OPPOSITE OF EYWA ( Jake Sully x Male Reader )
Synopsis: You don’t belong here, not like the Na’vi do. Where Eywa runs through every root and whispers in every breeze, your presence is a hollow echo, a shadow cast by something older, hungrier. The Na’vi call you Tawtute’vrrtep sempul— sky demon father. You were Eywa’s first ever creation .
Jake Sully found you crouched in the wreckage of a fallen Samson, fingers curled around the half-melted frame like you were trying to strangle it. You didn’t flinch when he approached, didn’t even turn your head. He knew you’d heard him; your stillness was a taunt.
"Did you do this?" he asked, gesturing to the twisted metal. Your laugh was soft, the sound of wind through dead branches. "Would you believe me if I said no?"
The truth was written in the way the vines recoiled from your footsteps, the way the bioluminescence dimmed as you passed. Eywa feared you. Jake didn’t know that yet, but he would.
He shifted his weight, fingers brushing the hilt of his knife, old human instinct. "Who the fuck are you?" His voice was rough, but there was something else there, buried under the suspicion. Curiosity. A hunger that matched yours.
You finally turned your head, slow, deliberate. The scar across your cheek pulsed faintly, a jagged line of sickly violet light beneath the skin. "Na’vi aren’t supposed to have metal, dreamwalker, if you wanna blend in more." Your grin was sharp, predatory— too many teeth. Jake’s breath hitched, and you inhaled the scent of his adrenaline like it was perfume.
The jungle groaned around you, trunks creaking as roots retracted from the damp earth. A nearby stream turned murky, its glow snuffed out as if something had swallowed the light whole. Jake’s knuckles whitened around the hilt of his stolen blade. "Answer the damn question."
You leaned in, close enough that your breath fogged the lenses of his mask. "Eywa has children," you murmured. "But she wasn’t always alone in the dark." The words dripped with something ancient, a secret pried from the ribs of the world.
Jake’s pulse jumped beneath his skin, you could taste it. And oh, how you wanted to bite.
"Tawtute’vrrtep sempul," he said, testing the syllables like they might burn his tongue, his tone filled with dread. "That’s what they call you." His voice was steadier than he felt, you could hear his pounding heartbeat against his ribs. "Mh, clever boy… what does it mean, dreamwalker?"
The vines curled away from your shadow, slithering like snakes retreating from fire. Jake watched, jaw tight, as the undergrowth itself seemed to recoil. "Sky demon father," he muttered, translating slowly. "They think you—" His breath caught. "They think you’re something worse than human."
You hummed, tilting your head as if considering the idea. "Maybe I am. You were human once, you tell me."
Jake exhaled sharply through his nose. "Fine. Then what do you want?" He wasn't used to being the one asking questions, not since he'd stopped sitting in a wheelchair.
"Rules," you said, tracing the edge of a warped metal panel with your fingertips. It hissed under your touch, blackening like rotting flesh. "Eywa has hers, three little laws that keep her children crawling in the dirt." Your fingers flexed, and the panel crumpled like wet paper. "I have mine."
Jake shifted, impatient. "So? What are they?"
"Stone upon stone," you murmured, watching the wreckage shudder at your words. "Turning wheels, ground metals." Your grin widened as Jake's pupils dilated, recognition, then horror. The exact opposite of Eywa's commandments. "And look at you, Jake Sully," you whispered, reaching out to tap the blade. "Already following the third one."
The knife clattered to the ground before your fingers even made contact, Jake jerking back like he'd been electrocuted. His breath came ragged, eyes locked on his own trembling hand. The blade hissed where it lay, bubbling into slag. You chuckled, such a polite little offering.
"Watch closely, dreamwalker." You turned your back to him and crawled into the Samson’s carcass, limbs moving with the likeness of a spider reclaiming its web. The wreck groaned, metal screeching as panels bent back into place under your palms. Rivets popped like gunfire, reassembling midair. It was something like pulling your own bones back into alignment.
Outside, Jake took a half-step forward, then froze as the Samson’s engine sputtered. Not the dying gasp of ruined machinery, but the wet, guttural cough of something waking up. The instrument panel flickered to life beneath your fingers, screens stuttering with static that wasn't entirely technological. You exhaled, and the glass repaired itself.
"You… you are a demon!"
Jake’s voice cracked, but you simply gave him a wolfish grin in return.
"So were you," you murmured, tapping a finger against your cheek. "Until you crawled into that pretty blue skin." You leaned in closer, letting your lips brush the shell of his ear. "Want to know something scary?" The Samson groaned beneath your hands, pistons shuddering back to life with a sound like laughter. "I can fix this. Not just patch it up— make it better than new."
Metal shrieked as the Samson’s skeleton twisted, ribs reforming, veins of wiring knitting back together beneath your palms. The scent of scorched oil and something darker filled the air, iron and metal, the musk of something waking. Jake stumbled back as the wreckage lurched, the landing struts digging into the earth like claws.
You turned your head slowly, watching him over your shoulder. The Samson’s engine purred now, hungry. "Your turn, dreamwalker," you said. "You wanna keep pretending you belong to Eywa? Y’know, let me tell you something… I was Eywa’s first."
Jake’s breath hitched again. You could almost hear his thoughts— the way his mind scrabbled for purchase, trying to reconcile the impossibility of your words. The Samson’s landing gear groaned as it lifted itself from the mud, hydraulics whining like a wounded animal.
"You’re lying." His voice was too tight, too desperate.
You laughed, low and soft, the sound of rust grinding between teeth. "Am I? You ever wonder why Eywa’s rules are so specific?" You traced the edge of the hatch with one finger, watching the metal blacken and curl like burning paper. "It’s because of me." The Samson shuddered beneath your touch, its engine spitting static thick with voices that weren’t entirely mechanical.
Jake’s nostrils flared as the Samson landed on the ground again.
You stepped out, letting your fingers trail along the fuselage one last time— the metal sighed under your touch, warping inward like a lover’s sigh. The wreckage settled into the mud, obedient, docile. You flexed your hands, rolling your shoulders as if shaking off an old skin. "Funny thing," you mused, tilting your head at Jake’s rigid stance. "Eywa didn’t always hate machines."
His throat worked as he swallowed, eyes darting between you and the Samson, now whole but wrong— its edges too sharp, its hum too organic. "You’re saying she— what, changed her mind?"
You grinned, slow, savouring the way he jumped when your teeth caught the dim light. "No, skxwang. She forgot. First rule of gods, Jake: we’re all someone else’s mistake."
Your fingers hooked in the collar of your tattered stolen RDA shirt, yanking it down to expose the jagged scar where your ribs met— the skin there was puckered, violet, threaded with something that wasn’t flesh. "Ever wonder why I look like this?" Jake’s breath stuttered. You let the fabric snap back, smiling at his recoil. "I was made directly from Eywa, but she didn’t know what shape to do me in. I’m basically the Na’vi’s blueprint, just more… human-ish."
"She took inspiration from Mother Earth."
Jake’s heart jumped beneath his skin— you could feel it. "That’s impossible," he gritted out, but his voice lacked conviction. The Samson’s engine purred behind you, a sound too alive for machinery. You tapped its hull, and it made a noise like a pleased animal. "Ask Eywa yourself, if you don’t believe me. Oh wait—" Your grin widened. "She won’t answer you. Not while I’m here."
Jake’s nostrils flared again— he could smell it now, the gas and decay clinging to your skin, the scent of something unraveling. His fingers twitched toward the empty sheath at his hip, the knife long since melted. "Prove it," he challenged, voice rough.
You lunged— not at him, but past him, your hand plunging wrist-deep into the trunk of a nearby tree. The bark blackened instantly, sap boiling as you wrenched your arm free, clutching a writhing knot of roots that dripped iridescent fluid.
"Eywa’s hate," you murmured, holding it up like a trophy. The roots withered in your grip, turning to ash. "She ripped me out of herself. Burnt the blueprint. But some things…" You blew the ashes into Jake’s face. "… leave stains."
He recoiled, wiping his cheek with a snarl. "Fuck— that’s disgusting."
You laughed, stepping closer until his back hit a tree. "Oh, but you like disgusting, don’t you?" Your fingers brushed his hip where the melted knife had been, tracing the outline of his belt. "I’ve seen your dreams, dreamwalker. The ones you don’t tell Neytiri about." His breath hitched— you smelled salt, sweat, shame. "All that blue skin," you purred, "and underneath, you’re still just meat."
"Stop," he growled, but his pupils were blown wide, his body arching into your touch like a man starving for poison.
You leaned in, lips brushing his earlobe. "Make me."
