𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 instead of heading to the reef clans, jake sully takes his family to search for the herwìslär clan, the snow people. despite her cold demeanor that rivals that of the weather outside, neteyam cannot help himself upon falling for the olo'eyktans daughter. only you seem to not want him, and he cannot understand why.
ᶜʷ cannon divergence, rude(?) reader, yearning, my baby lo’ak being an ass for a minute, sharing a bed(kinda), ‘i dont want ninat’ vibes, reader and neteyam are lowk jake and neytiri 2.0, misunderstandings, tshaeylu, suggestive content, angst?(happy ending), a child
ʷᶜ 12.6k
A fresh hunt meant there was much to do.
Every part of a kill was to be used. It could be detrimental to the people if even a single part was discarded. In the harsh conditions of the frozen taiga you called home, every part of a kill must be used.
You were stood over a square frame, currently tying a fresh pelt onto it. After tightening each side multiple times to ensure that the pelt was pulled to its max, you began shaving away at the various layers of fat.
Proper technique must be used when shaving the fat away. If you angle the knife improperly you may tear through the pelt, rendering it useless. Yet the motions are calming to you, it being something you’ve done for many years.
Various other clan women are also completing the same tasks, idle chatter falling around you. Many are pleased with the result of this hunt, some gloat over the kills their mates or children have made, a few congratulate you on the kills you made today as well.
The corners of your lips tilt upwards, a pleased grin settling on your cheeks. As the Olo’eyktan and Tsahik’s oldest child duty settled heavy on your shoulders. A good hunt today meant that the clan would be happy for at least a week, which meant that your parents would be happy for the week, so you could also be happy for the week.
“I heard you killed the largest her’ang today,” Posma whispered next to you. Your ear flicks, as the words take form in your head.
She was correct to hear that you had killed the biggest her’ang, but you did not say that to anyone. You would never boast about such a thing.
“Who said that?” Your hand pauses in its motion as you turn your head, refusing to slice without eyes on your target.
Posma giggles at you, she is one of your oldest friends, the two of you being together since you could only toddle along the furs. “It does not matter. You should be proud.”
“Being proud is not becoming.”
“It’s not unbecoming!”
You huff, “There is a fine line between being proud and being pompous. Most toe the line, I do not desire to do such a thing.”
You turn your head back towards your work. Shearing the last few pieces of fat from the pelt you sheath your knife. Due to its curved shape you must tie it before you can move onto your next task.
As you’re scooping your curved fingers into a jar filled with salt Posma continues, “You would not. It would not deter anyone if you were to take some satisfaction in your accomplishments.”
“Focus on your duties Posma.” You flick your tail in her direction, trying to shoo her away, “We can participate in such discussions later.”
Your fingers splay the salt in a decently thick coating across the pelt. It must be enough to thoroughly dry the pelt, but it cannot be too much where the pelt cannot breathe. A final glance across the entire pelt leaves you with the conclusion that you can leave it for the night and check upon it again tomorrow.
You turn to leave, wanting to know how the rest of the preparations of the kills are going. But you make sure to call out to Posma one more time before you leave, “You will sit next to me tonight?”
Her cheery reply follows less than a second later, “Always!”
Hometree and most of the clan's establishments resided underground, deeply embedded into the ground. It was much warmer there than temperatures outside, but furs and pelts were still required if you desired to be a comfortable temperature while walking around.
You move towards the outer areas of the village, wanting to see if every kill has been brought in yet. However on your way there a shot of your name makes you still in your path.
It is Huamtey who calls you. One of the clan warriors, one that you were out hunting with just earlier today. “You must come, I cannot find the Olo’eyktan.”
“My father is missing?”
“You misunderstand, I believe he is tied up with other duties and I cannot find him.” Huamtey grimaces a little, nervous of your reaction to his miscommunication, “The sentries said they are hearing foreign wails, I was hoping the Olo’eyktan would lead the search.”
“But I am the next best thing?”
“You are mighty. We would be honored if you guided us.”
A smile graces your lips as you nod. Whatever beast resided outside the village gates, you and this search party would slay it. Whatever it was would not harm your people.
As you emerge from the gates, you raise your hand in greeting to the sentries. Then you lay your eyes upon the group. It is small, only eight of them, but it would do. You had killed big predators with less people.
A deep call resonates in your throat, but your lips stay sealed. You repeat the call a few times, urging your mount to approach. In the distance you can see shifting between the trees, your legs carry you forward to meet it halfway. As you approach your herwanpalu a rough, loud rumbling emerges from deep in his chest.
He is happy to see you so soon. Your hand reaches out to scratch along his forehead eventually falling behind one of his ears. You saddle him, tightening the straps before turning back towards the group. “Let us go, it will be dark soon.”
It is hard to miss the yowls of the unknown creatures. They are sharp, and loud – one might assume that they were calling out, searching for something. But that would be a naive thought, there were only predators and prey in this taiga, and this thing would become prey whether it wanted to or not.
The calls lead the nine of you to the tundra. No trees reside here making it risky hunting grounds. But if the beast wanted to fight here, who were you to deny it?
You first scan the ground, searching for some large disfigured creature to be staring back at you. You find none, instead you see five shadows seemingly circling around. When you look up you see bright and deeply shaded creatures.
Ones that you’ve never seen before. They’re colors you’re familiar with, seeing them in the summer months, but they definitely do not belong here in winter. You start making motions with your hands, dividing and directing the group so you could circle them.
The members are to find a good angle, one that they can get a presumed clean kill shot from. On your mark they will take it, if you’re lucky all five will go down at once. An immaculate feat, one you would shortly be discussing over fresh meat at the cookfire.
The white of the pelts blends nicely with the herwanpalu furs, and their furs blend almost seamlessly with the snow. The flying creatures shouldn’t be able to see any danger until it is too late.
You raise your bow, aiming for the chest cavity of the beast. You can hear a hunting call come from your right, another from your left – it was time to strike. When your arrow sailed, theirs would fly too.
But then you falter. There is something atop the creature. Could it be mangkwan? No. They never ventured to these parts, it being far too cold for their hot nature.
“Hold!” You hiss, just loud enough for the group to hear. “Hold position, do not reveal yourselves. I will make contact.”
You dismount your herwanpalu, slinging your bow back over your shoulder and flipping your hood down. You shout, “If you wish to live, land your beast and surrender!”
The call triggers a response. At first the beasts begin banking tightly left and right, granting their riders better visibility to the land below. And then they descend and land.
You allow them to clamber off of their mounts, to come to stand before you before questioning, “Who are you?”
“We seek uturu.”
“Who are you to seek uturu?”
“I am Jake Sully, my mate Neytiri, and our children. You’re from the Herwìslär clan right?” His hands are upturned trying to seem like he is not a threat. You step to the side, eyeing his family. They looked to be cold, slightly huddled together, their animal hide cloaks doing nothing to shield them from the freezing tundra temperatures.
You’re skeptical. They may be trying to cause chaos, to destroy the clan from the inside out. The doubt flows entirely through your body, your tail lashing, ears pressed tightly to your skull. It triggers Neytiri to speak.
“My husband was Toruk Makto. He brought the clans together against the sky people.”
Toruk Makto? This man was Toruk Makto? That was not a name to be taken lightly, the stories of a great flying beast, the scariest thing in the sky; and the very few Na’vi who were able to tame it were named Toruk Makto.
If these Na’vi were any bit honorable they would not throw the title around. You could indulge them at the very least, bring them in and if they misbehaved take them as prisoners.
“Reveal yourselves!” Your voice booms out across the tundra. Jake Sully and his family flinch, surprised at the sudden burst of energy. Their heads whipping around at the sudden movement of the warriors around you.
Then you point, “You will follow me. And they,” Your hand changes direction towards the warriors, “Will follow you. Come.”
As you direct them back towards the village you can only imagine what your father will think. If he will believe that you made the right choice, or if he will be disappointed that you risked the safety of the clan.
You motion the sentries to open the gate, allowing you entrance to the village. One of the warriors runs ahead to go retrieve your father. You continue to bring the Sullys forwards, deeper into the village.
“Where are we going?”
It is Jake who speaks up. Apparently the only one with a voice in his family. You spare him a glance, seeing the apprehension clear on his face.
“To see the Olo’eyktan. He will decide your fate.”
That seems to settle him. Neytiri begins whispering something, keeping it low enough that even just a few feet away you cannot hear them chatter. It did not matter though, your father approached and their fates would soon be sealed.
Your father stands strong. If his furs did not differentiate him from the rest of the clan, then surely the necklace and beaded covering that rested on top of them would. The deep black tattoos in distinctive lines decorated his face more than others.
But if none of that directed the Sully's to who this was, then his presence must have. It commanded attention more so than others, leaving you nowhere else to look.
You take the last few steps to him as he opens his mouth to speak, “What is this?”
“They seek uturu. Apparently the father is Toruk Makto.” You meet his eyes briefly, before walking past him and turning to stand slightly behind him.
“Toruk Makto seeks uturu with us? The Herwìslär people?”
Jake nods “Yes. We will learn your ways, be helpful, right?” He turns, nodding to his family, encouraging them to agree with his statements.
“It will be tough, difficult to teach who has already been taught.”
“We can learn. We can adapt. We will adapt.”
“Then it is decided.” Your father steps forwards, reaching his arm out in the traditional Na’vi binding contract, “Toruk Makto and his family will receive uturu with us! Teach them our ways, and treat them as our own!”
As Jake wraps his hand around your fathers forearm, your father continues his brief speech, “You may learn with me, your mate with mine. My daughter will teach your children the ways. Nume nìwin.”
As they separate you rush to your fathers side. “Father. They are dark, they will easily attract attention when hunting.”
“Then you will give them extra pelts to cover.” He dismisses you easily, readily moving direct people to either help the Sullys to a kelku, or return to their prior duties.
“But look at their tails! They will freeze off when the winter gets harsher.”
“Pelts, again daughter.”
“And their eyes! The brightness will make it difficult to see when they leave the village!”
“You are to teach them our ways.” He turns, locking you in place with a pointed stare, “Do not make me repeat myself, and do not give more excuses as to how useless they will be without seeing their capabilities.”
You tuck into yourself. Abashed at being reprimanded and dismissed out in public, you turn back to the Sullys, “Come I will bring you to your kelku, so you may drop off your things. Then we will go get pelts so you do not freeze to death.”
Looks like you would not be sitting with Posma at the cookfire.
“Not like that.” You tug Neteyams hands away from the pelt and fur he is stitching together. You begin unstitching the progress he has made.
Neteyam is watching your movements carefully, “What was I doing wrong?”
His voice is curious – a genuineness to it that makes you want to believe that he truly wants to make it better.
“Your stitch would allow air to slip between the pelt and the fur. It would not insulate properly.” You take the needle crafted of bone from his hand and begin to stitch slowly, “When you stitch like this it traps the heat, pushing it back onto your body instead of allowing it to escape.”
You hand the coat back to Neteyam first, then the needle. He nods at you before beginning to stitch the same way you showed him. When you are content with how he is working you spare a glance at the rest of the group.
Posma and Tempat have joined you in your duties. They seem to be working well with the remaining Sully kids. Posma guiding Kiri and Tuk, while Tempat is stuck with Lo'ak.
Fur binding is one of the most essential skills that a Herwìslär member must know. It is something that you learn as a child. As if you were to get lost or stranded and cannot craft a proper coat you will freeze to death.
You wish you were hunting today. Or drying pelts. Even foraging would be more preferable. You truly wish you were doing anything else besides teaching remedial skills to mostly grown Na'vi.
Before your mind can drift Neteyam calls you softly, when you turn your head he hands over the coat again. “Did I do it properly?”
You turn it over in your palms. Visually the stitches seem good, like they will hold. Then you begin tugging roughly around the seams. If the stitching was bad, they would burst from your onslaught.
However, they don’t. You smile a little when you hand Neteyam his coat again, “It will hold. Good work.”
He smiles at that. Proud at being able to adapt like his father said, to make something of his own in a new clan, and maybe just a little bit at your smile. He has not seen you smile often since his family has arrived, and for him to be the cause of your baby blue cheeks raising to make space for the upturn of your lips makes satisfaction settle warm in his chest.
Lo’ak’s whine drags your attention away, “When are we gonna ride a mount?”
“Soon.”
“When is soon? We have been cooped up in here for days now.”
“Lo’ak!” Neteyam smacks the back of his head, “Apologize.”
Before Lo’ak can open his mouth again, you laugh a little. You suppose they must be feeling like caged animals, not seeing the true sky for many nights as the pelts they received on the first night were not well fitted for taiga exploration.
And you were just thinking about wanting to be anywhere but here. Itching to go outside and to have the fresh frozen air sting your lungs.
“Come, we can attempt to ride with your new furs.”
Lo’ak is smiling, but then he realizes you did not promise a ride. “Attempt?”
“Yes. Herwanpalu do not allow just anyone to ride.”
“So they are like ikran, one rider for one mount.”
Posma speaks then, “Not particularly! Some herwanpalu are more friendly, and they allow multiple riders. Others are possessive, even going to great lengths to prevent their riders from mounting another.”
Her light, happy tone helps settle the Sully children a little bit. If she mentioned it, that must mean that there are plenty of herwanpalu willing to allow them to ride.
As your small group emerges out of the gate and into the taiga in front of you, you begin grunting. The sound comes from the back of your throat, with your lips closed. Posma and Tempat follow you, making their own sounds.
“Each herwanpalu comes at a specific call.” You turn to face the Sullys as you explain, “We teach them their calls as cubs, when they are most impressionable. Some will answer when any use their call, others may refuse as Posma said.”
Your mount approaches. He circles you while purring, before turning to sniff at the air where the Sullys stand. Now that he has come, you begin a new call, urging another friendlier mount to come.
“This is Wi’tsin.” You pet his head lovingly as Tuk approaches, “He and I have been together many years. He is one of the more possessive mounts that Posma had mentioned.”
While he may have been possessive, Wi’tsin would not hurt anyone you showed favor to. He allows the Sullys to pet him, to feel the difference of his furs.
Tuk hasn’t taken her hands off him, she seems to be enamoured with the softness of him, “Can I ride him?”
“You may join me if your siblings allow it.”
She whips around facing Neteyam with a dragged out pleaseeee. You can see the fondness in his eyes even though his expression remains contemplative. But then he nods, “I suppose she is more experienced and it would be a better ride.”
He was right, it would be a better ride with you. No tumbling, or fighting for control. She would have a good time. So after you get everyone else settled, get them saddled up and positioned correctly on the mounts you tug Tuk up onto Wi’tsin.
“We will head to the lake, then return.” You motion your mount to move through the bond, “It is a simple ride, the perfect opportunity to learn the mounts.”
While the herwanpalu were not difficult mounts to ride, it was still new to the Sullys. They would need to learn the breathing patterns of the beasts. Need to learn how their paws felt pressing into the snow. How their ears were attuned to even the smallest critters, and their tails swished to allow them quick turns.
The first bit of the trek, you direct them to walk. To zig and zag through the trees, to feel the curve of the herwanpalu’s spine. To understand how swiftly they can move.
It goes about as well as you would assume. Lo’ak falls off on his first turn, telling the herwanpalu to move faster than you had told him to. He was unused to how to move his body in turn with the mounts, so when she dove to avoid a tree he flew off her back.
You show them that the mounts may also be used for climbing, demonstrating with Tuk and yourself upon a tree. It is then that Kiri falls off. On her recount she ‘misjudged how rough her mount would slam onto the tree’ and then the story shortly changed to being shocked at the feeling of the bark underneath the mount's claws course through her fingers.
By the time you make it to the lake the only one to not make a fool of themselves and take a tumble in the fresh snowfall is Neteyam. He took every motion with stride, moved with the mount as if they were one. He curved his spine on the sharp turns, and pressed himself into the furs and saddle while climbing up the trees.
“This is the grand lake. It thaws in the warmer months, allowing for free fishing and swimming.” As you monologue, you begin to walk out towards the center of the lake, “Most of it freezes during the winter, but we carve into the ice to allow for fishing. Would you like to try?”
“We know how to fish, zusawkrr olo’eyk
te.” Lo’ak laughs as if it is childish to assume they don’t know how to fish.
That they don’t know how to carve the ice. That they don’t know they must tie some twine to the end of their arrows. That they don’t know how important it is to angle properly, and strike as soon as they see their target.
So instead of helping them, you decide to let them figure it out themselves. Striding back over to Wi’tsin, you dig into a woven bag attached to his saddle. You place the serrated crystal knife into Lo’ak’s hand and gesture towards the ice at his feet, “Show me.”
It does not go well.
Lo’ak doesn’t carve deep enough the first time, so Tempat takes the knife and shows him how to properly carve into the ice.
You have to admit that he does take a good shot. His arrow is aimed well, sinking directly into his kill. But without any twine, there is no way to drag it back to the surface.
Lo’ak has been teasing you since the Sullys arrived. Trying to poke the right buttons. Attempting to break your composure. You assume comedy is his comfort, so it does not offend you.
But it does little to soften you to the Sullys. Still not believing they could be useful, that they could fully acclimate to your people.
Their ability to ride the herwanpalu does little to change your mind. If they wanted to survive here, they would have to learn this mount at the minimum.
Nonetheless you are pleased with their progress towards becoming competent.
Pleased that you are one step closer to not having to see them unless you desired.
It’s late, the cookfire nearly being diminished to embers.
A few weeks have passed since you taught him and his siblings how to ride their first Herwìslär mount. The rest of their lessons have been going smoothly since.
You had just allowed Neteyam and Lo’ak to join on their first group hunt. Tonight's dinner being partially the fruits of their labor. So when Neteyam approaches you, you decide to grant him a small smile.
He tries to smile back, it looks more like a grimace however, with how his eyebrows are pinched and his eyes are lost in thought. “You know I was a warrior with the Omatikaya.”
You nod, well aware of his past.
“I wish to become a warrior here too.”
It was not an outlandish thing to ask. He wanted responsibility, to prove himself in the clan. But it was risky; the Herwìslär final rite of passage being taming their own flying mount. You assume it also has something to do with how his mother and fathers txawuks have recently matured.
You must tame it while it is a juvenile, making the bond when it is still young. They are ridable from the time of taming, but it still takes a few months for them to reach full size.
It is of utmost importance to avoid the mother. Many Na’vi have passed from the trial; dying from the fall, succumbing to their injuries, or never returning after interacting with the mother.
“You are not ready. The txawuk are not forgiving.”
He shuffles into a seat next to you, “Ikran try to kill us as well. It is how we know we picked the proper mount, as they must also pick us.”
You run your tongue across your bottom teeth. Shaking your head lightly as you weigh your choices, as you debate Neteyam’s odds.
He speaks again when you don’t respond, “I am strong. You have seen me hunt, I am reliable. I can do this.”
“I cannot save you if something goes wrong.” You side eye him, “If you slip, if you are bitten, if you do not seal the bond, I cannot interfere.”
“I will not fail. My fingers will not lose their grip, and my reflexes will not slow.”
You click your tongue in annoyance. Neteyam was not giving this up, you would grant him his request if he completed a final test.
“You will hunt a her’ang tomorrow, without assistance.” You turn to face him, greyed out green eyes staring into his amber ones, “If you complete the test I will grant your request to complete your final rite and be welcomed into the arms of the people as one of us.”
Neteyam smiles then, it’s more boyish than you’ve seen him smile. A warmth blooms in your chest as you admire him, finally beginning to see him as one of the people. To allow yourself to view all possibilities of him.
“I will not fail.” Neteyam reiterates. Overjoyed that he’s so close to getting his wish granted.
You send him off to sleep then, informing him that it would be a long and tiring hunt and he needed his energy. You follow shortly after retiring to your own kelku.
In the morning you inform your father that you will be gone on a hunt. He reminds you that the winds shifted yesterday, that the skies in the distance looked to be gray with snowfall.
But you brush him off. You’ve hunted in storms before, been stuck out in the wilderness in even the harshest of winds and temperatures. And if Neteyam wanted to become a warrior in the eyes of your people, he would have to prove himself in all conditions.
So the two of you head out, dressed in the warmest furs, quivers full where they are attached to your herwanpalu’s, spare paint hanging from your tewng in case yours came off in the snowfall. The snow is light at the start of your hunt, coming down fast but not enough to obscure your vision.
You are only there to observe, to step in if everything goes terribly wrong. Neteyam leads, tracking the her’ang up a mountain. The tracking gets difficult then, old prints getting frosted over in new snowfall.
Maybe you underestimated the snow. It was falling heavier than you thought it would, and Neteyam was too stubborn to make camp earlier in the night when there was still light to aid you.
So you call out to him, hoping it reaches his ears despite the howling winds, “Neteyam!”
He turns to face you, his hood resting heavy over his forehead. He waits for you to reach him, “What is it?”
“We must find shelter.”
“But we are so close!”
Neteyam was always the responsible one of his siblings. Always the one to pull back before things could escalate so it made no sense why he would be so set on staying out in these harsh conditions.
“I know you cannot feel your toes! And that your fingers feel as if they will fall off even when tucked into your furs!” You’re peering at him through snow-crusted lashes, “There is a cave, in that part of the mountainside! I have rested there before, come!”
You don’t allow him to protest, directing Wi’tsin towards the cave. The two of you needed to get out of the snow as soon as possible. Needed to start a fire, and regain circulation in your phalanges before you lost them.
When you get to the deepest part of the cave Neteyam speaks up again. “I am sorry. I shouldn’t have forced us to go deeper.”
“Do not apologize.” You begin sparking stones together to start a fire, “Eagerness is nothing to be ashamed of.”
The two of you do not speak much. Neteyam thinking about how difficult it would be to find the her’ang in the morning, how if it continued moving in the storm he would never see it again. You debating how long it would be before you could return home.
As the night goes on the snow does not relent. It filters into the cave, resting softly in the mouth waiting to dissolve in the morning.
The chill in the air sends shivers up your spine. Even though you have experienced many overnight hunts, on most of them you had properly insulated shelters. If you did not, you at least did not have the snow blowing at you.
The furs and the fire do nothing to quell the nip in the air. Nothing to soothe the ache in your chest from inhaling the frozen air. You shift, unfurling from the ball you curled yourself into before peering at where Wi’tsin is.
Maybe you could curl up with him, allowing his furs to warm you along with your own. But you cannot bring yourself to call to him, he is huddled closely with Neteyam’s herwanpalu. The two of them sharing body heat to fight off the cold.
You suppose it was a good idea. That it could be a useful tool, especially if Eywa's creation was also partaking. So you call softly to Neteyam.
If he was asleep you did not wish to wake him, but you knew his sharp ears would pick up on your voice if he was still awake.
It takes a few moments, but he slowly shifts to face you. “What is it? Are you alright?”
“Are you cold?”
He laughs at the stupidity of your question, the breaths he heave fog up in front of you, “Yes. I am cold.”
“Would you like to…” Oh Eywa this was embarrassing. “Would you like to share body heat?”
“What?” Neteyam's disbelieved tone comes softly across the fire, the crackling nearly covering it completely.
“We can rest on your fur, or mine, and rest the other above us so that we can trap all the heat together.”
He nods, “All right.”
You shuffle over quickly. Ushering him to take off his fur as you toss yours on the stone ground of the cave. As he shrugs it off his shoulders you smooth out your fur and plant yourself on the left side.
As Neteyam settles on the right side he tosses his pelt over you, tugging it over himself until it rests comfortably over both of you.
He notices your distance. It's clear that despite being the one to suggest being close, you're trying to stay away from him.
Believing it to be because of him, he reassures you, “You can come closer. I do not mind.”
“No, it is fine. Just give it a few minutes. The heat will accumulate soon.”
Then your eyes are closing. Dismissing him as the slightest bit of heat settles around you.
It takes Neteyam a bit longer to fall asleep. He's been infatuated since the moment he first saw you after landing his ikran in the snowy plain.
The misty blue tone your skin had, and the slate blue stripes that seemed to wrap around your body in more wispy patterns than he had ever seen on someone from the Omatikaya.
The pattern your bioluminescent freckles made upon your face, some of them even gleaming brightly underneath the black paint you had plastered across your eyes.
The tattoo you had on your chin. One line leading seemingly from your mouth, down the middle of your lip and chin to where it ended somewhere between your jawline and neck. Two dotted lines frame the one solid line, following its path down your chin.
And now he's getting to see it all up close. To stare at you unabashed. So Eywa forgive him if he resists sleep for a while to admire.
Eventually his eyelids drift close from exhaustion. But the chill in the air does not stop just because the two of you are under the same fur.
Unconsciously, the two of you drift closer together; moving towards the warmth the other is emanating. You turn from facing him, your back now pressing into his front.
You wake slowly. Eyes blinking languidly as they try to scrunch to remove the crust that has settled on your inner eyes.
You don't recognize the warmth at your back at first. Assuming it is just from your heat getting trapped between the pelts. Then there's a soft exhale on your cheek.
Your body stills completely, eyes widening in shock, while you try to slow your own breathing so as to not startle whatever beast is looming over you. When you slide your eyes up towards the ceiling of the cave and spot nothing, a confused look graces your features.
Upon turning slightly, you're met with Neteyam's neck. It's then that you realize he has a grip around your waist. That your legs are tangled with his. And that his chest is pressed tightly to your back.
What had happened while you were asleep? How did you end up all the way in his personal space? Or did he inch his way into yours?
You shift to leave. Slowly untangling your legs, then you try to remove his grasp on your waist. In your shifting Neteyam stirs, grip tightening until you clear your throat lightly.
“Oh. I am sorry.” An indigo tint rises to his cheeks in embarrassment.
“It is fine. We must have shifted towards each other's warmth.” You want to sit, want to sling your fur back on and shrink back into yourself. But Neteyam is still lying down, still waking from his rest.
“You did not mind?” A slight upturn graces his lips.
A blush graces your cheeks now, “It was out of necessity.”
“Would you have minded if it had not been out of necessity?”
You huff. Sitting up despite the cold, allowing your skin to prickle at the temperature. “Focus on becoming one of the people, then you may ask me such questions.”
Neteyam moves as you do, quickly donning his fur and moving off of yours so that you may dress as well.
He hunts well that day. Tracks fast. Moving as one with the cold.
The bite in his lungs urging him to move swiftly, but not brashly.
When the two of you come close to the her'ang, you still. Using your mounts to become one with the trees.
Neteyam takes atypical aim, piercing through the beast's skull instead of its heart. But you whoop and yip all the same once the kill is made. Proud that he has accomplished such a task on his own.
Proud that he will soon claim his txawuk.
Proud that he will be one of your people soon.
When you finally return to the village the rest of the clan's people react the same. You usher Neteyam to them as you haul his kill to be skinned and broken down into all its pieces.
Your favorite member of the family is Tuk. Children are the most impressionable, and she takes well to your customs.
She adores your carvings made of bone. Nestles into the furs you’ve gifted her. Asks to go on rides on Wi’tsin whenever you have free time. And if you cannot take her, she runs to one of the many friends she's made in your clan.
But you make a special exception for Neteyam in your heart after waking up with him in the cave. The past months spent with him have a new look to them, a brighter hue as you see all his redeeming qualities.
It was an old tradition to have one of your most honored furs be that of the first her'ang you killed by your lonesome. You had not passed the knowledge to Neteyam, deciding it would make for a good surprise. One last gift before he joined your people as a warrior.
So you personally skin the beast. Tie it to the drying posts. Paste salts upon it. Then you wait.
Four days pass before the furs are ready.
Your patience almost wore thin, almost believing that they would not be ready before he took on his final rite. But thank Eywa, they were ready.
Your stride is soft as you approach the Sully tent, not wanting to wake anyone still sleeping inside. You can hear murmurs whispering from inside, but pay them no mind. Most of the village has not risen yet and it would be rude to speak in loud tones.
A familiar name passes through the conversation though. Your name is sounded out by Lo’ak’s voice – it is then that you decide to listen instead of making your presence known.
“I’m just sayin bro. You’ve got her sweet on you after your hunt.”
Neteyam laughs a bit boyishly, “It is not like that.”
“Yeah but even Tuk couldn’t get her to let up on us. Always nagging about the clan ways, and how we wouldn’t fit.”
Oh Eywa forbid you were skeptical that Na’vi that came from a tropical climate would have a hard time adjusting.
“She likes Tuk. They do many things together.”
“Sure, but she still hounded us. You, me and Kiri had to learn so much. And she didn’t even give us compassion for the simple fact that we were here because of uturu!”
A sigh resonates in the space. You can hear some shuffling before Neteyams voice sounds again.
“She just worries for the future, Lo’ak. A heavy title rests on her shoulders.”
“Yeah but she didn’t have to be such an ass about it.”
You were brash, sure. Drilled your customs into their skulls. Made them practice the same tasks a hundred times.
But they were things you had done thousands of times, things any person their age was well familiar with. And if they wanted to be sure members in your clan, then they needed to be able to complete the tasks without needing assistance.
“Listen, I’m just saying thanks for working her so that we could catch a break, I knew you’d come around.”
Working you? This whole time Neteyam was just feeding into you, trying to receive your affections so his siblings would not have to hear from you?
You supposed you were tough on them. But you did not threaten to skin them, did not shy away from their jokes or their teasing. If they wanted to take things slower, or differentiate the skills they practiced, why not just say something?
Despite yourself, when a sinking feeling invades your chest, you realize that you did come to like them. That you enjoyed their company, and could even see yourself spending time with them after they had been properly integrated into the clan.
Clearly your sentiments were not returned.
Lo’ak and Kiri were far enough in their rites that you did not have to deal with them anymore. Tuk could join the other young children at this point. And Neteyam would be finishing his final rite shortly, freeing you of his presence.
You did not need to make a scene. Did not need to confront them for their hurtful words, you were never meant to hear them anyway.
You were meant to play into the role. Get strung along by Neteyam for Eywa knows how long. And to be cast aside when he chose someone else.
Turning on your heel you head back towards the village center. Tempat and Posma are there, waiting eagerly for Neteyam’s send off.
“I am feeling unwell, perhaps some bad fruit at the cookfire last night.” Hastily, you thrust the furs from Neteyam’s kill into Posma’s arms, “Can one of you guide him today?”
Posma replies, a concerned glint in her eyes at your unusual behavior, “Of course! Go rest, you will not want to miss the celebration later.”
Hours later after Neteyam has left on his journey Posma pokes her head into your kelku. She spots you curled up on your bed of furs and pelts, submerged to the point that she only notices from the uneven lump.
“I had Tempat lead Neteyam.”
You only glance at her from your heap. Eyes blinking slowly as acknowledgement.
She sheds the furs that adorn her shoulders, then lifts the ones that rest on top of you. Climbing in and cradling your head to her chest she speaks again, “What has happened?”
“It does not matter.”
The rumble of laughter in her chest is comforting. If you closed your eyes and focused enough maybe it could lull you back to sleep.
“I think it does.” Her hand begins stroking through your braids, slightly scratching on their way down then smoothing again on the next pass. “You were very proud, very excited, to give Neteyam his furs.”
“He received them did he not?”
“He did. But he does not know the love and attention that was put into them.”
You lift your head, eyes meeting Posmas, “You did not sell me out?”
“Of course not! You are my tsmuke, blood or not, and he is just a boy.”
Your eyes begin to tear at that. If he would treat you so cruelly in private, while being so kind to your face, then he is just a boy. At some point, your few tears turn into sobs. The crashing weight of everything finally collapsing onto you.
Your endless duties meant that you did not have time to form bonds outside of your few friends. That you did not have time to seek a mate, to ask for Eywa’s blessing. And it had seemed as if one was handed to you on a silver platter.
Neteyam was well fit to be Olo’eyktan, he had spent his entire life training for it with the Omatikaya. And you had learned both the Olo’eyktan and Tsahik responsibilities – well prepared to lead on your own, or with someone standing by your side.
He had listened. Had encouraged you to speak about your childhood eagerly, wanting to hear how the lesson for the day tied into Herwìslär culture.
He made it a point to come and find you even after you had dismissed his siblings. You had thought it had been to spend time with you, under the guise of studying.
Thought that his interest in your clans weaving techniques could have possibly meant him looking into your clans courting techniques.
Eywa. You even thought that some part of him deciding to complete the most dangerous rite was so that he could pick a mate in your people. That he could ask your father to court you and eventually take you as his mate.
Now you know that it all was so Lo’ak and Kiri could frolic around the village without you to guide them.
Without you breathing down their necks, trying to ensure that they were completely set before you sent them off on their own.
But as you had thought earlier, the Sully kids did not need you anymore. You’re sure of it when your mother returns home and informs you of Neteyam returning with a txawuk.
Good for him. Great for you. You could finally return to the way your life had been, to only completing your trainings and duties and spending your free time however you pleased.
You do not attend the gathering that night to celebrate Neteyam’s accomplishment. Still feigning illness.
You ignore the disappointment at not celebrating his achievement with him. However, it does not matter, the wound is still fresh.
It remains fresh for weeks. You go from just avoiding Neteyam to no longer speaking to Kiri, even leaving your sessions with your mother when she decides to join. You avoid Lo’ak at all costs, his shouts of zusawkrr olo’eykte! go unanswered. When Tuk asks you to take her out for rides, you instead redirect her towards her siblings, and if they are busy you remind her that Posma or Tempat would take her if she truly desired to go.
Your new pattern is not difficult. In fact, you quite like it. Like the fact that you have time to focus on yourself again. That you can refocus on learning how to best lead your people.
Neteyam had expected you to guide him when he completed his last rite. That even if you said you could not interfere, that you could not catch him when he fell, that you would at least be there with him. Your presence enough to give him some calmness in his death-defying moment.
But you are not there when he arrives. Posma is there, Tempat too. They greet him excitedly, bestowing him a gift in the form of the furs of his first solo her’ang kill.
It's only when Tempat ushers him forward that he questions where you are. Why they were leaving without his kayru.
A sad smile graces their features when they tell him you are sick. That you went home to recover before the celebration that would be held in his honor tonight.
It gave him some peace. Knowing that you weren’t missing the event because you wanted to, but because of an illness. The peace fades as worry ebbs in, what had gotten you sick? It must have been bad if you couldn't at least see him off.
No matter, he could ask you all about it when he returned. Inquire about your illness, then talk your ear off about how the rite went. Afterwards he'd beg you to compare it to yours.
Always eager to learn about you. To learn about your people. To meld to your ways.
He wondered what age you were when you completed the rite. Who went with you? How many younglings were there to choose from? What drew you to the one you picked?
So many questions that he never got answers to. You never showed at the celebration. Lo'ak thought you just must have been missing each other; perfectly coasting around the gathering at exact opposite points. Neteyam knew better though.
He saw Posma come by, share her joy for him, then stop and grab two food wraps before venturing off again. Neteyam would try to deny it, to refuse that she was bringing the second wrap for you, but he knew better.
Had you been consumed with your duties today? That wouldn't make sense, he was one of your duties so you should have been with him. But it would be fine, he would see you tomorrow and all would be well.
But then tomorrow comes and you do not greet the Sully children in the morning. Do not find them at their kelku, do not surprise them from behind as they meander towards the village center. There is nothing that even hints at your presence.
Neteyam’s able to find Tempat. Calling out to him and rushing to his side. “Is she still sick?”
Tempat smiles brightly at him, “Oh, no. You have completed your last rite, and your siblings are far enough that they can join the others their age!”
“So that is it?”
Tempat nods, speaking something about them being able to do whatever they pleased when their duties were completed.
But Neteyam wanted to see you. That was what would please him. Yet he cannot seem to grasp a moment of your time.
It has now been a full moon cycle since Neteyam has spoken to you.
Something gnaws at his chest uncomfortably. He went from spending every moment with you, to now being lucky if he can catch a glimpse of your furs through the crowd.
Every hunt he attends, you miss. Every call of your name is ignored. Every trip Posma and Tempat take him and his siblings on, you do not attend.
He tries to sit near you at the cookfires, engage in your circle of friends. Anytime he gets close you politely excuse yourself, planting yourself firmly between your parents. He considers approaching, it may work in his favor.
Your father had ordered you to speak to him and his siblings before, maybe it would be the same now. But he thinks back on how angry it had made you, how at first you only spent time with them because you were bound by duty to. He wanted you to talk with him because you wanted to; not because you were forced.
So he keeps trying his luck in other forms.
He joins the women as they dry pelts and furs – ignores how when you see him you retreat.
He spends much time carving. Honing in on his ability to carve into bone, to make intricate patterns in it.
He hunts and goes for flights, spending as much time as he's allowed away from the village. Trying to will his tropical skin to fade, for it to become well resistant to the cold of your home.
After two moon cycles of not speaking with you he confronts Posma.
“I just do not understand what happened. Did she really only tolerate our presence?”
Posma purses her lips, “It is not like that.”
“Then what is it like? Please enlighten me.” Neteyam exasperates, he is tired of this.
“She is busy with her duties.”
“Do not patronize me. I see her spend time with the hunters, weavers, and carvers.” Neteyam huffs, biting his lip before continuing, “If we, if I, have done something I would like to apologize.”
“It is not my place to share if there is something to apologize for.” Posma crosses her arms, “Whatever answers you're looking for, I do not have.”
Neteyam nods, gnawing at his lip again. Posma moves to leave, assuming the conversation is over, but then he calls out to her again.
“Can you take us to the Hollow of S? Kiri would like to connect with Eywa.”
“You do not know the way?”
Neteyam allows a sheepish smile to grace his face, “We have only been once, and I do not wish to get lost.”
So Posma nods, tells him to meet her at the gates after their duties are done. Neteyam rushes to where Kiri is weaving, pleading with her to keep up his lie.
She had not asked to visit the Hollow. Had not complained and nagged her brother as he had made it seem, but she would not mind going. Naturally though, as a younger sibling, she needed to press.
“Why do you need to go?”
Netryam rolled his eyes, “It does not matter. Just do not expose me, alright?”
“It is for your little crush, isn't it?” Kiri laughs when Neteyam’s eyes widen a fraction, “What? Did you overhear that she would be there?”
“No. No, I did not. I just…” He huffs, unwilling to share something so deep when he is so unsure. But Kiri was not Lo'ak, she would not rat out his secret, “I just want to see if Eywa wills it.”
At that Kiri stills, a grin overtaking her face. It has been a long time coming that her brother admitted his infatuation, so supposed she could keep up the lie for him.
It was clear along the Sullys that Neteyam had been taken with you since they had arrived. They noticed his staring, seeking you out in gatherings or meetings.
Tried to not tease him as he practiced traditional clan necessities of carving and weaving in his spare time.
His father was pleased. Not only was he adapting, but he was truly making it his home. Finding his home, in a place where they were safe.
His mother did not approve at first. It was not against you, it had absolutely nothing to do with you. She had hoped that they would return to her people, the Omatikaya, when the time was right. If Neteyam settled and built a life here, it would mean that she lost her firstborn.
She eventually came to terms with it. Her son would have to find a mate someday, why not be happy that it is someone so skilled? Someone held in high prestige and who reminded her much of herself when Jake had originally come to her people.
Kiri and Tuk were excited. Another sister was someone else to make adorable chest coverings for, someone else to share secrets with, someone else who could braid your hair in intricate patterns with pretty beads. Even if they ended up being able to go back to the Omatikaya, it only meant they had a secondary home here, with new friends, mounts and lifestyles.
Lo'ak liked you. Despite your temperament towards him and his family, you had been kind. You had stuck up for him when one of the warriors a little older than him called him a ‘half-breed’. A firm slap of your palm against the boys cheek paired with a hiss to ‘not disrespect your Olo'eyktan or Toruk Makto again’.
From then on everyone knew it wasn't to be mentioned that they were related to even the idea of the sky people. It meant a lot to Lo'ak; his five fingers being something that even some Omatikaya people judged him for.
He didn't mind that Neteyam had a thing for you. Hell, if anything he was shocked his brother liked someone so cold and cut off. But he slowly came to realize that his brother saw himself in you. That he found someone he could relate to, someone he could speak to of his pressures and they would know exactly how he felt.
One night after a particularly rough lesson, one that Lo'ak did not do well on, their dad asks you how they are progressing. You tell him that maybe Lo'ak could use a little bit more practice at the skill, maybe put some more focus into it, but other than that everyone did well.
That night Jake had called a family meeting. He laid into Lo'ak, as he frequently does, telling him he needed to do better. To focus more, and to wise up, before he ruined the uturu they had sought.
Lo'ak had stormed off, chest aching at his father's disappointment. But then the feeling turned angry, angry that his father never understood the stress he was under. Angry that no one stood up for him.
Eventually it snowballs into anger at you. If you had never said anything, then this whole night would have never happened. So when Neteyam comes to comfort him Lo'ak asks him to warm you up a bit.
To get you to understand their struggle, specifically his, a bit more. Neteyam says no, that you do understand the struggles, and that it was just a stressful day for everyone.
So Lo'ak pushes a bit more. States that Neteyam is a ‘chicken’ as his dad would say, a coward for Na'vi. That he's refusing to warm you up because he's afraid you won't accept his advances.
Lo'ak doesn't think anything bad could come if it. Neteyam would get what he wanted, the rest of the family would be content with his choice.
Another advantage would be that hopefully some of Neteyam’s worrying would pass onto you, and allow him to get into some actual trouble with this new clan. To allow him to deepen the friendships he's made.
He pushes his older brother's buttons to the point of aggravation. Telling him it's okay big bro, we both know you couldn't get her anyway. And Neteyam's need to prove himself surfaces. He had already been trying to attract your view, what was the harm in helping out his baby bro?
And it had gone well for a while. He was slowly inching his way closer to you; aiding you in your duties after his lessons, sitting with you at the cookfires, helping you haul the kills in, sometimes even just bringing you a steaming beverage as you went over your Tsahik training.
He truly believed that he was carving his way into your heart. Then right before his final rite, you dumped him and his siblings as if they were hot coals. Refusing to look at them, to speak to them, Eywa you barely acknowledged that they existed.
So when Neteyam finally approaches the Hollow of Spirits he makes quickly towards the glowing ice stalactites. They’re cold, slippery to the touch, but from the moment Neteyam puts his fingers on one he can feel Eywa pulsing through them.
His opposite hand flies back, reaching for his kuru. He expects a jolt when he connects, for the iciness to freeze over his blood, but instead all he feels is warmth.
The Great Mother knows what he is here for and she confirms his beliefs. That you are the one for him. That you would come to your mantles well when the time came.
A grin forces its way onto his face, an insurmountable amount of joy overcoming him. It was settled. He would craft the courting gift he had been thinking of for weeks now.
It is one infused with both of your peoples. And when you see it, you will agree to courting him. Eywa has willed it after all.
A few more days pass – Neteyam wanted the gift to be perfect. He briefly worries that him not approaching you may make you drift towards another. But his remembrance of Eywa's plans calms him.
It is a beautiful necklace.
When you wear it, it will sit right between your collarbones. He has used Omatikayan weaving patterns, but weaved Herwìslär beads on both sides. In the center rests a bead that he once wore in his hair, one that he searched hours for, wanting something the same shade as the outer edges of a tsawksyul. Finally, resting just below the bead he has weaved in a carving of bone, one shaped to be a tsawksyul; his favorite flower in the entire forest, one he hoped to show you one day.
He tracks you down, pleased to see you’re sitting with Posma fiddling with your bowstring. He knows that Posma saw something in his demeanor change at the Hollow of Spirits, that she may even aid him in getting you to not be stubborn and to listen to him.
“We must speak.”
You glance up at him, before sliding your eyes to your friend. He must be speaking to her as he hasn’t had the chance to talk to you in weeks. When you stay silent he calls out your name, followed by a soft please.
“Will it be brief? I have much to do.”
Neteyam’s lips purse in a tight smile, “I hope it does not.”
“Then speak, so it may move quickly.”
“I have thought of you for many moons – well, to be honest, since my family has arrived for uturu.” Eywa, Neteyam hopes you look at him at least once while he spills his guts, “You are like no one I have ever met. So similar to myself that I did not know how to handle it at first. I see you.”
You raise your head glancing at him with scrutiny swimming in your eyes. He does not mind the way you look at him, simply joyed at being able to look into your eyes finally, to restudy your features. So he continues, more sure now, “I’ve been taken by you; every thought is consumed by you. Every moment I have spent away from you was spent searching for you.”
Neteyam ruffles through the satchel that rests under his furs, producing an intricately woven necklace, “I wish to court you. To eventually make you ma muntxate.” He presents the gift to you. His hands tremble a bit as he awaits your answer, even if Eywa has willed it he still has nerves.
You huff, turning your face away, leaning back into the bowstring you were previously toying with. “No.”
Neteyam is shocked. He had known you were not on the best of terms, even if he did not know why. But he was sure that the previous moments would be enough for you to at least be willing to try with him.
He can see Posma is shocked too. Though he is not sure if it is from his admission, or yours.
“No?”
“I do not want it. If you wish to find a muntxate, I am sure that Selra is interested.”
“Selra? The singer?”
“Yes.” You nod along, “She tries to be discreet, but anyone can spot the way she looks at you over the cookfire.”
“I do not want Selra. We have not even had a conversation.” Neteyam refuses to bring his hands back, to allow your rejection of his courting, “I only desire you.”
“Ei’wen is also a good choice.”
“I do not want–”
“She is a hunter. Assuming that is one of the similarities you see between yourself and I.”
Posma's eyes have not stopped darting between the two of you. She obviously should not be here for this conversation, all it does is make her curious over what she has missed, at what lead to this point in your relationship.
“I do not want them. I want you.” He once again jostles the jewelry in his palm, “I have come here to ask you, only after consulting with Eywa. The Great Mother has told me we are destined, you must believe me.”
You scoff, “I do not have to believe any words that spill from your tongue. You have spoken lies before to achieve what you want, there is nothing stopping you from doing so again.”
Neteyam has no idea what you are talking about. He has never lied to you before, never done anything deceitful to you. But before he can confess this you are up, snatching your bow from where you had rested it, and beginning to storm away from him.
When he moves to follow, to chase you down and prove his point, Posma presses a hand into his chest, halting his movement. He does not allow this to deter him, instead shouting after you, “Ask Eywa yourself! At the Hollow of Spirits, as I had! She will tell you the same thing she has told me!”
Your pace quickened after the words spilled past his lips. He never gets a response but he knows you heard him. Knows that it will fester and nag at your brain until you go to check yourself, so he turns to Posma.
“May I ask a favor?”
The hand on his chest retracts until just a single finger rests above his heart, “You are on thin ice. You do not get to ask for a favor.”
“I just wish to know if she listens. If she travels to the Hollow.”
Posma does not grant him an answer. She simply pushes into his chest with her finger and heads in the direction you went. Neteyam is uncertain that she will tell him, uncertain that you would even head remotely in the direction of the Hollows anytime soon. But he still had faith that Eywa was correct, that she had not led him astray.
Another week passes languidly. He goes through the motions; hunting, foraging, spending time with his siblings and newfound friends. The only change from the past two months is that you now let your eyes linger on him.
It is not fond, an intense glare that almost leaves him shrinking in on himself. He is not afraid of you; has never been and will never be. So he takes it in stride, smiling when he meets your gaze, allowing his tail to swish a little with curiosity.
He hopes one of these days that instead of staring, you would approach. Even if you do not, he will take any improvement in your acknowledgement of him. Would be pleased if you were to lash out at him, if it meant he got to hear your voice.
A sort of limbo passes over him. He hopes you would not reject him. That you would accept his advances. If you did not it would be okay, he is unsure of how long it would take him to recover from such a loss, but he would figure it out. He just hopes that you drag out the time before telling him, that you allow him to live in the fantasy where you accept for a little while longer.
Neteyam is on his way to take Tuk for a ride on his herwanpalu when Posma stops him. “I did not tell you anything, do you understand?”
Oh.
He nods, yes he understands. He’s been waiting for this moment. Tuk is ordered to find something else to do, to go find her friends or her other older siblings. After she is moving with purpose back towards the village he runs to call his herwanpalu.
He mimics the grunts and calls you taught him. It would be smart to adorn her in a saddle, to have some supplies if something went wrong, but Neteyam is moving to make it as quickly as possible. His fingers grip tight onto the fur in front of him, before commanding his mount to speed in your direction. He did not need to see the realization on your face. Did not need to be there as you disconnected your kuru from the stalactite. He simply needed to arrive before you left.
He walks into the Hollow, breathless as if he had personally ran the entire way here. From the silence he half expects you to be gone. The hopeful half of him assumes that you are still connected, still speaking to Eywa and searching out answers.
So he crawls softly and thoughtfully through the cave, he doesn’t want to startle you out of your conversation if you are not yet done. He does not spot you and his face falls, assuming you left.
He moves to the mouth of the cave, disappointed that he missed what he considered to be the best opportunity to change your mind. Before he can step towards the more surface levels of the hollow a voice calls after him.
“Why did you lie?”
Ah. So you were here.
He whips around, amber eyes scanning his surroundings. They hone in on your figure, lower legs dipping into the freezing water that some stalactites rest above.
“I would never lie to you. Can you be more specific?”
Neteyam is moving closer now, unintentionally blocking you in. You see it as intentional, that he wants to force a conversation that does not need to be had. He sees it as his body refusing to be away from you anymore, especially in such a sacred place.
“I overheard you before your final rite. Lo’ak said that you had been ‘working’ me so that I would take it easier on you and your siblings during your lessons.”
He laughs a breath through his nose, “It was not like that.”
You hiss in return. If he thinks you to be stupid, then you would leave. Before you can stand Neteyam grabs your hand, planting it underneath his against the floor.
“Lo’ak is a skxawng, but he does know how to get under my skin.” His free hand lifts to direct your face towards his, “He said that I could not get you to become infatuated with me as I had with you, said that I was a fnawe’tu.”
Your eyes trace his furs, recognizing it as the same ones you crafted specially for him, “You are not a fnawe’tu.”
“I am not. And Lo’ak knew I would be eager to prove him wrong, he simply wanted to get under my skin one last time before I came into my own in this clan.”
You begin to think it over. Lo’ak had always been teasing, always the one to try and use comedy even in situations they did not belong in. He was not cruel, simply wanting to find his place.
“What were you doing outside our kelku?”
“I came to deliver the furs from your first solo kill, as a final good luck.”
He smiles widely at you, “These are from you?”
You nod in agreement, not able to trust your voice.
The two of you sit in silence for a few minutes after that. Neteyam does not want to overwhelm you, and you have too much going on in your head to formulate a proper thought.
At some point you speak again, softly as to not disturb the peace the two of you have entered. “Do you still have the necklace?”
“Of course.” Neteyam begins digging into his furs, when he procures the necklace you stare at it longingly.
“I lied.” When his brow furrows in confusion you continue. “When I said I did not want it? I had lied, it is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen a Na’vi create.”
“Then may I put it on the most beautiful Na’vi I have ever seen?”
Neteyam moves quickly when you agree. His fingers move deftly as he ties the necklace into place. Then he allows them to ghost down the weave, tracing over the beads before stopping to rest upon the centerpiece.
He nods in approval, eyes meeting yours when he glances up. A new emotion swims in them, one of hunger, of desire; something he has not seen you allow yourself to indulge in before.
Oh Eywa, he had been waiting for this. If you wanted him, he would allow you to devour him whole. Send his spirit back to the ancestors and he would thank you.
Instead he forces himself to hold his composure, allows his fingers to ghost back up your neck. Curves his palm so it rests on the back of your neck, thumb lightly caressing your jaw. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, subconsciously pursing them as you stare at his.
So he takes the lead, lightly pressing his lips to yours. Neteyam soon finds that this is not enough, that after so many months of not being able to have you that it would take him forever to satiate the heat that began to pool in his stomach.
You lick into his mouth and he realizes you must be just as hungry as he is. He does not fight you, allows you to have dominance, to take what you want with no resistance. It’s only when you pull back for breath that he revolts, hands moving to lift you to rest in his lap.
It gives him more places to put his hands, and makes it easier for you to take whatever you want. When you pull away again Neteyam chases, he knows that you’re not pulling away for air and he does not wish to halt.
“This is…” You’re huffing, needing to catch all the breaths that Neteyam stole from you, “We are moving fast.”
“We moved slow for many months.” When your brow creases in protest, he allows his thumbs to rub soothing circles into your waist where they’ve snuck under your fur, “But if you wish, we can continue to take it slow.”
You do not wish to take it slow. But you are still apprehensive with what he said about Lo’ak. If he was lying to you, and he really was playing you in the beginning you aren’t sure if you would be able to recover emotionally.
Sensing your turmoil, Neteyam nuzzles his nose against yours, “What is it yawne?”
“I just worry that you are still playing me. That I am embarrassing myself with my actions.”
He smiles at you lovingly, “I am not. I have never been. But we can go ask Lo’ak if you would like to quell your worries.”
You do not respond, weighing your options. You could ask Lo’ak, could confront him and ask why he did not just speak to you directly. But if it was truly as Neteyam said it would only embarrass you. You’re shocked out of your stupor when pink, glowing tendrils emerge in front of your eyes.
“Or, because we both know you would not trust his words on a situation as serious as this anyway, I can prove it to you now.”
“We cannot take back tsaheylu, Neteyam. Be serious.”
He does not lower his kuru at your words, “I am being serious. What did Eywa show you?”
“That she has willed us to be together. It has been fated since we were children.”
He smiles, Eywa had shown him similar visions. “So why delay if it will happen eventually?”
Neteyam had a point. Your father may skin you, your mother would be disappointed that there were no pre-mating ceremonies completed. But if Eywa willed it to happen, and the two of you were ready, would it really be harmful?
Your hand reaches behind you to grasp your kuru, “You are sure?”
“I have never been more sure.”
So you press your kuru forward, allowing the tendrils to entangle themselves with his.
Your pupils blow wide. The emotions bombard you like something you’ve never felt before, the feeling overwhelming all of your senses.
The love, the nervousness, the way he pined for you for months. The way he admires his parents, and adores his siblings. How he misses the Omatikaya forest, but has made your forest one of his own too.
Feel his desire to take you flying on his ikran, for you to claim your own ikran. To show you his forest, share all his knowledge of it with you. How he wants to feed you the delicacies of his people, to watch you in just simple loincloths instead of heavy furs.
Then the memories flow through you, ones that are not your own. A bright lush forest, roaring rivers, snowless floating mountains. Little hands holding a newborn baby. Hands being directed to aim properly at a fish.
When you finally come back to your senses you’re huffing a bit, body working to compensate for the immense things your brain is being flooded with. When you realize Neteyam has come to himself too, you lurch forward.
It’s messy at first, your teeth clashing with his, fangs accidentally catching his lips. But then you can feel everything from his perspective. The tug of the fang, the way he briefly thinks about how he would not mind you sinking them into him on purpose.
Suddenly you’re overwhelmed all over again. You allow Neteyam to roll you onto your back, allow him to take control. He licks into your mouth again, eager to experience this while connected to you.
You know there will be repercussions when the two of you arrive home. That there will be questions. Important talks between your parents and yourselves. But as Neteyam begins to kiss down the side of your face, to your jaw, and eventually your jugular you cannot find any will to care about the repercussions.
When he lifts the carved bone from where it rests just beneath your collarbones, and presses a kiss to the spot, you believe you could face public humiliation for this and not be upset. It must pass through the bond, as shortly after Neteyam laughs against your ribs.
Whatever conspires from there is just for the two of you to know and everyone else to question.
At least it was.
Almost exactly twelve months after your night in the Hollow you welcome your first child, and everyone is more than aware of what you got up to.
Translations (had to make some of these up by mashing words together from the na’vi dictionary, so not everything is 100% correct): Her’ang - Snow beast Herwanpalu - Snow feline Herwìslär clan - Snow cave clan Uturu - refugee/sanctuary Nume nìwin - Learn quickly Kelku - home Tewng - Loincloth Zusawkrr olo’eykte - Future clan leader Txawuk - Giant flying mount Tsmuke - Sister Kayru - Teacher Ma muntxate - My mate Tsawksyul - Sun lily Skxawng - Moron/Idiot Fnawe’tu - Coward Yawne - Beloved
a/n: i adore this fic so please be nice to it.. i loosely wanted to mirror inuit culuture, so a bunch of inspiration for the way that the na'vi of the clan acted or things that they wore were based off of that. i also adore the snow, and the cold, and everything to do with winter so i naturally had to put two obsessions together. i put pictures that i based the creatures on below.
fun fact: i wrote about 3-4k of the words for this while actively shoveling snow for about 8 hours :p
Dividers by @cafekitsune and @cursed-carmine
Likes/Comments/Reblogs give me butterflies ʚїɞ
Credits to Edoardo Campagnolo and Antonio J. Manzanedo
Summary: So'lek has accepted his life as an outsider, no clan of his own to call home. For years nothing has consumed him more than the need to exact revenge on the RDA who stole everything from him. Yet somehow all of that changes when he meets you.
Warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI, trauma, mentions of death and war, angst, injuries, obsessive So'lek, lust, p in v, oral, swearing, marking, possessive thoughts, rough, jealousy, yearning, breast play, alcohol consumption, dirty talk, etc (not all inclusive)
You do not need to have played the game to read this story. I did my best to include context clues that make it clear enough.
Disclaimer: I am no So'lek expert so I made some educated guesses based on what I learned playing the game. If you see mistakes....no you don't.
The first instance is innocent. Something that So’lek can attribute to mere chance and furthermore nothing he expected to have any consequence on him. Meeting you is unexpected.
It happens after a long mission. He had drawn off firepower from the RDA so that one of the Sarentu could infiltrate and shut down one of the drill sites. Not only was the objective completed but it also seemed to have a positive effect on their relations with the Zeswa clan. They are impressed by the action, even more so drawn to a proper alliance between them and the resistance as the effects of Sky Demon technology has worsened on the their plains.
And so for the first time So’lek gets to witness the Zeswa home. Only there to discuss further relations with the Tsahik and Olo’eyktan, he tries to keep his curiosity to a minimum. However, it is difficult to not be swept away by the beauty of the upper plains. Even more so with the open comradery and community that is exhibited among the clan. The Zeswa are known for being a loud people, proud and brave while also fundamentally aware of possessing such skills.
They are a direct contrast to the Aranahe in that aspect. Everywhere he walks there are groups laughing boisterously, young warriors sparing while others cheer. Even when they fight there is not the usual demeanor So’lek is accustomed to. An air of playfulness is present. It is not weighed down by the same bitter thirst for revenge his own training exhibits.
There are colorful tents and kelku all positioned around caring for the hibernating Zakru. These giant beasts lay in the warm embrace of sunshine as their smaller counterparts laugh and rush around them. A foreign yet delightful relationship to behold.
His meeting with Minang and Nesim is short. No real negotiations are needed as they too are quick to join a fight. It is one of the things that So’lek has always appreciated about the Zeswa. Unlike the Aranahe they require no convincing when it comes to defending their home. If anything, they only wait to see which allies will be worthy of fighting alongside them. Fear is not a common ideal among them.
It is when So’lek has paid his respect to their leaders and begins making his long trek home, that he hears a voice.
“Are you going to leave it like that?”
So’lek’s ears perk, tail stopping midair. When a few seconds pass it becomes clear that the voice behind him is in fact addressing him and not a clan member. Slowly turning on his heels he looks down to find you. A female at least a head shorter than him wearing traditional Zeswa colors and looking up at him with an inquisitive brow raised. Despite your diminutive stature, you blink up at him without an ounce of concern.
“Your arm.” You clarify and much to his surprise he looks down to where you’re pointing and finds that there is a sizable gath along his bicep. It must have occurred somewhere between drawing the firepower out and taking down an amp suit with his bare hands. There is a tinge of pain now that you’ve brought attention to it, but it’s nothing in comparison to what he has endured in the past.
“It is minor.” He responds slowly, unsure of what answer you are expecting from him. Most clan members among the Aranahe barely acknowledge him. Not that they can be blamed. He is a stranger with a gun in hand and a permanent scowl in place. Neither has it ever truly bothered him. However, you seem to be in no mood to let him out of his impromptu conversation and it has him slightly on edge.
You scoff, soft features already laced into an amused expression. “Minor or not it needs to be stitched.”
Are you going to make him visit the healer’s tent? There would be no need. The hospital outpost within Resistance headquarters is sterile and inhabited by Sky People that barely understand the fundamentals of Na’vi anatomy, but it has always done the job before. Big or small injury, he has remained in one piece.
So’lek keeps a neutral expression, only allowing himself the release of shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Minang has other responsibilities.”
You roll your eyes and a short laugh escapes your throat. “Men,” you mutter under your breath, just quiet enough that he starts to wonder if he has imagined it. “Come. I will fix it.”
He doesn’t immediately move at your command. After a few steps you turn over your shoulder to still see him standing there and it seems as if you are trying to hold laughter back at the sight of him. Although, So’lek can’t fathom what could possibly be funny about him.
“I do not bite. Come.” Voice fused with a playful laugh, you gesture once more for him to follow. So despite his better judgment, So’lek trails behind you, shortening his stride so as to not clip your heels, until he is gestured into a large tent. There are only a couple healers left in the tent. One woman is organizing the herbs while a male healer inspect a gash upon a man’s leg. Both of them turn to exchange a smile with you upon entering.
Smiles that waiver when they spot him towering behind.
“Sit down.” You command, pointing to a mat on his left. Reluctantly So’lek obeys, but his tail is already whipping with impatience. The others will be expecting him back soon. It is only a matter of time before Priya is bugging him over the radio for results on his talk with the Zeswa. It is not as if he is about to bleed out or lose his arm from waiting a few more hours for stitching.
Regardless, you keep an eye on him while gathering a needle, thread, and the proper ointments. You’re checking to make sure he doesn’t run off and you are nowhere near trying to hide it. In fact, when his eyes meet yours, you give a chipper smile. He holds back a sigh. There will be no escaping this tent soon.
The same upbeat attitude is not fully shared among the other Na’vi present in the tent. They remain polite but on guard. By the time you are kneeling next to him they have one by one created excuses for needing to leave. It’s just the two of you now.
“Let me see.” In usual fashion you demand, although voice soft. So’lek watches as you examine his arm, small fingers curling under his bicep carefully. The touch lights something in his stomach until once again he is wondering how long this visit will be. “My name is y/n.”
The sudden admission has him zoning back in. His golden eyes peek to see you from his peripherals. When the ointment is lathered over his wound So’lek is too busy turning the name over in his head to stop himself from flinching.
“This is the part where you tell me your name.” Your gaze has risen from where it was inspecting his gash to now inspect his motionless expression instead. So’lek bites back the urge to swallow the lump in his throat. Wonderful. This may be a waste of his time but that is no excuse to be rude, especially among members of a new alliance.
Social interaction, however, has never been one of his strong suits. He had spent years in the forest surviving alone after his clan was wiped out. Many days the only interactions he had with another being was the prey he hunted, diligently whispering the prayer of thanks over their dead bodies before preparing a meal for one. And even since then, So’lek is vexed to admit that a majority of his conversations have been with pestering Sky Demons at resistance headquarters who ask far too many questions and lag in recognizing his distaste for such interaction.
“It is So’lek.”
“I know who you are.” You shrug, back to focusing on spreading the ointment. His hairless brows pull together.
“If you know then why did you ask?” Except, you technically didn’t ask. You urged him to share, a distinction you graciously don’t correct.
“Because that is what people do when they meet each other. Just because I know who you are does not mean you shouldn’t share your name with me.” Yet another custom he has become out of touch with. Years away from a true Na’vi clan may have broken him in more ways than he had originally imagined. And yet, you don’t appear to be offended. There is a sparkle in your eyes, something he can’t quite analyze but it holds a lightness he’s unfamiliar with.
The ointment you spread smells sweet. Almost like the pod fruit he picks near headquarters for lunch. Or perhaps the nectar he can occasionally finds while traveling. Whatever it is, it’s far better than the usual stench of medicine used at headquarters. Those strangely packaged doses have a thick texture and sterile smell that always makes his stomach turn.
But this…this is almost nice. Even as the lathered touch burns along his wound.
“Your Sarentu friend comes to visit often. They stop by for a meal and materials, even socializing upon occasion. But I never see you.” The needle gracefully slips beneath his skin but So’lek can barely focus on the sensation. “I was starting to think that you were a myth created by them for a good story.”
So’lek is at a loss for words. What exactly is your point? Are you suggesting he should be spending more time among the Zeswa. It is the Sarentu that had received an invitation to help, not him. Up until now he has remained respectful of your clan’s space. It is only for an invited meeting that he finds himself here to witness your home for the first time. But the way you talk about it makes him almost feel guilty for not dropping by earlier.
Would the Zeswa people have welcomed him if he had? Give him a smile as he cooked a meal here or crafted a better bow as the Sarentu often do? He’s not sure if he would know how to respond if they did. Your attention has already proven to be hard enough to reciprocate as is.
“I attend to responsibilities at Resistance Headquarters.”
“So I’ve heard.” You hum. There is something else in your voice, some hidden message in your tone but So’lek can’t decipher it for the life of him. So once again he is caught wondering what your intentions are in bringing it up. Perhaps nothing. You are strangers to one another. Just because you have gone out of your way to heal him does not mean you care whether or not he graces the clan with his presence. For all he knows, making conversation is a polite practice for good bedside manner.
Your precision is admirable. A calm consistent draw and pull of the needle to create perfectly tight and even stitches sealing him up. Far better work than that done by flimsy Sky People hands at headquarters. And while their small faces often pinch in concentration when stitching, your features remain relaxed. Even tranquil, with just the softest of smiles present.
In a way it almost causes his own demeanor to follow suit. That is if it weren’t for your distracting appearance. It has been so long since he has witnessed true Na’vi crafted attire so he can’t really be blamed for running his eyes over your intricate top of bright reds and oranges. It’s only when you shift slightly that he realizes how scantily clad your chest is with only the decorative fabric. And it shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t matter.
Nudity is not a big concern among the Na’vi. They are not ashamed of their bodies. But it’s clear he has been hanging around tawtute far too much as he feels the need to shift his gaze away every time that flimsy covering slides one way or another. And where they land, however, is just as distracting. The soft curves of your faces, long dark lashes that blanket your fixated gaze. Even your hair that is entirely unrestrained with only a few flowers woven along your crown, allowing it to fall down to your waist in soft waves.
Staring isn’t a big deal. Or at least it shouldn’t be, but there is something about letting his eyes land for too long that puts him on edge. Perhaps it is some lingering adrenaline from the fight that still has him on alert. Even has his stomach twisting into weird knots. Usually by this point these effects have worn off, but So’lek tries not to read too far into it.
A hiss escapes his lips without permission when fingers suddenly press into his shoulder blade.
“By Eywa…” You marvel, now coming to press against the area harder even as he hisses his discomfort. “You are wound very tight. There is a giant knot here.”
So’lek’s teeth dig into the inside of his lips to keep back further hissing, but there is no controlling the writhing of his tail. Despite all of his efforts, however, it seems that none of this is of consequence to you. You are more than content to ignore his pain and dig further into the muscle in order to examine the damage better.
“It is just…tense.” He defends, finally veering away from your hands.
“That is a nice way of putting it.” You scoff, shaking your head as if he has told a joke. “It needs to be massaged.”
So’lek blinks back at you. Massaged? Of course it would be nice to stop having that blaring pain in his shoulder but what is he supposed to do about it? It is simply a consequence of pulling back his bow so many times, or even from slotting the stock of a rifle against that shoulder. But then you are reaching out and it hits him. This is you offering?
Out of reflex he pulls away. Bottom lip caught between your teeth, that amusement paints your features again as you glare back at him. It’s the same look a parent gives their child when they are misbehaving. It has his ears twitching, tailing curling in anticipation. For what, he does not know.
“It is fine.” So’lek assures you, holding a hand up when you try to reach him again.
“Do not be ridiculous. It is not fine. That is, unless you are okay with letting it go until you are unable to move your arm without pain.” You have him there and you know it, watching him patiently until he will finally give in to your superior logic.
You are being a good healer, no doubt far more observant of his state than anyone that has ever treated him among the resistance. And it’s true that restricted mobility would cause a direct conflict to his plans of revenge against the RDA. What point is infiltrating a base if he can’t even pull back the string of his bow? So So’lek can’t quite understand why the idea of conceding to this massage has his heart racing.
Perhaps there is a personal aspect to it that makes him weary. He does not know you and you do not know him, no matter what stories the Sarentu has supposedly shared. You’ve just about wrestled him into this tent to get mended and now you are fully prepared to massage his pain away. To let those delicately soft hands run over exposed skin, bring him relief in a way no one else ever does.
His heart rate is far beyond what it should be outside of battle.
“Are you afraid I will hurt you?” Brow bones raising, you give him a look that says you know exactly how that idea attacks his male pride. Regardless, So’lek can’t hold back a scoff.
“No.”
“Then there really is no reason to be stubborn now, is there?” It’s a rhetorical question because only a few seconds after you are settling behind him and grabbing a basin of massage oil.
For the first time since meeting you, you hesitate when your fingers just barely brush his tactical vest. Immediately that touch is pulled away and you fumble to find an angle that will reach the knot in his shoulder without touching the gear.
It’s not the first time he has witnessed this hesitation among the Na’vi. The vest is intimidating, tacked on with a radio, ammunition, and many other pieces of Sky People technology that is entirely foreign to you. He remembers that caution in himself the first time he tried to hold a gun. Despite your carefree and pushy nature, this mysterious article seems to put you on edge too.
“Do you want me to remove it?”
“What?”
“The vest.” Daring to peek over his shoulder he finds your bottom lips trapped again before a simple nod is given his way. He sets down the vest a distance away with his gun too. Anything to make you feel a little more at ease. Ironically, however, it is him that is left feeling vulnerable without the heavy piece, only a thin swooping necklace over his bare chest now. Has it really been so long since he has removed his armor? Some nights he forgets to unclasp the vest before exhaustion takes him, but he has always blamed that on pure circumstance, not any sign of associated comfort.
Your apprehension is washed away as if it was never there in the first place, now that you are facing only bare skin. The oil that you begin lathering over his shoulder smells strongly of dapophet but there is something else mixed in there that he can’t place. A strong essence that has memories long forgotten tugged to the forefront of his mind. Images of his clan, his family. Is it possible that the Zeswa use similar herbs in their medicine as that of his clan’s tsahik?
That thought is immediately interrupted when fingers begin to dig into the muscle again. A sharp agony pings through him, his muscles naturally tensing to protect the injured area. However, it is all for not when you continue to dig at the area mercilessly. So’lek usually considers his pain tolerance to be quite high but somehow this pain is so deeply rooted that he can’t stop himself from veering away. Even when you tug his shoulder back towards you, a hiss escapes his lips.
“Hold still.” You demand.
He tries. He really does try because squirming like this is borderline embarrassing. He is a trained warrior for Eywa’s sake! A little massage should not have him writhing like this. Regardless it seems this knot has gotten far worse than he could have imagined.
“It really is fine.” So’lek grits out between clenched teeth. Star above, it is painful! He’s about ready to let the injury worsen if it means escaping your merciless hands.
“Are you going to stop squirming like a child or will I need to pin you down to do this?”
He can hear the amused smile in your voice but that’s not what his mind fixates on. Instead So’lek is horrified to witness how quickly his trail of thoughts leads to sinful places. How fast he can conjure up images of your smooth thighs cinched around his waist, your long hair falling over one shoulder to tickle at his spine. How easily he could quickly flip you over until he is the one that pins-
No. He must stop! A seasoned warrior well into his adult years should not create such innuendos so easily. That is for children, perhaps his years as a teenager where his hormones were wildly out of control. Back then he had a reason, but what excuse does he have now?
“Better.” You murmur and it’s then that he realizes his dirty thoughts have somehow managed to distract him from the pain, autopilot keeping him in place.
His jaw still clenches as you prod at the muscle, but eventually pain gives way into something else. Skilled fingers slowly ring out the agony he did not realize was there until his shoulders are sagging in relief. Your technique is meticulous, methodic. For such small hands you have quite the plethora of strength, wearing down his body until it is going lax.
And then there is a tune. A song so quiet that it takes him a moment to realize it is you humming behind him. That foreign melody captivates him easily. Ears perking to catch every change of note, So’lek drowns in your sweet voice. And sweet it is, no better sound has he heard in years. So much of his daily life is accompanied by yapping tawtute and distant RDA bombs.
There are times where the lab tawtute put on records to play but that music is offending in comparison to the theme you weave now. It reminds him of home. Not even specifically of his clan per say, but just the feeling of having a home. Of having a community to bask in.
Rich melody and trained fingers working in kind, So’lek melts beneath you. For the first time in a long time he remembers the difference between surviving and healing. Pleasure radiates from every touch you bestow and So’lek begins to slump, limbs feeling like noodles. Lost in the tranquility of the moment he doesn’t originally catch how concerning his thoughts become. How easily his body starts to yearn for your touch in different ways.
How easily he starts to yearn for you.
The interaction was innocent. And So’lek stands by that fact. You were pulled away abruptly by others demanding your attention and although it took him a few seconds to come down from that strange high, he had gathered his things and left the Zeswa with only your rushed goodbye as parting.
He had shaken it off as a weird experience, just the shock of true Na’vi medicine after being corrupted by tawtute practice for so long. However, when days pass and his mind keeps dragging him back towards that event, So’lek knows he is in trouble.
Were it just about the exceptional effects of Na’vi healing he wouldn’t be so concerned. After all, his shoulder has never felt better, his mobility and flexibility far beyond what he has done in a long time. So it would only be natural to have a fixation on something that rendered such positive results.
But it’s the dreams that worry him. Dreams that start out as intangible images of your long hair, soft hands over his skin. Things that could be shrugged off as a wrong mix of hormones messing with his subconscious, potentially a faceless woman it imitates. But then they become more intense, uncomfortably vivid. Stories woven by his subconscious that are not only specific but inherently sexual.
He dreams of how your lips would taste against his own. He dreams of your body pressed against him, of an intimacy far beyond what he could ever describe in words. Even the way his scent would beautifully coalesce with your own upon scent marking his territory.
It is borderline madness. So’lek has only ever met you once! One time where you simply did your job as a healer. Creating fantasies out of such a small instance is truly pathetic. Of course it has been a while since he has been intimate with a woman but these feelings have not risen in years, especially not in a way so close to obsessive that it has his head reeling.
And yet the dreams morph into the tangling of his actual conscious thoughts as he tries to go about his day. When he is sneaking up on a sturmbeest he’s wondering if you even remember that short hour together. When he is trading materials with the Sarentu his mind trails to guessing what activities are filling your day. And when he talks to Priya, well he tunes her completely out because surviving your nervous rambling is only doable when he’s imagining how the sun reflected off of your hair. And frankly, anything to keep is patience while talking to the purple haired tawtute is approved as far as he’s concerned.
Maybe he really has been alone for far too long. He is at an age where courting and mating is a common motivation and so his body is pushing him towards the first female that has given him attention. It is biological. It must be. Once his hormones have died down all will return back to normal and he can forget you ever even met.
That’s what he tells himself for the first week. So’lek stomps down the day dreaming as fast as possible and concentrates on his true goal, riding this planet of the RDA. He is in cohorts with the Sarentu and takes down every RDA tawtute and vehicle in his line of sight. But that doesn’t stop a nasty urge from sticking. Just this tiny idea of an injury bringing him back to the Zeswa healer’s tent. It seems that your duties primarily reside there and so it would be more than likely that he would find himself under your tender care again.
And it’s hideous the way this fucked up idea becomes a fantasy for him. He is a warrior! A man of honor and courage. No warrior should ever long for an injury, no matter how minor. Especially when it could take him away from helping those who need him most, away from defending his home. So So’lek won’t say he falls from the tree on purpose.
He is collecting shell fruit up in the red trees. The proximity to Zeswa camp is only a coincidence. Of course his agility is usually far beyond letting himself get scrapped up and falling a few branches down, but everyone has bad days. The only sensible thing to do while so far away from resistance headquarters, is seek a healer from the Zeswa.
He can be quick. In and out with little interference on their daily activities.
So’lek maintains a neutral mask when he reaches the healer’s tent. His greeting is polite but detached with every clan member that passes him by. However, there is no stopping the disappointment that lowers his tail when it is a different female that ushers him in for treatment. You are nowhere to be found in the spacious tent. Just a few elderly Na’vi receiving care and one child getting a scraped up knee bandaged.
Truly he is grateful for the help received. Ka’xhori is the name of this healer and she does quick ,but quality, work on his bleeding thigh. Several times her curious stare is caught by the strange devices on his vest and even the darker stripes across his forehead. She makes conversation for a few minutes but when his answers become choppy and short, she silently resigns to his lack of interest.
It’s towards the ending of the wrapping that he spots you from a distance. Just through the opening of the tent he catches you returning with a group of friends, shortbow in hand. A male to your right carries a fresh kill and the female to your left exuberantly tells you a story.
Your eyes sparkle in delight, avidly drinking in the story. And then your friends says something that elicits the most beautiful sound he has ever heard. You laugh, a laugh quite different than the teasing one you had exposed him to the first time. This one comes from your gut, a belly laugh that has your eyes crinkling and teeth on full display. There is a vibrance to this demeanor that has him drawn like a moth to a flame.
You’re babbling back at your friend with that same enthusiastic energy until both of you are struggling to not collapse to the ground in a fit of giggles. Even the male carrying the kill can’t defeat such infectious sounds of joy. Complete unabashed delight. No pretense. No mask, just a blinding smile he may never be able to unsee.
“That should hold for a while.” Ka’xhori says, tugging on the leaf bandage for good measure.
“My deepest gratitude.” His deep voice responds on autopilot. Most likely it is not convincing enough but So’lek is already shuffling out of the tent before she can respond.
Despite the natural tugging in your direction, So’lek turns to the trail opposite. This obsession has gone on long enough. He thought that perhaps coming back here would only prove it to be some silly crush born out of dramatizing your first interaction together but now he sees this is only becoming more dangerous by the second. It’s best to cut himself off now while he still can.
With a bit of distance and discipline he will be back on track.
“Hey stranger!”
So’lek pauses at your call, turning around to find you already leaving your friends behind to approach him. It takes everything within him to not reflect on the sway of your hips, the confident yet eased strut you exhibit.
“Kaltxi [hello].” He murmurs, giving the proper touch to his forehead in respect.
A giggle catches in your throat at his formality. “Kaltxi.” You mimic his tone, but return the gesture. “How is the shoulder? I hope I didn’t rough you up too much.”
Only psychologically. Only planting some brain rotting disease he can not rid himself of.
“It is much improved.”
Hands placed on your hips, that response seems to do the trick. However, it does not satisfy you enough to allow him an escape from this conversation.
“So you’ve come back for more business, then?”
So’lek tumbles for a proper excuse.
“I was here for…” It’s too late you’ve already noticed his bandaged thigh.
“You are injured again?” You make a small tutting noise in disapproval, coming to circle him closer. “You know, So’lek I have found that it is better to dodge the sky demon bullets, not race right into them.”
You joke as if the two of you are old friends, even a hint of mischief present in your composure. So’lek is left feeling lost in how to navigate this playful environment you’ve created. Even more so unsure on how to avoid admitting he fell out of a damn tree to get this mark. It would only show his weakness. Perhaps even give you the idea that he is uncoordinated in hunting and combat.
Not that it matters. Why should he care to prove himself as a competent and athletic male?
When he doesn’t respond fast enough you beat him to the punch. “You are not actually shot, correct?”
“I am not shot.”
“Good.” And he may just be imagining it, but there is a flicker of relief in your expression. What would your reaction be if he was shot? He would be mortified to be caught so easily by poorly aimed sky demon bullets but would that have won him some sympathy? Would you have tended to his wound directly, stayed by his side as he was nursed back to health?
“Well then if you are not bleeding to death you should stay for a meal.”
So’lek flinches when you’ve suddenly grabbed his left hand and tug. This recoil is punished with your hand pulling back, regret immediately slinking through his veins. Despite his brash reaction there is no sign of embarrassment in your expression. Just a simple roll of your eyes.
“I could not impose.”
“You are not imposing. It’s an invitation, So’lek.” You correct him. “Which in Zeswa culture really means you have no choice but to accept.”
He’s tempted to ask what would happen should he refuse, but he bites his tongue. It’s important to keep his relations with the Zeswa friendly, being polite as he can manage with his little social skills. So So’lek trails behind you, watching as the skip in your steps sway that long hair back and forth across the curve of your spine.
Just as with the healer’s tent, your presence immediately has others joyfully expressing their own greetings.
“I am still waiting for that rematch, Niwin.” You call to male on their right, covered in red paint markings.
“I told you, tsmuke [sister]. No number of rematches will give you the victory you desire. It is a waste of time.” He calls back, pausing from his work on a spear.
“Spoken like a true coward. Is your tail truly still stuck between your legs?” Pearly whites on full display you only laugh when he sends back a teasing hiss. So’lek doesn’t miss the way Niwin’s eyes catch and track his frame. He is not the only one to silently wonder what you are doing with a man like him.
Exchanging waves and inside jokes along the way, the two of you finally reach the largest of the Zeswa tents. Inside are Na’vi sprawled out and socializing, some crafting weapons while others use the cook fire to prepare meals.
Trusting that So’lek is following behind obediently, you make a beeline for a certain male next to the cookfire. Long dreads falling over his shoulder he is fast at work, properly cooking meat over the fire. A savory scent fills his lungs.
“Novao, I have brought you another victim.” You grin, practically bouncing on the balls of your feet.
“Such little faith you have in my genius.” He mutters, but stops short when he notices who stands behind you. His brow bones raise.
“Kaltxi,” So’lek signs awkwardly.
“Kaltxi,” Novao returns, the response uttered on instinct. “Who is this?” He asks, turning to you.
“Who is this?” You scoff, pushing at his shoulder. “This is So’lek, of course. By the stars, Novao, you would forget your head were it not attached to your body.” You snicker coming to kneel beside him.
So’lek hates to appear as if he is mimicking your motions but standing above the two of you now feels awkward so he slowly kneels.
“Do I want to know by what means you have kidnapped this man?” Novao goads.
“You said you need a larger sampling audience for more diverse feedback. Look at how I deliver.” You quip, bumping his shoulder with a proud grin. So’lek’s ears flicker at the playful jesting, but he doesn’t allow a smile. “Do not question good things that come your way.”
“I will once you stop questioning the success of my soon to be famous dishes.”
Is this how you converse with everyone? If so, perhaps there is nothing special about the way you tease him. Just a general reflection of your boisterous personality that he is not accustomed to.
“I apologize in advance if this dish causes physical repercussions.” You hand over a leaf of cloaked panther meat crested with vegetables and some sort of seed. A recipe entirely new to him, but he accepts. “There is no telling when Novao’s new recipes will bring you to the heights of ecstasy versus the edge of an early grave. But he needs opinions, so we must do our part.”
You make a show of holding up your own portions, as if to prove you are in this together. Novao grumbles under his breath but prepares a plate for himself while holding back a smile.
The first bite is intense. It takes a second bite to fully interpret the burst of flavor in his mouth and once he has, So’lek struggles not to scarf down the entire thing. Even you can’t hold back an approving moan as you chew. A sound that damn near has him spiralling again.
“It is wonderful,” He says.
“You see, even this newcomer knows how to appreciate food better.” Novao is quick to jump in.
Giggling after finally swallowing, you concede. “It is one of your better dishes to date, brother.”
So’lek has a hard time understanding how this isn’t ranked as the best dish period. He himself is proficient in cooking but So’lek has never taken it up as an art as some do. Most of his dishes have just enough flavor to suffice. During desperate times he occasionally will dip into his small stash of disgusting RDA meals. Nothing, however, has compared to this.
“Do you claim to cook better?” It’s a genuine question but it has Novao rumbling with laughter immediately. Your brows raise.
“Oh, look who has a sense of humor after all.” Brows raised, you peer back at him with narrowed eyes and a swishing tail. “Not a very good sense of humor, but one all the same.”
He can’t tear his gaze away from your burning attention. So’lek’s own tail curls along the floor. It’s not even praise but your spotlight warms his skin just the same. It feels good to elicit some sort of response from you, instead of the other way around for once.
“Y/n burns everything she touches.” Novao jests between bites.
“You exaggerate,” comes your quick defense, although posture unbothered as you take another bite.
“She almost burned down this very tent last time she tried to cook a simple skewer.”
So’lek can see it now. Na’vi running to and fro out of the tent as you stand there looking perplexed by a raging cookfire.
“What can I say? I am not made to bother with this mundane task.” You shrug, leaning back on your elbow to lounge. The new position accentuates the dip of your waist until it curves out into full hips.
“So simple that you purposefully fail at such a boring task?” The questions pops out before he can stop it. But So’lek is slightly startled when you immediately clap a hand down on his knee.
“You see, So’lek understands!” That dainty hand does not immediately retract, resting upon his bare skin there. He hadn't realized how close you were already laying until now. When you cock your head to the side and continue to banter with the other male, that soft hair comes to tickle at his thighs.
Being in your space fills his senses with your scent. An essence so unique and addicting that So’lek once again gets the urge to run for the hills. Instead, he remains diligently unmoving, worried that any small shift will have you shuffling away from him. And basking in an entertaining conversation between friends and a good meal before him, So’lek finds that he is in no hurry to return to headquarters.
It becomes a bad habit of his, looking for excuses to return to the Zeswa home. So’lek had stayed far beyond finishing his meal last time. He blames it on good company, something that seems to be hard for him to keep nowadays. The Sarentu clan joining the resistance has brought him some comfort since but they like him are always busy with their own responsibilities, even further weighed down by scars that are far too fresh.
So’lek had only convinced himself to leave once your mouth watering essence and occasional friendly touches had become far too much for his body to handle. To his utter mortification there had been a stir in his tewng [loincloth] and he knew then that it was important to make a speedy exit.
He’s playing with fire, he knows it. So’lek should be doing everything he can to avoid temptation, not race back towards it. Yet, there is something within him that can’t seem to pass up any excuse there is to return.
“What is wrong?” So’lek reluctantly asks. He doesn’t know how much longer he can silently watch Priya mutter to herself and pace back and forth in front of the monitors. She is on the brink of a full meltdown and as luck would have it, he happens to be the only one in the vicinity as the others take lunch.
“Nothing,” comes her frazzled response. So’lek shrugs, good enough for him. At least he can say he asked. “Well I mean a little more than nothing I guess. Although that really depends on how you look at it.”
So’lek holds back a sigh. So they’re doing this after all.
“It’s just that I sort of forgot to send the coordinates of the new RDA drills sites to the Zeswa after I specifically promised to get it to them within a few days. But I somehow completely forgot, because that’s what I do. Typical Priya. I’m sure at this point they are already upset and-”
“I’ll do it.”
“What?”
“I will share the coordinates with Minang and Nesim. That’s what you need right?”
Priya’s mouth gapes like a fish out of water. She takes an annoying amount of time to gather herself from the apparent shock.
“Well…I mean yes but that would mean traveling all the way to the Zeswa camp you realize.”
“I realize. Give me the demon tablet.” So’lek snips, holding out his hand for the pad. So maybe it’s not that common for him to help Priya after a foolish mistake like this but he still can’t see how that is enough to elicit such a dramatic response. Nor does So’lek want to wait around for her to start questioning his motives.
“Wow um yeah of course. I will grab that for you and uh…” She trails off, spinning around as if she is chasing her nonexistent tail, while really just trying to locate the tablet. Priya finally hands it over with a smile. “Thank you, So’lek. I really appreciate it.”
“Yes. Goodbye.” He has never left headquarters so fast.
Furthermore he manages to make it to Zeswa camp in record time without trying. Walking through the camp he forces himself to make a beeline to Nesim, although a part of him wishes to check the healer’s tent for Minang first. Doing so, however, would only increase the chances of coming across you and getting entirely sidetracked.
Minang and Nesim are far more forgiving of the delay than Priya gives them credit for. It takes some time trying to properly explain the map on the tablet, as it’s their first time truly interacting so closely with these screens, but eventually he manages to relay the proper information and get all of them on track.
The beginnings of plans for certain amushes are made and So’lek is given detailed information to return to HQ. Nesim leaves immediately once the plans are made, anxious to get preparations under way. Minang however hangs back in the tent.
So’lek almost doesn’t notice her presence as he finds himself staring past the tent entrance to where you sit weaving a basket. It feels rare to catch you alone like this but you appear entirely at ease working the fibers together.
“She is one of my assisting healers.” Minang says, almost making So’lek jump out of his skin when she is suddenly by his side. His eyes immediately dart away, feigning a disinterest as he rakes over the scenery equally.
So’lek clears his throat before speaking. “That is good.” Despite the strength of his voice, Minang seems to find some sort of amusement in his response. She wears a neutral expression but even he catches the twitch of her lips.
“I heard the two of you have already met.”
“Briefly.”
“Great. Then she will be perfect.” Minang says with an assured nod.
“Perfect…for what?” A wrinkle settles between his hairless brows as So’lek’s mind races to understand at what point he became so lost in this conversation. Instead of answering his question directly, Minang turns to walk further into the tent. Already moving on to the next task she talks while starting to gather some of her cooking supplies.
“My sister and I have been talking and we’ve decided it would be beneficial for you to learn how to ride a pa’li [direhorse]. The Sarentu has already taken it upon themselves and has progressed immensely. As another ally of the Zeswa it only makes sense you learn some of our ways too. It may become necessary for any future ground attacks.”
She continues to gather her things without facing him, but Minang’s ears perk to hear his response. So’lek can’t remember the last time he has ridden on a pa’li. It would have had to have been briefly as a child, not actually making the bond himself but riding with his father. It was not a common experience among his clan and since then he has never had the opportunity to explore it further.
“I see. That is…logical.”
“Y/n will be happy to teach you. She is an experienced rider. A good karyu [teacher] I think.”
So’lek feels as if there is a rock lodged in his throat.
“I would not wish to lessen her availability in the healer’s tent.”
Minang gives a low chuckle, turning to look at him with a swishing tail and wide smile. “I have plenty of help for the time. Besides, since you two have already met, that would make her the ideal choice.”
“Yes, I see. Although I would not consider us more than strange-”
“I will give her word of this assignment. Return at noon tomorrow for your first lesson.” And with that she saunters out of the tent, leaving So’lek gaping for words and mind lagging to process the turn of events.
Despite having come all this way for the chance to see you, So’lek goes to slightly extreme lengths to escape the tent without your notice. Brisk walk taking him further and further away from your alluring scent, he asks himself how the hell he is supposed to survive lessons in your presence without going entirely over the line. It’s caught in this spiral that he almost misses Novao’s quick greeting. Just a simple wave before the male is turning back to his meal, but it still catches So’lek off guard. Which appears to be the theme of the day.
And perhaps it’s in his head but it feels as if less people shy away from him as he leaves the camp. A few other Na’vi even extend a goodbye nonchalantly.
“Did something happen?” Priya twists to meet So’lek’s far off gaze.
“I have already relayed the information.”
“I think she means did something happen to have you spacing out like that? You’ve hardly said anything since returning.” Anqa steps in, putting an arm around Priya’s shoulder’s as a comforting act.
So’lek stares down at the two tawtute. He’s not sure what they expect of him. Confiding with sky people is not a common practice of his. In fact, confiding in anyone is a rare occasion. Neither does he believe they would have any way of understanding his situation. Priya and Anqa are still so wrapped up in their honeymoon phase that giving them any piece of his love life would only set them off like fireworks. He would never hear the end of it. No doubt they would pry until his patience would run out.
“I will be gone tomorrow.” So’lek says instead.
“Oh, helping the sarentu again?” Anqa inquires.
“The Zeswa require my presence. I will return before eclipse.” And before they can question him any further he retreats to his small living quarters. Despite his quick retreat So’lek can still pick up their gossiping whispers behind him.
Keeping this under wraps may be more difficult than he anticipated. It feels impossible to keep a secret in a place like this, jammed together in a cave with so many tawtute. Then again, this can’t even be qualified as a secret. In order to do so there would have to be actually something to share, and there isn’t. Nothing has occurred between the two of you. It’s just his own imaginings that threaten to get him in trouble.
You, on the other hand, are just fulfilling the requests of your Tsahik and Olo’eyktan. Even doing a little more than asked by extending a friendly welcome to him. With any luck he will learn to ride a pa’li fast enough to stop this from spiraling out of control and involving other unwanted parties.
It’s with this attitude that he makes the trek out the next morning. A strong resolve to stay focused and complete the task at hand efficiently. After all, he’s always been a quick learner. Why should this be any different?
“Starting the day a little grumpy, hm?” He spins around at the sound of your voice. Sauntering from a nearby tent, today you wear a decadent feather top. Something so light and revealing it would only take the right gust of wind to have it shifting. So’lek’s digs his nails into his thighs.
“Um no, I am ready to learn.”
“Oh so that is your focused scowl. Hard to tell the difference.” With a pep to your step, you motion for him to follow. “Well then if you’re so anxious to learn, let’s get started, lazy bones.”
“Of course.” So’lek concedes with a nod, but he doesn’t miss the giggle you try to stifle in front of him. Perhaps he is a little formal, even stiff at times, but most people simply take it as a sign to leave him be. The same is not true in your case.
The sound dies down significantly once the two of you have made it away from the Zeswa camp. Gliding through the tall reeds and plants of the plains there are times where he can only get a glimpse of you through the foliage. So’lek shuffles to keep up. For someone with a significantly shorter stride than him, you sure move fast.
“There you are!” You call with glee before running forward into a clearing. Finally afforded a proper view of the open space, he spots you next to a pa’li, running a hand along its snout. The creature seems to lean into your touch, just as happy to see you as you are her. “I knew you’d be out here somewhere, girl.”
When So’lek steps out of the tall grass the creature immediately stiffens. He goes stock still in response.
“To ride a pa’li you must first show them you are not a threat. Soothe them into letting you approach.”
So’lek nods his head and takes a steadying breath. Unfortunately, it is only a few steps in before the pa’li is rearing back, trying to get out of your hold. You coo softly, giving comforting words and touches until she is back in your space once more.
“Perhaps let’s start without your bow first. Just for now.”
Reluctantly, So’lek slowly removes all forms of weaponry on him and places it on the grass. Try, try and try again, he does all he can to get closer. When you tell him to slow down, he moves at the pace of an insect. When he tries to imitate the cooing sounds you often make it not only has the pa’li running away entirely but also you struggling to hold back your own laughter.
Trying not to notice the way your tail curls in amusement, So'lek persistently continues.
“A pa’li is not like an ikran. There is no show of dominance to win over lifelong loyalty. Instead you must prove yourself to be caring and trustworthy every time you approach.”
It’s good instruction but none of it seems to be doing him any use. For whatever reason, he can not get within a few steps of the direhorse before she is running for the hills. Frustration blooming quickly, So’lek’s jaw clenches.
“You know, the problem is quite clear and simple to fix.” Head tilting to the side you draw forward to him a few steps and this time let the pa’li run off without interference.
“What is it?”
“That scowl. Not the most inviting demeanor.” You point out and a line forms between his brows. So’lek places his hands on his hips, nose scrunching at the remark.
“It is my face. There is nothing I can do to change it.”
“You could try to smile.” You goad, demonstrating a smile of your own. “I’m sure if you put your mind to it, you could manage.”
“I smile.” Apparently not enough considering you are not the first person to make this suggestion. Keeping a stern expression is not always on purpose, but with all that’s happened it somehow feels like a comforting guard set in place. He is not as vulnerable when others have a hard time reading him.
“Alright alright.” You concede with hands raised in surrender. “I believe you. It just would be nice to see.” There is a spark of mischief beneath that comforting smile. And something tells So’lek that you are no longer talking about this just in the context of soothing a pa’li. “Let’s try something different then.”
Air catches in his lungs the second your small fingers are wrapping around his palm. This time, So’lek doesn’t make the mistake of flinching and scaring you off. With rising curiosity he allows himself to be manhandled by your gentle grip. He is pulled along slowly until the pa’li is only a few steps away.
To his surprise the creature does not immediately shy away now that the two of you approach her together. Slowly his hand is coaxed to lay across her snout, but even once it is placed there your touch does not disappear. Your petite fingers remain calmly pressed over the back of his hand. They coax him to create long soothing strokes across the creature’s leathery skin but every now and then your thumb will run over one of the protruding veins of his hand.
Saliva gathers atop of his tongue. He should be focusing on this small success and creating a further bond with the pa’li but all he can feel is you. Buttery soft skin and dazzling eyes that peek up at him with praise on your tongue.
Getting so worked up over something so simple is truly ridiculous and he can’t quite figure out when or how you gained this power over him.
Soothing the pa’li is one thing but making the bond and mounting the creature happens to be another feat entirely. It takes at least a dozen times to make the bond and mount once but even that only lasts for a few seconds before he is bucked off. Once. Then twice. Then the third time he is catapulted into the lake.
Breaching the shallow pool, So’lek’s lips turn downwards and he can’t keep back a frustrated grunt. His eyes narrow when they settle on your form nearly hunching over from laughter. Wiping the mud from his brow his gaze is enough to have you trying to stifle your amusement weakly.
“You are laughing.” He deadpans.
“No no I am not,” You clear your throat in efforts to stop the giggles as you wade into the water where he sits. “I am not laughing.”
So’lek doesn’t know what comes over him. An action born from pure emotion, but when he accepts your extended hand of help he doesnt use it to hoist himself up but instead yanks on it hard. With very little force you easily go flying to the ground next to him and beneath the water. A shocked sound escapes your throat the second you resurface.
An apology is on the tip of his tongue but you don’t give him a chance.
“Oh I see how it is.” With a threateningly deep chuckle you are already rearing up and splashing a wave of water over him. Whatever amends he was ready to make are chucked aside as he shakes the water from his braids and his tail curls in excitement.
You are back on your feet and running before he is halfway up. Fast little thing, you are. But it’s no matter, with the adrenaline now racing through his veins it is only a matter of time before he catches up. Splashing, pushing and even tripping all go underway until both of you are covered in lake mud. It’s like being a child again, his hands grasping for your tail at every chance he gets, your own smaller hands managing to fling mud into his braids.
So’lek’s own deep laughter rumbles in his chest far before he realizes it. An insatiable thrill runs through him as the two of you indulge in play that he has not experienced since he was half this height. And when you tackle him back into the water he comes to find that for the first time in a long time he has forgotten about his nagging objectives.
He is drunk on your laugh, the way it rings like a beautiful chime in the upper plains wind. Lazily sprawled next to you he tries to reel back his own chuckling just as your chest heaves for air.
“I knew you could smile.” You manage between breaths. So’lek only has a second to understand your words before there is a distant boom. Head whipping towards the source of the sound he finds it comes from far east. One of the many drilling sites he had shared the coordinates of. He’s ready to shrug it off and continue, far accustomed to the dreadful noise and what it means at this point, but when So’lek turns back to look at you that feeling immediately shifts.
Your ears are pulled back, almost tucked beneath your hair. Tail limp beneath the water and blank stare fixated in the difference. For the first time since meeting you there are no traces of a smile, not a flicker or spark in those beautiful eyes. Something heavy hangs there in its place. And the breakneck change in demeanor gives him chills.
It’s as if you’ve forgotten he is there. That usually curving and free moving posture has now straightened into a locked position.
“It is a drilling site in the east. Several miles away.” So’lek says carefully. There is no telling whether or not his comment makes it better or worse, but with a smooth voice he continues. “It is from a drill that they use to make a hole in the ground.”
‘What?” You whisper, almost as if coming out of a daze.
“That is what you are hearing. It is an awful sound.” His muzzle wrinkles at the truth of his words. So’lek has come far closer to those dreadful machines then he ever would have liked but at least he now has experienced first hand how they can be stopped. Still, there are nightmares that echo with that Eywa forsaken sound occasionally.
With a hesitant hand he starts to reach out to place it on your shoulder. “It is alright to be scared.”
He doesn’t make contact before you are whipping back.
“I am not scared.” Hastily you spring up onto your feet and back towards the shore. It feels as if the moment has shattered like glass before he could even understand it, leaving him reeling to catch up. “Come, let’s get back to work.” Tone hard and words clipped, you are already out of his reach.
So’lek is careful not to bring up the drill again, or any RDA activity for that matter. He pretends not to notice that you’ve changed the location of his training further from the drill site. And when he enters the next day he is on edge, watching your features for any signs of distress.
Surprisingly, you seem to have switched back to your usual friendliness. It’s as if that conversation never happened and since So’lek is more than lost on what to do he easily follows your lead in not talking about it. In fact, as more lessons come and go it becomes easier to follow your lead in many things.
You are a talkative woman, always chattering about your opinions on different matters (big or small) or filling him in on the intricate inner workings of Zeswa clan gossip. At this point he could probably name just about every clan member from their pieces in your stories alone. When you’re sharing so much like this, it becomes only natural to divulge some information himself.
You ask about the resistance headquarters, about how many tawtute live there, what they eat. Even more personal things like where he manages to sleep and how he fills his days outside of his pa’li lessons. Although at first feeling a little put on the spot, So’lek eventually warms to this line of questioning. You are simply a curious individual and when you soak in every mundane detail he gives with a vibrant excitement and big wide eyes, it’s hard to not enjoy the attention.
Learning to ride a pa’li is exceedingly more trying than he had anticipated. Even once he has learned how to mount and start a smooth walk, navigating and getting up to a gallop feels like starting from ground zero again. Despite these difficulties, the extended lessons don’t bother him as he would have expected.
Some days you greet him with leftovers from Navao’s newest creations (letting him learn the hard way that you’re right about some of them having physical consequences) and other days it is him that brings back foraged fruit or random trinkets from HQ you might find interesting. Those meals are shared in the tall grass of the plains, stories filtering out of your lips faster than he can keep up with as he watches your long hair dancing in the wind.
There is one question, however, that you never ask him. Perhaps because you already know what happened to his clan. So’lek doesn’t share the story of his clan decimation by the RDA, but word travels. The memory of his people has become a cautionary tale. Not much more than a story to rile anger and motivation to bring the sky people down once and for all. The Sarentu clan shared a similar fate, but they have each other. Even a handful of people is a desirable clan in his eyes.
It’s a week into the lessons that So’lek finds himself at the Zeswa camp early. He had come across a patch of tsawksyul [pandoran ‘sunflowers’] earlier that morning and was gathering it without thought. He has no use for the delicate flowers but it seems right to leave it with you. Surely you are more than happy to find ways of weaving it into a new intricate top. He’s heard enough about your designs to understand it’s a passion of yours.
So with a little too much anticipation and haste, So’lek enters the camp early in search of your bright smile. It’s your voice, though, that he hears first. It filters from the healer’s tent. Lurking on the opposite of the doorway So’lek goes to round the structure and enter but he stops midway.
“Is this about the man from the tawtute clan?”
“His name is So’lek.” You remind the anonymous female, gently.
Every muscle in his body freezes at the sound of his name. This is wrong. Listening in on a private conversation is bad enough, even when it is not about you. Yet, his neck cranes to see if anyone else is around instead. Since he is on the opposite side of the tent there is not a soul to note his presence yet and So’lek simply can’t get himself to move from the spot.
“And why do you assume it would be about him? Does there have to be another man involved in order for me to take time to thoroughly consider Ra’vang’s courtship?” You challenge and the other female lets out a sigh.
“Of course not, but you have been spending an awful lot of time with him.”
“Naturally,” comes your simple reply, entirely unbothered. “I am teaching him as I was instructed.”
“Yeah I know and you’re very kind to do so but you have to admit he is a little…strange.”
“That is not true! He has simply been through shit that you haven’t.” All softness bleaches from your voice.
“Woah! Okay, retract the claws. I am sorry. I did not mean to insinuate anything negative by it.” He recognizes your little huff in response. “It’s just that the two of you are very different. That’s all I’m trying to say. He is very…stiff.”
A beat passes and through the tent material he swears he catches the shake of your head. “So’lek is selective when it comes to socializing. He may come off serious but there is a lot more beneath that hard exterior than you would realize. It’s simply not on show for everyone.”
It feels as if a wire has been tired around his heart, his lungs furthermore forgetting to take in needed oxygen.
“I admit I do not claim to know him as well as you do. But…I can not imagine living in such close quarters with sky people like that. Always surrounded by metal.”
“Of course you can not. Most people are not cut out for such a task. But we benefit from the Resistance’s aid, so perhaps we should be grateful that So’lek is capable of dealing with it.”
“Okay okay, I see your point, sister. Just…be careful what decisions you make right now. Ra’vang is a strong warrior and provider. Even if it’s not him you have other options, many good ones. Spontaneity may be your specialty but I’d hate for you to let a good mating pass by simply because you are not thinking this through properly.”
You give a small sigh but it’s light, void of anything but fondness.
“If there is one thing I do know it’s that love is not something to be analyzed and bash one’s own head over. I think things through, but I know how to listen to the song of my own heart too. I don’t make it a practice to question what it tells me.”
So’lek staggers away. Any longer in that spot and he risks being seen, or sending his thoughts into a further tangled mess. He looks down at the flowers in hand. You defended him, said a lot more than most people would have. It fosters an unfathomable fire in his chest and yet it’s tampered by a reality he wishes to not face.
You have suitors. Real men of the clan that are not only native to this culture and lifestyle but also expressing interest through real courting displays. If your friend’s words are anything to go off of, you’ve gathered many good prospects. And why wouldn't that be true? It’s easy to imagine what they would see in a woman like you. Easy because it’s everything he sees too.
But So’lek….
So’lek is not Zeswa. He hardly has traces of the lifestyle from his own clan within him. The years have shaped him into somewhat of a mut in Na’vi breeding. He does not know the way of any clan how he should and there is a darkness within him that rages for revenge. These men have been brought up to take care of someone like you. They are able to give you so much more than he ever could and yet here he stands with a courting gift in hand like a true skxawng [idiot].
Whether or not it was intentional is irrelevant. If he gives these flowers to you it will surely be a sign of interest. He will instigate himself as a competitor in this game that he has no right playing.
So’lek discreetly slips them into a basket of herbs in one of the tents. Someone else will find use for them, but it won’t be in his hands when you arrive.
The entanglement of his thoughts leaves his body buzzing with energy. So much so that even though he hardly hears a word you say during the lesson, he somehow manages to conjure up enough tenacity to stay atop the pa’li while in a gallop. And then faster and faster he pushes the creature with that racing adrenaline he sends down the bond.
The whip of the wind, the strain of his muscles, all of them work to offset the mental exhaustion that is quickly blossoming. And then his golden eyes finally take in the scene before him. Tall grass races beside him on every side. Trees of crimson leaves dot the open field where arrow deer scurry and Soundblast colossus nap near the sparkling river.
The plains are monumental. It settles a deep awareness of its grandeur.
Your celebratory yips and hollers echo from behind.
And rushing through this scene feels like flying for the first time again.
Completing the training finally gives So’lek room for a breather. He stunts the disappointment at not seeing you every day with the knowledge that this will only simplify the situation. Without being kept in close quarters he will be free to devote himself entirely to taking down the RDA and you will be free to explore courtings and potential matings without his interference.
Luckily there is more than enough work to keep him busy now that they are preparing to go up against the largest drilling site to date. When your laughter echoes through his mind, So’lek goes through the RDA rosters until his eyes burn and a headache clouds all thoughts. When his brain compulsively conjures up your teasing jests being directed at another suitor, he hunts feral viperwolves until he is covered in scratches and forced to the hospital wing.
And it is only once that he accidentally crushes a mug in his grip in front of Alex and Anqa as he envisions another man’s tongue running over your luscious curves. He chalks it up to tension created by the upcoming battle, but it’s clear Anqa has shared the occurrence when Priya gives him worried looks for several days after.
Despite his busy work, So’lek finds himself relieved when the day of the ambush finally arrives. It is the first time the Zeswa and the Resistance have worked together in combat and the air buzzes with excitement. He only thinks of you for a moment when he mounts a pa’li and joins the Zeswa in leading the majority of RDA firepower towards the hills.
A small band of Zeswa warriors, tawtute soldiers, and the Sarentu clan work together to infiltrate the base quietly, taking down the drill from the inside.
Hours feel only like minutes when his body is pumping with adrenaline. It begins and is over all before he can really process it and by some Eywa given miracle, not only do they succeed but there are only injuries to be accounted for. Muscles aching, forehead beaded with sweat, and entire body still pulsing from the intense vibrations of close range gun power, So’lek heaves a deep sigh of relief. A tangible weight lifts from his shoulders, a peace that is often fleeting but something he has learned to enjoy while it lasts.
There will be more to do tomorrow. The RDA are nowhere near exterminated, but for now he basks in the knowledge that they are one step closer to ridding them for good. The Zeswa holler and cry into the wind with a passion that seems to shake the very hills. Even those that are injured take part in celebrating this victory.
Watching the scene makes his chest swell with foreign feelings. So many times he has been left to reflect on the aftermath of his solo missions without another to share that moment with. Celebrations occasionally occur at headquarters but never has it felt like this. And his lungs seize, almost bursting with the need to let out his own cry in the mix of their allies. It calls to a part within him that often feels buried away, even forgotten. An instinctual part of him that is true Na’vi, a creature that has a place in Pandora’s beauty.
Years worth of turmoil releases in that guttural cry and to So’lek’s surprise, it is a sound of pure elation that rings from him.
It was within that spirit or triumph that So’lek had been extended an invitation by Nesim to join them in festivities. Although noncommittal in his response, he finds himself preparing to leave headquarters hours later. The tawtute and Sarentu work together to create their own party in the dinghy cave. A part of him feels as if he should be there for it, a party of outcasts that he has grown accustomed to associating himself with. But that primal cry remains trapped in his chest. It calls him to the plains.
And so for once, So’lek decides to let himself celebrate.
There are little memories left of clan parties, most just blurry images of firelight and dancing shadows. They are only mere facades in comparison to the burst of conviviality that So’lek can hear within a mile of camp.
Walking through the center of camp there are very few Na’vi still residing there, most simply rushing to and fro in search of supplies or friends before scampering back to where the real party is being held. Down the hill he can see towering flames and a gaggle of bodies dancing with fervor.
He takes a step, then pauses.
So’lek’s fingers are hesitant as they undo the clasps of his chest guard, but it eventually loosens and slides down his arms to rest in the grass. He sets aside his bow, his gun, and every piece that is made of metal or meant as a weapon. Even his arm guard is placed neatly in that pile.
The wind nips at his vulnerable form and So’lek is once again struck by how naked he feels without these things. This time though, he settles into that discomfort. This is a party. One night where he will not plot his revenge or sharpen his weapons. A single night where he can pretend to belong.
The last streaks of fiery red disperse from the sky and in their wake, eclipse conjures Pandora’s bioluminescent glow. Tahni [star-like freckles] light along his exposed skin. So’lek’s ears perk the closer he gets to the party. The very thrum of the heavy drums vibrates at the soles of his feet, reverberating to punch him in the chest.
There is a vibrance in the air, an energy so palpable it feels as if he can taste it on his tongue. Whatever drug has infused the scene, it seems to spread rapidly among the celebrating parties. Zeswa of all ages and stations are muffled together in a form of dancing that So’lek can only describe as pure frenzy.
Movement without direction. Feet atop the wind as if a fire has been lit beneath them.
It is unlike anything So’lek has ever witnessed before. His golden eyes flicker frantically across the parade before him, unsure of what to take in first. The very air in his lungs is filled with the hickory essence of smoked meat. Even his ears flutter across his braids, attacked by the onslaught of sound.
And then, there is you.
Right in the very heart of the festivities, as he could have guessed. His overstimulated senses finally find a target, settling entirely on the way you move within the crowd. Much like the rest of the Zeswa your body moves with unabashed enthusiasm. There is no rhyme or reason to the swivel and swish of your small form. You act on pure instinct, a reaction of feeling to the euphoric buzz around you. Pure elation.
It is a complete disregard of outside perceptions. There is nothing but your windswept joy and the music that moves you to and fro. Although the entire scene is curious by nature to him, there is something about you that constantly pulls him in. And that’s what it is. Your presence is magnetic. It draws not only So’lek in but everyone around you, it’s clear in every reaction he has witnessed.
You are a free spirit. You move through life as if nothing could ever clip your wings and for all he can tell, you may just be right. Because even in the midst of grief and war, your scars act as the embers to light a vibrant sun in your countenance, until that empathetic warmth seeps to those around you.
The female next to you, her name Ta’kuri he believes, leans over to converse with you over the pounding music. So’lek’s heart drops to his stomach when she points a finger in his direction and your eyes snag his form. Your responding smile is bright upon spotting him, but So’lek can only focus on the fact that he has potentially been caught staring.
Small form practically swallowed by the crowd it takes a moment for you to extract yourself from the mesh of bodies. Just enough time for So’lek to calm his heart and feign shown interest elsewhere to cover up for his flub. When you saunter to the outskirts he purposefully waits a beat before sliding his gaze in your direction.
“Well if it isn’t my star pupil, oeyӓ numeyu [my student]. You actually showed up.” You are all teeth, grin center stage as you pin him with those golden eyes.
“Kaltxi karyu [hello teacher],” The edges of his lips twist into a lopsided smile without permission. “Nesim invited me.”
“And now you are here. Finally ready to have some fun, yes?” Chin tilted downward and brow raised, you give him a look that suggests the only correct answer is yes. He feels the snap of a retort at the edge of his tongue. Something about how he is not the grumpy pants you always claim him to be and how he does in fact find time to enjoy himself on occasion. But those are words spoken far before he decided to leave you be. So’lek is trying to be good, desperately trying to be respectful and do the right thing.
“The celebration is very enjoyable.”
“Very enjoyable?” You scoff with a half laugh. “How could you even know? You have not even begun dancing yet.”
So’lek immediately staggers a few steps back, at the speed of a prey avoiding a lethal blow. “No no, I am content to enjoy the party here, paskalin [honey/sweetheart].” Shit! He can’t fathom at what point he gave his mouth permission to utter such an affectionate term. So’lek’s insides twist and for perhaps the first time in years his cheeks fill with heat. He thanks Eywa above that the darkness is enough to hide the new tint.
Despite his slip up, your grin never falters, in fact it seems to widen until dimples form in your cheeks. “So’lek you need not be stubborn every time I ask something of you.”
When you catch his wrist in a surprisingly strong hold he is left with no other option but to wobble behind you. “I do not know how to dance. I was never taught.” He shouts to you over the music.
Throwing a smile over your shoulder you do not respond until he has successfully been pulled into the edges of the crowd. “There is nothing to teach.” You say, dropping his hand to face him. “Dancing is the opposite of thinking, So’lek. You simply feel.”
“That is not the comfort you believe it to be.”
Your laugh is barely audible over the roaring drums. “What you need is some liquid courage then.” With a wave of your hand Novao is flagged over. His eyes roll but the swish of his tail is friendly when he comes over to hand two skins of liquor over.
“You are an angel.” You giggle, taking the containers with glee.
“So much more than you realize.” Novao snorts before giving your shoulder a teasing bump and sauntering back towards the cookfire. So’lek barely has his hand wrapped around one of the skins before you are chugging back the other.
When squinted eyes peek up at him over the rim you finally take a breath and push at his hand. “Novao is proficient when it comes to strong drink, I promise.”
Not wishing to feel out of place for any longer, he slants his lips over the rim and takes an ambitious guilt. Regret immediately stings his throat as it slides down like pure fire. The responding choke that comes from him immediately after is utterly humiliating. Eyes already welling with tears, So’lek does everything in his power to shut up the ridiculous sound and gain whatever is left of his composure.
“A little strong, huh?” There is a giggling shrill to your tone but a flicker in your gaze shows concern simultaneously. So’lek is shaking his head before you can even suggest a glass of water.
“No no it is fine just,” He clears his throat, “...different.”
And different it is in comparison to what he has had. It is only now that it hits him how long it has been since tasting anything even close to resembling alcohol. There are a few tawtute at headquarters that occasionally try their hand at brewing alcohol but it is nothing short of fowl and disappointing. There are no inebriating effects from such water down drink, especially consider he is the twice the height of the intended party.
So what comes next is completely out of his control. His body is rendered utterly unprepared for the strong drink that he continues to consume in spite of his better judgment and the fact that you don’t continue to urge him to drink. However, So’lek is no child. He is a man, and one that should be able to hold his liquor so when you occasionally blink up at him or catch a glance from the corner of your eye to make sure he is doing alright, it warps his pride to push him into foolishly drinking down even more.
“Okay I think that is enough.” It takes rising onto your toes in order to reach the rim pointed at his lips. That apparent show of height difference should not please him so much but there is no denying the thrill that tightens his chest. “Now you dance.”
Braids clinking together he is already resisting as you continue to pull him deeper into the crowd. “I truly do not know-”
“Yes yes, I heard you before. I will assist you.” Peering up at him through thick lashes, your hip bumps against his thigh softly as you tack on, “Or do you not trust me?”
That is the line that sinks him. Head already feeling floaty, So’lek lets you maneuver him into position.
Small hands skate across his shoulder blades, for a moment those talented thumbs press into the muscles there just as you had done upon your first meeting. “You are too tense. You must relax.”
Easier said than done when there is a line of electricity left behind every inch of skin you touch. But sooner than later he finds his shoulders loosening, starting to sway in a weird motion that seems pointless but actually fits with the rhythm of drums. A burst of confidence fills him when you step back to face him from the front again, trusting him enough to continue the motion.
“There you go! Learning already.” And just as the simpering student he feels like he is would, So’lek perks up at the praise. Those flirty smiles and encouraging words coupled with the strong drink running through his veins, it becomes all too easy to let his body go without thought.
Regardless, you continue to guide him. So’lek falls into line with whatever movement feels natural from your promptings. For the first time in years a fuzziness takes over that nagging voice of responsibility and he lets his body take precedence over his overactive brain. The more liquid fire he consumes the easier it becomes to not imagine what he must look like on the outside. Every fiber of his being gravitates towards the addicting pulse of those drums. Drowning in that vibrant energy until he is also engulfed in the crowd of Zeswa.
Other Na’vi surround him from every side but it’s your touch that pulses through him. A brush of fingers along his arm, his bicep. The zapping electricity every time that dainty hand clasps his own to pull him closer. Even the tickle of your hair in the wind brushing his chest has him fighting back a full body shiver.
Dancing is not a brash display, although some excel in that arena. No, dancing is the mechanism that pulls you closer to the touch you crave. The perfect opportunity to let hands wander, to mold bodies together without social consequence. And now, So’lek finally understands the rave over this activity.
So’lek doubts he could confirm whether or not his head is still attached to his shoulders with the amount of alcohol running through him. However, there is no more vivid memory than the one of his hands mapping your frame. They encase your sides, ribs, up to your shoulders over your collarbones, feeling the silky skin beneath as you curve into every brush of his greedy hands. It’s when one hand mindlessly curves around the nape of your neck, the two scents mingling in the most satisfying of ways, that So’lek finally catches the burn of another’s stare.
It radiates from a male off on the sidelines. Each hand holds a skin of strong drink while the male attempts to burn a hole into So’lek’s head through slitted eyes. Something rumbles at the back of So’lek’s head. A voice that tells him there is some reason he should be upset by this situation, but that caution is muffled. It rings out like a message shouted from the deepest part of the lake and So’lek can’t find it within himself to spend more than a few seconds trying to decode it.
It’s not just you that distracts him. Ta’kuri is suddenly on his left shouting some sort of encouraging words over the music. There’s no making sense of it but before he knows it there are more Na’vi that join the mix. Even Novao meshes with the crowd at some point, slurred conversation passing between him and every Na’vi he meets. Some friends lean on each other to stop from collapsing on the ground in their drunken state while others flourish in a flutter of moves that has the fields buzzing with cheers. So’lek’s own voice joins the other exuberant shouts.
To call the event hectic would be an understatement but every time So’lek feels as if he may be the one to topple over next, there is a small hand at the base of his spine. Gorgeous golden eyes and a bright smile peering up to remind him that you are watching over him.
So’lek dances until his ears ring. He dances until the very soles of his feet have grown bruised from landing on the hard ground. It is only when you are stumbling across the long grass, caught by his strong hands desperately trying to pull you back up that the two of you decide to trail off from the dance floor.
“Save some drink for the rest of us, sister.” Ta’kuri jests, tapping your nose once before helping So’lek pick you up from the ground. That sweet voice seems to be in a constant state of giggling, a sound So’lek is in no rush to rid himself of.
The two of you find yourselves back in the middle of camp around a fire thanks to Ta’kuri. Several other Zeswa stagger to the outskirts of the cookfire, some already sloppily rolling in the dirt with greedy hands wandering into dangerous territory. The outright display of lust hardly fazes So’lek when his attention is caught by a leaf of meat handed to him. Tender and sweet, it settles in his stomach heavily, finally starting to soak up the excess of alcohol consumed.
You are just as consumed by the food as he is, scarfing down the last bit with a delighted moan.
“Alright you miscreants, let’s leave some room for oxygen.” An older male grumbles fondly, softly nudging a couple with his foot who are engaged in a heated lip lock. He settles around the fire and after several minutes of squinting So’lek makes out the figure to be Kin. Although his thoughts still muddle through a haze, So’lek can finally feel his brain starting to come back online.
Kin engages the group in grand stories while offering milk to be passed around. From the corner of his eye So’lek tracks the way you sway to and fro as the stories continue, but that smile never leaves your tempting lips. Several times you sneak a peek up at him, causing his tail to wind against the floor.
“This story again.” Ta’kuri mutters from his left, quiet enough that Kin continues the tale without interruption.
“He has only told it a dozen times before.” Novao adds, sitting on the other side of you. “That is quite good considering how many times he has told the others.”
“I don’t remember this one.” Lips screwed into a pout and eyes squinted in concentration, you stare intently at the male in the middle. Ta’kuri lets out a short laugh before handing over another container of milk.
“You don’t remember any of them when you're drunk.” You accept the drink, ignoring her fond scoff and the way So’lek’s gaze is once again drawn in your direction.
“So rude,” you huff. He lends a steadying hand when chugging down the bowl of milk has you toppling backwards. A deep laugh rumbles in his chest with ease, even once you are back upright and sending him a heated glare.
Playful comments and quotes of the story are passed between the four in hushed tones until even So’lek is fighting back tears of laughter. Luckily the other Na’vi do not behave much better, half of them already on the brink of wrestling in the grass or laughing until on the verge of passing out. The entire scene is a messy jumble of comradery. It warms him from the inside out.
“I left it down by the lake.” Novao whispers urgently.
“You should not be so careless with your things. Who’s to say an arrow deer has not run off with it by now?” Ta’kuri quips back, still even So’lek can tell that she is going to go back and look for his spear with him as requested.
“I see it is not only Kin making up stories now.” The joke earns him a swift swat to the head with a few fond insults woven before the two are rising.
“Can I trust the two of you to survive until we get back?” She gestures between So’lek and you, a crooked curve of her lips present. It’s doubtful that you have understood even half of where the conversation is at this point but you do respond in a way that both shocks and amuses him greatly. Fingers together at your forehead you flick it out messily in the same way the sky demons do in salute. It’s imperfect and honestly he’s not sure if there is any true understanding of the action but it appears to be an inside joke that Ta’kuri is in on. She returns the gesture with a fond grin.
So’lek doesn’t try to break the silence once the pair has left. It’s hardly uncomfortable with such jovial ambience surrounding. Not to mention the fact that he’s not sure how of a conversation you can carry in this state. It makes no difference. Sitting here is nice. Being next to you is fulfilling in a way he could not have imagined.
“I lied.”
So’lek’s ears stand at alert. Your comment comes so abruptly that he takes a second to lean forward and make sure that you had meant to say it. Those beautiful eyes are transfixed off in the distance but there is no sign to say otherwise.
“About what?” So’lek shifts forward, propping an elbow on his knee as he veers forward to observe your strange expression.
“About not being scared.” It’s a miracle he can detect that whisper over the boisterous conversation around. A part of him wishes he hadn’t. It creates a knot in his stomach. “I am scared. I’m scared all the time. Even on days like this, I should be happy. But I still worry that it could all be ripped away. I don’t want to lose everything, not like…”
The end of that thought dies in the wind but So’lek catches it anyways.
Don’t want to lose everything like he did. One glance at your now pinned back ears proves his suspicions to be correct. Comforting others is not his strong suit. Heavy emotions have a way of winding his tail anxiously as he sputters to understand the right course of action. But tonight, he is grateful for the lowered inhibitions brought on by liquor. It’s what allows him to pause and simply feel the weight of your words.
So’lek’s rough hand, a hand battered by handling weapons in the face of war, settles over your knee. That warm touch has glistening eyes staring back at him.
“That is not going to happen.” It is a vow, one that is spoken deep from his chest. The Sky People have stolen everything from him. Everything. But he is not afraid to protect you from the same fate. To promise with the last meager supply of hope he has left that he can and will prevent this tragedy from coming your way.
A single tear cascades over your cheek. Then you’re suddenly curled up against him, resting that head of long hair against his shoulder, seeking refuge there. It bursts something new within him, something even scarier than he has experienced since meeting you. Never in his life has he been a safe place for another person. That honor has never been one he’s opened himself up to or has felt worthy of.
But you tuck against him, sigh into his neck and every form of tension in your tiny frame evaporates.
“Fuck, I’m so drunk.” Your half giggled slur coaxes out a deep chuckle from him but So’lek is careful not to move otherwise. This moment is too fragile. And if he’s not careful in a blink it will be tomorrow. A day where he puts that chest guard back on along with every other responsibility he has holstered alone for years. That yearning for revenge will return and clean out the softness that only you can supply.
So’lek can’t recall at what point he had fallen asleep. The last thing he remembers is Novao laughing so hard that milk came out his nose. Eyes as heavy as metal doors, he squints them open to find the sky still dark. He is not the only one to have dosed off in the middle of camp around the fire. Different groups of Na’vi are passed out in the greenery but there is a warmth at his side.
You are curled up into a ball, a ball that is slotted against his own body. Even your face presses at the bicep, your nose cold to the touch. Without the protection of tent walls, the breeze is free to brush over the gaggle of Na’vi. Somewhere in your slumber you must have sought out the first available source of heat. Him.
The wind comes from your direction. So’lek is hardly conscious enough to consider tucking you into a tent for the night so instead he does the next best thing. With careful precision, he lifts himself up over your curled frame and settles himself on the other side. This way the wind now hits him before you. Laying on his side then allows him to create a wall that you can hide from the wind behind.
A shiver sends down his spine at the first nip of plains of air, but So’lek doesn’t dare consider moving. Legs untangle and your tail splays out flat again. Although it’s clear this tactic has warmed you up nicely, he is shocked to see you turning over to face him once more. Breath caught in his chest, So’lek watches as you groggily tuck up against him and sigh with a smile.
How many years had it been since he has slept this close to someone?
So’lek has had occasional lovers, but only as means to an end. Nothing deep. Never anything on an emotional level for either party. And so naturally neither did they end in snuggling close to sleep afterwards.
Call it pride. Call it living in denial. But something pushes him to forget about tomorrow and cocoon you closer to his chest.
So’lek’s dreams don’t carry the strain of blood and terror that night.
“There you go, rise and shine sleepyhead.” That soft voice barely filters through the wind, let alone through So’leks head that now feels like the weight of a tank. Throat dry and eyes barely able to slit open to face the light, consciousness comes back slowly.
And when it does, it hurts like hell.
You lean over to block him from the scorching sunlight. When did the plains get so bright? And when did waking up feel like getting his head smashed beneath an AMP suit? The events of last night are still tucked in his memory, but it takes a moment for So’lek to recall the impact of them properly. And that last thing….the last thing he remembers is you snuggling up against his chest.
“How long did-”
“No talking, just drink.” You advise, handing over a bowl of water sternly. Although slightly embarrassing, he’s grateful for the way you help him slowly sit up. It’s hard to get his wits about him when the world is still spinning.
The cold water spears a painful path down his throat, but after several gulps it’s much easier to take in full breaths. The small hand gently placed on his shoulder is a surprising comfort. However, even in a foggy state, that simple touch immediately has him recalling what a true comfort it was to have you in his arms.
No time in his right mind would he have acted on his impulses so carelessly. But last night he had felt entirely detached from time, even more so distant from the side of him that served to do the right thing.
“I fear I owe you an apology.” Although your lips are quirked in a half smile, the comment has him stiff as a board. Here it is. The consequences of his actions. In no way did he have the right to act so intimately with a woman of a clan he does not belong to. And now you have finally come to realize that for yourself. “I did not warn you properly of Zeswa drink.”
A sense of relief bubbles up so fast that So’lek lets a half laugh slip from his lips. It is graciously accepted with a beaming countenance that makes his heart race.
“No it is fine, simply….different from what I have tried before.”
“Well if I knew you were such a lightweight I wouldn’t have suggested it.” You are never one to give up an opportunity to tease him. It is a routine that he has incidentally become quite fond of. Even more so now when there is a twinkle of sincere concern in your beautiful features.
You care. It’s not the first time you have shown it and So’lek prays that it won’t be the last, but it seems time has only made the impact of this truth hit him that much harder each time. It flushes through like fire in his veins, far more addicting than the rush of Zeswa alcohol could ever be.
“I have no regrets,” So’lek says, deep voice rich with sincerity.
Fingers twiddling in your lap, there is a switch in your demeanor that is hard to ignore. Looking at him through thick lashes and grin barely held by teeth snagging your bottom lip, for the first time a sliver of shyness twinkles in your expression. Although, it is clear that your higher tolerance has afforded a much less dramatic hangover leaving him to look like a mess in comparison, it feels as if he has the upper hand for once.
“Really? Even now that your head must want to split in two?” That radiant sunshine you hold has his already weakened composure splitting instead. His gravely chuckle intertwines with your own soft laugh and So’lek doesn’t even realize how close he has invaded your space until the next words leave his mouth.
“It was worth it. I wouldn’t trade last night for anything.”
The severity of his own statement hits like a boulder. Both smiles drop and So’lek is left grappling with the fact that he has meant every word.
Softened eyes peer straight through him, but these are not full of sympathy. There is no pity extended at now realizing how sad most of his nights must be. There is no squirming to find the right response or looking away with an uncomfortable grimace.
No, you face him with that excitement that feels like he is bathing in the sun after years of wallowing in darkness.
“I’m glad.” It’s a small whisper, very much unlike your usual robust calls. And just when So’lek’s eyes have wandered to watch the way your supple lips form those words, he finds that your stare has pinpointed on his own. Golden eyes dart back and forth between his parted lips and So’lek’s own stare.
There is still that voice that cautions to pull back now. It’s the same voice that screams to curl up and escape your attention before it’s too late.
But you don’t hide. There is only honesty in your curious perusal.
For once maybe he can find a way not to hide too.
So’lek breaches the space between you, leaning forward slowly until there is only a whisper of wind between him and the kiss he has desired for weeks. Your noses almost touch.
“Y/N! Where have you gone? You are needed.” A masculine voice calls from around the corner. There is no one else around the desolate fire where the two of you reside. You make no sign of responding to this call. If he veers forward there will still be enough time to capture what he has dreamed of before the two of you are found out.
However, So’lek recognizes this voice. It belongs to the same man that had tried to glare a hole through him last night as the two of you danced and so it’s easy to deduce that this must be one of your awaiting sutors.
A Zeswa male born and raised. A real viable prospect that So’lek is now on the edge of stealing you away from. This is exactly why he has stayed away. And yet all it has taken is one more night in your presence to lose every ounce of self control he has left.
So’lek veers back. The look of quiet disappointment that crosses your face is enough to twist a knot in his stomach.
The male rounds the tent, letting out an exasperated sigh upon spotting the two. “Ah there you are.”
“What is it?” You hiss, head snapping in his direction so fast that your hair flies over one shoulder.
So’lek doesn’t need to look to feel the way this man’s eyes dart between the two of you.
“Ke’ari is hurling his insides all over the healer’s tent.”
Soft features immediately pinch with irritation.
“Aim him towards a vase then. He is one of many who are suffering from over indulgence. I am still treating So’lek. He needs food.”
“I have brought him some.” Of course he has. A deep loathing for the other male may already be forming but So’lek can’t ignore the craft of this suitor. He did not come unprepared.
Hand running through your hair, you take a moment to look up at the sky and conjure the required patience.
“Fine.” The male is unperturbed by your snipped response. He does, however, glower when your expression melts once facing So’lek once more. “Wait here. I will be right back.”
It’s tempting to savor the longing in your voice, the way those honest eyes practically plead for him to stay.
But it’s too late. So’lek regains the reins of his own heart and forces himself to flee at the first chance. The frowning male has no time to implement his intimidation tactics before So’lek is rising onto wobbly legs and searching to retrieve his gear.
He slips that protective armor back on and leaves without taking a single bite.
So’lek’s eyes burn from staring at the bright screen, hardly blinking while trying to decode the mess that is RDA rosters. Little progress is made as he stares down at the shining pad in hand and tries for the fifteenth time to pay attention. Perhaps it was a mistake not eating the offered meal this morning. Even if your eager suitor had poisoned it, he doubts dying from it would feel worse than the egregious hangover he suffers now.
Leaning back against the table, So’lek’s eyes wander again without permission. Headquarters is unusually quiet today, a sign that the party they threw last night was successful enough to put many in the same state So’lek finds himself in the morning after. Priya and Anqa are up, however. Tucked into an alcove near the kitchen they seem to be under the impression that no one can see them here.
Priya’s giggling echoes through the cave and Anqa only shushes her several times before diving back in for another kiss. Usually this is the part where So’lek’s face scrunches in disgust before he flees to a place he won’t be forced to witness such displays. Today that isn’t the case. In fact today, for reasons unbeknownst to him, So’lek can’t seem to tear his eyes away from the scene.
“Suffering as well I see.” The voice startles him, almost enough to lose grip of the glowing pad in hand. Shuffling to avert his gaze from the two lovers and appear nonchalant, he looks over to find it is Ri’nela that approaches with an amused smile. “From the hangover.” She clarifies.
“Oh yes…you are unwell too?” The dark mark on his forehead pinches together when she comes to sit on the table beside him. Her new Na’vi attire is still as neat as ever but there is a drowsiness in her gaze similar to his own.
“You seem to forget that I was invited by the Zeswa too.” Although it doses So’lek with a tinge of guilt there is no ill will in her comment. However, it does leave his mind swirling to different concerns. If she was in fact at the party last night, how much of his interactions had she witnessed? More importantly, how much of it would she share?
“My mind is….clouded this morning,” comes his lame response. Graciously Ri’nela simply gives a hum of understanding before turning towards the direction he was caught looking earlier.
Priya and Anqa have moved on from swallowing each other’s tongues, but they remain lounged in a hanging chair together, Priya perched atop her lover’s lap as she yaps on and on about who knows what. Although Anqa is less animated in her responses, she listens intently. There is nothing but lovesick admiration in her eyes as she endures the endless jabbering, tucking her girlfriend’s purple hair behind her ear or drawing circles on her side occasionally.
“It must be nice.” Ri’nela sighs softly, a wistful air to her tone. When So’lek turns to raise a hairless brow at her she motions to where Anqa and Priya. “Having something like that.”
“You envy the tawtute?” So’lek can’t mask how ridiculous he finds the notion. Ri’nela has always struck him as a reasonable Na’vi. Even one that shows great potential as a leader. What do tawtute have for her to be jealous of?
“Well aren’t you?”
So’lek’s nose scrunches. “No.”
Despite the brunt response, Ri’nela is hardly put out. Her lips perk up slightly and she gives him a gentle look that one does when teaching a small child. “Are you saying you don’t want what they have? A partner? A mate?”
Calling Priya and Anqa mates feels wrong, like a bad taste on his tongue, but he can’t deny they must be something close. After all, they are committed to one another in similar fashion as one does their mate. They always have someone to run to.
“I have not thought about it.” If Ri’nela senses his lie, she doesn’t let it show.
“Hm well I have. It feels kind of impossible though considering our situation.” She sighs and it’s the first thing she has said in this conversation that immediately makes sense to him. Just like him, she is an outcast of sorts. There are only a few that survived in the Sarentu clan and all of them had been kept in with RDA like a lab experiment throughout their adolescence.
“Difficult indeed.”
Ri’nela lets out a sad laugh, something painful shifting in her features. It sets So’lek on edge, already mentally preparing to navigate a situation where he is expected to comfort another. “Sometimes I think that even being a tawtute would be easier than this. They may live on an alien planet, but even those who have left the RDA have found each other and created this place together. Those two have found love here. This is their clan for all intents and purposes.”
So’lek has never thought of it that way. Do Sky People form clans the way Na’vi do? If so this clan is by far the most peculiar one he has ever seen. Then again, they do work as a team. Everyone comes together to maintain their lodging and when dangers comes knocking there are always a group of former RDA military tawtute ready to act like warriors.
“We have nobody.” Ri’nela continues. “No clan, no place to call our own. Even our memories of the clan we once belonged to are hazy. This place is the closest thing we have to a refuge and even here no one can truly teach you what it means to follow your path in life.”
So’lek shrinks, fingers idly twiddling together. Of course things have not been easy for the Sarentu that escaped the TAP program but he didn’t know this is how she views the circumstances.
“And mating…” Ri’nela sighs again, “Mating becomes all the more complicated when you have no clan to pull from.”
“I do not believe now is a good time to mate in general. What is the point when the RDA can easily take away such a bond?”
“Do you really believe that?”
No, not really. If he had been asked a month ago, perhaps. Back then it had only seemed logical to avoid close ties when he is surrounded by death daily. It would be just another thing for the RDA to take from him.
But now…now the words are sour on his tongue.
Ri’nela has this quality about her that is hard to place a finger on. A certain calm vulnerability that somehow makes it difficult to lie to her. So instead of trying, So’lek simply shrugs.
“I think that if I was lucky enough to find something even close to what they have, there is nothing that could keep me from it.” Ri’nela’s gazes with a sad fondness at Priya and Anqa. There is a longing glimmer to true there that it has his own stare pulled back to the couple. “Someone to weather this storm with. A person that knows you in a way unmatched by any other, and still they choose you. A bond that reminds you why life is so precious, makes it more than just surviving.”
Is that what Anqa and Priya have? Something worth living for? On the surface it has always seemed like some gooey infatuation, a naive romance that he is forced to witness. But perhaps it is more than that. So’lek doesn’t often think about what life would be like as a tawtute, in fact he never does, but can imagine it not being the most comfortable of circumstances. They are not even able to breathe the Pandoran air around them without suffocating. Going back to their home planet is no good option either as it is already dead.
So then maybe Ri’nela has a point. Priya and Anqa find happiness in their day to day affairs, affairs that include risking their lives to fight against their corrupt former employers, despite the harrowing circumstances. They always have a reason to smile, something to laugh at. And it’s just hitting him now that this reason is each other.
“I’m sure you will find something like that, Ri’nela.” The hypocrisy burns So’lek’s throat. How can he claim to believe that when those rules don’t apply to himself? The survivors from the Sarentu clan are the people closest to having the same experience as his own. To have faith in Ri’nela finding a mate not himself goes against all logic.
“Only time will tell.” Although still melancholy, Ri’nela sends him a sympathetic smile. She rises from the table and goes to make her exit. So nonchalant in her retreat as if she has not induced a spiral of thought for him to wind into.
She pauses just before reaching the corner and turns to him again. “I know it is not any of my business, but you should know how lucky you are.”
So’lek’s heart drops to his stomach.
“Don’t let her get away.”
So’lek would prefer to blame Ri’nela for his inability to sleep that night. After all, she is the one that dropped a bomb on him with her speech about mating. Not to mention the only person in headquarters that has knowledge of his love life and the ability to make his feelings for you public domain.
However, that would be dishonest. And at the end of the day he knows that tonight was always going to end this way. He has been trying to get his mind off of you for weeks, in fact every time he has returned from the Zeswa camp, and it has always been unsuccessful. And now the fact that two of you had almost shared a kiss only amplifies that obsession more.
It was already hard enough to control his desires when he could believe that it was a one-sided longing. But now that he knows there is some interest on your side as well, fighting the demons in his head is borderline impossible. You knew he was going to kiss you. You knew and you not only were ready to let him but showed disappointment when he failed to do so.
How is he ever supposed to resist now that he knows the object of his desires is at his fingertips? That there is a chance he can have you.
Perhaps not as a mate. It would be naive of him to assume his ever growing feelings for you are reciprocated in the same manner. But even knowing you desire him in a physical manner is enough to have him rolling over in the hammock and biting into the material.
This is absolute madness.
What is his plan? Avoiding the Zeswa clan forever can surely not be it. He can try to reduce the amount of time spent there but they are still allies so there will always be occasional visits required. Even then, does he really trust that distance will be enough to get rid of these feelings?
No, this is not a phase that will pass.
And even if So’lek were to find a way of dealing with feelings without intervening in your courtings, what would that change? It would mean that another male comes along and makes you their mate eventually. And every day from then on he would be forced to face the fact that he is in love with a mated woman. He would have to witness that union every time he visits with indifference while everything within him would ache to rip this male’s throat out with his teeth.
So’leks stuff a growl down his throat. Eywa above, what is wrong with him? Never before has he felt so connected to the primal beast inside of him. For years he has been a master of not only his emotions but impulses as well. But you’ve awakened something else within him. Something that has laid dormant for years and now refuses to go back to sleep.
When he’s not echoing your perfect laugh in his head, he’s imagining the way you would groan his name. When he’s not recalling the silly story you told him earlier that day with a smile, he is crafting fantasies of his tongue lapping the sweet nectar between your legs. And when he is not pushing back every pulse of his heart that sings for you, he is grinding his teeth at the thought of another ever loving you the way he does, yearning for you the way does.
Everything circles back to you.
You have torn him apart from the inside out and the worst part is, he doubts you have any true inkling of this. At most, you understand there is a flirting atmosphere between you two.
So where does that leave him? It seems there is only one option that has the potential to lead him away from years of insanity. However, that means facing exactly what he has avoided for weeks.
Telling you the truth.
So’lek is a man. He can and will face rejection if necessary, although the idea of that somehow has his insides curling with dread. If it were only a matter of gaining the courage he would have unrooted his tail from between his legs and told you weeks ago. But that is not the main issue.
The real danger is having those feelings reciprocated, because that would then mean being open to mating. That would mean letting all of his hard work to protect you go down the drain and instead take you selfishly for himself. And he hasn’t done that. He hasn’t done that because…well because he is not worthy of you.
Then again, does that imply that your current suitors are the opposite? What do they possess that he does not?
They grew up in a clan, in your clan nonetheless. And So’lek didn’t. He has no clan.
His conversation with Ri’nela bubbles up again. Does he truly believe that not having a clan means being subjected to a life without a mate? He would not wish that to be true for Ri’nela’s sake. Or Teylan’s. Or really any of the other Sarentu that are left. If she were to come to him in a similar situation, having found interest in someone within the Zeswa clan he would approve of her going after that connection. So why does he not approve of that for himself?
He does not have a deep understanding of his culture or know exactly what it means to have People of your own. And somehow that makes him unworthy of you. Because one day, a long time ago, the Sky People rained hellfire on his home and took away his clan.
Does that one instance mark him as damaged goods for the rest of his life?
If so, that seems to be a lot of power to put in the Sky People’s hands. It means that the Sky People not only took everything he had with such ease, but also everything he could ever gain for the rest of his life. And So’lek…So’lek is so damn tired of having things stolen from him.
It is not fair for the RDA to steal you away from him too. If he is unworthy of you it is simply because of his shortcomings in character and light when compared to your vibrance. Not because of circumstances he did not choose. You are too good for him, So’lek can recognize that, however that does not mean he is not allowed to chase you like the others.
Ri’nela prays to find someone to spend her life with, a mate she can call her own, and So’lek can no longer deny that he wants the same too. He does not want to simply survive anymore, he wants to thrive. But unlike Ri’nela, he is lucky enough to already understand who he wants that with.
So he’s not willing to let you slip away.
Not before he has given it everything he has first.
It is only when So’lek hears one of the tawtute’s alarm go off that it becomes clear has had not slept a wink all night. And yet, So’lek has never been filled with so much energy. He dresses and grooms himself within record time, ignoring the puzzled looks that are sent his way. It seems that nothing matters besides getting to the Zeswa camp as fast as possible.
Wrestling his emotions all night has left him with a buzzing energy that threatens to make him explode. He needs to tell you and he needs to tell you now. Every second that this remains unresolved is another that has So’lek on edge.
And so the trip to the upper plains has never felt longer. Although he makes the trek with incredible speed, his feet don’t take a second to adjust their stomping pace once he enters the camp. In fact, they only drum faster against the long grass as he hunts you down among the bustle. No thought is put into the expression he exhibits or body language, so So’lek doesn’t pay attention to the Na’vi that drive out of his way in fear.
There is nothing but cold steel determination laced with an anxiousness that overtakes him.
Then there you are. Long hair blowing in the wind and basket in hand as you carefully weave the next row. So’lek’s lungs finally fill with air. Has it truly only been a day since he has seen you? How was he foolish enough to believe he could ever continue being around you without trying his hand at making you his? Heavy steps cross the space, almost on the brink of jogging to where you stand next to a tent.
When your tails perk and eyes finally clock the impending advance of his tall frame, there is a surprised glimmer in your expression. Even a shot of excitement in those beautiful golden eyes that has all of So’lek’s restraint depleting.
“So’lek, what are you doing here?”
He doesn’t answer with words. Instead he springs the last two steps into your space and immediately hunches to plant his lips against yours. His long fingers curl at the nape of your neck while his thumb caresses your cheek. Although your response is lagged from shock, it doesn’t take long for your lips to meld with his in perfect unison.
So’lek gives everything to that kiss. Every night that he has laid awake thinking about you. Every sputter that his heart has wrenched from your laughter as he has fallen off a pa’li over and over. Every ounce of desire that rushes through him like a river bashing against a dam ready to break.
Deepening the kiss, he refrains, however, from letting it get too vulgar. If he lets that primal creature inside of him lose now, he’ll take you right here and now before talking anything through. It’s difficult to remember this, however. Technically his plan was to speak to you then take his shot at a kiss but So’lek can find room for regret when you taste like everything sweet he has been missing for years. You are just as soft as he imagined. Even more addicting than he could have envisioned.
When So’lek breaks away your lips are already a pretty shade of pink, parted to release heavy breaths. Those golden eyes are now only a sliver of color as your pupils have dilated and eyes widened in disbelief.
“I should have done that yesterday.” That truth gives little explanation, but it’s the only words he manages to get out without sticking his tongue down your throat.
Your chest heaves and features morph into a delighted shock. Seeing you like this is more satisfying than he could put into words. You’ve always been the outspoken one between the two of you, but now it is him that renders you speechless.
So’lek almost goes in for another kiss before the weight of several gazes finally register. Turning over his shoulder he finds that you are not alone in weaving your basket. In fact there is a group of Na’vi sitting on the ground holding their own materials, watching with wide eyes and dropped jaws. It hits him then. You aren’t just sitting here working on your own basket. You are in the middle of teaching a class.
A class he has so dramatically disrupted.
“I apologize for the interruption.” And he should be, he really should be but So’lek doesn’t even believe his own words at this point. He stalks off simply out of respect for the class and the chance to remember how to behave in public.
It won’t matter though, not when he can feel the prickle of your wide-eyed gaze along his back.
So’lek lingers just outside of camp in an alcove of blood leaf trees. It’s just enough space for him to catch his breath, try to clear his head as he waits for your class to finish. Palms spread along the bark in front of him. So’lek drops his head between his outstretched arms and focuses on inhaling and exhaling. The exercise is borderline pointless when each inhale only sparks attention to your taste lingering on his tongue.
Never before would he consider himself this impulsive or irrational but even now that he has made a spectacle in front of everybody, So’lek fights the urge to turn around and do it all over again. He barely resists the aching need to stomp back into camp, throw you over his shoulder and carry you into the woods where he can finally have his way with you.
So’lek spins on his heel, leaning against the tree with his head thrown backwards now. This is insanity.
His nostrils flare the second there is a trace of your essence in the wind. So’lek almost wishes he wouldn’t have looked because now he is sucked in by the way your breasts bounce as you jog from the camp towards him.
Great Mother above, how is going to have a conversation with you while in this state?
Luckily, or perhaps not so lucky, you are in no mood for conversation either. So’lek doesn’t get out a simple hello before you are bounding into his chest and pulling him down for another kiss. This time there are no boundaries keeping the kiss from turning absolutely filthy. That devious tongue swirls around his own until So’lek is capturing your bottom lip between his teeth in retribution.
Fuck, you are so much trouble.
“Wait…mh...wait.” You don’t afford him the space for speaking so So’lek eventually catches your upper arms in a firm grip and establishes some distance. “Wait for one moment.”
“No, I’m sick of waiting.” Voice teetering on a whine, you brush off the hold and capture his lips back to yours. So’lek feels like he is being torn in two. It’s important to talk things through, make sure that you understand just how deep his feelings are, but with the way his tewng struggles to keep his hard cock trapped, it is only a matter of time before instincts overcome logic.
So you leave him with no choice.
With one graceful swoop he has you manhandled back against the tree, arms planted on either side of your head to keep you bracketed there. “You need to listen.” So’lek seethes and it comes out far angrier than he intended.
In spite of that, your eyes take on a new sparkle. Those beautifully swollen lips part and soft features morph into a dazed shock just as they had done after that first kiss. Except this time, the aroma of arousal thickens.
Fuck, you’re into this. You like the way he has wrestled you into place. You like how he towers over you now and demands to be heard. Perhaps it is the only reason your protests have immediately stopped. He needs to get this off of his chest before the ability to make full sentences leave him entirely.
So So’lek blurts it all out in a heated rush.
“I did not come here to fool around once. That is not what this is. I am here because it is physically impossible for me to stay away. There is not an hour that goes by where I don’t long to be with you, even in your presence if that is what I can get. I have no clan. I don’t know the customs of your people and I often have a disposition that makes people want to run away rather than draw near. I am not like your other suitors, I do not offer the same things. All of this I know and have tried to respect but it seems no iron will I construct is strong enough to keep me from wanting you all the same.”
You don’t dare to blink and disconnect his gaze from yours.
“And want you I do, paskalin. But not just once, not just in a way that satisfies our bodies alone. I yearn to have every part of you that can be offered.” One step closer and So’lek’s can practically feel the drumming of your rampant heart against his chest. “So if this is not what you want, then you need to tell me now. Because I know that once we cross this threshold, once I get one more taste of you there will be no going back for me. You will have my heart until my dying breath.”
Winds whips against his back. Second feel like years as dainty hands wind up his arms and clasp at the nape of his neck.
“Maybe if you weren’t so stubborn, So’lek, you would already know that I have been yours since the moment we met.”
The next connection of lips is softer, far more patient than the ravaging before. It allows So’lek to fall into your confession properly, to let it settle into his head and heart that this is real. That you are truly sunk into his embrace, candy on his lips, and heart open for him entirely.
So’lek pours every fiber of gratitude into this kiss. He winds his love into the tender brush of his fingers across your cheek. His tail curves around your thigh with the solemn promise to protect you until his heart stops beating. And you breathe in every silent promise he makes with one of your own.
Your long lashes tickle his cheeks and small hands rooted in his hair causes So’lek’s knees to weaken.
This tender moment can only last so long, however. That deep seated fire has not been forgotten and with every second the two of you remain entangled, the hotter it burns. That shift is prevalent in the way you go from running nails over his scalp to tugging on the long locks to pull him closer. So’lek’s own hands go from tender exploration to greedy groping down your hips and backside.
A part of him would question the harshness and vulgarity of his actions were it not for the way you now moan into his mouth. You take every crude touch delivered and beg for more in the same breath.
So’lek only departs from your lips to finally slot his face into the crook of your neck. Nose running along a vein of your throat, he is free to drown in the place where your aroma is most potent. But it’s not enough to breathe you in, not even sufficient to simply witness the way his scent now intertwines with yours. He must taste it, must run his tongue over every inch of perfectly delicious skin like he has dreamed of for weeks.
The flat of his tongue draws over from your collarbone to the edge of your jaw. You don’t hide your sound of delight, nor the obvious push of your pelvis to find his own. Bruising kisses turn into sucking deep marks at the vulnerable skin. So’lek only pauses when you manage to crane your head down and capture one of his ears carefully between sharp teeth. The tip of your tongue follows a smooth path at the shell of his ear. It taunts a deep rumble from his chest.
Pulling back, So’lek hardly gets a chance to witness your pleased smirk before he is caught in another kiss. Unlike the first day in the healer’s tent when you had been hesitant to touch his chest guard, you now use it as your personal leash to bring him closer. Those small hands dig into the tough material and yank without reserve.
Not that it’s needed. So’lek would gladly crawl at your feet if it means getting to devour you once more.
However, it quickly becomes not enough. His mouth salivates at the idea of tasting another sweet part he has been dreaming of. You give no struggle when his hand hitches behind your knee, allowing him to curve that long leg around his waist and press your pelvises together. It takes bending his own knees to account for the height difference but it’s worth all of the hassle when feeling the heat that literally radiates through your tewng.
So’lek suddenly becomes all too aware of how overdressed he is in comparison. That sentiment must be shared because your eyes dance with excitement when he is haphazardly shucking off the chest guards and gear attached. Your own chest piece does little to hide those perfectly shaped breasts, one nipple managing to slip out from under a feather, and even more so does not hide that now red hue over the area. It seems that all your grinding against him, has consequently rutted your chest over his radio and other hard gear.
Perhaps he should feel bad but all So’lek can think about instead is whether or not his teeth and tongue could exhibit a similar reaction along your perfect breasts. Is the other nipple as hard as the one that has slipped out?
It’s as if you can read his mind, or rather notice where his gaze has lowered to have him drooling, because without a single prompting you are undoing the clasp and letting the delicate top fall away.
So’lek would judge any other male for acting the way he does now. So easily reduced to a mouth breathing imbecile just from a natural part of female anatomy. But perhaps he simply didn’t get it until now. Staring at those beautifully pointed nipples and curved breasts the perfect size for his hands, he thinks he may just now understand why a sight like that never gets old. At least, not when it’s yours.
You grasp the hand not holding your leg, confidently guiding his palm to rest over the right breast. So’lek requires no further invitation. He squeezes and savors the squishy weight in his hand, drawing his thumb over that perky nipple that is begging to be sucked. Delight spikes his blood pressure when he witnesses how his calloused fingertips tighten the bud.
“So’lek please! I’m not fragile.”
His name has never sounded so beautiful. Those wicked eyes ensnare him without an ounce of bashfulness. Caught between two temptations So’lek eventually drops your leg in favor of using both hands to explore this new uncovered skin.
The first time he pinches one nipple between his fingertips and tugs it brings on a sound from your throat so sudden and lewd it makes his cock twitch in its confines.
“Harder.”
So’lek’s pupils dilate. What a little pain slut you’ve turned out to be and from the blissed expression you wear now, there is not an ounce of you that is ashamed of it. Nor should you be. Every new discovery is a gift So’lek delights in unwrapping.
“Always so demanding, paskalin.” Voice gravelly and thick with lust, So’lek bends down further until his lips are skating over the swell of your breasts.
“I’m actually quite a patient person.” Even with labored breath your quip doesn’t lose its whip.
“Is that so?” It is by no means playing fair, but So’lek latches his lips around your left nipple before letting you respond. He rolls the raised flesh between his teeth, biting down just hard enough to capture the peak and pull it back.
You have a handful of braids gathered in your grip tightly but they don’t stop the retreat of his head. You let out a guttural groan, rising onto your toes as if to enhance the sharp sting. And still, your determination to get out a response does not falter.
“I’ve waited for you this long, haven’t I? Agh Eywa mm…flirted with you for weeks waiting for you to take the bait.”
So’lek switches to the other side, snapping his teeth around the raised bud before muttering, “You poor thing.”
“Mock me all you want but you’re cruel for making me wait.” A gasp bubbles up your throat when he pinches the disregarded nipple while the other is nipped by his teeth. “A woman has needs, So’lek.”
Those words have his ears perking in interest, even lapping at the abused flesh so you have a better chance at finishing that thought.
“Thinking of you with my hand between my thighs is only good for so long before I start wanting the real thing.”
A string of saliva still connecting your nipple to his lips, So’lek pulls back to look up at you. “Is that what you do, paskalin? Touch yourself while you dream about me?”
Then with zero hesitation, “I was three fingers deep inside myself this morning while I pondered what your cock would feel like down my throat.”
Static fills his head, the only sound bouncing in his skull is your unabashed confession. This morning. You had been touching yourself to the thought of him this morning. Meaning while he was buzzing with adrenaline, thoughts wild and uncontained at the thought of what if, as he made the trek to the Zeswa camp, you were exploring the parts of yourself he had been dreaming of for weeks while conjuring dirty fantasies of him. So’lek had been spiraling and questioning all of his desires with no knowledge that you were already his for the taking.
And that’s what it has been. Weeks and weeks of him dreaming and wishing and overthinking while you waited patiently for him to untuck his tail and do something about it. How long has he gone on torturing himself while you’ve been right here?
Too long.
Way too fucking long.
But now, he is determined to make up for every second of lost time.
“You are trouble.” Voice rough with a rumbling depth, you are unbothered by his change in inflection.
“I’m just being honest.” You shrug, lips tempted into a crooked smirk. “Don’t ask the question if you can’t handle the answer.”
Your confident snip simultaneously delights and taunts him. It tugs at the part of him that no longer wants to be gentle or conscientious. You are coaxing out the beast in him that is nothing but teeth, and from your self satisfied smirk it’s clear you know it too.
So’lek rises back to his full height, dragging his muscular form along your sweet curves until his impressive frame is molded against your own. When you crane your neck to look at him he witnesses your dilated pupils even beneath the shadow that he has cast over you. It’s So’lek’s hand now that roots into your hair, yanking you forward into a demanding kiss.
He gives no room for air, slotting his nose along yours and devouring you with vengeance. So’lek has to hold back a vicious smirk at the moan you release once he begins sucking on your tongue. Dulls nails dig into his waist, clawing to bring him impossibly closer. They seek to draw blood in retaliation when he finally breaks the kiss.
“You are not the only one who has been waiting for a taste, paskalin.”
You grin and lean forward, interpreting that as another filthy kiss coming your way. However, it is not your lips that he speaks of now. Or at least, not those lips. Your tail whips in surprise when large hands begin undoing the string around it. So’lek tugs and digs at those knots without preamble, watching your pretty face as you realize where this is heading.
Once the offensive garment is ripped away he drops to his knees. His nostrils flare, greedily taking in your thick essence but it's not enough. So’lek roughly yanks one of your legs over his shoulder and his ears twitch to catch your pretty gasp. Now teetering on one leg while the other is curved over his broad shoulder, you are perfectly laid out for him.
So’lek barely has enough time to appreciate the view before his instincts demand a taste. Intricate stripes along your inner thighs and navel create an alluring path to the treasure between your legs. So’lek runs the tip of his nose along one stripe of your thigh before stopping less than an inch from your soaked cunt.
Eywa above, his vivid imagination could never compare to the beauty that lies before him now!
Your needy clit is already engorged, a pretty pearl that begs to be played with. He uses his thumbs to part your lips and get an unobstructed view. Hot breath tickles your sensitive core causing your now displayed entrance to flutter. Watching the way your pussy grasps at nothing has So’lek caught between wanting to drown himself in your juices or fill you with his aching cock.
“So’lek, you are such a fucking tease I-”
The end of that complaint is strangled into a whine when his lips close around your clit. A small hand pushes at the back of his head. As if he would need the encouragement. So’lek smothers himself in your warmth. Nose slotted between your lips his tongue runs up the sensitive cut of you, collecting every ounce of sticky arousal it can find. The tip of his tongue then circles around that pulsing bud until your clitoral hood is pushed back and he can attack the nerve dead on.
That action conjures a violent reaction. Hips buck back at him hard enough to have your one supporting leg struggling to remain planted. So’lek takes that as his cue to take pity on you. He slinks the other leg over his shoulder and wraps his arms around your thighs to support the weight. This way he has full control of wrangling your soaked cunt to his lips while you no longer have to focus on standing.
“Oh Eywa! More…more So’lek…I need more.” Although your voice has flitted into desperate gasps, it loses none of its conviction.
Your demands push him further, his tongue now spearing into your pussy with a desire to explore. Fuck, even around his tongue you are tight as a vise. So’lek rises to his feet, keeping you sat on his shoulders as your back glides along the tree trunk. If you have a fear of heights it is not voiced as you are pinned against the trunk and ravaged.
“Right there! Right there! Ah yes! Right-”
That constantly babbling has never been more beautiful than now. His tongue curves to hit that oh so special spot that has your thighs shaking around his head. So’lek’s nails dig into your ass to spread you wider as your own viciously claws into his scalp.
With the perfect combination of his tongue fucking up into you and his nose rutting along your clit, your first orgasm comes in no time. So’lek drinks up every last drop selfishly. He considers it a reward after all of this time he’s behaved, been patient and tried to get you out of his head. Now that you’ve broken his resolve, it’s only fair that you give him everything that you have. That he collects what belongs to him.
When So’lek finally peels away, he finds you catching your breath while one hand grips a tree branch above. He’s caught staring but even with a flushed hue over your cheeks, you simply let out a breathy laugh in a daze. Your legs are shaking as he lowers you back onto your feet but that isn’t enough to deter you.
Half of his face coated in your essence, So’lek graciously obeys the hands that yank him down for another kiss. It seems right that you get to taste how delicious you are too. His big hands wrap around either side of your neck, angling your face upwards and deeper into the kiss.
Meanwhile, it seems that even in the afterglow of a climax, you can’t refrain from being a minx. Confident hands map the territory of his slim hips and v line before one sneaks back to grab his ass. His dark chuckle is passed between his lips to yours as you hold back a devious smirk.
“Your turn.” You demand, tugging at the waistband of his loincloth with the patience of a child waiting to unwrap a present. The motion only increases the ache in his groin, somewhat surprised that the piece of fabric has managed to contain his boner.
So’lek practically jumps out of his skin when you slip past the waistband. His left hand slams against the tree trunk as he groans when you wrap around his base, thumb running up a thick vein. The fire in his eyes matches your own. This is a game of tug a war. Weeks of yearning and dreaming have left both of you utterly insatiable. Matched in intensity, you too are determined to take everything your desired mate has to offer.
And So’lek is going to deliver it to you on a silver platter.
That is, after he gets his own chunk of flesh.
Hastily undoing the string of his tewng, So’lek slots his face into your neck as you start a slow but firm pace stroking him. It is borderline torture, the way you already know how to apply the perfect amount of pressure at the right places while still having your fun sweeping a thumb over his head to collect the precum there. A sweat breaks out along his forehead. He finds himself wishing for a hair tie to wrangle his now messy braids out of the way as he holds back from exploding all over your stomach.
“You’re so pretty.” You marvel, aroused scent intermingling with his own as you stare down with blown out pupils. Fuck, you are going to kill him if you keep looking at him like that. It’s no wonder his feral instincts have taken over. When yours are already unleashed it’s impossible to hold back. He was a fool for ever thinking he could escape your taunting.
“No,” So’lek nearly barks when you try to sink down onto your knees. He quickly wraps a firm hand around your bicep to urge you back up. Those plump lips part, no doubt preparing to protest, perhaps say something about how unfair he’s been for once again making you wait. So’lek cuts in before you get the chance. “I need to be inside you. Now.”
It’s impossible to keep back the rugged timber that takes over his words. Even more so impossible to hide the desperation that fills him to the brim. As much as he is overtaken by the thought of your talented mouth wrapped around him, he knows there is no way he will be able to hold himself back from coming then. And when he reaches that high for the first time with you, So’lek wants nothing more than to be buried deep inside of you, feeling the way you unravel around him.
But his body is already far too close to the edge. A heat coils in his abdomen and every touch you deposit has his tip leaking more sticky precum. This needs to happen now before he loses it prematurely.
Luckily, your attitude appears to be put into check by his words. All signs of disappointment quickly shift into a raw fervor, hands grabbing for his shoulders. So’lek takes the cue in stride, hoisting your knee up to his hip and positioning himself at your entrance.
And then he hesitates.
So’lek is not small by any means and he has not properly prepared you for him.
“Oh Eywa,” You groan, “I stretched myself out this morning, So’lek just…please!”
That whine and pinched expression is borderline distressed and therefore all the encouragement he requires to slink forward. You’re his mate and as you’ve said, a woman has needs. From here on out he is going to be the sole provider for every single one of yours.
It takes a hand to your hip in order to keep control of his pace sinking inside. So’lek’s hairless brows furrow and muzzle wrinkles at the difficulty required to keep himself from plunging inside with one thrust. Sweet sounds wracking your throat, you provide no help as your hips keep trying to slant forward. At this point there is going to be an imprint of his fingers from where they press into your hip.
So’lek lets out a harsh breath.
Stars above, that thought has the potential to send him down a very dark hole. Just thinking about all the ways and places he can mark you has his ball drawing up against his body.
When he is finally seated all the way inside, pelvis flush against your own, both of you take a moment to breathe. Panted air tickles his chest from where you have your forehead slants against his collarbone. His own nose buries into that luscious hair that he has admired flying in the wind for weeks.
So’lek’s tail wraps around your planted leg and it’s then that he feels the way you are on the verge of collapsing. Hooking an arm underneath that knee he swipes it to his waist. The new angle makes both of you groan but you are quick to lock both ankles at the base of his spine and cling for dear life.
This moment is sacred.
The first of many times that he can feel what it means to be intimately intertwined with you in a way only inferior to making tsaheylu. So much distance he has kept between the two of you only to now gorge himself in a closeness beyond anything he has ever experienced. And someday, someday very soon, it will be even more. Once he has courted you properly, showered you with the love and attention has wanted to give you from the very beginning, the two of you will make the bond.
A permanent entanglement that he will cherish until the end of his days.
“So’lek,” You whisper. Nothing but his name against his chest until your right hand is reaching up to brush his cheek. He nuzzles into your palm without thought before ducking down until your cheek is sliding against his own. It’s in this primal act of scenting that his hips finally begin to move.
Long languid thrusts that have you shuddering against him while his teeth bite into his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. In this state you are an open book. Every spike of your pleasure is indicated by the way you squeeze his cock, or dig your nails into his shoulder blades, or even nips at his pulse point. There is nothing demure about your exploration.
As his pace picks up, now figuring out where that sweet spot is to torment, your soft hands are mapping every inch of him they can reach. His neck, his shoulders, every rigid line of his abdomen. When one hand reaches to squeeze his muscular bicep his tail coils.
You are matched in desire perfectly, a fact that threatens to coax him into spilling inside of you instantly. So’lek has to grit his teeth to hold back even as your lips find his own again. This kiss is a mess of saliva and haphazard coordination as the increased speed of his thrusts have you jackhammering up the tree trunk. It doesn’t matter.
All So’lek can focus is your sweet sounds and how eagerly your body welcomes him in.
“Paskalin,” He groans, barely managing to tear away from your lips. “You are everything.”
He witnesses the way those words sink in, how long it takes for them to settle before you are able to smile back at him in your disheveled state. This smile is unique from the many others he has seen you wear. It is one not meant for the public eye, a rare form that one can only be seen in an intimate setting like this. A smile that now only shines for him.
A burst of adrenaline courses through his veins. Tired muscles renew tenfold, cock driving up into you now with uncontained zeal. This burst of energy has him entirely distracted so when a foreign touch suddenly scrapes his kuru, So’lek just about buckles and takes you both to the ground.
With a hiss he rights himself and pushes you harder against the tree. Nails glide over his protective braid with a featherlight pressure before sweeping over his shoulder and getting dangerously close to the exposed tendrils.
So’lek’s jaw clamps hard enough to make his teeth ache.
“Don’t do that, tanhi [star]. You’re going to make me come.”
“My thoughts exactly.” That devious hitch in your voice cracks when he sends a harsh thrust in reprimanding.
“I mean it.” He grits.
“So do I.” Baby hairs plastered to your damp forehead, you stare him down with a renewed fervor. “I want all of you, So’lek. Everything.”
The dancing tendrils of his kuru are dragged along your shoulder teasingly. His vision zeroes in on the sight, muscles of his abdomen tightening. Your forehead tips against his own, lashes almost kissing his cheek.
“Please don’t make me beg,” you whisper.
It’s intentional, the way your pussy clamps around him in a vice like grip as those words leave your lips. So’lek can no longer remember why he was trying to draw this out as he rickets his hips upwards and gets lost in the feeling of his kuru tendrils wrapping around one of your fingers.
Whatever composure you had temporarily regained becomes frazzled once more as the head of his cock knocks at your sweet spot over and over again with overwhelming accuracy. Your cries muddle together just as your orgasm comes to line up with his.
So’lek has felt no greater relief than releasing himself deep inside of tight heat. Stars dot his vision while you milk him for all that he is worth, panting against his neck. His kuru is dropped and So’lek’s knees wobble, for the first time finding difficulty in holding both of your weight.
He becomes a statue following that high. His brain rings with the same dead sound the computers at headquarters make. You are no better off, clinging to him for dear life as your breasts push against him with every rushed exhale. The first movement is your arms cinching tighter around his neck. A strangely innocent and endearing hug considering the lewd entanglement the two of you maintain.
Gently, So’lek slips out and guides you back onto your feet. He has to scramble when your knees immediately buckle. Swiping his arms beneath your own, he coaxes you to lean your weight on him.
“Are you alright?” His worried tone is in direct contrast to the breathy laugh you give.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” You giggle, clinging to his shoulders. “They’ll work again…eventually.”
Your eyes crinkle in the same way they do when watching him fall off of a pa’li. So’lek’s lips curve into their own grin. His lips are still stretched wide when he plants tender kisses to your hairline.
“You smell good,” You hum.
So’lek chuckles fondly before noticing the combined spend that trails down your inner thighs. He has nothing but his gear with him out here in the fields. The only fabric he carries is a small bundle of bandages but he used up the last of it a few days ago. His lips turn down. He will need to be more prepared than this now that he has a mate to look after.
“Paskalin, let me find something to clean you up with.”
“No no shhh,” You reach up and place a finger against his lips. “Stop thinking for one second and hold me.”
So’lek’s heart twists at your little antics, silently obeying your request, shifting both of you to lay on the long grass. Sweaty limbs tangle together, your smaller form messily sprawled across him until your hair is twisted over his abdomen. So’lek slings and arm over your back to cradle you closer.
This is always the part he has missed. Various partners over the years and yet not one of them holding the tender affection that radiates between the two of you now. The chance to just hold and bask in the other’s presence. Little touches that speak volumes louder than he ever could. So’lek is not good with words. He never says the right thing or in the right way.
But he can do this. He can drench the sweet brush of his fingertips over your skin with the weight of every confession he has ever been tempted to give you. He can radiate the deep love that blossoms in his chest with every soft kiss to your hairline and swipe of his thumb over your cheek. And he can feel the same devotion reciprocated every time you snuggle further into his chest or trace lines over his abdomen.
Before long your tail whips out to jest with his curious fingers. He swipes over the thin appendage, watching the way it flickers and circles around his wrist before letting go. The tuft of hair at the end tickles his forearm as it playfully taunts and bats away from his touch. This little game is more amusing than he cares to admit.
A muffled giggle against his chest tells him that his fixation is not concealed. However, for the first time in weeks he’s allowed to not care. There is no lingering regret at showing his cards to you or betraying his emotions to be analyzed. With you he gets to let that mask fall away, allowing you to see a part of him so vulnerable that So’lek thought it had died off years ago.
“I will be ready again in about ten minutes.” You state, smiling while tracing the veins of his left arm. The insinuation and expectation is clear and it shakes a surprised laugh from his lungs.
“And if I am not, paskalin?” So’leks goads with a smirk.
You shift onto your stomach, chin resting atop his chest so that you can look at him directly now. Your tail lashes behind you as you smirk up at him. “Then you better find a way to be.”
So’lek lets out a low chuckle, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Your smile, however, falters when you notice something. Legs still shaky and weak, you try to climb up his chest to get a better look. He’s unsure what you are getting at but So’lek doesn’t hesitate in cinching a hand behind your knee and using that grip to slide you upwards.
Hairless brows furrowed and bottom lip on the verge of jutting into a pout, one dainty finger runs over the skin beneath his eyes. It is only then he realizes that he must have dark circles beneath his eyes from not sleeping last night.
“You did not sleep.”
It truly is of little importance but watching how genuinely concerned you are by it may just be the most endearing thing he has ever witnessed. It reminds him of the day you met. The first time was subjected to your insistent care as he writhed and tried to assure you he was fine. If only back then he knew what he knows now. You always take care of him, of anyone and everyone in your vicinity.
No matter what front he has put up. Regardless of every effort he has made to convince you and himself that he does not need this, it has never been a match for you. You who not only sees through his walls but knocks them down with that infectious grin. The Great Mother has blessed him with the only woman stubborn enough to break him the way he truly needed.
“I was up thinking.”
You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Of course you were. What am I going to do with you?” You give him a reprimanding glare but fondness seeps into your beautiful features before you are scooting upwards again.
So’lek expects a kiss, lashes already flutter over his cheeks in anticipation but then those lips are not touching his. Instead a delicate kiss is placed over each eyelid, as if to kiss the sleep deprivation away.
When So’lek opens his eyes you are already shuffling to tuck your face against his neck nonchalantly as if you have not made his heart overflow with one simple move.
This is what Ri’nela had been talking about. Not just surviving but thriving. Have a place to call home, or perhaps in his case someone. For years his sole drive in life has been to repay the RDA for the tragedies they have rained on Pandora, on his clan. That has been his purpose. There has always been something to fight for.
But for the first time in years he now has someone to fight for as well.
Please don't hesitate to share your thoughts! I spent way too much time obsessing over this so getting some feedback/interaction would mean the world to me<3
"Taglist" AKA peeps I thought might like this: @pandoraslxna @tallulah477 @eywaite
You left for the village, bright early in the morning before he could convince you to stay for a few more minutes—he’s sure the elders don’t even wake that early. And you left him with your daughter, Tey’a, who resembles every bit of you; from the top of her head, down to the tips of her toes.
It’s like leaving a little piece of you wherever you go. A cute, teensy-sized piece. The only downside is, she also inherited your foul temper.
Tey’a fiddles with the twine in her hands, lines on her face creasing in concentration as she fails to knot a bead onto her woven top. Neteyam can already see the protest before it comes.
“Where’s mama?” she whines, frustration lining the corners of her eyes.
“Mama’s busy, 'itetsyìp,” he replies, sitting with her on the mat. He takes the weave from her hands and fixes the bead with a simple knot. “You have me.”
She eyes her father, face contorting like she’s contemplating his presence, then huffs, “No, I want mom.”
Neteyam sighs, brushing the stray braid that covers her face to the side. She dodges his touch, turning her head a little to the right. The girl takes her unfinished craft from her father’s hands and ties all the knots she can muster with her tiny fingers. Not without struggle; but she seems extremely intent on fixing her weaved top without his help.
His tail flicks to the side, a huff escaping him. “I’ll go get mama. If she says she’s busy then dadda will help you, alright?”
Tey’a nods grudgingly as he places a kiss to the top of her head.
“Wait here.”
Neteyam finds you easily. You did not go far—only a few homes away from your own, but you look pissed. You’re carrying a large basket of fish, eyes impatient as the fisherman explains something he doesn’t quite understand. Eywa. He prays you won’t strangle him for interrupting.
Neteyam approaches, and when you catch his eyes from the corner of your own, he freezes. Your attention is on him now.
You don’t even look like you want to dump the basket of fish on the fisherman anymore. You look like you might just dump it on him.
Neteyam looks away, feigning interest at a passerby. He’ll just have to help Tey’a himself. She’s six. Her anger is way less scarier than yours.
“Mom!” his little girl calls out. Great Mother. Your head snaps to the tent of your home, shooting Neteyam a brief look.
“I’ll handle it,” he mumbles quickly, eyes averted as he makes his way to the entrance. Clearing his throat, Neteyam summons the most feminine voice he can possibly muster, “Yes, 'itetsyìp? I’m busy, sweetheart.”
Tey’a appears from the flap of the tent, purely unimpressed. “Dad, I’m not three.”
Her eyes flicker from him to you– who’s still arguing with the fisherman.
“You didn’t even try!” she cries out, storming inside in a puff of storm clouds.
This… this is not ideal, he sighs, already running after the six year old.
Tw: Fire and Ash/From the Ashes cross overs, !!SMUT!!, fingering, choking, titty grabbing/nipple pinching, bitting, Wukula is a sadomasochist and possessive, scenting?
A/N: I need to get my smut game up. Hope ya like this one.
Varang had a talk with Miles, she had told him how one of her most trusted warriors was interested in you. She asked him about you. If you were with someone and if that someone needed to be taken out. Varang knew what she was doing, whatever Wukula wanted, she was going to get it for him. He deserved it after he had proven time and time again his loyalty to her. She doesn't mind rewarding him, but the issue was, how would you take it? She hoped you'd comply, or else she'd have seconds thoughts on the deal both her and Miles had.
Miles had pulled you aside to talk to you about Varang's discussion. "Are you out of your fucking mind?! You expect me to willingly be with some guy I only met once!?" You asked him, yelling at him. "Look, I know it's a lot to ask, but come on." Miles tried to say. "So you get some local tail and you're doing what she tells you to do?! Didn't peg you for someone who's easily manipulated for some kitty." You insulted. Miles didn't say anything. He just sighed. "It ain't that bad. You really think I'd let you off with some random batshit crazy son of a bitch? I heard this Wukula guy is good. A good soldier, very loyal to his Tsahik." He tried saying.
"And what of me!? Don't I have a say in this?!" You asked, still angry. "You do, but you kind of don't." Miles said. "It's not that bad, they may be a bit rough around the edges, but, you won't know unless you try it. You might like it." He commented. You rolled your eyes. "I know you did. She's got you wrapped around her finger." You sassed. Youo stayed quiet for a moment. Then asked. "If I refuse?" You looked at your boss. "Just give it a try, you don't have to like the guy. Just, you know. Get your rock off with him and.. You know, just play with him a bit." He tried to emphasize. "So be a booty call?" You asked. "Something like that." He said. "You're unbelievable." You told him.
You groaned, as much as you claim to not want to. You kind of wanted to explore that. What it would be like to be with a na'vi. A na'vi like him. Your first impression of him had you feeling all kinds of things. Things that you knew Lyle would judge the shit out of you. He did not need to know. You sighed. "Fine. I'll do it." You responded, still somewhat not happy. Miles smirk. "I knew you were a good sport." He told you.
The days that followed, you continued with your work. But also involving yourself with the Mangkwa more. If you wanted to associate with them, you had to be like them, think like that them and so on. You also thought them how to use guns and whatever other weapons Miles brought them. You showed them how to make thunder. Funny way to say it, but whatever.
You also noticed how Wukula watched you from a distance, he didn't approach you yet. Just watched you. As if he was studying you. But you didn't understand why he didn't approach you yet. He was odd, really odd. But you meet his sister, Zari, she was a wild being. Crazy in your opinion, with no boundaries, but she was alright.
That night in particular, you were in her yurt, allowing her to dress you like the other women. You only keeping your jorts on. You had your shirt and sports bra discarded. Zari had covered your bright blue skin with ashes mixed in with white paint. Face, torso and stomach. She painted your arms black to blackout any blueness you had. And red that went from your jaw, lips, down to your neck, and shoulders. You hissed when she tighten the leather bindings onto your chest. "Fuck!" You hissed at her, only making her laugh. "You'll grow used to it." She smirked, as she tied the leather bindings tightly. "Get used to it? Damn, you guys are some kind of masochists." You said, as the leather began to dig into your skin.
"Talk about dress up." You commented, Zari only smiled as she finished. "He'll like it." She purred, as she the moved around to get a good look at you. Seen how you looked like one of the people. Almost, you lacked scarification and body piercings, well you had a piercing but was located elsewhere. "Don't keep him waiting, he may be patient, but he tends to get impatient." Zari told you, quickly urging you to go. You stepped out of the yurt, going to find him.
You couldn't find him, no matter where you looked, he wasn't around. Was he avoiding you now? How typical. He literally wanted you or at least you thought he did. Now he was avoiding you, as if you didn't mean anything. Why was this bothering you so much?!
Before you could head back to the village, you felt a strong pair of hands grab you and pushed you against a tree. You hissed in pain. "The fuck?!" You shrieked. It was none other than Wukula, expect. He looked angry. You stared back at him, your ears leaned back against your hair and tail going right between your legs. "This was my sister's doing, wasn't it?" He asked, no demanded to know. "Um.. yeah?" You said, nervously. You thought he was talking about the whole makeover thing. But instead he then leaned down, sniffing you. He sniffed your neck, jaw and back of your ears. Your face heating up. Luckily he couldn't see because of the paint.
Wukula growled. "She scented you." He hissed in anger. "She what?" You asked, confused. "Scented you. She scented what belongs to me." He snarled. The way he snarled was hot. You felt your stomach jump and how you squeezed your thighs together. He caught on what you did. "Oh? You think this is some kind of game?" He asked. "No! I just-" You tried to say, but you had no idea what to say. Wuluka just stared at you. He knew that you had very little knowledge on na'vi behavior and whatever else.
"My sister, she lacks my discipline. She's wild. Like a wild fire that can't be controlled." He said, as he stared tensely at you. "She's always wanted what I had." He commented, as he stared down at your small frame. Seeing you dressed in the Mangkwan attire, well mostly all of it. You still had your jorts on. "But you? She will not have you." He purred, as he caressed your face, the same way he did when you first met. "I'd rather kill her than before allowing her to touch what's mine." He hissed. You felt your core shake, with exactment. Not by him claiming to kill his sister, but his deep voice. Him talking made you feel all kinds of things.
Wukula smirked, he could smell your excitement. "I can smell you." He growled. You squeezed your thighs together, trying to hide it, but it was no use. He can still smell your arousal. "That won't do anything." He growled, then he turned you around, now facing the dead tree and your back to his. He got a good look at your back. Your slim waist and your back dimples. He also caught a glimpse of the tramp stamp you had. You still couldn't believe they actually managed to get that detail. You felt how his fingers caressed the tattoo making you flinch in surprise and your tail curl around his wrist.
He chuckled darkly, grabbing a hold of your tail, slightly pulling it. Making you hiss. "You like that don't you?" He asked, as he was now close. His chest to your back down. His free hand trailed down your ribs, to your stomach. Feeling your virgin skin. Smearing the body paint with his. Until he reached your jorts. He just shoved his hand down your into jorts, passed your panties. He waisted no time in rubbing your already needy clit. You gasped, feeling how his fingers rubbed at your needy and pierced bud.
"Interesting. You're soaking, but you have metal object here." He purred against your ear. Rubbing your clit more. You nearly choked on your saliva. Closing your eyes. "What are you hiding?" He asked, as he gently bit your ear, making you let out a heavy sigh. How did he learn to do that? You though, as his fingers continued to work their magic. His other hand let go of your tail, bringing it up to your chest. Grabbing at one of your breasts, squeezing them through the leather. Making you quiver, legs shaking as you felt him pinching your nipple. Causing you to whine.
Wukula was loving this, how easy it was for you to submit to him. Slowly, he inserted finger inside. Feeling the burning stretch, you arched your back, gasping for oxygen. You brought your hands behind him, gripping onto his waist. Digging your nails into his flesh. As if trying to hold on. He growled, as he moved his finger in and out, slowly. "Oh god." You purred, feeling his fingers caress the inside of your walls. Craning your neck back, he took the opportunity and bit you right on your exposed skin. The hand that once grabbed at your chest, ripped the leather off you.
The pain of the rip, along with the leather hitting your skin stung. But you liked the stinging sensation, you clenched around his finger. He felt it. "You like the pain I see." He purred against your neck, as he bit your neck again. Having you slightly flinch. He went back to grabbing at your breasts and pinching your nipples while his other hand was busy. You slowly felt as he added another finger. You shut your eyes tightly, as his fingers moved even faster, harsher. Not only were his fngers working wonders, but so is his thumb. Giving your pierced clit firm rubbed. You were getting closer to your orgasm.
He pulled away from your neck, he grabbed your face with his free hand and crashed his lips against yours. You felt his nose rub against yours. Mouth, tongue and teeth was all you felt. You felt how his fingers curled around your hair, slightly pulling it back to kiss you more. Or what you assume was kissing. You were too weak to respond to him, you just let him bite at your bottom lip. Drawing blood. He licked your bottom lip, tasting your blood. He hissed as he continued his assault to your mouth and his hand kept on trying to get you to reach your orgasm.
"Ah! I-I'm gonna-" You cried out against his mouth, but he ignored your please. His hands moving faster and harder. You were done for, your eyes rolled at the back of your head, back arching further. Your spine began to hurt at this point. That was what did it, you began to squirt all over his hand. Your body convulsed out of pure pleasure. Wukula watched as you fell apart, at his mercy. He knew he picked right. "I'm not done with you yet." He purred, pulling his fingers out of you. He then picked you up, bridal style. Walking you back to the village. To allow you to rest a bit, until next time. He will make you his properly.
He head was on your lap, basking in your attention after a long day separated from his lovely spouse.
He loved that you were so open minded and spent time with the scientists he considered his friends, but his time was split at home as the leader of the people, alway busy.
Not that you weren’t as busy, but instead of looking for him during those small breaks like he would search for you, you loved learning, getting to understand his human people, wanting to understand him more.
It was sweet, but he just wanted to be right beside you all the time.
But he also didn't mind when your new hobby in the Lab benefitted him too.
Oranges.
Jake took your hand that was gently massaging his forehead and brought it to his nose with a deep inhale, causing you to laugh at him and gently smack his hand away, wiggling your arm for him to release you. You knew he was tired after a long hunt and needed the head massaging.
He didn't even pretend to struggle holding your hand in place, bringing your fingertips to his lips and finally opening his eyes up to your amused face.
"Bring any for us to share, baby? Or you hogging them all to yourself?" His teasing voice knew before he even asked and that sheepish grin of yours said everything.
"I did bring some... but you took too long to return." You tried hiding your pretty smile behind your other hand but Jake just pulled both closer with exaggerated inhales, causing you to laugh and finally bring yourself to his side.
"How's the garden doing today?" He brings you closer, arm wrapped around your waist as your hand slowly slides right above his heart, nuzzling his face to your cheek.
You hummed softly, looking at him but with glazed eyes, thinking about Grace's Garden you were slowly becoming the caretaker of.
"The orange tree might have ..." you paused as Jake began kissing down your face, eyes dialating at your husband, trying to remember the conversation between Norm and Max about the new fruit trees.
"They made a hybrid tree, the lemons are apparently sweet and too big." Jake tries to pay attention, but your orange scented hand is dragging up his temple and sliding down his cheek.
He knows he should move you to the hammock, should start helping set up dinner and should be listening.
He nuzzles your hand closer instead and falls asleep to the sound of his person, who noticing his silence places both hands on his cheek and kisses Jake's eyelids...
and nose...
You kiss him so softly, he smiles on your lips and finally sleeps safely, at home where your scent brought him peace.
A/N: this was very much inspired by THIS post here by @wjehfshs Also y’all I am writing on the clock at my job that’s how deep in this hole am. SUE ME! (This lowkey may be a bit OOC but just lemme have my moment)
Translations: (as usual lemme know if anything is wrong)
Toruk: great leonopteryx
Sa’nok: mother
Sempul: father
Tsahìk: clan healer
Ma tìyawn: love.
(Eveything else should be translated)
Warnings: TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF! mentions of infertility. Dad!So’lek. Mentions loss and of depression (if you squint)
Summary: So’lek is many things: warrior, protector, grump. You are wonder and laughter and soft chaos. Between river water, stolen smiles, and a sleeping child, the two of you learn that family is not only born. It is chosen.
The sun was barely peeking over the celebration arches when So’lek watched you set off for the day. Burden Rest still slept, the river beside it slow and misted, and for once he felt no urgency pressing against his ribs. You and he had made a home here, however temporary, just off the water’s edge. The land was healing after the many months since the devastation nearby caused by mercer. It had also been some time now since he worried about sleep or his next meal. Not with you beside him.
You leaned in to press a soft kiss to his forehead before slinging your bow over your shoulder, your fingers lingering to caress the small, dark crown of the infant cradled in his arms. The motion was instinctive and gentle, the kind of touch that spoke of care without effort.
She was a child of war. Her parents had been lost to a cause that should never have existed, a cruelty brought by the sky people and paid for by those who had done nothing but live. It was a cause So’lek had once fought with relentless fury, until her. Until the small life he now held so carefully against his chest.
You and So’lek had been mated for many suns, moving through the world with little more than the clothes on your backs. Together, you had traveled across Pandora in the seasons following the cleansing of the land, seeking new tribes and new understanding. Yet no matter how far you wandered, you always found your way back toward Hometree. That was where you were headed now, toward the Aranahe, to welcome this new life properly into the clan.
When you and So’lek learned you could not carry life of your own, the grief had hollowed you in a way he had not known how to mend. You had withdrawn, retreating into yourself, and there were moments when he barely recognized the na’vi he loved. He tried to console you, to remind you that he saw you fully, body and soul, and that this truth did not lessen you in his eyes. He would never see you differently. Still, the ache remained. The knowledge that your clan, his clan, would not continue through you weighed heavily, and he could not take that pain from you.
It was part of why he followed you when you chose to leave, trusting the journey itself to offer clarity where words could not.
By the will of Eywa, it did.
The RDA helicopter had come without warning, its shadow falling over a Na’vi camp already half-destroyed by its landing. You and So’lek had been traveling for days when you stumbled upon the devastation, but by the time you reached it, the damage was done. Tents lay crushed beneath twisted metal, smoke curling through the trees.
Together, you fought back. Arrows flew. Humans fell. Some fled, scrambling for survival, but many Na’vi were already lost. When So’lek rushed into a burning tent, calling your name through the smoke, he found a young Na’vi mother curled on the ground. She was grievously wounded, her breath shallow as she cradled her infant close.
Her pleas had been quiet, broken, yet unmistakable. She pressed her child toward him with shaking hands, knowing she would not survive. You watched as So’lek swore to her that her daughter would be safe, that she would be loved. The mother died moments later, her final breath leaving her with the babe still in her arms. You turned away as So’lek gently lifted the child and called you to follow him, the tent collapsing behind you as you escaped.
Now, as the morning light warmed his skin, So’lek stood in that same quiet truth.
Peaceful. Content. Yet carrying the memory of what was before.
Holding the child, he faced a future he had never imagined for himself—one that will be shaped not by vengeance or war, but by care, by patience, by love.
And for the first time in many years, he welcomed the challenge.
Though you spent most of the journey with the babe clinging to your chest in a carefully fashioned wrap, So’lek insisted on taking her when he could, giving you moments of quiet between her cries. He knew this child was a blessing from Eywa, even if the path that led her to you had been steeped in loss. Still, the light that returned to your eyes each time you rocked her to sleep was something he had missed more than he ever admitted. The first time he saw it again, it struck him hard—beautiful and devastating all at once—to see his yawne happy again.
That was what you were to him. Beloved.
And now, it seemed, the two of you were.
The day before, you had spoken excitedly about taking advantage of the river, about fishing together before setting off again. As So’lek rose from sleep, he watched you move ahead of him through the tent, through the leaves, skipping lightly over roots and stones, your hand brushing along low-hanging vines simply because they were there. You let Pandora touch you freely, welcoming it against your skin. This was the version of you he had missed so deeply, the daring, adventurous soul that delighted in the world’s gifts without hesitation.
He wished he could say the same for himself.
Beyond the quiet bubble the three of you now occupied, So’lek offered no such softness to the world. He kept his distance, his vigilance sharp, and his presence firm. If it meant keeping his new family safe, he would gladly bear the weight of being seen as stern or unyielding. You teased him often for it, calling him grumpy or overprotective, always with that fond smile that softened the words. And you knew, you always knew, that once the world narrowed back down to just the two of you, he would loosen his guard and soften for you alone.
When you vanished from sight along the river’s edge, So’lek adjusted the child gently into the makeshift wrap against his chest. You had not yet given her a name, choosing instead to wait for the ceremony the clan would perform in her honor. Still, each time he looked into her wide, curious eyes, something shifted inside him. A feeling he had never been allowed to name before, nor dared to claim. Was this fatherhood? Or was it simply the instinct to protect, sharpened now by love?
She stirred softly, nestling deeper against him, her small body relaxing as sleep claimed her once more. So’lek soothed her with slow, steady movements, the rhythm natural despite his inexperience.
“Gentle, my little pxisìk… gentle.”
His little blossom, indeed. Though the two of you had only known her for a short while, love had taken root quickly, unfurling with quiet certainty. She was already growing, already reaching. So much potential held in such a small body, more promise in her now than either of you had dared to hope for before.
With the child settled, he stepped fully from the tent, the morning sunlight briefly blinding as it spilled across his vision.
There were already Na’vi gathered around the fire, sharing quiet morning conversation as they warmed themselves against the lingering chill. So’lek glanced once more toward the river, hoping to catch sight of you, but you had wandered farther out of view, swallowed by reeds and stone.
Cradling one arm securely beneath the small girl, he made his way into the gathering, offering quiet greetings to the Zeswa who had so kindly lent you a tent for the past few days. Their hospitality had not gone unnoticed, nor unappreciated.
“Ah,” a voice called from the main tent, rich with warmth and amusement.
So’lek turned to find Eylan, the camp’s leader, standing at the mouth of the tent. The woven fabric behind him glowed with deep purples and reds as the sun climbed higher, catching in the dyed fibers.
“Pandora’s mighty warrior,” Eylan said, arms spreading wide in greeting. Then his gaze dropped, softening as it landed on the infant in So’lek’s arms. “Or should I say… mighty father now?”
He motioned gently toward the babe, a fond smile pulling at his mouth. “How does this life treat you, my friend?”
So’lek’s response was uncharacteristically sheepish. He looked down at the small girl nestled against his chest, her face tucked close as she mouthed her thumb in her sleep.
“It is more than I could have asked for,” he said at last. “Eylan, my friend.”
The Zeswa leader stepped closer, placing a hand on So’lek’s shoulder as his eyes lingered on the child. “She is healthy?”
So’lek nodded firmly. “As healthy as a mighty Toruk.”
They shared a soft laugh, the sound easy and unguarded. Eylan followed So’lek’s earlier glance toward the river, where you had reappeared, skipping lightly across the stones at the water’s edge. You laughed as you splashed through shallow puddles along the bank, wholly unbothered by the cold.
“And your mate?” Eylan asked gently.
So’lek watched you for a moment longer, his smile returning—warmer now, unguarded in a way few ever saw. “Adjusting,” he said quietly. Then, after a breath, “I am blessed, Tsmuken.”
Though Eylan called him friend many times, it felt only right to call him brother.
Eylan’s grip tightened at his shoulder, grounding and sincere. So’lek had spoken to him of the past—of loss, of struggle, of how this fragile family had come to be. Eylan had listened without judgment, offering comfort freely. He had even suggested, with gentle insistence, that you name the child yourselves.
So’lek had thought about it. Still did. But he knew you wished for the clan’s ceremony to be fulfilled properly, and so he set the thought aside, waiting.
“Go,” Eylan said at last, stepping back with a knowing smile. “Eat. Join her. Spend the time Eywa gives you as if it is precious.”
He paused, eyes kind. “Even if it lasts forever.”
The words pull at him differently now than they ever did before. In the past, when war was constant and death always hovered just beyond reach, So’lek had learned to live as if every moment with you might be the last. Now, in the quiet reassurance of this life, he feels something new taking root. Something dangerous in its hope. For the first time, forever does not feel like a foolish thing to believe in.
Having the babe was a curve neither you nor So’lek had expected, a lesson learned in careful steps. With no way to provide nourishment yourselves, you turned to the Zeswa clan’s tsahìk for guidance. She reassured you gently that many mothers would gladly help care for the child, that feeding and providing for another’s young was considered an act of Eywa herself. There was no shame in it. Only continuity.
For the times when the two of you traveled, as you were now, she taught you how to gather sap-milk, a nursing alternative drawn from the trees, warm and sweet, meant to sustain a Na’vi infant. It had carried you far on your journey back toward Hometree, and So’lek had learned quickly how to feed the girl, his movements growing steadier with each passing day.
After finishing his own meal, he filled a bowl with stew for you and made his way toward the river.
You hadn’t noticed him approaching. He paused when he saw you standing among the reeds, speaking softly as you worked, your attention fixed on the world around you rather than the water itself.
“Narlor,” you murmured, more to Eywa than to anyone else.
It was moments like this, calling the reeds beautiful, that he cherished most about you. When you found wonder in things, even if you did not heed his words or listen to his warnings. Yes, So’lek could be... Protective.
It reminded him of the last time you walked the water's edge together, hopping from stone to stone along the riverbank, waistcloth blowing without concern as water splashed your calves.
“Nari si,” So’lek had called.
“I am being careful,” you replied, immediately slipping.
He didn’t move fast—he was already there. One hand catching your arm before you could fall.
“That,” he said flatly, “was not careful.”
He remembered you grinning at him, eyes shining. “But it was fun.”
Another memory of your travels through the forest surfaced.
You had veered off the path without warning, crouching beside a cluster of glowing moss as if summoned by it.
“Look at this,” you murmured to him, brushing your fingers through it.
“Do not touch—” So’lek had started, already stepping closer.
“Too late,” you say cheerfully.
He exhaled through his nose, shifting the child higher against his chest. “One day,” he muttered, “Eywa will test my patience through you alone.”
So’lek now tilted his head, watching as you gathered hollow reeds, lifting them to admire how the rising sun caught along their smooth surfaces before tucking them carefully into your pouch. It seemed fishing had been abandoned in favor of curiosity, your attention pulled toward whatever caught your interest in the moment.
“No luck with your catch?” he asked at last, making his presence known.
You startled, spinning around—then softened immediately when you saw him. The sling resting against his chest, the babe nestled securely within his hold.
“Ma yawne—” you breathed, relief warming your voice. “You frightened me.”
So’lek laughed quietly, extending the bowl toward you. “That was not my intent.”
He leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your temple before moving past you to settle on a nearby rock, the child still cradled close. The morning light filtered through the leaves, and for a moment, everything felt exactly as it should
“It seems my fishing skills are not as sharp as my hunting,” you say lightly, lifting the bowl to take a sip of the stew. Without thinking, you find yourself drifting closer to him, settling gently beside him on the rock, careful not to disturb the small girl nestled against his chest.
You set the bowl down and forget it entirely, distracted by something glittering in the water.
“Eat,” So’lek says.
“In a moment.”
“Now.”
You sigh dramatically but comply, taking another sip. “You are very bossy for someone who claims to be gentle.”
“I am gentle,” he replies. “With reasonable people.”
You smiled again, watching as So’lek adjusted the wrap at his chest. “Have I said you look very fashionable this day, ma tìyawn,” you add with a soft giggle.
So’lek turns to you, amusement flickering briefly in his eyes, but he doesn’t rise to the tease the way he might have once. Instead, his gaze softens. “Haven’t you heard?” he says quietly. “Fatherhood suits me.”
He presses another kiss to your temple, shifting one arm to better cradle the babe so he can lean closer, breathing you in as if the scent of you grounds him. You set the bowl down once more as your hand comes to rest on his arm, fingers curling there as you both look down at her together.
“She is a blessing, So’lek,” you say softly. “One that you have deserved for some time.”
The words catch him off guard. He pulls back just enough to look at you, not with doubt, but with a sudden, startling clarity, as if some truth he never wanted has finally been named.
“Do you not believe you deserve this blessing as well?”
You blink, the question catching you off guard, searching for words to gather back the truth you let slip.
“Ma yawne—”
He places his hand over yours where it still rests on his arm, grounding you. “The true blessing,” he says after a moment, voice low and unwavering, “is witnessing you become her sa’nok.”
His hand lifts to cup your cheek, thumb brushing gently over the chipping paint still traced along your skin from days past. “You deserve this,” he murmurs. “Her.”
The realization comes to him with quiet clarity, threaded through with love. Something he said he would wait for. Would never claim against tradition or expectation. But seeing you here now—hesitant, uncertain in your joy—he understands that this is not something borrowed or temporary.
This is your family.
Together.
He takes your hand from his arm and guides it beneath the small girl, helping you cup her gently as he looks down at her sleeping form, peaceful and unaware of how fiercely she is loved.
“Atìra,” So’lek says softly, the name settling like truth between you. “We should name her… Atìra.”
Your eyes snap to his, and all you see there is love. Open, unwavering admiration. A warmth in his gaze you have never been able to witness so fully, so wholly, as you do now.
“You named her?” you ask softly.
So’lek’s hand finds yours again, his thumb brushing absently across your knuckles. “No,” he says gently. “Not without you, ma tìyawn,.”
His hand slides an inch higher along your arm, a quiet promise in the touch. “Never without you.”
His ears flattened an inch. “It was just a thought.”
The warmth that floods your chest is overwhelming, your eyes stinging as the truth of his words settles in. “Atìra,” you breathe, hearing the name from your own lips and feeling immediately how right it is.
You lean down, pressing a tender kiss to her small crown. “Oel ngati kameie,” you whisper. I see you.
So’lek watches you with something steady and sure in his expression: relief. With the certainty that no other of his kind could have been made more perfectly for him than you. His soul has long been entwined with yours—and now, Atìra’s as well.
He lowers his head to rest his forehead against yours, the contact grounding and intimate as you sit together in the quiet acceptance of the choice you’ve made.
Now it is by the will of Eywa, and soon, by the will of the clan.
The sound of footfalls nearby pulls So’lek from his quiet bliss. His body stiffens instantly, demeanor shifting as his arms tighten around you and Atìra without conscious thought. Instinct takes over before reason can follow.
A group of young Na’vi boys bursts through the trees moments later, laughing as they splash through the shallows, chasing one another with sticks and tugging playfully at each other’s tails. Dread loosens its grip on him as you pull back slightly, smiling at the boys as they disappear downriver.
“It is only the young, So’lek,” you murmur.
He exhales slowly, forcing the tension from his shoulders. The protective edge in his soul never truly fades; it only waits, but for now he pushes it aside. When he looks back at you, the hardness in his eyes has softened, a breath of relief washing over him completely.
“Yes,” he says quietly.
You slip free of his hold entirely then, moving straight for the water. He adjusts his grip on Atìra instinctively, watching as you crouch and cup a small amount of river water in your hands. Before he can protest, you flick it toward him.
He turns automatically, shielding the babe with his body as the water splashes harmlessly against his shoulder.
“What are you doing?” he asks, laughter breaking through his voice despite himself.
“Loosen your back, Ma So’lek,” you tease. “Come.”
He gives you a look—one that clearly says she is sleeping—just as Atìra stirs, a soft coo escaping her as small hands push from the sling, reaching toward the light.
He sighs, gently rubbing a hand beneath the sling to soothe her. “Look what you have done,” he says, mock accusation threaded with fondness.
You crouch in front of him, lifting one of the reeds you gathered earlier and waving it gently before Atìra’s curious gaze.
“Do you see that, little pxisìk?” you whisper. “That is your sempul pretending he is not smiling.”
So’lek’s jaw tightens. “I am not smiling.”
Atìra answers with a soft sound, eyes bright in the full sunlight.
You gasp theatrically. “She agrees with me.”
“She is too young to conspire,” he replies, though his mouth betrays him anyway.
You tug gently on his arm, beckoning him into the water. After two small pulls, he relents, rising from the stone and stepping forward until the river curls cold around his ankles. You hold your hands out in silent request as Atìra stirs fully awake. Without hesitation, So’lek lifts the girl from the sling, allowing her to stretch her legs with a small yawn before placing her carefully into your waiting arms.
He has never held anything so small, so fragile before. And when he passes her to you, Atìra curves instinctively to the shape of your chest, settling as though she has always belonged there. She finds comfort in your scent, nuzzling close as you sway her in gentle, practiced circles.
All roads have led to this moment.
You stand in the river with your daughter held safely between you, peace humming softly through the world around you while love anchors you firmly at his side. There is no memory in So’lek’s life that could ever replace what he sees before him now. His chest feels full to the point of ache, not with fear, but with hope—with the quiet certainty that this moment will not be the last.
na’vi phainon & na’vi mydei x reader (+ bonus at the end!)
content warnings: nsfw & 18+ content ahead, size kink, breeding kink, native na’vi reader / virgin reader is implied but can also just be seen as a non native too, threesome
original na’vi phainon post
na’vi phainon who roams his hands all over your sensitive skin because he knows you’re so so so new to everything. and you know how much he loves to have his cold fingertips kiss every inch of your skin that he could—
na’vi phainon who teaches you about sizes, and how actually big he was for you. i mean, was it normal that his huge cock would bulge past your belly button; it was much more adorable to see how corrupt your expression would get,
na’vi mydei who joins it on teasing your body when you try your best to take the ten~eleven inches of his best friend’s—finding every way possible he could get you to moan if he hadn’t already.
na’vi mydei who loves to take turns in eating you out while you still have phainon’s large shaft inside your tight entrance. becoming even more fucking obsessed than ever with your pretty little face. it was your first time taking a cock so might as well take the best.
na’vi phainon who still keeps up with whispering praise into your ear—but na’vi mydei loves to kiss down your body in a language not even you could speak.
“aaahn—please… whaa please i… need more.” your back was arched when you sat on the blue-eyed face’s shaft, your head on phainon’s chest with arms slithering around your waist,
rubbing the belly bulge in your stomach as his head stayed between your own, and your nape; only taking in your scent while letting his best friend do the rest of the talking. "god, this one is adorable. looking at them just beg- you poor things have no idea what pleasure is, do you?"
a smirk is recognized in your hazy vision, you could barely see the red-eyed man bow down to sneak another 'few' licks on your most prominent parts, spiking your adrenaline and pleasure by thousands.
his tongue only seemed to roam your heat more as mydei continued to go down on you, all while you could feel the aching throb of phainon's cock still hard and warm inside you too; this was nothing like you've ever felt at home, not even your first hunting experience.
You’ve taken down three of her best warriors by yourself. You’re the only thing standing between the Mangkwan and the caravan you’d been travelling with. Weak children who worship a weak mother. Because of you, they’ve gone, fled into the forest on their mounts. Your face is speckled with blood, cast with cutting shadows from the fire.
She moves in slow strides, aware of your eyes following her. You make a mighty form— jewelry crafted from bone, feathers woven into your hair, sharp knives held like extensions of yourself, sawtute skulls at your hip. Your heart will be delicious.
But you’re faster than she expected. Riku goes down with a wet sounding cough, blood gurgling from his open throat. Then her back is held against your armored chest, scarred arm crossed over her torso and gripping her arm to hold her still, your nails biting into her skin.
“Stay back!” You snarl at her warriors, fangs gleaming in the firelight. The polished curve of your knife presses against her throat until blood drips down her skin in thin rivulets. “Or I cut.”
She grabs your kuru, makes the bond with a swiftness that discloses how often she’s done this. Your body jolts at the sudden connection, grip going slack on her arm. The muscles ache, branded by your fingers with bruises that will come with the sun. And your minds touch.
It flickers, becomes almost blinding through the bond, rippling up her kuru like lightning.
The pain of thunder—the bullets, your mind screams hatefully—ripping through your arms and legs, the agony of laying under your mother’s cooling corpse for hours while your home was raided, then carrying out the funeral rites the best way a child could. All the kills, your knives plunging into flesh, the trophies fashioned into armor. A righteous fury burning brighter than any fire she’s seen, one that’s brought you both to your knees.
You let out a cross between a war cry and a curse as you sever the bond with the swipe of your arm. The absence of you feels like a mighty chasm cutting through a valley. Your ears fold against your skull as you hiss at her, rising unsteadily to your feet to loom over her like a palulukan out for more than just blood.
Varang releases a shaking breath, lower lip trembling lightly as she stares up at you in something bordering on reverence. Then comes her voice, quiet and raw in the face of your truth.
