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hello lovely!!! i have a request for tsu’tey and avatar reader if you don’t mind, who has undergone the consciousness transfer. can it be where tsu’tey is still the olo’eyktan , and reader is a healer under mo’at now. can it be where he’s had a dark lingering attraction to her for a while, and wants to make her his mate but can’t due to this custom the Omaticaya have for hunting down their mates in a hunt festival. So he is eager when the next is announced, reader is confused when neytiri tells her she will be entered as well due to her being one of the people now. Reader is scared, but neytiri informs her of a tree house type of shelter already prepared and hidden for her, and gives her a salve to mask her scent to avoid incidental. The hunt begins and the clan is shocked that tsu’tey is participating and reader notices tsutey’ looking at her hungrily. Can it be where reader hides out in the tree hut structure and tsutey gets aggravated with no scent clues, but still finds the reader and confesses. reader whimpers asking to take it slow and court first, but tsutey refuses and they mate (have it be rough where he makes her submissive and then joins their kuru’s together himself)? sorry if it’s too detailed😭😭😭

Eclipse│Part 1

│Tsu'tey x Female Avatar/Na'vi Reader

│Part 1│Part 2│

│Word count: 5.1k

│Summary: When light is swallowed by darkness, predators begin to prey.

│MDNI Warnings: explicit smut, slight dub-con, p in v, loss of virginity

You were not supposed to survive it.

The Tree of Souls loomed above you, glowing, breathing, alive in a way nothing from your human life had ever been. The air was thick with voices you could not understand yet somehow felt deep in your chest. Your human body lay weak, failing, every breath shallow and wrong.

Panic should have taken over, but it did not.

Mo'at guided you forward, her hands steady and sure. There was something grounding in her presence. Around you, the clan moved as one, chants rising, voices threading together like they were pulling something unseen closer.

You were laid beneath the Tree. Your human body on one side. Your Avatar body on the other.

For a moment, you felt both. Every heartbeat, every breath, two lives overlapping, fighting, stretching you between them.

It hurt.

Not physical pain, it was deeper than that, like your very soul was being pulled apart, questioned, weighed. You felt memories slipping, your human life flickering like it was being held up to something greater.

Eywa answered.

It was not a voice, more like aflood. It rushed through you, around you, deciding. You felt yourself being moved with purpose, like you were being placed exactly where you were meant to be.

Your human body went still.

You gasped. A real breath, deep, full, powerful.

Your eyes snapped open into your Avatar body, lungs burning with new air, chest rising and falling like it had been waiting your entire life to finally work. Everything felt sharper, louder. The glow of the Tree above you, the press of the ground beneath your fingers, the distant sounds of the forest, everything.

You were not split anymore.

You were whole.

Like Jake Sully before you, there was no going back. Whatever you had been, whoever you had been, was gone now, left behind with the body that no longer breathed.

When you finally stood, unsteady but alive, the clan watched in silence.

Mo'at stepped forward. She did not look surprised. She looked certain.

Her hand pressed lightly against your chest, feeling the strength of your new heartbeat, and she nodded, as if this had always been the outcome Eywa intended.

From that moment on, your path was set.

Under Mo’at, you learned what it meant to heal, not just wounds, but people’s spirituality. You learned the way energy moves through the body, how pain settles and lingers, how to listen to what is not spoken. You gathered herbs at dawn, memorized their uses, and felt their connection to Eywa.

Healing was not just a skill. It was trust and balance. It was knowing when to act, and when to simply be there.

Sometimes, in the quiet, you still remember the feeling of being pulled between two lives, but it does not haunt you, because when you breathe now, it is deep and steady. When you move, it is with strength. When the clan looks to you in moments of pain or fear, you do not hesitate.

Under Tsu'tey, the Omatikaya move with a kind of discipline that feels carved into them. He does not rule with softness or hesitation. He stands as Olo’eyktan with a weight in his posture that makes even silence around him feel intentional. Every decision he makes is measured, every glance carries meaning, and the clan follows him because he never appears uncertain.

You notice the way he carries himself around you, though it is not something he would ever admit or even fully allow himself to recognize. It is not open or warm. It is restrained, controlled in a way that almost feels like resistance. His eyes find you more often than they should, and when they do, it lingers just a fraction too long before he forces himself to look away. It is subtle enough that others would never question it, but you feel the tension in it anyway.

There is something beneath it that he keeps buried. It sits in the way his jaw tightens when you are near others, or how he seems to shift his stance slightly closer when you are speaking, as if instinct keeps pulling him into your space even when his discipline tells him not to.

You know better than to mistake it for anything harmless. Tsu’tey does not belong to quiet emotions. He belongs to tradition, to control, to the kind of restraint that defines a leader who has learned to survive by mastering himself.

The clan has its ways, and those ways are not gentle.

Among the Omatikaya, bonding is not left to chance or simple choice. During the third eclipse of the month, when the light of Pandora fractures into a shifting shadow and silver glow, the hunting festival begins. It is a ritual older than most living memory, where Na’vi males must prove themselves by hunting the one they intend to claim as their mate. The forest becomes part of the rite, watching, testing, holding its breath as the chase unfolds beneath the changing sky.

It is not cruel. It is balance, as they understand it. Strength must be shown, connection must be earned, and intent must be undeniable. The hunt is not only pursuit, but recognition, as if Eywa herself decides who is worthy through the way paths cross and instincts align.

When the festival arrives, everything shifts. The air becomes charged, the clan more alive, more alert. Firelight flickers through the trees, drums echo like a second heartbeat beneath the forest canopy, and the usual rhythms of daily life give way to something older and more primal.

You can feel it approaching even before it begins, in the way Tsu’tey stops looking away quite as quickly. In the way the space between you feels less like distance and more like something waiting to be crossed.

Inside the tsahìk’s tent, everything feels quieter than the rest of the village. The air is warm with crushed herbs and smoke curling from small clay bowls, carrying the sharp scent of medicine. Light filters through the woven walls in thin golden lines, moving whenever the wind shifts outside, making the whole space feel like it is breathing.

Mo'at sits close to her supplies, her hands steady as she prepares salves without needing to look at them. Her presence fills the space in a calm, grounding way, like nothing in the world could rush her. She speaks occasionally to herself in low tones, as if the plants understand her better than most people do.

You sit across from her, trying to steady your breathing, but there is a tension in your chest that does not ease. It feels like something approaching, something you cannot quite name yet, but can already feel in the way the clan has been acting all day.

The tent flap shifts.

Neytiri steps inside without hesitation. Her eyes find you immediately, direct and serious, as if she has already decided what must be said.

Mo’at does not look up. “Speak,” she says simply.

Neytiri moves closer, her voice lower than usual. “It is time,” she tells you. “Tonight is the mating hunt.”

Your body reacts before your mind can fully process the words, a tightness pulling through your stomach and chest at once. “Tonight,” you repeat, quieter than you mean to be.

Neytiri nods once. “During the third eclipse. It begins when the light breaks.”

Your breath catches. “I don’t… I don’t think I can do that.”

Something softens slightly in Neytiri’s expression. She steps closer, lowering her voice further so it feels like only you are meant to hear it.

“You will not be thrown into it,” she says. “There is a hut near the edge of the clearing. You can stay there when it begins.”

You blink at her, still tense. “A hut?”

“Yes,” she replies. “It is used when the hunt becomes too much. You will be safe there.”

Mo’at finally glances up, her gaze calm and unreadable.

Neytiri reaches into a small pouch at her side and pulls out a folded leaf bundle. She opens it carefully, revealing a thick, dark salve that carries a strong, herbal scent.

“This will help you,” she says. “It masks your scent during the eclipse. The hunters will not be drawn to you.”

Your hand hesitates before taking it. “So, they won’t find me?”

“They will not seek what they cannot smell,” Neytiri confirms. Her tone is steady, reassuring without softening the reality of it.

You take the salve slowly, fingers curling around it like it is the only solid thing in the moment. Your pulse is still uneven, but Neytiri’s presence does not leave space for panic to fully take over. She studies you for a second longer, then adds more gently, “stay in the hut. Wait until it is over. You will be alright.”

The village is already alive with anticipation long before the hunt begins. Firelight spreads through the trees in flickering waves, painting everything in shifting orange and gold. The air feels charged, like the forest itself is holding its breath. Voices rise and fall in excited clusters, laughter mixing with the deep rhythm of drums that echo through the clearing and into your chest.

You stand near the edge of it all, close enough to see but not close enough to feel part of it. The salve Neytiri gave you is tucked safely away, and the hut she mentioned waits behind you like a promise of escape. Still, you can feel the energy building, the way the entire clan seems to lean toward something inevitable.

Mo'at moves among a few of the elders, calm as always, her presence steadying the space around her. Even in the chaos of anticipation, she does not appear rushed. She simply watches, as if she already knows how everything will unfold.

The noise dips slightly. Heads begin to turn toward the path leading into the clearing. Even the laughter fades into something more expectant.

Tsu'tey steps into view.

At first, it does not fully register for the clan. There is a pause, a moment of disbelief that ripples through the crowd like a disturbance in still water. The Olo’eyktan is not just present, he is part of the hunt.

Whispers rise immediately, sharp and uncertain. It is rare enough for anyone of his standing to take part, but for him to enter the mating hunt itself changes the entire atmosphere of the night. The clan watches him like they are trying to understand whether this is tradition or something else entirely.

Tsu’tey moves forward with purpose, his posture rigid but controlled, his eyes already scanning the clearing as if he is not just entering a ritual but stepping into something he has already decided.

His gaze finds you.

It is immediate. Unmistakable.

The noise of the village seems to dull around it, your attention locks into him so completely that everything else fades. His expression does not soften, but it changes. Something in it sharpens, deepens, like a restraint tightening rather than breaking.

There is hunger there, but not the kind that is spoken about openly. It is quieter, more controlled, as if it has been held back for too long. Like he has been aware of you in a way he has never allowed himself to act on until now.

He does not look away, not even when others notice, not even when the clan begins to realize what they are seeing.

You feel it then, standing at the edge of the clearing with the weight of the night pressing in from every direction, that whatever this hunt is meant to be for everyone else, for him, it has already narrowed down to something far more personal.

The forest changes as the eclipse draws closer, like the entire world is slowly being pulled into shadow. The light between the trees turns strange, silvered and dim, and the usual warmth of Pandora feels sharpened into something tense and watchful. Even the wind seems quieter, as if it is waiting for permission to move.

At the edge of the clearing, the male Na’vi remain held back, their presence contained by tradition. They do not move yet, not until the eclipse fully settles into its darkest point. It is a restraint that makes the air feel heavier, like anticipation has been stretched too tight. You can feel it from where you stand, even without looking directly at them.

When the first ring of the eclipse deepens and the light fractures fully into shadow, the signal passes through the clan like a breath being released. The hunt begins.

You do not stay to watch.

Your body moves before your thoughts can catch up, turning away from the clearing and into the forest, exactly as Neytiri instructed. The sounds behind you swell immediately, distant but alive, the shift from waiting to pursuit happening all at once.

You run.

Branches brush against your arms as you push deeper into the undergrowth, the ground uneven beneath your feet. The forest feels different at night like this, more layered, more aware. Every sound feels amplified. Every shadow feels like it could be something watching back.

Neytiri’s directions echo in your memory as you move. Stay low. Stay light. Do not stay in open ground. The hut is not far, but the forest feels larger than it did before, like it is stretching itself to test you.

Mid-run, you slow just enough to reach for the salve.

Your hands are unsteady as you pull it free, the leaf cool and slightly damp from the humidity of the air. You press it into your skin as you move, rubbing it across your arms and neck in quick, urgent motions. The scent is strong at first, herbal and sharp, almost overwhelming, but it begins to settle as it spreads, sinking into your skin rather than sitting on top of it.

The forest around you feels no different, but you are told it is working. Masking you. Blending you into something less noticeable, less drawn toward.

You keep moving.

Behind you, the hunt is fully alive now. Distant calls echo through the trees, not close yet, but no longer far either. The sound of movement begins to thread between the trunks, the forest no longer empty in the way it was moments ago.

Your breathing stays tight as you push forward, the hut still somewhere ahead, hidden just beyond the shifting dark.

With every step, the eclipse deepens overhead, swallowing the last traces of familiar light.

You push through the last stretch of forest with your breath coming sharp and uneven, the salve already drying against your skin in faint, cool patches. The sounds of the hunt are still distant behind you, scattered through the trees like echoes that never fully settle. Every rustle makes your body tense, every shift of shadow feels closer than it should.

The hut sits at the edge of a small clearing, partially hidden beneath hanging vines and low branches, almost swallowed by the forest on purpose. It is simple, woven from natural materials like everything else here, but right now it feels like the only solid thing in the world.

You slow just long enough to make sure nothing is following you, your lungs burning as you force yourself to keep moving forward. Your hands tremble slightly when you reach the entrance, pulling aside the woven flap and slipping inside.

Inside, the air is still. Dim. Quiet in a way that feels almost unnatural after the chaos outside. Your shoulders drop the moment you step in, but your body does not fully relax.

You press a hand against your chest, trying to steady your breathing. In. Out. Slower. It does not come easily at first, like your body is still convinced it needs to keep running.

“It is fine,” you whisper to yourself, though your voice is tight. “It is going to work. Neytiri said it would work.”

Neytiri’s instructions replay in your mind in fragments. The salve. The scent masking. Stay hidden. Stay inside until it is over. Her certainty had been unwavering when she handed it to you, like there was no room for doubt in what she gave you.

You swallow hard, rubbing your hands together once, as if to ground yourself in something physical. The herbal scent is still faint on your skin, less sharp now, settling into something that feels more like part of you than something applied.

You listen.

Outside, the forest is still alive with movement, distant and shifting, but nothing feels close.

Your breathing starts to slow, just slightly. The panic does not vanish, but it loosens its grip enough for you to think again.

“It works,” you repeat quieter this time, more to convince yourself than anything else. “It has to work.”

The forest is no longer quiet.

It moves the way it always does during the eclipse, but now every sound feels sharpened, intentional. Branches sway overhead, and the shifting silver-dark light makes everything between the trees look unstable, like the world itself is uncertain where to settle.

Tsu'tey moves through it without hesitation, his steps controlled but powerful, cutting a clear path through the undergrowth. The rest of the hunt stretches out behind him, other hunters moving through different routes, but his focus is fixed forward, unwavering in a way that borders on refusal to be distracted.

He pauses once, because something is missing.

He lifts his head slightly, testing the air, his expression tightening almost immediately. There is a trace there, faint, fractured, incomplete. Something that should have been clearer. Something that should have led somewhere decisive.

His jaw clenches.

A low sound leaves him, more frustration than anything else, as he turns his head slowly, scanning the ground and the space between the trees. It is irritation at something not behaving the way it should, like the forest itself is withholding information.

He moves again, sharper this time, following instinct more than clarity.

The trace is there and then it is not. Cut off too quickly. Broken too cleanly.

Tsu’tey slows, then stops entirely.

For a moment, silence presses in around him, broken only by distant movement deeper in the forest. His shoulders rise and fall once, controlled, restrained, as he forces himself to re-center.

That is when he notices it.

The ground.

Small impressions in the soft soil. Light. Careful. Almost hesitant in places where the terrain allows it. Not the heavy, deliberate tread of a warrior, but something quieter. Someone trying not to be noticed.

His gaze drops fully now.

He crouches slightly, one hand hovering just above the prints without touching them. The angle of them tells him direction, enough to understand that someone passed through here recently.

His expression darkens with restrained frustration. Whatever he was expecting, it is not unfolding cleanly. Not following the order he understands.

He exhales slowly through his nose and straightens again, eyes scanning ahead into the trees.

There is no rush in him yet.

Only focus.

Inside the hut, the silence feels heavier the longer you stay in it. The woven walls keep out most of the eclipse light, but not the feeling of it. Everything outside seems closer than it should, like the forest has narrowed itself around you.

You sit still at first, listening. Your breathing has finally slowed, but it is not calm. It is controlled in the way panic becomes when there is nowhere left to run to. You keep telling yourself the same thing Neytiri said, the same thing you’ve been repeating since you got here.

It will work. It has to work.

The quiet stretches, and with it comes awareness again. Every small sound outside the hut feels sharper now that you are no longer moving. A branch shifting. Distant movement. The forest doing what it always does during the eclipse, alive and restless in ways you are still not used to.

Your hands curl slightly against your knees when you hear it.

Footsteps.

Close enough that your body reacts before your mind does. The sound is steady, deliberate, moving through the clearing just outside the hut.

Your breath catches in your throat.

You go still, every part of you suddenly aware of how small the space around you is. The salve on your skin feels useless in that moment, like the idea of hiding has suddenly become fragile. You force yourself to stay quiet, to listen instead of reacting, even as your heart starts to climb faster in your chest.

The footsteps stop.

A pause.

Then closer.

The woven entrance shifts slightly, just enough for you to see movement at the edge of the opening. Shadow against shadow. A presence that fills the space before it even fully steps inside.

Then, Tsu'tey is there.

He does not rush in. He does not announce himself. He simply appears at the threshold of the hut, still, controlled, his posture rigid in the way it always is when he is holding something back rather than letting it show.

For a moment, neither of you move.

His eyes find you immediately, and whatever he was expecting, whatever he was following through the forest, seems to settle the instant he sees you.

He studies you in silence, the kind that feels heavier than sound, while your pulse hammers loud enough that you are sure he must hear it.

The hut feels too small the moment Tsu'tey steps fully inside. The woven walls seem to close in around both of you, blocking out the rest of the forest until there is nothing left but the two of you and the faint sound of the eclipse outside.

He does not look away from you.

“You thought you could run from me?” His voice is low, controlled, but sharp enough that it makes your chest tighten immediately.

You swallow, taking a step back without meaning to. “I wasn’t running from you,” you say quickly. “I just… I didn’t know what I was supposed to do.”

His gaze drops briefly to the salve on your skin, then returns to your face with that same steady intensity. “You were told to hide,” he says.

Your heart is still racing, but you force yourself to speak more carefully. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen.”

His head tilts slightly. “You are Omatikaya now.”

“I know that,” you say, voice tighter. “But bonding, the hunt, it’s not supposed to just be…” You struggle for the word, frustration and fear tangling together. “Like this.”

“There is no need for waiting,” he says firmly. “The path is clear.”

Your breath catches. “Tsu’tey, slow down. This isn’t something you just decide. There’s courting. There’s time. There’s respect.”

His jaw tightens at that, as if the word itself irritates him more than he wants to admit.

“Courting is for uncertainty,” he says. “I am not uncertain.”

The words land heavy in the space between you.

You shake your head slightly, stepping back again until your shoulders nearly brush the woven wall. “That’s not the point,” you say, trying to steady your voice. “It’s supposed to be mutual. It’s supposed to be something we both understand before anything happens.”

His eyes narrow slightly, not in anger, but in focus, like he is weighing your words against something older than both of you.

“You are not refusing,” he says finally. It is not a question.

Your throat tightens. “I’m not refusing you,” you answer carefully. “I’m asking you to slow down. To do this properly.”

Silence stretches.

Outside, the eclipse wind moves through the trees, brushing against the hut in faint, shifting waves.

Tsu’tey moves closer, crowding your space even when your back is pressed against the wall of the hut. His eyes stay fixed on you, refusing to look anywhere else.

Reaching behind you, he grabs your thick braid, and you remain still.

“I want you. I have wanted you for as long as I can remember,” he says quietly, “and I will have you.”

He reaches behind him, grabbing his kuru, and brings it to the space between you. Your hands flex at your sides, nails digging into your palms. Still, you do not say no, but you do not say yes either. The pink tendrils glow, reaching out to each other in anticipation of the bond.

“Tsu’tey...”

Before you can say anything else, protest his actions, he lets his kuru wrap around yours, the bond flooding through your body.

Permanent. Bonded. The most sacred kind of connection there is for the people.

Everything he is flashes through your mind, vision after vision, image after image, emotions attached to each one. Your hand flies to his wrist, gripping the skin tight, overwhelmed by everything passing through you.

You do your best to control your breathing, to steady your heartbeat as you gaze up at him.

His pupils are dilated, barely any yellow left, sweat beads along his forehead. A new scent flows from him, animalistic and desire filled. Your breath catches in your throat as you remember what comes next.

Within seconds Tsu’tey has you laid on the ground, your back pressed against the cold floor. Your eyes blur from the quick movement, but steady fast when you feel his fingers tugging at the ties to your loincloth.

His hands are scorching as they graze across your skin, impatient when he decides to rip the fabric instead. You gasp, shocked by the rough action.

“Need it. I need you,” he growls, pushing down his loincloth just enough to let his cock free.

It slaps up against his stomach, long, thick, pulsing with desire as precum leaks from his tip. Your breathing speeds up after seeing the size of him, your legs trying to close.

He pushes them open, fast but gentle all at once, before sliding himself in between them. The tip of his cock nudges against your entrance, but he leans down onto his elbows first.

Tsu’tey’s arms wrap around your head, caging you in, the warmth of his skin spreading through your body. He places a kiss on your lips, needy and rushed, his cock rubbing through your folds until slick pours from your entrance.

He pushes inside, his cock stretching you wide, the burn unbearable.

“T-Tsu’tey,” you whine, trying to squirm away from him, to feel relief from this unfamiliar feeling.

“I know,” he whispers, kissing your forehead softly.

He pushes in slowly until his tip rests against your cervix, and only then does he begin to thrust inside of you.

His pace was punishing, all of his control slipping as he pounds deep into your core. Where his hands wrap around your head, his fingers tangle in your hair, steadying you from the force of him.

Tsu’tey’s hips roll into you, snapping against your pelvis. Pleasure runs through your body, the pain fading away the more he slides through you. The veins and ridges of his cock rub your sensitive walls raw, leaving you a moaning mess under him.

“Is that better for you,” he asks, voice rough and low as his words mix with grunts.

Your hands wrap around his body, nails scratching down his back, unable to contain the feeling of every last nerve in your body stimulated by him.

“Yes, please more,” you whimper, grinding your hips up against him, meeting him faster each time.

He gives you more immediately, just like you asked. Your clit rubs against his rough skin, your nipples graze across his chest, so sensitive that you could feel it despite your top covering them, all while he thrusts into you, deep and unforgiving.

Your back arches from the ground, pressing into his body closer than before, feeling every last breath, every beat of his heart all mixing with the pleasure flooding back down the bond from him. Your eyes shut tight, your body becoming tense as heat builds in your lower belly, threatening to release like a coiled spring.

“You feel so good. All mine,” he growls, his hips snapping faster, almost overwhelmingly fast.

Obsession and possession race through him, multiplying when it gets back to you, fueling you with something you did not have before.

Your legs wrap tight around his waist, the new position allowing him to dig deeper inside of your core, and he does not stop, even when your entrance begins to clench hard around him.

“Let me feel you,” he groans, angling his hips until his tip brushes past your sweet spot leaving your body to shake and twitch.

His words ring out in your core, traveling up to where everything sat on a thread, quickly ripping apart.

Tsu’tey’s cock hits your cervix, and you cannot hold it in. Cum gushes from your entrance, coating his cock in the liquid creating a cream at the base of him. You moan, mouth hanging open, tears streaming down your cheeks from the feeling of ecstasy running through you.

Everything that left your mouth was incoherent, a mix of words and sounds that said nothing and everything all at once.

He kisses you quick, everywhere he can, along your jaw, down your neck, lingering on your shoulder, anything to tell you that he was there. He stares down to where you too are connected, watching his cock slide in and out of you.

The second your pleasure rushes through the bond, his cock begins to twitch, the feeling spreading under his skin, lighting him on fire. His thrusts grow sloppy, his hips moving at an uneven pace.

“F-fuck,” he whimpers, unable to hold back any longer.

A guttural groan leaves his lips from deep within his chest, vibrating throughout your body. His fangs sink into you, breaking the skin, leaking metallic liquid until he licks the pain away. Long, thick ropes of cum fill your entrance, coating your walls and dripping out when there is no room left.

His thrusts slow but never stop.

Riding out the high, he hovers above you, spent, but not tired yet. He kisses your face, your cheeks, your forehead, your lips as your body twitches from the feeling of him rubbing through your walls still.

“My mate now,” he says, barely above a whisper, his words coming from his chest.

You gaze up at him, his eyes possessive yet passionate, and all you feel is relief that you were finally where you needed to be.

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