in their depths, lips parting in a silent gasp.
Lied.
The word echoed, fueling a dark resolve within her. She'd tell you and twist it just enough to shatter the fragile bond to drive you away so she could claim what was rightfully hers. Lo'ak had been hers first before your shadow darkened his path.
Your excitement bubbled as you hurried along the winding path back to the marui, the night air cool against your flushed skin, your tail curling in subtle joy at the thought of Lo'ak's surprised delight.
But then, a figure stepped into your path. Tsireya, her posture straight and unyielding, the shells in her hair glinting like accusations under the moonlight.
You rolled your eyes, the warmth in your chest souring instantly and sidestepped to move past her, the curve of your waist brushing the air.
She blocked you again, her hand shooting out to grip your arm, fingers digging into the soft flesh just above your elbow, her touch cold and insistent.
"Wait. You need to hear this." She said, her tone laced with false sympathy, eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she leaned in close, her breath warm against your ear. "I overheard Lo'ak just now. Telling his brothers everything."
You froze, the words tumbling from her like venom, each one striking deeper. She wove the truth she'd gleaned. You, once a fragile human tawtute, Lo'ak chasing your heels through the Omatikaya forests, your rejections stinging him until the RDA's raid claimed your life in a hail of fire.
"But they brought you back." She continued, voice dripping with mock pity, gesturing to your form, the fuller swell of your breasts rising with each shallow breath, the exotic plumpness of your hips a remnant of your origins. "A memory shoved into this recom shell. And Lo'ak? He lied from the start. Pretended to be your alpha to keep you from fighting for the RDA again. Said it was the only way to control you."
She twisted the knife further, her lie seamless.
"Before you came back, he was courting me. Whispering promises under the waves. You're just a replacement, a ghost he clings to out of guilt."
The world tilted, information crashing over you like a rogue wave, your vision blurring at the edges as betrayal clawed up your throat. Your hands trembled, nails biting into your palms, the betrayal hot and furious as it erased the guilt in a blaze of rage.
Lied.
The word echoed, shattering the trust you'd rebuilt. You wouldn't forgive this, not the deception, not the manipulation that had woven you into his web.
"Get out of my way." You hissed, voice breaking as you wrenched free, stumbling back when a wave of dizziness swirled in your head like the tide pulling at your feet.
Tsireya's smug smile lingered, her high cheekbones sharpening with triumph, arms crossing over her chest as she watched you falter.
You turned to flee her gaze, legs unsteady on the uneven path but the world spun violently in your dizzy and disoriented state, your foot caught on a jutting root. You slipped, the ground rushing up, your temple cracking against a jagged stone with a sickening thud, pain exploding in white-hot bursts as darkness edged your vision.
Lo'ak's head snapped up at a distant commotion, his instincts flaring as he bolted from the stone. Neteyam and Spider on his heels, their footsteps pounding through the undergrowth. They burst into the clearing to find you crumpled on the path, blood trickling from a gash above your eye staining the sand and Tsireya standing frozen nearby, her face paling at their arrival.
Fury ignited in Lo'ak's chest, a roar building in his throat as he dropped to his knees beside you, his large hands gentle yet urgent as they scooped you up, cradling your limp form against his chest. The warmth of your body seeping into his skin like a lifeline.
"What the hell did you do?" He snarled at Tsireya, eyes blazing with unchecked rage, the veins in his neck bulging as he held you closer, your head lolling against his shoulder.
He was pissed. A dark possessive storm ready to unleash but you needed him now, not his vengeance.
Not losing you again, not to death, not to anyone.
Your eyelids fluttered weakly, a soft groan escaping your lips as pain throbbed through your skull.
"Lo'ak." You whispered, voice faint and slurred, your fingers twitching against his arm, seeking the solid anchor of his presence despite the chaos in your heart.
"I'm here, baby." He murmured, voice thick with emotion, pressing his forehead to yours briefly, his breath ragged as he rose carrying you effortlessly toward the healer's marui.
Neteyam barking orders to clear the way while Spider shot Tsireya a glare. Ronal awaited, her skilled hands already preparing herbs and salves, the Tsahik's stern gaze softening only fractionally, not knowing her own daughter was involved in this.
Lo'ak laid you down on the soft pallet, his hand never leaving yours, thumb stroking the delicate veins on your wrist in a rhythm of desperate reassurance.
The healer's marui hummed with the sharp tang of medicinal herbs, the air thick and cloying as Ronal's deft fingers probed the gash on your temple.
You lay motionless on the woven pallet, your chest rising and falling in shallow rhythms. Unconsciousness held you in its grip, your full lips parted slightly, the soft swell of your breasts straining against the thin fabric of your top with each breath, oblivious to the storm brewing around you.
Lo'ak hovered at the edge, his broad shoulders hunched, the sinews in his arms taut as he gripped your hand, his knuckles whitening.
Spider and Neteyam slipped in behind him, their footsteps hushed on the reed mats, the tension in the space coiling tighter.
Spider leaned close, his voice a urgent whisper against Lo'ak's ear, breath hot and conspiratorial. "Bro, you have to hear this. We interrogated Tsireya on what happened out there."
Lo'ak's gaze never left your still form but his jaw clenched, a low rumble building in his chest as Spider spilled the details.
Tsireya's venomous words, the twisted truths about your human past, the RDA raid, your death and revival, the fabricated claim of him as your alpha to leash your loyalties. She'd even invented a courtship between them, painting you as a mere interloper in his affections.
"She dumped all that on her, man. Right before she slipped and hit her head."
Fury ignited in Lo'ak's veins like liquid fire, his tail lashing sharply, the muscles in his thighs bunching as he straightened to his full height, eyes narrowing to slits of obsidian rage.
Fucking Tsireya. She nearly ruined everything.
The careful web of lies and devotion he'd spun to bind you to him, the nights of whispered manipulations and heated touches that had finally made you his. One slip, one jealous outburst, and it could all crumble. His fists balled at his sides as he seethed, the veins forking along his forearms like rivers of wrath.
Ronal's sharp intake of breath cut through the haze, her eyes widening as she pressed a palm to your abdomen. She turned to Lo'ak, her voice laced with accusation and awe. "Did you know she is with a child?"
The words slammed into him, a dual strike of elation and blistering anger.
A child—his child—nestled within you, a living tether forged from their stolen intimacies. Joy surged through him, imagining the swell of your belly under his hands, the life you both created in the throes of his dark hunger. But it twisted immediately into deeper fury. Tsireya had endangered them, you and the fragile spark growing inside, all because of her pathetic envy. Lo'ak's lips curled into a snarl, his chest heaving as he stormed from the marui without a word, the flap swinging violently in his wake.
He found her by the lagoon's edge, her frame silhouetted against the rippling water, the lines of her back tense as she stared into the depths.
Tsireya whirled at his approach, her wide eyes flickering with defiance that shattered under his glare. Lo'ak loomed over her, his presence a towering shadow, the heat radiating from his skin like a predator closing in.
"You better fucking pray to Eywa she wakes up." He hissed, voice low and lethal, each word dripping with venom as he jabbed a finger towards her, stopping just short of contact. "And that our baby is okay. Because if not, if you've harmed her or the life she's carrying because of your twisted jealousy, I'll ruin you. I'll tell everyone, the Tsahik, Tonowari, the whole clan of how you pushed her knowing she bore my child, all to steal what was never yours."
Tsireya recoiled, her breath hitching, the color draining from her face as the weight of his threat sank in.
For the first time, she glimpsed the abyss of his devotion to you. The unyielding shadowed love that consumed him, the darkness lurking beneath his fierce protectiveness. It wasn't just anger, it was years of vow etched in blood, promising devastation without remorse.
She stammered, backing away, her hands trembling at her sides but Lo'ak's expression remained carved from stone, unyielding and terrifying.
"Banishment." He continued, his tone a silken blade, stepping closer until she could feel the storm of his breath. "Even as the Olo'eyktan's daughter, that's what awaits you. Exiled, alone, for endangering an omega and her unborn. Pray, Tsireya. Pray hard."
He turned on his heel, leaving her shattered in the moonlight, the depth of his obsession laid bare like a wound to her broken heart.
Soon enough, five days blurred into a vigil of unyielding watchfulness, Lo'ak a constant sentinel at your side, his body a warm bulwark against the chill of the marui.
He refused food, his frame leaning against the pallet's edge, one hand always entwined with yours, thumb tracing the delicate ridges of your knuckles. Exhaustion etched faint lines under his eyes but his gaze burned with fervent intensity, willing you back from the void. The clan whispered of his devotion but he cared for none of it. Only you, only the child that sealed your fates.
On the fifth dawn your eyelids fluttered, the world seeping in through a haze of soft light and familiar scents.
Confusion clouded your thoughts, memories fracturing like scattered shells. Flashes of Lo'ak's arms around you, his claims of alpha and omega ringing true in your now rewired mind, the recent turmoil with Tsireya erased as if it had never been. Selective amnesia wove false certainties in your fragile mind. Of how he was yours, always had been, the bond unbreakable and real.
You stirred, a soft groan escaping as you shifted, the tender ache in your head pulsing, your fingers squeezing his instinctively.
Lo'ak's breath caught, a triumphant laugh bubbling up in his throat, suppressed into a tender rumble.
Eywa's blessing.
He marveled silently, the irony sharp and sweet as he revels in it. He had braced for ruin once you wake up, readied himself for rebuilding the lies from ash after Tsireya's sabotage but fate or perhaps his own relentless will had handed him victory again. As usual, the world had bent to keep you his.
He leaned in, his free hand cupping your cheek, the rough pad of his thumb brushing the plush curve of your lower lip, eyes gleaming with possessive relief.
"I'm glad you and our baby are okay, omega." He murmured, voice husky with emotion and laced with a dark undercurrent of finality.
You blinked up at him, brows furrowing in bewilderment, the fog in your mind parting just enough to register his words.
"Huh?" Your voice came out small, throat dry, as you glanced down at your abdomen, the subtle warmth there unfamiliar yet instinctively right.
Lo'ak's smile deepened into something feral and adoring as he shifted lower, his warm lips pressing a lingering kiss to the flat plane of your belly, just above the woven band of your loincloth. The touch sent a shiver through you, his breath fanning hot against your skin, igniting a spark of heat in your core.
"You're pregnant, baby." He whispered against you, the words a vow, before trailing upward, capturing your mouth in a deep claiming kiss.
His tongue swept in possessively, tasting of salt and unbridled want, his body pressing close, the hard lines of his chest molding to your softer contours. In that moment, as your lips parted under his, yielding to the flood of fabricated memories and rising desire, Lo'ak's mind thrummed with dark triumph.
Now she can never leave me.
This child would bind you tighter than any lie or bite. It will root you in him, body and soul. You'd always been his, from the first stolen glance in your human fragility to this rebirth and nothing, not Tsireya nor the truth, would ever change that.
The days following your awakening blurred into a haze of tender moments, Lo’ak's presence a constant unyielding anchor beside you.
His hands, callused yet gentle, guided every spoonful of fruit to your lips during meals, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. He scooped you up effortlessly at the slightest sign of fatigue, your legs dangling over his arm as he navigated the village paths, the solid wall of his torso pressing against your side.
"You're carrying our future now." He murmured, voice a low vibration against your ear, his tail curling possessively around your thigh.
You giggled swatting at his shoulder lightly, the sound bubbling up from your chest as you glanced down at your still-flat abdomen. "Lo’ak, I'm not even showing yet. Put me down before you strain yourself."
But he'd only flash that wicked grin, fangs glinting in the sunlight, his grip tightening just enough to send a thrill racing along your spine. "Never gonna happen, omega. You're mine to carry, mine to protect."
Neytiri's joy radiated like the first light of dawn, her features softening whenever she looked at you, one hand often resting reverently on your belly.
"My first grandchild." She whispered, eyes shimmering with unshed tears, drawing you into hugs that smelled of earth and wildflowers.
The family embraced the news with open arms. Jake's proud nods as he prayed that your father can see this, Kiri's knowing smiles, and Tuk's excited chatter. They were blissfully ignorant of the shadows Lo’ak had woven to claim you. Only Neteyam and Spider knew the full twisted truth, their glances at him laced with wary understanding but they held their silence, bound by loyalty to him and this newfound happiness.
Inside the spacious family marui, the air hummed with purposeful activity, the scent of fresh-cut wood mingling with the salty breeze drifting through the open sides.
You nestled against Lo’ak's side on a woven mat, his arm draped heavily over your shoulders, fingers idly tracing the slope of your collarbone.
Across the space, Jake hammered at interlocking branches, his broad back flexing with each strike as he shaped the crib's frame. Neteyam sanding the edges smooth with precise strokes while Spider assisted with twine bindings, his hands steady despite the Na’vi tools.
Nearby, Kiri and Tuk knelt over piles of soft fabrics, their nimble fingers weaving intricate patterns into tiny garments. Swaddling cloths dyed in oceanic blues, adorned with delicate shell beads that caught the light.
Neytiri hovered close to you, her form bending as she adjusted a pillow behind your back then pressed a cool leaf poultice to your forehead, fussing with the precision of a mother hen.
"You must rest more, little one. Eat this, it's good for the babe." She offered a slice of ripe mangrove fruit, juice dripping from its vibrant flesh.
Lo’ak chuckled, the sound deep and rumbling from his chest, vibrating through you where you leaned into him, his free hand splaying protectively over your hip.
"Ma, okay, okay—stop. I'm just gonna take her to the beach to breathe." His tone was light but his eyes held a possessive glint as he rose, scooping you into his arms without waiting for protest.
You snuggled instinctively into the warmth of his chest, your cheek nuzzling the firm planes of muscle beneath his skin, inhaling the musky spice of his scent that always grounded you.
He carried you effortlessly through the village, your arms looped around his neck, fingers threading through the braided strands of his hair as the marui faded behind. The path to the beach wound past swaying palms and soon the sand yielded softly under his feet.
Lo’ak lowered you onto a smooth boulder overlooking the waves, the sunset painting the sky in strokes of fiery orange and deepening purple, the gentle breeze whispering across your skin like a lover's caress, carrying the faint tang of salt and distant blooms. As you settled, legs tucked beneath you, the curve of your thighs pressing against the stone's warmth, Lo’ak's gaze flicked toward the distant figures on the shore.
Tsireya among them, her posture subdued and avoiding his direction. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, hidden as he turned back to you. She'd heeded his threat, slinking into the shadows like the coward she was.
Good. Doesn't matter anyway. If she so much as breathes wrong near my omega, I'll end her.
You sighed contentedly, tilting your head back to watch the colors bleed across the horizon, the breeze teasing loose strands of your hair across your cheeks.
"This is perfect." You murmured, voice soft with awe, reaching for his hand. "Thank you for bringing me here."
Lo’ak dropped to one knee beside you, his larger frame curling protectively around yours, one hand cupping the nape of your neck, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin there.
"Anything for you, omega." He replied, his voice husky with raw emotion, eyes darkening as they roamed your face to the delicate fan of your lashes down to the plush bow of your lips. "I need you close always. Especially now."
He leaned in, nuzzling the crook of your shoulder, inhaling deeply. Your unique omega scent flooding his senses like a drug, sweet and intoxicating, laced with the subtle shift of early pregnancy.
Your breath hitched, a flush warming your cheeks as his nose trailed up to your jaw. "Lo'ak... what if someone sees?'"
But there was no real protest, only a breathless invitation as you turned your face toward him.
"Let them." He growled softly, fangs grazing your earlobe sending sparks down your spine. "You're mine. Let the whole clan know."
His hand slid to your kuru, fingers deftly uncoiling the neural braid, his own brushing against it tentatively.
"I want to share more with you. Tsaheylu, let me show you how deep this goes."
You nodded heart pounding, the vulnerability thrilling as your tendrils connected with a soft, electric hum.
The bond surged open but Lo’ak guided it with iron control, flooding your mind with curated visions. The heated press of his teeth sinking into the tender flesh of your neck during your first claiming bite, the mark blooming like a brand of ownership. The lazy nights tangled in furs, his body spooned against yours, hands roaming the generous swell of your hips in reverent strokes. The raw frantic rutting where he'd buried himself deep, your slick coating his thighs as you arched beneath him, cries muffled against his shoulder. Lovey-dovey whispers in the dark, his lips mapping every curve of your fuller form. The way your breasts heaved with each gasp, the dip of your waist flaring to plush thighs that gripped him fiercely.
No shadows of deceit slipped through as he walled off the lies about your human origins, the withheld truths of your past death and revival, even Tsireya's poisonous revelations were all buried deep. Instead, you drowned in the purity of his obsession, the immense love that consumed him, a tidal wave of adoration crashing over you. He was your alpha, your everything, the bond pulsing with his devotion as he lets you feel it.
You are my life, omega. My breath, my heart.
Tears pricked your eyes as the connection deepened, your free hand clutching his arm, nails digging into the corded muscle. "Lo’ak... I see it. All of it. How you love me."
He broke the bond first panting slightly as he can feel the buried memories about to come to the front. His forehead pressing to yours, the world snapping back into focus with the crash of waves.
"Always." He vowed, voice rough with need, before capturing your mouth in a lewd devouring kiss.
His tongue plunged past your lips, tangling with yours in a slick messy dance, tasting the sweetness of the fruit from earlier as his hand fisted in your hair to angle you deeper. You moaned into him, body arching instinctively, the pebbled peaks of your nipples brushing his chest through the thin weave of your top.
He pulled back just enough to nip at your lower lip, eyes blazing with hunger. "Fuck, omega... I can't wait for your tits to swell even bigger with our child. Gonna bury my face in them, suck every drop of that sweet milk right out while you beg for more."
His words were filthy, growled against your skin as his hand palmed the soft mound of your breast, thumb circling the hardening bud through fabric eliciting a sharp gasp from you.
You whacked his chest playfully, laughter spilling out even as heat pooled low in your belly, your core clenching with a rush of slick that soaked your loincloth.
"Lo’ak! You're impossible." You scolded but your voice trembled with arousal, thighs pressing together against the insistent throb.
The thought ignited something primal, your omega instincts preening at his crude promise, your body responding with a flood of warmth that made you squirm.
He laughed low and predatory, hauling you onto his lap so you straddled his thighs, the hard ridge of his cock pressing insistently against your folds through their coverings.
"Admit it baby, you're dripping just thinking about it." His hands gripped your ass kneading the firm flesh, pulling you down to grind slowly, the friction drawing a whimper from your throat. "My greedy little omega, already scenting the air with that needy slick. Gonna take care of you right here."
You rocked against him, hands splayed over the ridges of his abdomen, tracing the freckles that glowed faintly in the twilight.
"Maybe I am." You teased breathlessly, nipping at his jaw, the salt of his skin bursting on your tongue. "But only if you promise to be gentle with our baby."
"Always gentle." He purred, one hand sliding between you to cup your cunt, fingers pressing through the damp fabric circling your clit with deliberate pressure that made stars burst behind your eyelids. "But tonight? Gonna make you come undone, omega. Mark you again, inside and out."
His mouth descended to your neck, sucking a fresh bruise over the old claim, the breeze cooling the wet heat as you clung to him, lost in the possessive storm of his affection.
Every lie, every actions of his led to this. You as his omega and pregnant with his child. It was inevitable because you have always been his.
You've spent years grieving a body that wouldn't cooperate and a dream that kept shrinking. Now you have an avatar, a working womb, and one very willing best friend. The arrangement is simple: Neteyam needs to give you his sperm. Except Neteyam hasn't been simple about anything involving you in a very long time—and you're a woman who has grieved infertility so long she's forgotten she's allowed to want love too, and Neteyam's a man who loves you so much he'll degrade himself just to have a fraction of himself be yours.
Warning- masturbation, infertility, alcoholism, talks of insemination, unrequited feelings, aged!up Neteyam, f!Reader, human-to-avatar-reader, childhood friends to lovers, slight!angst
A/N- In honor of all my followers and readers who are always so patient and so loving. Please enjoy!
Part Two Coming Soon
There was something particularly cruel about Pandora—a reminder of all the life the Great Mother provided. The smaller betrayals. The way moss threaded through steel, reclaiming what humanity had stolen. The way life erupted from every crack and crevice, lush and green, as if Eywa herself were showing off. Eywa, mother to all.
Eywa, fertility. An endless, mocking well of it.
And you couldn't get a single fucking sperm to take.
"I'm sorry, Y/n."
Norm had a look. The kind reserved for delivering bad news, and for you, he wore it often enough that you'd memorized the exact angle of his brows, the way his mouth thinned.
He was in his human form—thank Christ, because you couldn't look at him otherwise. Not in his avatar body, not with his two children running around blue and beautiful and perfect.
Jealousy would seethe beyond words. You knew it would show in your face. You knew it already did, and that made it worse.
"We tried everything," he added, softer now. His hands fidgeted with a data slate that showed infertile, infertile, infertile, infertile, infertile, in—
“Thank you.” You swallowed something bitter, and turned, fingers finding the knuckles of your opposite hand. Standing felt like an admission of defeat, but sitting felt worse, so you stood and walked and—when did you reach your room?
You weren’t sure, just that… well—
The dream was dead.
That's what you told yourself, anyway. Repeated it like as you walked back to your closet, as you lay in bed staring at the ceiling, as days bled into weeks. The dream is dead. Move on.
It was something you'd grown to be fine with, in theory. Something you could walk through and exist despite, the way you existed despite a hundred other losses.
Orphans existed, after all. Sweet girls and boys who needed homes. The dream didn't need to die, just expand. Shift sideways into something different but still good.
Except finding an orphan was a lot harder than you'd initially thought.
Most from the initial wave were like you and Spider—fathers and mothers who'd fought and died during the Battle of the Hallelujah Mountains. By the time you were grown enough to handle a kid or two, most orphans had already been absorbed. Family-friends. Extended clan. A real community, the kind that didn't leave cracks for someone like you to slip through.
Spider would scold you for the phrasing, remind you the Na'vi way was better, that their systems of kinship were what you should aspire to. Easy for him to say. He'd been the outcome of that specifically, gotten folded in despite what he thought.
The Na'vi thought so too.
Any Na'vi orphans were immediately relocated to another clan. Not that you blamed them. What could you offer a child who'd grow tall enough to look down at you by age eight? How could you strip away their heritage, their language, their birthright?
So maybe the dream expanded more and more, stretching farther and farther until you were left with crumbs.
An insect. Macy.
That was the best you could get.
Six-legged. Beautiful in the way only a mother could see—which was to say, objectively ugly. She had the temperament of a career criminal and the loyalty of a feral cat.
She was your baby.
You'd fashioned her a little habitat from spare parts and mesh netting. Fed her by hand. Whispered to her at night when the lab got too quiet, and made her toys from whatever you could find.
Yeah, okay… so the dream fell apart.
But Neteyam was always sweet about it, at least. He'd crouched beside the terrarium, those golden eyes patient and warm, and asked what she ate. He just smiled that gentle, knowing smile and let you have it.
So, so sweet.
You heard a gentle knocking against the door.
The tweezers trembled in your grip as you lowered the live-feed into the tank. Your tongue pushed past your lips in concentration. Macy surfaced with that familiar urgency, her whiskers twitching as she nibbled. Then—and this was new—she patted the metal with one webbed paw.
“Oh, you’re learning manners! Good Macy!”
Another knock.
Harder this time.
"Y/n."
Your pulse stumbled. You pressed your palms together, fingers lacing tight. Please. You crossed your fingers against your thigh where he couldn't see. Please, please, please.
You crossed the room in three uneven strides and wrenched the door open.
Blue.
That was your first thought—just blue, filling your vision. Neteyam stood hunched in the doorway, his height forced into something smaller by the frame. His braids fell forward, obscuring half his face, and you caught the familiar beads and bone wrapped around each one.
Behind his back, one hand cradled something small. You caught the edge of it: pale petals, the faint glow that meant munx, the flower you'd asked for. The one that might—might—tip the odds in your favor.
He'd found it. He'd actually—
But then your gaze lifted.
His face.
His ears lay flat. His mouth worked soundlessly for a breath before he managed, "I…" A shake of his head, slow and defeated. "I'm sorry, Y/n." He brought his hand forward, presenting the box you'd given him days ago—the one meant to carry the sample.
You took it. The weight felt wrong. Too light, or maybe too heavy; you couldn't tell anymore. Defeat was already seeping in, familiar as old bruises. "What happened to it?" Your voice came out steady, you’d learned not to show it in your face.
Neteyam's jaw worked. He shook his head again, ears twitching in that particular way that meant frustration directed inward. "I don't know, Y/n." His gaze dropped to the box, then away. "During the delivery it…"
He trailed off.
You didn't wait. Your thumbs found the lip of the container, prying it open with a soft click that sounded too loud in the space between you. You looked down.
That cheeky little shit.
Your breath caught. You stared, then looked up sharply, eyes wide and wild.
Not one sample.
Several.
You jumped onto him.
It was girlish, sweet. Your arms wrapping around him until your face pressed full against his stomach. Then, with the softest sound he laughed. "O-Oh!" His hands fumbled, one settling atop your head in a clumsy pat. "Is this enough?"
"More than enough!"
You tilted your head back, eyes wide and shining, and pretty in the way that made his heart stutter and trip over itself. His smile too—what a shy thing it had been—melted into something softer and harder. An ache, he’d describe it as.
His thumb grazed your skull. He just looked at you, drinking in every fleck of color in your eyes.
Say something. Tell her.
"I wanted to—"
"How did you find so many anyway? I thought these were rare!"
You let go. His hand hovered where you'd been, still outstretched. He didn't blink for a long time, eyes gone wide, mouth fallen into an unmistakable pout. "Oh… uh…" His fingers curled inward, dropping to fidget at his sides as he shifted closer.
"I heard Norm mention these only grow in the Hallelujah Mountains, where the—" The words tumbled out as you turned away, already carrying the case to your workbench. You extracted each blossom with the carefulness suited towards something less botanical and something more divine. All the same to you—gods and plants. You always managed to pray for fertility with either, anyway.
You didn't see the way Neteyam's shoulders fell. Didn't quite catch the soft sigh that escaped him either.
"Well," he said at last. He smiled when you shot him a playful glare. "they are hard to find—for humans. But a Na'vi knows." He tapped his temple, took a pull from his oxygen mask, and settled into a crouch beside you.
He wouldn't tell you it had taken three days nor would he mention the way his calves had burned climbing ridge after ridge, or how the wind had nearly swept him off a floating peak twice. Wouldn't say that rare was an understatement.
"You sound smug," you murmured, not looking up. Your fingers worked the seal on the container, careful.
"I am smug. I did something impossible for you." He controlled the twitch of his ear. He hoped to hear you laugh, or see a smile. This push and pull. Ache. It ached.
"Impossible?" You scoffed, but there was warmth in it. "You just said a Na'vi knows."
"A skilled Na'vi."
"So humble."
"It is a burden I carry." He pressed a hand to his chest, solemn. Then ruined it by grinning when you finally looked at him.
Your laugh was quiet. But it was there—and Eywa, he wanted to bottle that sound. Keep it somewhere safe where nothing could touch it, maybe put—
You stopped.
“What…?” He caught himself before his tail could wag, dimming the eager glow of his freckles before they could betray him more.
You looked away, fingers brushing the edge of the sealed case. "Thank you, Neteyam." Your voice was quieter now, and you set the container somewhere dry and safe. "For doing this, I mean. I just hope that this time…"
The sentence died.
He already knew.
His ears flattened against his skull. He watched you—the line of your shoulders, the way you wouldn't meet his eyes. "It will," he murmured. "The Great Mother provides."
And there it was.
That wall between you. Eywa. Always Eywa.
You believed in her the way his people did—the way he was supposed to. With your whole chest, your whole heart. You prayed, and you waited, and you hoped that this time the flower would heal whatever was broken. That this time the sperm would stick to your stupid eggs. That this time—
This time.
"Yeah," you said
You knew better than to question Eywa in front of a na’vi. Barren, but not dumb.
.
.
.
The seeds didn't fix anything.
They wouldn't. You'd known that, really—known it deep down in that intuitive thought that gnawed until reality and truth came. But hope was a stupid, stubborn thing. It rooted itself close to your heart anyway. Until that too withered and died.
Apathy came for you after that. It crept along the edges of who you were, taking pieces you didn't notice were missing until you reached for them and found nothing.
It found your words first, turned them flat and distant in your mouth. Then your vision, dulling the bioluminescence you'd once found so beautiful. Astigmatism, you called it. The blurring of the lights till they became muddy. y. Even your tears dried up eventually, and those had been the last honest thing you had left.
That, and of course, your empty womb.
You swore you wouldn’t think about it, but your palm always pressed against your belly. There sometimes, pressing for the possibility that you were Mary carrying Jesus.
I’d be your Mary, Eywa. You’d think. But she had already chosen her Mary. She’d chosen Dr. Grace Augustine—returned her through Kiri, blessed her with a daughter who was beautiful and perfect.
And in the worst moments, you wondered if this was punishment. If you’d been cursed for simply being human and wrong in a world that demanded balance. Was this the great mother, picking and choosing who could be part of it?
Had Eywa looked at you and decided: No.
Not you. You imagined Her saying. Not the ugly little thing you are, with your five fingers and your extra hair and your demon blood. Several is enough. You are one too many.
How these thoughts spiraled.
"Eywa will see it through," Spider said once, his hand on your shoulder, his voice doing that thing where it tried to sound certain. "You'll see."
But his eyes wore the same dressing of apology. Him, Neteyam, Kiri too when she thought you weren’t looking. It sat in their eyes so clearly, you wondered if they did it on purpose, at times.
Or maybe they practice it? Standing in front of mirrors, rehearsing the right amount of softness.
You'd stopped responding
Pity. Apathy. Disillusionment. You half-expected to find those things growing inside you instead of a baby. At least then you'd be full of something.
Neteyam was sweet—of course he was. Infertility was rare among his kind, but he researched it anyway. Brought you herbs wrapped in careful bundles, explained each one to you. Talked to his grandmother until she mixed pastes that might just help a human as it did a na’vi.
"This one," he'd say, holding up a root that looked like gnarled fingers, "Grandmother Tsahìk says it strengthens the womb. Encourages life."
You’d taken one only, you didn’t have the heart to take the rest.
He offered what he could after, companionship mostly. A place to cry, to rant, to talk through desperate solutions that never went anywhere. He listened. Cried with you sometimes, his face pressed into your hair. Held you after in a bed too small for his frame, his knees bent awkward, his tail curled against the wall.
You started to drink, badly, if you were being honest.
You didn't have a problem—or at least that's what you told yourself when Neteyam's brows pinched together, or when Norms mouth thinned into a flat line.
But the alcohol filled you in ways nothing else could, and you cared less and less about your stupid health. What did it matter anyway? You felt useless as a woman. Work became your only other anchor. Work or drinking. Those were your options now.
Five bottles in the morning, the small ones with the screw caps that fit in your jacket pocket. Ten by afternoon, nursing them between sample analysis and data entry. Twenty by evening, when the lab emptied out and you had the place to yourself.
You were drunk more often than you were sober, and the distinction between the two had begun to blur.
Some science guy—Stevens? Stevenson?—did the math once. Pulled up your consumption logs from the inventory and laughed. Actually laughed in your face.
"Jesus Christ," he wheezed, wiping his eyes. "You need help. Like, clinical intervention level help."
But again, it was dressed with laughter and so you found no reason to take him seriously.
Neteyam did, though.
"Y/N."
His voice came from somewhere far away.
You groaned, face pressed against something cold and hard. The floor, most likely. You couldn’t remember landing on something soft. Really, you didn’t remember anything from last night at all.
"Y/N." Neteyam's palm connected softly with your cheek, his body too close, his worry too obvious. You groaned and pushed his face away.
You forced your eyes open, and you sat up.
You felt bottles clink around you, some empty, some still half-full. One had tipped over near your hip, leaking amber liquid against the floor and soaking yesterdays jeans.
Neteyam crouched beside you, his face creased.
"Jesus," you muttered. Your skull protested immediately, a sharp spike of pain that made you wince. "What time is it?"
Neteyam's frown deepened, lips pressed thin. He glanced toward the small window. "Second eclipse," he whispered, then shuffled back to give you space as you rose.
You rubbed at your face with both hands, trying to scrub away the fog. Your mouth tasted sour. Your skin felt sticky.
Headaches. You always had headaches now.
You knew how to fix that.
Your hand was already reaching—fingers closing around the neck of a half-empty bottle before Neteyam could say a word.
Neteyam's hand caught your wrist mid-reach.
"Stop that."
The smack came quick and you jerked back with a hiss, cradling your hand like he'd actually hurt you. He hadn't. But the principle—
Your eyes narrowed as you tracked the bottle he'd kicked just out of range, watching it roll pathetically across the floor before settling near the wall.
"The hell, Neteyam… come on." You reached again, fingers stretching. This time his foot swept the bottle away entirely, skittering it across the floor into a pile of its siblings.
You froze, gaze lifting slowly to meet his. "The fuck is your problem?" The words came out rough. You’d never spoken to Neteyam like that and he visibly paused, eyes turning watery. But you were in too deep now. "I was drinking that."
"Yes. I can see."
He rose to his full height—all of it, shoulders back, spine straight, tail swaying in that particular way that meant he was trying very hard not to grab you by the scruff of your neck. As if size alone could shame you into submission.
I don’t have shame anymore, doesn’t he know that?
"Just as I can see the fifty other bottles littered around your room." He looked so clean. So together. It made you want to throw something at him.
The number wasn't exact. You'd counted. Sixty-three, if you included the one under the cot.
…You didn’t correct him.
He huffed, eyes never leaving your face as you frowned. "What about Macy?"
"Dead."
You shoved past him, shoulder catching his ribs. It was like shouldering into a wall. Your head throbbed like a damned thing, and you pressed the heel of your palm against your temple as though pressure could drown it.
"Her species lasts months. She was already old when I got her." You shrugged. "I'll get a Macy Jr. or something."
"A Macy Jr.," he repeated, flat. "You will replace her."
"Why not?" You didn't look at him. "Everything else is replaceable."
You immediately felt the weight shift from your head to your stomach, where that stupid nervous system got all tangled up and wired. You knew you said the wrong thing, but pride was a terrible thing.
Even if Neteyam looked damn close to crying. Am I replaceable? You saw it spelled out in his mind.
No. You’d tell him. But pride—terrible pride.
You collapsed into the chair by the kitchen table—if you could call it that. More like a metal slab bolted to the wall. Recycled RDA shit. Everything here was recycled RDA shit. You tapped against the metal, an erratic rhythm that matched nothing, then rested your head against the palm of your hand. The coolness of your skin felt good against the heat behind your eyes.
Neteyam watched. His ears flattened. He viewed your defeat as his—the Na'vi were empathetic in that way. Couldn't help but absorb the misery of everyone around them like emotional sponges.
It was exhausting just thinking about it.
“Y/n,” He said softly. He lowered himself, knees folding until he was eye-level, and suddenly you were staring at him whether you wanted to or not. You could smell the forest on him.
It smelled really comforting.
You dug your face against your palm some more. His head tilted, chasing your gaze when you turned away. "Stop this madness. This self-destruction. What purpose does it serve?"
What purpose?
You had nothing, but your jaw tensed. You turned further away. If you couldn't see him, he wasn't real, simple logic.
"Just go, Neteyam. I—"
"N-No." His ears flickered back, you saw that much at least. "No," he repeated, firmer now. "I came because Norm needs you."
You rolled your eyes so hard it made your headache worse. "Don't be dumb."
"I am not being dumb." He sounded genuinely insulted. "Norm asked for you specifically. There is work—important work—and he believes you are the one to do it."
"Then Norm's drunk too."
"He is not."
"Should be." You waved a hand vaguely. "Makes everything easier."
Neteyam's tongue clicked against his teeth, that tsk he picked up from his mother. He stared. His yellow eyes traced the slope of your hunched shoulders, the tremor in your hands, the bottles. He measured you against some internal scale of moraling and found you tipping.
One moment you were seated. The next, the world flipped.
"Hey—wait!"
His shoulder drove into your stomach, forcing the air from your lungs in a graceless oof, and suddenly you were up, dangling, the floor swinging past in nauseating arcs. His hand settled firm against your thigh, fingers splayed wide to keep you steady.
Your arms dangled uselessly, fingertips brushing his lower back, and your legs kicked before you realized how pointless it was.
You weighed nothing to him. Less than nothing. Tuk-weight. Baby-weight.
"You will not listen. You act like a baby, I'll treat you like a baby."
"Neteyam—"
He adjusted his grip, hoisting you higher, and the movement sent the room spinning. Your stomach lurched. Oh, god. You were going to throw up. You were going to throw up all over his back and he'd probably deserve it but you'd never hear the end of it from Kiri—
He ignored you. His stride was even, unbothered, carrying you through the narrow corridor as though this were the most natural thing in the world.
Faces turned—humans pausing mid-step, expressions caught between concern and poorly hidden amusement. Someone whistled. You wanted to die.
You whined. Squirmed. Hissed through your teeth.
Crack.
Did he just—?
He did.
The slap landed right on your ass—three fingers and a wide palm, the sting blooming instant and mortifying. You froze, a strangled squeak escaping before you could stop it.
"Quit moving," he hissed, ducking smoothly beneath a low doorway.
Your shorts did nothing. Might as well have been naked for all the protection they offered. Three fingers. One wide palm. The print of him burned into your skin, no doubt blazing red, no doubt visible to anyone who—
Embarrassing.
You pressed your face against his back and tried very hard to disappear.
"Where are you even taking me?"
"The lab."
"I don't want to go to the lab."
"I don't care."
His tail swished, the tip brushing against your dangling hand, and you grabbed it without thinking—yanked hard enough to make him stumble slightly. Sweet, petty victory—
Crack.
Harder this time.
"Ow—!"
"Do not touch my tail."
You released it immediately, hands flying up in surrender. "Okay! Okay—jesus—fine."
You heard the swish of the doors opening and shifted, hips squirming to rest your elbow against his shoulder, gaze drifting lazily toward the hall that retreated behind you. "So why does Norm need me?" You stared at those who stared back, though your head bobbed with Neteyam’s slow walking speed.
Not that you could do much about it—Neteyam had a death grip on you.
"You'll see."
Your eyes narrowed.
The corridor stretched longer than it should've. Or maybe time just moved differently when you were being carried like this. When he sat you down, it was right in front of the doors.
Your reflection ghosted across the metal paneling, and Neteyam's golden eyes caught yours in the warped surface. Something soft moved behind them, it didn’t looked bad from what you could gather.
You glanced offhandly at the stamped on poster. Na’vi and Drivers only. Piloting currently in session.
So thats where he took you. The drive room. You'd never been here. Couldn't without permission. The equipment was old, and for someone like Norm who relied on the technology to stay with his family, precious.
Neteyam's palm pressed between your shoulder blades. "Go on. Go."
You shot him a look before pushing the door.
"Norm?" The door gave under your hand. "Neteyam, the asshole, said—"
The words died.
Norm stood grinning—nervous as hell. Max beside him, patchy labcoat rumpled, glasses slipping down his nose.
Behind them—
Behind them—
An avatar.
Suspended in the amnio tank, an avatar with your face stretched across Na'vi features.
You.
Not you. You told yourself.
But yes, you.
"Surprise...?" Norm's voice was unsteady like the rest of him. Blue limbs postured awkwardly, and Max fumbled with his glasses, shoving them up only for them to slip right back down. "So... er... we didn't ask, uh—you know. Permission. For the whole avatar thing. Just... with your fertility problems and you know, overall not being able to—" He gestured vaguely at your body, your human body, the one that failed you in every way that mattered on this moon. "—we thought maybe—god, this is kinda weird, right? Not asking permission? We swear we took every other ethical question into account before cloning you with the—I mean, we had meetings. So many meetings. Jake was there for some of them, and Neytiri, and—"
Norm rambled.
A lot.
And you stood dumbfounded, staring at yourself floating in sterile fluid.
"...How?" Your throat felt dry. "Avatars take six years to..."
Neteyam moved to your periphery. Close enough to reach if this went sideways, if you felt any sort of violation. Far enough to give you space if you needed it. He knew you.
"Max made a breakthrough." Norm's grin widened as he clapped Max's shoulder. Max stumbled forward from the unexpected force.
"Hey, man!" Max huffed, adjusting his glasses.
"Sorry..."
Max rolled his eyes, but his smile came easier now. Dimmer. He stepped aside, gesturing to the tank. To her. To you. "We can grow them in half the time now. Had this one cooking for two years. Still needs a few more months until she's ready—see the queue? Still growing."
The queue. Right. Last thing to develop in Na'vi. Most complex part of them.
You pressed your forehead against the glass, and you stood there, watching it twitch before slowly lifting your gaze to meet theirs. "...I'm going to pilot an avatar?"
They grinned, hope naked in their eyes, and nodded in unison. "Are you, uh... angry?"
You snorted. "Angry?"
Tears blurred your vision as you pulled them both into an embrace—awkward because Max was shorter than you and Norm was taller, because your human arms barely stretched around them both.
"How could I be angry?" The words scraped out, rough and small. "Thank you."
There it was, that cruel seed. The hope blossomed again so easily, watered by the devotion of friends.
What a terrible thing it'd be, if the avatar failed. If by some accident, something happened. If you linked and couldn't make the connection. If your body rejected the neural interface. If, if, if.
Those thoughts came aplenty too, naturally. You were used to bad luck by now. Too familiar with disappointment to ever get too comfortable with joy.
Your knees buckled. You sank. They followed, lowering themselves to hold you.
Max was sniffling. Norm's laugh was watery. "You baby."
And Neteyam watched, smiling softly before turning his gaze back at the avatar.
Pretty.
They'd made you perfect.
His eyes traced the shape of you—blue and striped, tall enough now to meet his gaze without that familiar tilt of your chin. Close enough that he wouldn't have to bend so far to meet your eyes.
But some things hadn't changed, which he thanked Eywa for. The hair along your brows, the four fingers. Your— His gaze dropped before he could stop it—a habit, muscle memory, whatever the hell you wanted to call it when a man looked at a woman and couldn't help himself.
Your breasts.
The People did not mark flesh with shame the way sky-people did, wrapping themselves in layers even under the sun's full weight. Nudity was breath, was movement, was simply being.
But he found himself wondering. Would they still carry that peculiar softness he'd felt through your shirt that one time?
He'd seen human women move, that bounce from when they ran or laughed.
His throat worked around a swallow.
His eyes drifted lower still. To your belly.
It was flatter than your human form, still not fed any solids. But he was sure that would change once you started piloting. And it was capable of something else now, wasn't it?
Capable of swelling.
That eager cunt between your legs, it could hold a baby now.
It'll be mine.
A voice said. His, undoubtedly. His tail cracked.
Mine. The thought was peaceful to him.
.
.
.
Day broke beneath the canopy.
It came slow, lazy—filtered through leaves that turned the light green and gold. The heat followed, thick and wet, the kind that clung to your skin and refused to let go. You understood now why the Na'vi wore so little.
"It's not easy!" You huffed, breath catching. Your tail whipped sideways and cracked against Neteyam's hip. Heat flooded your face.
He was kind enough not to stare. Cruel enough, though, to catch the thing mid-swing and tug.
"Ah—!"
"Sure, it is." Neteyam sighed, and his voice dropped to that cooing tone when he thought he was right. “You simply refuse to listen." He pressed you to his chest, his lips near your flickering ears. "What did I tell you about the hands? Balance comes from the tail. Not hips, not arms, not those ridiculous toes of yours, sky-woman."
He let go and patted your bottom. "Go on, try again."
You whipped around, mouth open, ready to tell him exactly where he could shove his try again, but he was already leaning back against a boulder with his arms crossed, waiting.
Training.
You'd thought Neteyam would go easy on you. He had not. He was just as strict as his father—maybe worse, because Jake at least had the decency to look apologetic when he pushed you past your limits.
Neteyam just watched with those big golden eyes, and demanded perfection from his students.
Morning drills were the worst part. He woke you before dawn, dragged you out of your kelku while the village still slept, and put you through exercises that left your muscles screaming.
"You're not technically my teacher," you liked to remind him. The distinction mattered to you. It didn't matter to him.
"No," he'd said once, not even looking up from where he was checking your foot placement. "I am worse. Teachers have students who want to learn."
You rolled your eyes, stalking forward before slowly approaching the tree. Bark rough under your palms, grooves deep enough to catch your toes if you were careful.
"This is stupid,"
You lifted one foot over the other, toes finding grooves. He'd mocked you for wearing shoes last time, lectured you about feeling the tree, about connection. If you did it again, you'd never hear the end of it.
"I'm not Na'vi."
"You are an avatar."
Neteyam's voice came from behind you, lazy and unbothered. You were sure he was assessing your form, and you could feel him counting every mistake that shifted with the wobble of a food, or wrong shift of weight.
"If you plan to have a child—"
Your foot slipped.
"—they must know the ways of their ancestors."
You caught yourself, fingers digging into bark hard enough that splinters bit into your palms. Your heart hammered. Below, the ground looked very far away.
"Which also includes humans," you shot back, breathless.
You struggled upward, arms burning. Another handhold. Another foothold. Your breathing came ragged now, and you were sure he noted that too. Added it to his mental list of things to fix.
"And humans do not climb trees."
You reached a low branch and settled onto it, mimicking his stance. Arms crossed, one leg dangling. You looked smug.
"That is not—" He shifted, pausing when he caught you. "Hey!"
You stuck your tongue out. Neteyam's hairless brow arched.
"Impossible woman," He laughed like you'd stolen it from him. It softened his whole face, made him look younger. Less like the future olo'eyktan and more like the boy you’d grown up with.
Then he glanced back toward the village, ears swiveling.
Truthfully, he'd picked mornings for a reason: Fewer eyes. Fewer men to gawk at the sky-woman in her strange new body. Fewer whispers about clan taboos and what it meant that Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk'itan spent so much time with you.
Fewer interruptions.
Which meant he could hold you as long as he liked without someone in his ear reminding him of propriety.
"Yoo hoo!"
Fuck.
Movement in his peripheral. Anok—one of the more experienced hunters in his father's group—seemed to be holding something. “There you are!”
Anok's eyes found you.
Found you sitting on that branch with your legs dangling, chest still heaving from exertion, skin flushed. His gaze lingered a beat too long on the curve of your waist, the beaded top you wore.
Neteyam stepped between you and Anok's line of sight, a simple adjusting of his stance, all casual-like.
He glanced back at you. "I'm needed. Continue. I expect to see you in the top branches when I return."
You glanced down at him, pouting. “You’re leaving…?”
Something about the way you said it—or rather, the way you looked saying it—Your lower lip jutted forward, eyes going soft and wide…It made his legs refuse to move. He turned back. His tail stilled against his conscious will.
"Do you want me to watch when you reach it?" he said softly, almost teasingly.
Your ears flattened.
"...No." You turned back to the tree, fingers searching bark. "Just go."
He turned back toward Anok, then stopped. He forced himself to smile instead of doing what he wanted, which was climb up there and kiss that pout off your mouth.
“Hm. Just wait for me, then.” He whispered. You began climbing again. He chuckled.
You could be cute.
He walked through knee-high grass, boots ghosting over bent stalks, before coming to attention beside Anok. The older man studied Neteyam with something between amusement and knowing—a faint smile that would never quite reach words.
"What is it, Anok?"
"Nothing dire." Anok extended what Neteyam recognized as paper—that fragile Earth-thing, thin as shed skin. It trembled slightly in his grip. "Your father wants this delivered to Y/n."
Neteyam frowned at the delicate sheet. "And this is…?"
A shrug. "Names, I think. A list. What for—" Anok's gaze drifted past Neteyam's shoulder, tracking something in the clearing beyond. "—I couldn't say for certain."
A pause.
Then, quieter: "Though I have my suspicions."
Neteyam turned.
You were on the trampled practice ground, cross-legged in the dirt, a child suspended above your head. Your arms held steady as you bubbled your lips against the child's round stomach. The sound was wet and silly—and the child shrieked. Pure joy. You brought them down to your hip, reaching for another, and cupping pudgy cheeks between your palms.
"Again!" the first child demanded, bouncing. "Again, again!"
They were screaming now. Happy screaming. The kind that split the air and made hunters across the clearing wince and shoot you irritated looks. They ran in circles around you, tripping over their own feet, dizzy with it, grabbing at your arms and tail and hair.
Neteyam's heart did something gentle. Something dangerous.
His eyes went hazy, unfocused, seeing you but also not—seeing something further. A future, maybe. You, heavy with child. You, singing lullabies in that broken Na'vi you were learning. You, looking at him the way you looked at those children now.
Good mother, his mind whispered.
His children.
A sharp clap landed on his shoulder.
Neteyam jolted, blinking fast, head whipping back. "Hm? Sorry, what?"
Anok's laugh was low, knowing, unbearably smug. He shook his head. "Nothing, young one." A pause. His grin widened. "Go on. Go."
Neteyam stumbled half a step before steadying himself. He rolled his shoulders, deepened his voice, crossed his arms as he approached. "What did I tell you?" The growl didn't quite land; his smile betrayed him.
The children shrieked and scattered like prey, diving behind your legs, your hips, your thighs. Little faces peeking out, wide-eyed and grinning.
"Muptx," Neteyam sighed with false severity. "These are training grounds."
They giggled. You lifted one—the pudgy one with the huge, gap-toothed smile—and cradled them against your chest. Then you looked up at Neteyam. Puppy eyes. Full pout.
"Are you really mad at us, karyu?"
Neteyam stopped.
His ears snapped forward, desperate to catch the word again, to hold it, to keep it. "Karyu?" His voice cracked. Just barely. He stepped closer, head tilting, gaze locked on your mouth like he could pull the word back out if he stared hard enough. "Teacher?"
"Who's been teaching you Na'vi? I never—"
"No one," you said, far too innocent.
He pressed his lips together, gaze fixed on yours, and dragged his tongue across his bottom lip. Heat crept up his neck. "Mm." A cough. He turned to the children, voice gentler now. "Go play elsewhere. I need to speak with Y/n."
You set the child down. They scattered immediately, descending on another unsuspecting hunter across the field. Both of you watched them go, quiet laughter shared between you.
Then your attention snapped to the paper in his hand. "What's that?"
Neteyam blinked down at it as if he'd forgotten. "I'm not sure. My father wanted you to have it." He glanced back toward where Anok had been standing, handing out the paper.
Anok had already left, it seemed.
You snatched it from his hand,
He blinked. Tilted his head.
You were reading now. Fast. Eyes darting across the foreign symbols. Your lips moved silently, forming shapes he couldn't parse.
Then you sighed.
"Dammit."
Neteyam tried leaning over your shoulder, squinting at the figures that made no sense to him, so he settled for watching your face instead—which was, truthfully, what he'd intended to do anyway.
“What is it?”
"Insemination," you said, half to yourself. "But the options are slim. Norm, Gander, Henderson, Michael, Ergie…" More names. A litany of men based to genetic potential. Even Jake had offered—Neytiri gave her blessing, which while kind somehow felt strange.
He’s like my dad…
You dropped into the grass, legs crossed, page bent between your thumbs. Neteyam lowered himself beside you. Close enough that if he shifted his knee just slightly, it would brush yours.
The problem was simple: you had options. Technically. Most avatars came from older bodies, older men. Worn hands, tired eyes, decent enough people who'd given decades to this moon and its science. Norm especially—you liked Norm. His nervous laugh, how he'd let you borrow his books without asking for them back.
But the thought of carrying his child, of a baby with his narrow shoulders and that apologetic smile…
Ugh. Your stomach turned just imagining it.
Spoiled, you thought. Picky and spoiled.
A year ago you would've jumped at any option. But now that you had a body that worked, a womb that could hold life, it felt wasteful to settle for just anyone.
Neteyam's frown deepened. "So you will wait? Until the next generation of avatar drivers arrive?"
You shrugged, setting the page aside. "Maybe. Probably. Two, three years at most. I can wait that long."
You couldn't. You'd waited long enough already. But you didn't tell him that.
"I could read baby books or something. Get prepared." You tipped your head back, staring at the canopy before flopping onto your back. "...Or maybe I should ask the People?"
Neteyam went still. His eyes widened, thumb twitching against his thigh. He looked down at you—at the slow rise and fall of your chest—then lower, before dragging his gaze away and swallowing hard. "...Na'vi?"
"Yeah." You squinted at the sky, frowning through the thought. "I mean… I don't know. You think any would be willing to…?" Another shrug, smaller this time.
I would, Neteyam thought.
If you let me, I'd be the father of your child and your mate equally. I'd do it properly—before Eywa, with witnesses, your name woven into my songcord. Look at me. Choose me, Y/n. Please.
"I—" He fumbled, fingers finding the edge of his loincloth, twisting. His gaze dropped. “Well, most likely," he managed. "People enjoy you. They know you would make a wonderful mother, but—"
"But what?" You sat up now, and his eyes softened. He ducked his head.
"My people don't believe in human technology, Y/n. And you'd raise the child alone. Purely human teaching. It's…" He swallowed again. "Taboo. To partner with a human. To father a child with one. Even my mother gets comments—jabs—and my father is Toruk Makto." Bitterness bled into his tone. "Most Na'vi wouldn't accept it. Despite their acceptance of you."
You paused. Your lips pressed into a thin line before you nodded.
"Alright then. Three years of waiting it is." The smile you offered was small, and it looked suspiciously like the ones you’d give in response to pitying faces.
“Good.” He whispered.
Not good. Ask me. Please ask me.
“Good.” You said back.
But you had never been a patient person, and you were far too close to stop now.
Which is why, three months later, you found yourself seeking Neteyam out. Any longer and you could see yourself tracking down the nearest viable sperm donor and just doing it—consequences be damned.
Desperation, tangled with need, led you to him.
Neteyam should have known something was wrong when you came in sporting your shy and expectant smile.
He'd been mending a fishing net in the family hut, alone, fingers working the familiar rhythm of loop and pull when your footsteps announced you. Too heavy, always too heavy, even after all this time. Once you'd blamed Earth's gravity—twenty percent stronger, you'd said—until he'd reminded you that you'd never even been to Earth.
"Thumper," he'd called you then.
Today he chose kindness. "Y/n?"
He turned just enough to catch you in his periphery, his smile coming easy, his tail betraying him with a slow, pleased sway. You didn't visit often—not in his space. In this hut that smelled of woven grass and old leather and him. You belonged to other places: the compound's corridors, the forest groves where the People gathered fruits. But never here, where everything carried his mark.
But now you were here, and the wrongness of it—how right you smelled against the backdrop of his things—made his chest tighten.
"I heard you were looking for me. Did you need something?" His voice came rougher than intended. He cleared his throat, ducking his head back to his work. His fingers fumbled with the spider-thread. Looping, threading. Adding small beads for Kiri who sometimes wore his nets as jewelry.
Silence, you watched him.
“I…” You stepped forward and swallowed thickly. His ears caught the brief sound of it. “I need to ask you something.”
"Of course. Whatever you need, I will—"
"I want a baby."
His hands stopped.
The net hung suspended between his fingers, forgotten. His ears swiveled back, then forward, as if trying to confirm what they'd just heard, and you realized how stupid it sounded. Of course you wanted a baby, everyone and their mothers knew you wanted a baby.
You made a small, strangled sound. "I—I mean—" Your palms flew to your face, muffling the rest. "God, that's not—what I mean is—goddammit." You peeked at him through your fingers, and the words came out in a mortified rush. "Your sperm. I need your sperm."
Heat lanced through him. Blood rushed south and his cock twitched traitorously against his loincloth. He bit down on a groan.
"Y/n." Her name left him soft. He turned slowly, the net sliding from his lap to the floor.
But you were already spiraling. "I'm asking if you'd consider it. Being the father. I know it's taboo, I know your family would—and the clan—" The words tumbled faster, tripping. "But you wouldn't have to be involved if you didn't want to. I wouldn't tell anyone. It could just be like donating blood, right? Except it's not blood, it's—" You gestured vaguely at his groin. "—that."
"Stop."
You did. Immediately. Your ears folded flat, your tail tucking in tight against your leg. You looked up—and up—and the eight inches of height difference became the full eight feet of him looming. Your ears folded flat. Tail tucked against your thigh. His chest cracked.
"You want my baby."
Your uncertainty bloomed when his voice gentled. When he reached for your wrists, slow enough to be a question, and bent until his face hovered above yours. Amber eyes searched your expression for the joke, the lie, the panic. He found none.
"Yes."
His smile widened, just a fraction. He stepped closer, closing the distance until he could tug you forward, bending until his half-lidded amber eyes were in direct opposition to yours.
A low, shaky breath escaped him.
"Yawne," and the endearment hurt to say. "You know what this means to my people. The joining is sacred. A gift from Eywa. It is not a… a transaction." His jaw worked. "I told you this. No na'vi would accept it."
His chin settled atop your head. His hands spread across your back, fingers splaying wide, and he pulled you closer. Tighter. Too tight, maybe, but he couldn't seem to help himself. You fit so perfectly against him. Your head barely reached his chest, and he could feel every curve of you pressed into the hard planes of his body. His eyes squeezed shut.
"I am… glad I can give you this."
The embrace lingered past what friends might share. But you didn't seem to notice. You never did.
Then you were stepping back, and the air between you cooled. Your eyes were already chasing the doorway behind him.
But Neteyams hand never did trail off. One hand rose, hovering above the soft dip of your navel before his fingertips made contact—warm where your womb rested beneath skin and muscle. He traced upward, then down, feeling the gentle curve of you.
You squirmed.
"Any na'vi, sure. But it's you, Neteyam." Your voice cracked open. "Please… I tried to wait but three more years, then another nine just to—" You shook your head, gaze dropping to where his palm burned against your stomach. "We wouldn't have to… you know. Touch. It'd just be a p-pump." The word came out bitter. "It won't be weird, I promise."
A pump?
He stopped.
The softness that had been in his eyes—the heat that had been building there, coiling low in his belly—all of it burned away.
He retracted, blinking as if clarity was just a wink away.
"A… pump." He repeated.
You nodded quickly. "Yeah. Like—like artificial insemination. The scientists do it all the time with the—"
"I know what it is."
The first thought was shameful—you, round with his baby, belly swollen and full, breasts heavy with milk. He'd take care of you. Hunt for you. The second thought followed: his mother's disappointment, the scandal, whispers behind hands. Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk'itan, lying with a demon. Spilling his seed in a cup like some—
But beneath it all, sharper than any blade, was the realization that gutted him most.
You wanted the material.
Not him.
Not him.
A rough sound escaped. He pressed his forehead to yours. His breath ghosted across your lips. His eyes were completely shut, dark lashes wisping against his cheeks. "You have no idea, do you? What you are asking of me."
He'd do anything for you. Didn't you know that? How could he possibly deny you anything?
"I would give you anything." The confession tore out of him. "Anything, Y/n. My breath. My blood. My life if you demanded it." His hands cupped your face, thumbs stroking the ridiculous softness of your cheeks. "But you ask for this. For nothing of me except what you can put in a container."
Your eyes widened. "That's not—I didn't mean—"
"I told you, I told you." His voice was raw now. "When a man wants a woman, he courts her. Brings her gifts. Proves himself worthy." His thumb traced your lower lip. "He braids her hair. Learns her favorite foods. Makes her laugh."
You were trembling now.
"And when she finally says yes—when she chooses him—they go before Eywa. They bond. They make tsaheylu and they are never alone again." His eyes opened, molten gold and devastating. "That is how life begins for us. In love, with connection."
"Neteyam..." Your voice was barely a whisper.
"You want my child." He said it slowly. “But you do not want me."
"That's not true!"
"No?" He pulled back, just enough to see you clearly. "Then tell me, yawne. If I said yes—if I agreed to your... pump—would you let me court you after? Would you braid my hair and wear my colors and let the clan know you carried my child with pride?"
You opened your mouth, then closed it. Ge was Neteyam, childhood friend Neteyam who ate dirt with you and sometimes stole cookies from Norm’s jar. That Neteyam, who was confessing that he wanted to be with you.
Nothing came out.
And that—that—was answer enough.
He released you and stepped back. "I thought so."
"Wait—no, you don't understand—" You reached for him, but he sidestepped, graceful and practiced like all that he was. He refused to look at you, and that hurt. "It's not that I don't want you, it's just—complicated. The clan, your family, your are—"
"So you would have me in secret. Hidden away like something shameful."
"That's not what I meant!"
"Then what did you mean, Y/n?" He rounded on you, and there was something wild in his eyes now. "Because from where I stand, it sounds like you want me to father your child and then... what? Disappear? Pretend it never happened?"
"I want—" You faltered. What did you want? A baby, yes. But also... "I want you to be happy. I want—I don't want to trap you in something you don't want."
"You think I don't want you?"
The question hung in the air, and you realized like the slow idiot you were.
God… Neteyam loves you.
Neteyam withdrew, and his eyes went flat.
And to think they'd been warm moments before. Amber catching firelight, soft at the edges where they creased when he smiled.
"You want me to…" His jaw worked. Tendons surfaced along his neck like taut rigging. "In a room. Alone. With a machine. So the scientists can have what they need."
He paused.
"And you would have a child. My child." His head tilted—just enough to show you his profile, the angle of his cheekbone catching faint bioluminescence. "But not me."
"Neteyam—"
"Did you think of me at all when you made this plan? Or only of what I could provide?"
You stayed silent. What answer existed that wouldn't flay you both? The quiet between you thickened, pressing against your ribs until breathing felt like labor.
"Why?"
His eyes pinned you there, and the air turned viscous, hard to pull into your lungs.
"Why me, Y/n?" His voice dropped lower. "There are many hunters. Strong warriors. Men with…" His jaw locked. He stopped himself. You saw his throat work around whatever words he'd swallowed back down.
His hand rose—hesitant, trembling at the edge of restraint—and this time his knuckles brushed your cheek.
You stepped aside.
The loss of contact felt mutual. "Because you are my friend. There is no one else I trust more than you."
Somehow deep down you knew that was wrong answer.
His ears collapsed. He took a step back. His tail curled loosely around his own ankle—a self-soothing gesture you'd seen only once before, when his father had dressed him down publicly for a mistake Lo'ak had made. The memory of it then had broken something in your chest. Seeing it now presented by you, because you decided to put this space between.
"Of course."
His voice became polite. Formal in the way he'd speak to visiting elders or Tarsem when his father watched. All the warmth scraped out and replaced with something that looked like respect.
"I am honored you would consider me. Your trust means a great deal."
Stop. Stop talking like that.
He turned halfway, hands finding a basket that sat fine where it was, but adjusted it anyway.
"If this is what you need from me, I will give it. I told you, I would do anything for you. I meant it."
He stood there, his hands hung loose at his sides. His ears were still drooped, his tail still limp. "Before you go." His adam's apple bobbed. "I need you to understand something."
Three strides. That's all it took to close the distance. This close, you could smell him—rain on leaves, something warm beneath and masculine from him.
His hand rose and cupped your face with devastating gentleness.
"I would have given you a child the old way," he whispered. "The sacred way. If you had only asked."
His thumb brushed your lower lip.
"But you did not ask. So I will not… I will not burden you with what I feel."
You eyed him in several quick successions. First his eyes before landing to the ground. Your smile came crooked, wrong. You turned before it could betray more. “If… well, if the insemination doesn’t work…” You whispered. You awkwardly stood there, he could see you just beyond his point of vision.
You didn’t add more to the conversation, those words seemed to be enough for you, and so you left.
Just like that.
Neteyam’s arm dropped.
He turned away from the entrance, moving deeper into the hut. His foot caught the edge of the fishing net he'd abandoned earlier, and he kicked it aside with uncharacteristic violence. It skittered across the floor, tangling against a storage basket.
His chest heaved.
"Skxawng," he hissed at himself. He began hitting himself with the flat part of his hand. "Stupid. Stupid."
He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes until colors burst behind his lids.
She hadn't known. All this time—the gifts, the hunts, the jewelry he'd woven with her in mind, the way he'd maneuvered to be assigned as her teacher—she hadn't known.
Well…now she did.
A sound escaped him.
"If the insemination doesn't work…"
His hands fell away from his face. He stared at the ceiling, at the patterns woven there, and something dark and hungry unfurled in his chest. He felt it within his blood, pumping through the tight muscle of his heart. A steady beat of pumping blood, disgusting, vile. His thoughts were vile.
Perhaps the scientist's machine would fail. Perhaps Eywa would see fit to intervene. Perhaps the foreign sky-people medicine would prove incompatible with Na'vi biology, and the procedure would collapse before it began, and she would turn to him with those wide eyes and say—
He cut the thought off before it could fully form. Shame burned unsteady.
But his hands were still shaking when he finally lowered himself onto his sleeping mat, and sleep did not come for a very long time.
.
.
.
The next day, Neteyam went to the compound in High Camp.
High Camp's research wing sprawled around the cliffside—away from most omatikaya structures. Here they did the real expirimentations, at least that is what he could gather from you, once upon a time.
Lets get this over with. Do what needs doing, then leave.
Neteyam snapped a mask, taking a breath. He moved like he was heading into battle and not into some sterile human box to jerk off into a cup, shoulders angled to avoid eye contact with the few scientists still hunched over their workstations.
He didn't want to prolong the suffering. Just do what needed doing and let you have the life you always wanted—the one with an infant at your breast and all the small violences of motherhood.
He could be generous. Play the part of friend. Provide the seed so some part-him, part-you creature could exist in the world, claim no responsibility, and slip back into the role of noble, prodigal son.
He could give you that, be the generous donor and watch from a careful distance while some part of him grew up calling someone else father.
Easy. Except—
I don't want that.
The admission was childish. He wanted to be constant into your life, not edited out of it. He wanted—Great Mother forgive him—he wanted the insemination to fail. Just so the two of you might—
"There you are!"
Neteyam had turned his head, frowning softly. He felt exposed. Ridiculous. A hunter of the Omatikaya, standing in a narrow corridor while Norm eagerly ran up to him.
Norm clapped his back hard enough to make him stumble. "You're good for doing this, man. Really. We already knew it was a long shot Y/n would accept me as a donor. I mean—" He laughed, sucking his teeth. "Mutxuk told me only a fool like herself would have my kids." Norms tail wagged.
It always did when anyone—anyone—mentioned his mate.
"Yes," Neteyam said carefully. "So I am here for the—"
"The insemination!"
Much too loud.
Heads turned. A pair of techs at a nearby console glanced over. Neteyam felt his skin prickle, every instinct screaming to bolt.
"—really remarkable, actually," Norm was saying, oblivious. His hands moved as he talked, gesturing wildly. "The Na'vi reproductive system has some fascinating differences from human biology. The volume alone is—"
"The room." His voice stayed polite. "Where is it?"
Norm blinked, seeming to remember himself.
"Right! Right, of course. This way."
Norm led him down another corridor—identical to the last, all gray panels and humming machinery—before stopping at a nondescript door. Norm's gloved hand pressed against a panel, and it slid open with a mechanical hiss.
Neteyam peered inside.
Small. Too small for someone of his height. A padded bench barely long enough for his frame. Harsh overhead lighting. And there, on a sterile metal tray beside the bench—
The pump.
It was… clinical. Plastic and tubing and a collection vessel that seemed almost insultingly small.
His jaw tightened.
"There are, uh... materials," Norm said, gesturing vaguely toward a screen mounted on the wall. "Visual aids. If you need them. Some of our avatar drivers mentioned that it helps with the, uh—" He cleared his throat. "—process."
"I do not need them."
The words came out edged, sharper than he meant. Neteyam forced his shoulders down, forced the mask of pleasant neutrality back into place even as something ugly coiled in his chest.
"Thank you, Norm. I will… manage."
"Take your time! No pressure. Just, uh—" Norm tapped the panel beside the door. "Just press the call button when you're done and I'll come collect the sample. Easy peasy.!"
The door hissed shut.
Neteyam stood alone in the too-bright room, staring at the pump on its sterile tray.
His tail curled tight around his own thigh.
It felt so unnatural, embarrassing. He looked at the pump, grabbed it, and felt dirty. His mother would kill him if she knew, and she'd know. Know he'd debased himself in a human facility, alone, for—
For what?
For you.
He clicked something. The pump jolted to life and suddenly it made a sound, vibrating and making a sucking motion.
It looked obscene. A mouth, almost. Soft ridges inside that he could see through the translucent material, designed to... to...
His ears flattened so hard against his skull they ached.
A wet, rhythmic squelching sound filled the room now—schluck—echoing off the walls and crawling into his ears and making a home there. The vibration traveled up his arm, settled into his bones. His hand jerked and he nearly dropped it.
He moved to turn it off instead. His thumb slipped on the button and it took three tries before the awful sound stopped and the silence rushed back in.
The sound continued. Schluck-schluck-schluck.
"Turn off, you—" His voice cracked. "Please, please—"
Fourth try. The button clicked. The awful sucking stopped.
His breath came faster now.
He looked down at himself. At the loincloth he'd have to remove. At the clinical collection vessel waiting on its tray like a hungry mouth.
His stomach turned.
For Y/n. This was for Y/n.
He repeated it like a mantra as he reached for the ties at his hip. His fingers fumbled—Neteyam, who could string a bow blindfolded, whose hands never shook, couldn't manage a simple knot.
The loincloth fell away.
He sat on the padded bench, and his knees nearly touched his chest. Too small. Everything in the human world was too small. The padding was cold against his bare ass, and he shivered despite the regulated temperature that kept this place at a constant seventy-two degrees.
He looked at the pump again. Then at the screen on the wall—dark, mercifully, but he knew what could show.
"Pornography," Lo'ak had said once, years ago, when they'd slipped into an abandoned storage unit and found a dusty disk case. The label was faded but readable: Barely Legal Beauties Vol. 3. "Heard it's like… humans mating. But, like, on purpose. For watching."
Neteyam had wrinkled his nose. "That's disgusting. And private, no? Who would film such a thing?"
Lo'ak had only shrugged, wiggling the disk between two fingers. "I dunno. Want to see?"
"No!"
But they'd both gathered at the screen anyway. Watched with wide eyes and burning faces as pale bodies writhed and moaned, as the woman's voice pitched higher and higher in sounds that seemed exaggerated, performative. Too mortified to speak of it after, though Lo'ak had made a joke three days later that earned him a punch to the shoulder.
And now—now it was being offered, and he felt sick.
I can do this myself, he thought, pride flaring stubborn and sharp. I don't need to watch demons mate.
His hand drifted down. He wrapped around himself with the kind of practiced familiarity that any man would know. He closed his eyes. Tried to summon something—anything—that might make this easier. The curve of a hip. The arch of a back. Soft sounds in the dark, breathy and wanting. Generic shapes. Anonymous bodies. Anything.
His cock remained soft.
"Come on," he muttered. His jaw clenched. His hand tightened, stroked faster, rougher—maybe friction would trick his body into cooperation.
Still nothing.
Panic crept higher. What if he couldn't? What if he went back out there empty-handed, the vessel as sterile and unused as when he'd entered? What would he tell them? Tell you?
Sorry, I couldn't even manage fucking my hand.
He tried again, fisting himself while his chest huffed. Two swallows, then one. Another when he traced the head of his cock and looked at the foreskin slowly slipping up and down, skin bunching up.
He thought of your face.
Your face when he'd touched your cheek in his hut. The way your expression had shifted from fear to confusion to realization. The step backward you'd taken, putting distance between his hand and your skin.
Friend.
His hand stilled.
“Fuck.”
He almost wanted to cry.
He couldn't go beyond half-hard.
Neteyam’s cock sat heavy against his thigh, half-swollen and useless. He stared at it, jaw tight, ears flat against his skull. His hand reached for the pump before he could think better of it.
He turned it on, almost turned it off, before slowly pressing it. And then-
The suction hit him all at once—warm, wet, alive—and his breath punched out of his lungs in a shocked gasp. His head snapped back against the padded bench, braids scattering across the surface.
"Ah—fuck—"
The suction pulled a sound from him that would've gotten him exiled from the clan. A high, needy whine that cracked at the edges. His head snapped back, braids swinging, and his free hand scrabbled against the padding beneath him for something—anything—to anchor to.
It was warm.
Body temperature. Soft silicone that yielded and gripped and pulled with a relentless rhythm that made his thighs shake. When he sank deeper into it, the wet heat of it—Great Mother, it felt like—it felt like—
His hips jerked, chasing the sensation with a desperation that would've humiliated him if he could think past the pleasure sparking up his spine.
Ancestors forgive me.
The pump didn't care about his shame. It continued its mechanical rhythm—suck, release, suck, release—with a consistency no living thing could match.
His thighs trembled. His tail thrashed against the bench, the tuft at its end brushing the sterile floor with each desperate sweep. The bioluminescent freckles scattered across his chest and shoulders began to glow brighter, pulsing in time with his racing heartbeat.
"Ah—" He bit down on his lower lip hard enough to taste copper. "Eywa—"
His eyes squeezed shut tighter. He needed to focus. Needed to think of something, someone—
Y/n.
The image came unbidden. Not the clinical Y/n who'd explained insemination cycles like she was reading from a datapad. The other one. The one who'd hugged him so tightly he could feel every curve pressed against him. The one whose head barely reached his chest. Whose waist was so small his thumbs would touch if he held her.
His grip on the pump tightened.
He imagined it was her mouth instead.
Warm and wet and eager. Those pretty human eyes looking up at him while she swallowed him down, while she choked on him, while tears streamed down her flushed cheeks and she took it anyway because she wanted to, because she—
A broken moan tore from his throat.
The suction increased—he must've hit a setting—and suddenly it was pulling at him, milking him, and he couldn't—
His hips bucked harder now, chasing something building low in his belly.
"Y/n!"
Your name slipped out before he could stop it.
His free hand fisted in his own hair, tugging hard, and he pictured you beneath him instead. Small and soft and finally, finally his.
"I love you—"
The words tumbled out, slurred and wanting. His hips bucked harder, faster, chasing the build in his belly. The pump squelched around him, slick and hot and relentless, and he pictured your face. The way you'd blush. The way you'd gasp when he pushed inside—
"I love you, I love you, I love you.”
He pictured you underneath him. Those thick thighs he'd glimpsed once (just once, when you'd bent to pick something up) spread wide. That soft belly he wanted to bite. The way you'd sound—would you whimper? Would you beg? Would you say his name in that breathy little gasp you used when surprised?
The pump made an obscene schlick-schlick-schlick sound as he fucked into it.
His tail lashed so hard it knocked over a tray of instruments. The clatter barely registered.
"Please—" To who? To what? "Please, please, Y/n—"
He was close. So close. The pressure built low in his belly, coiling tighter and tighter, and he could feel his balls drawing up, could feel the way his cock swelled even thicker in the pump's grip, could feel—
you. Under him. Around him. Squeezing him. Milking him. Taking everything he had to give and begging for more.
"Y/n!"
Your name ripped from his throat as he came.
The first thick rope of cum shot into the collection vessel with enough force to splatter. Then another. And another. More than any human could produce—more than he'd ever produced before—hot and endless, pumping out of him in waves that seemed to go on forever while he gasped and shook and whined through it.
He sat there, chest heaving like he'd run a mile, sweat cooling too fast in the sterile hum of climate control. The pump released him with a sound that shouldn't have been so loud. Wet. Obscene. The kind of noise that made his ears pin flat against his skull.
His cock slipped free—oversensitive, twitching, already softening.
The collection vessel sat on its tray, full.
He stared at it. At the evidence of what he'd just done. Thick and pearlescent, still warm, destined for a freezer somewhere in this sterile compound. To be thawed when needed. Inserted into you by clinical hands and instruments that had no right to touch you at all.
His child. Made like this.
Something wet slid down his cheek. He didn't recognize it at first—the salt, the heat. Then his hand moved, rough, angry, swiping it away and stood on legs that didn't quite feel like his own. His loincloth lay crumpled on the floor, and he retrieved it with stilted movements—tie here, adjust there—until he looked almost normal again.
His reflection stared back from a darkened monitor. Wild-eyed. Wrecked. The bioluminescent freckles scattered across his shoulders still glowed too bright—dying embers that refused to go out.
He looked away.
The call button sat beside the door. One press and Norm would come. Would collect what he'd left behind. What he'd given.
He pressed it.
Norm arrived smiling—awkward, a little too cheerful, like humor could smooth over what they both knew. Human shame. Neteyam wished he carried some of it. Just enough to make this hurt less.
"Kinda hard to focus, yeah?" Norm's laugh came out strained, forced. "It's supposed to be effective and quick, so—" He shrugged, pulling on gloves with practiced snaps. His gaze skittered away, then back, never quite landing. "You did good."
Did good. Like he'd passed some test.
Norm was already moving, gloved hands efficient. He took the pump, placed it in some bin with a hollow thunk. Then his attention shifted to the container. "Good amount, though." A pause. His smile softened into something almost kind. "Hopefully you're fertile!"
"How long?" Neteyam's voice came out rougher than intended.
Norm blinked. "Until we know if it takes?"
"Until she..." He couldn't finish. The image lodged in his throat—you, legs spread in this same clinical horror, while human hands inserted what should have been given in darkness and warmth and something resembling love.
"Oh." Norm's expression shuttered. Professional mask sliding back into place. "We'll prep her for insemination within the next few hours. The sample's viability window is optimal in the first six hours, but we've got extenders that'll keep it good for up to forty-eight if needed." He was already sealing the container, labeling it with quick, efficient movements.
The words barely registered.
Neteyam moved through the corridor like something half-dead, his bare feet silent against the cold metal flooring. Norm's voice buzzed somewhere behind him.
"Pretty fertile."
His stomach turned.
"Right," he managed, the word hollow.
He didn't look back. Couldn't. If he saw the collection vessel one more time—saw what he'd produced while crying into a machine, he might do something shameful. Might grab it and run. Might smash it against the sterile floor.
Might beg them to let him try again.
And he did.
Not out loud, never that honest, but the way he'd shown up yesterday—and the day before—After the first time, it became impossible not to want it again. It was easy. Accessible. A locked room where he could moan your name and no one would hear. No one would know. He could pretend his hand was yours, that the cold clinical touch of the apparatus was your heat, your softness, your—
Three times now. He'd done this three times in as many days.
Norm hadn't questioned it. Why would he? Wider sample. Just in case. The words had slipped out so easily, and Neteyam's ears had barely drooped at all.
But Norm caught on. The bastard.
"I'm gonna have to stop you now, kid."
Neteyam froze. His tail went rigid.
Norm shifted his weight, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. "We have enough. Er—more than enough. A goddamn sperm bank at this point." A sigh, almost apologetic. "If we need any more, we'll ask."
"No more?"
Norm's eyebrows rose behind his breathing apparatus. A flicker of something passed across the human's face—concern, maybe, or the beginning of uncomfortable understanding. The kind that made Neteyam's skin crawl because it meant Norm saw.
"Y/n only needs one baby," Norm said slowly, carefully. "Maybe two if she wants another later. You've been…" A nervous laugh that didn't land. "Very thorough."
Neteyam's jaw worked, tongue pressed hard against his teeth. Thorough. Such a clean word for what he'd been doing.
"If we need any more, we'll ask."
They did not ask again.
So Neteyam stole it.
A/N- Please remember to reblog or like! Much appreciated!!!
tags: dark!neteyam. smut. p in v. protective!neteyam. obsessive behaviour. forced proximity trope. mentions of aircraft crashes. wilderness survival. follows the plot of afaa. unreliable narrator. neteyam would do anything for reader. nasty sequences
summary: neteyam rescues you when the mangkwan attacks your clan. it was a mere protective act until it turned into something more.
(gifs creds to @harcive 𑣲)
You feel a bad feeling creeping into your stomach when your father tells you the Sullys are traveling along on the gondola. Like a sense that something is going to happen. But you brush it off the same way your fingers part the skies, a habit you have had since you were younger. The wind gives and takes. They’re respected people after all, a good family.
That something turns out to be a Mangkwan attack. Shouts and strikes come to your left and right. It makes the large group you’re traveling with scramble around in erratic paces—the kind people do when they do not know where to go in a tight space.
The Mangkwan raid hurriedly with no planned movements. But the screams from those you know are enough to tell how viciously brutal they are. One of them finds you and straps your body to the gondola with the idle ropes around—you and some others, all done while spitting out, “Now beg your Goddess to save you.”
Catching a glimpse of your father, Peylak, you can feel the flying ground going down and down and down. Then you lose sight of him. You scream every bit of energy you have left out of your throat while trying to loosen the tight rope around you, failing. Please, Great Mother. Not today. Please. Save me. Save my people.
Your palms grip anything you can hold on to. This is just like one of those falling dreams you had when you were a child—déjà vu—but your belly tosses and turns in reality. You leave your beating heart somewhere above you in the clouds.
There’s a loud sound coming from the gondola, its parts tearing apart, some burning away. Someone screams. Another shouts, “We’re going down! Jump!” The man does exactly that, because you don’t hear his voice anymore. You can feel the tears flowing down your cheeks now, sharp wind prickling roughly against your skin.
So this is it. There is a loud boom as the view surrounding you blurs. And you hear something tear and fall and crash and—
Your eyes close.
Consciousness comes back to you shortly after. The rope that binds you still holds you tight—at least before someone cuts it away with a knife.
The oldest Sully, Neteyam, is the one who drags you from the ruins. His body shields you from seeing the dead bodies around you. He carries you into his arms while you whimper and cry onto his shoulders.
“Don’t close your eyes again, yawne,” he says.
It feels like you’ve lost your voice, but you make an attempt anyway. “My home—” your throat complains after all the screams you let out earlier. “My people— They…”
He keeps walking into the dense forest with furrowed brows and a cautious expression. The rumbling fear in your body after hearing the Mangkwan celebrations behind you makes you cradle yourself closer to him. You can see the bow and arrows slung over his shoulders, his knife sheathed at his hips.
“My leg…” you sob, the tips of your fingers lingering on Neteyam’s toned shoulders. “It hurts.”
He coos at you, and you can feel his thumb drawing circles on your back. When you see his eyes, there is a flicker of something raw and dark. It would frighten you if you weren’t wincing in pain.
“Shh. Don’t cry, sevin,” he replies in a gentle tone. “I’m going to bring us away from the Mangkwans first. And then I’ll take a look at your leg, alright?”
There are scattered things from the aircraft all around the forest: food, textiles, handcrafted goods, weapons, people’s belongings, and dead bodies. You cry out at the ugly sight, water flowing from your half-lidded eyes.
After a long walk—when you can no longer see the fire and ash—he sets you down onto solid ground. He makes sure you lie back in a comfortable, reclined position before standing upright and disappearing into the bushes. “I’ll be back.”
When he comes back into your vision, he uses the herbs and leaves he found to tend to your leg wound. There’s a leaf he uses to wrap your calf, which is slightly scratched open. Neteyam surely is no healer, but he does his best to close the cuts. You notice the serious expression on his face.
Green and yellow plains spread around you. Everything feels utterly alien. The forest pulses with life, layers of vegetation you have rarely seen before stacked over one another. From the ground, you can see bioluminescent creatures drifting slowly with their delicate tendrils in the breeze. Every element feels connected in one entity, a single ecology you find yourself in union with. Spending your head up in the clouds, this is the first time you have ever felt so close to the ground—the forest. This is his home, you think.
“Where’s your… family?” You sound careful approaching the matter, not knowing what he will answer. They could be like your father, possibly fleeing away in safety. Or… worse.
He makes an acknowledging sound. “I split up with them. My comms broke. They can take care of themselves.” The tight tension in your stomach grows more constricted. Most of his family are warriors, after all. So is Neteyam. But you, here, have never mastered arrow shooting or knife fighting. If the Mangkwans or the demons do not end you first, you are sure the forest will eat you alive. The thought almost sends you into a panic attack—your chest heaving rapidly.
Neteyam cups your chin and tilts your head up to face him. You realize you have never been this close to him before. You’ve only met him three, maybe four times before this while visiting the Omatikaya. His face up close is handsome—narrowed eyes, a strong jawline, and full lips. You can’t help but give in to his gaze.
“I won’t leave you,” he says, like it is a permanent decision. “My parents and my people are going to be searching for us. We were supposed to arrive in High Camp in a few days.”
His voice is reassuring. “The Mangkwans and demon ships are still around the forest. It’s better for us to stay on the ground and keep moving away.”
You nod, tears still falling down your cheeks even as he wipes them away with his thumb. Neteyam is right. There will be people looking for the both of you, but for now, the safest thing is to lie low.
A week goes by slowly.
The Mangkwans have decided to camp on the wreckage, possibly enjoying all the resources your clan stored. Sometimes you hear screams too. They must have tortured the ones they captured or who survived the crash. You pray to Eywa that your father is not one of them.
Neteyam carries you deeper into the forest. You can’t walk much with your stinging leg, so trips are rarely made. The place you are in right now is high enough from prying eyes, but not far enough to go fully unnoticed.
The shelter he makes is comfortable—almost like a nest—built and surrounded by various materials Neteyam scavenges from the forest and gondola pieces. He makes sure to choose a dense tree for you to sit under. Neteyam collects dozens of branches and leaves to make a small fire.
“Do you need help?” Your attempt to hobble-walk is halted when he abruptly carries you back to the nest he made from anything he could find around. He goes back around the wreckage once a day to see what remains can be used. You cry silently every time his body disappears between the bushes. The risk is too high—the Mangkwans and demon ships could capture him, remembering they are still around.
But he always comes back. It’s the only time, other than when he hunts, that Neteyam leaves you alone. You are not the only one who prefers to be as close as possible for the rest of the time.
“Sit down, yawne. Your leg is still healing,” Neteyam grunts as he places you back onto solid ground.
You frown, feet tracing circles in the dirt beneath you. It’s the worst feeling—to feel like a burden. When you know he could just leave you here and travel freely away. He has the resources and the skills. And you don’t.
In the early hours, Neteyam goes out to hunt for you, when the world is still quiet. The animals are sluggish and lazily sleeping on the forest floor. He comes back one day with a meer deer slung over his shoulders, a visible knife stab still pouring blood from its lower stomach.
Even if your leg is not badly wounded, you wouldn’t be much help either. Neteyam is remarkably self-sufficient, their golden child. “You are a great hunter, Neteyam.” The statement feels rhetorical; you just want to say thank you to him, in a way. It comes out of nowhere in the dead of night when you are sleeping close to him.
Neteyam is quiet for a moment. “Thank you. I had great teachers.” With the bioluminescent freckles on his face, you can see the wry smile that plays on his lips—like pride swelling from finishing a great conquest, even though it’s just praise from you.
You wake up with your head pressed against his chest most days. It’s embarrassing—since you are strangers—but you learn to give in when you meet his eyes and there’s nothing but reassurance.
Another week goes by, and your leg starts to heal better. In the intervening days, Neteyam dotes on you in a gentle sort of way, like mates do to each other, as if you have been doing this for years.
It starts when Neteyam insists on sleeping closer together, hugging every night. It’ll be easier to keep you close if something or someone tries to drag you off in the night (and that makes you lose your breath until he coos and soothes you). It goes further when he decides to feed you food, and the look he gives you when you lick your lips is borderline keen and raw.
It gets worse when he has you both strip all your attire off on a rainy night, wrapped around each other for heat. “Yawntu, you’re shivering,” you hear him whisper, one of his big palms pulling your back closer to him—chest to chest now. Your teeth chatter when a sharp wind gushes above. “Get closer. Let’s warm up.” He ends up placing kisses on your forehead and deeply inhaling your scent.
You wake up almost at dawn when your leg feels strong enough that you think you can walk to relieve yourself instead of waking Neteyam. Before you can manage to crawl away from his figure, a body pins you down until you go immobile.
“Where are you going?” Neteyam quips, almost sounding like the snarl of an animal.
Fear crawls underneath your skin—like realizing something is wrong but not knowing what exactly it is. Like that day in the gondola.
“I—I want to pee,” you whisper, your heart thumping loudly in your chest.
You think he’s still half-asleep, that’s why he acts so suddenly. His body moves on instinct because he is trained to do so—to always be alert to everything. That must be it.
He follows behind you because he insists on accompanying you into the bushes. It gets worse when he does not take his eyes off your squatting figure. Later in the bright morning, he gives a speech on safety and danger. If you go on to do something like that again, the Mangkwans could creep up behind you. The thought scratches at a part of your brain.
Things change a lot. When his gaze drapes over you, it no longer feels merely protective, but instead feels like… unfettered hunger.
There’s a palulukan that circles the area one day, striding around because of its curious nature. But Neteyam already has you behind him. He puffs himself up when the animal gets too close for his liking, keeping you hidden from its view. Neteyam growls and bares his fangs until the palulukan scrambles away in disinterest.
“You’re safe, yawntutsyìp.”
Since then, he reminds you of an animal. How could he not? Neteyam curls you around him in sleep, legs tangling and breath matching. When you both find a river down the side of the valley, you soak in it unashamedly—in need of clear water after days of lying on dirt. You almost hitch when he slips into the water and comes up behind you, his arms circling around your waist. But you are not surprised. It’s evidence of how long you have both been out here, how accustomed you’ve become to his lingering touches.
His lips trail from your shoulder to your neck and finally to the side of your lips. You only tilt your head toward him and stare out at the sky.
“Do you think they’ve gone away?” The question slips out of you. For at least three days, you haven’t heard anything or anyone roaming around the forest. Just you and him.
“No, yawne. They haven’t.”
So you wait and wait. Until one day, you look up at the sky and there it is—a dot on the horizon. Not just one dot. Many. A scream erupts from above. “Neteyam, brother, where are you?” You gasp in joy.
Neteyam stops skinning an animal when he hears his family’s voices calling out to him. You start waving your arms wildly in the air until they notice you. Neteyam is quick to reply and pulls you closer to his chest when the ikrans are mounted.
Each of his family members gives him a hug, muttering gratitude to Eywa. You ignore the way he answers for you when they start asking questions. You also ignore the way he pins you tightly when flying on his ikran, occasionally placing kisses in your hair.
It is safer traveling in packs. You can’t see a trace of danger anywhere along the way to Awa’atlu. Neteyam keeps you snuggled in front of him so he can hold onto you anytime he wants. The skin-to-skin touch is an act of grounding—more for his longing needs than yours.
As a nomad, you never had anywhere to call home. It’s everywhere and nowhere at the same time. But Neteyam’s embrace is another thing entirely.
“What is it, syulang?”
“I—I mean, you know you can go back to your family now, right?” You repeat, swallowing nervously. The question has been left lying there for a while. You both walk mentally around it, step over it. But your mind always circles back to why. Why does he not live in his family’s marui anymore?
Upon your arrival in Awa’atlu, you and Neteyam are placed in a new living space meant only for the two of you. It has one hammock and other necessities. It almost feels like it has been prepared for a while.
“And—and—you know, you don’t have to—”
That’s where the words get stuck in your throat.
You both sleep in the hammock—he can’t seem to stand more than an arm’s length away from you at any given time. He follows you around the beach when you need to clean yourself, crowding you into his arms. In gatherings, his palms never leave your flesh, always holding and patting and snuggling. “Eat up, syulang.” He still holds the habit of feeding you fruit, peeling the parts he knows you don’t like. The same goes for his sleeping habits.
Nomads live unattached. And now you are walking the opposite way. You often reminisce about the old days. A small thought is given to embarking on a journey to search for your father. Maybe even building another gondola and finding the rest of your clan. But that thought comes with uneasiness—like it’s something already behind you. It is not your life anymore.
You, from months ago, couldn’t even fathom this idea either. Receiving numerous gifts from the people around you, congratulating you and Neteyam and regarding you both as mates—but, and here’s where your brain scrambles a bit to follow—he never corrects any of them.
Neteyam lifts a brow, shoulders shrugging unimpressed. “Have to what?”
You gulp. “Y-you know. Stay here with me.”
“Do you want me to leave, yawntutsyìp?”
There’s the gist of it all. You don’t. In the dark, when the surroundings go quiet, your heart pounds in your chest until it recreates the feeling of falling.
“No,” you answer.
Often, you sleep with uneven breathing, your body shaking left and right. Your mind still unconsciously dreams about the dead bodies tethered around the wreckage—fire and ash engulfing their remains.
Then you wake up and Neteyam is there, already awake, hugging you from behind. Tilting your head so he can lay kisses across your tear-soaked face. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. You’re safe.” He murmurs whatever praises he can muster, reassuring you.
His body heats up against yours. It becomes a common occurrence for him to kiss your worries away. You let him roll you onto your back while he says those things. Let him be unified with you after all those weeks of saving you. Let yourself succumb to him because it feels right.
Neteyam spits on your pussy—you almost complain about how dirty it is—and he rubs your swollen button with his thumb. “Shh, mawey.” He only chuckles when you yelp from the sensitivity. He is always tender and soft when you fuck, especially after your nightmares.
“Mawey—yawntutsyìp, I’m here,” Neteyam breathes as he bottoms out inside your heat. His wide cock spears you so well, pulling high-pitched whines and broken sounds from your throat as tears brim in your eyes. “I’ve got you. I got you. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”
As long as I live and breathe.
That’s what he said to you in the second week in the forest. It should have creeped you out—a stranger saying that—but instead, it relieves you.
“Eyes, syulang. Look at me,” he coos when you have them shut. Neteyam places both palms on the sides of your face, giving you no choice but to stare into his darkened gaze. His muscled figure rolls every time he pushes into you. “Fuck. I see you, muntxate.”
It’s hard to reply to his trail of I love yous over the ringing in your ears. But reciprocity is not something he doubts from you—not when your kuru are connected and he can feel everything inside you. Tsaheylu, the fear, the need, the love.
And you feel his yearning hunger in return—an undying devotion. It cradles you and makes you whole.
So, no. You don’t want to acknowledge it as it is: that you found an animal in the forest, and it took you to its nest.
Since you said we could send you ideas for future dilf!jake fics, you could write one about him having an oral fixation. I feel like it might be a good idea for him to want to see reader in that submissive way 😼
dilf!jake + oral fix is just sooooo delicious! thank you for giving me inspo 🤭
