Being the daughter of Jake Sully and Neytiri meant you were never alone. If your father wasn’t watching you, your brothers were. And your sisters? Kiri noticed everything and loved to tease. Little Tuk appeared exactly when chaos started.
And unfortunately for you, they noticed Tarsem.
･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆･
It began during training. You and Tarsem sparred in the clearing, moving in perfect sync, every strike and block matching a little too well.
From the side, Neteyam crossed his arms. “He’s looking again.” Lo’ak followed his gaze. “He always looks.” Kiri smirked. “It’s obvious.” Tuk whispered loudly, “He likes you!”
You lunged to distract yourself, but Tarsem caught your wrist and pulled you closer than necessary.
“You hesitate,” he murmured.
“I do not.”
“You do when I’m near.”
“You’re imagining things.”
“He’s not imagining,” Lo’ak called from across the forest.
“He IS looking!” Tuk added proudly.
Suddenly Jake dropped into the forest if summoned by the word looking alone.
“Tarsem! If you hurt my daughter, you will regret it. I promise.”
Neytiri sighed, though she was clearly amused. “Jake…”
“I’m observing,” he insisted. “Protective observing.”
Tarsem straightened respectfully. “I assure you—”
“Assure nothing! I see everything!”
You groaned. This was going to be a long season.
That night Tarsem was invited to dinner. You weren’t sure if it was your mother’s kindness or your father’s test. He sat straight, trying not to look at you. He failed.
“So,” Lo’ak said casually, “you train together a lot.”
“We improve each other,” Tarsem answered.
“Is that what you call it?” Neteyam tilted his head.
You kicked Lo’ak under the table. He yelped. “See? She’s already protective.”
Kiri leaned in. “Protective… or interested?”
“I think he likes you!” Tuk announced.
Jake lightly hit the table; the bowls shook. “My eyes are on you, Tarsem. Breathe wrong, and I’ll notice.”
Neytiri rolled her eyes. “He will survive.”
Tarsem stayed calm. “She does not need protection. She is one of the strongest warriors.”
Jake narrowed his eyes. “Strong… and still blushing.”
You buried your face in your hands, wishing the table would swallow you whole.
After that, you were never alone. If Tarsem came near, a sibling appeared.
“Oh, alone again?”
“Talking about strategy?”
“Very serious strategy?”
One afternoon you sat with Tarsem high in a tree, legs hanging over the branch, his shoulder brushing yours.
“You’re tense,” he said quietly.
“My siblings are nearby. I can feel it.”
A branch snapped below.
“Just enjoying nature!” Lo’ak called.
“Very romantic nature,” Neteyam added.
“Hi Tarsem!” Tuk waved.
Tarsem exhaled. “Facing a thanator was easier.” You laughed, resting your head briefly on his shoulder. Below, your siblings froze.
“She leaned on him,” Lo’ak whispered.
“It’s serious,” Neteyam said.
“Oh very serious,” Kiri teased.
Jake called out from the edge of the forest, “Tarsem! I am watching!”
Neytiri groaned. “Jake, let them breathe.”
Later that night, you found Tarsem near the glowing roots of the forest.
“You survived,” you said, sitting beside him.
“Barely. Your siblings are tireless.”
“They enjoy your suffering.”
“I don’t mind,” he said softly. “If it means staying near you.”
Your smile faded into something more real. “They won’t stop.”
“I know.”
Silence settled between you, full but not uncomfortable.
“I don’t regret it,” he added.
“Regret what?”
“Wanting you.”
Your breath caught.
“You should,” you whispered, though your fingers had already found his hand.
“I can’t.”
He turned toward you, brushing your jaw gently.
“When I look at you, I see my future.”
“You see trouble,” you tried to joke.
“I see strength. Fire. And a heart deeper than anyone knows.”
Your defenses fell. You leaned closer, his forehead resting against yours.
“If your father challenges me—”
“He will.”
“I won’t step back.”
Emotion filled your chest. He kissed you softly at first, then deeper. Not rushed. Not reckless. Just real. When you pulled away, breathless, he smiled.
“This is worth a thousand teasing siblings.”
You laughed quietly.
From behind a tree:
“They kissed!” Tuk whispered.
“Finally,” Kiri said.
“Definitely serious,” Neteyam nodded.
“Oh, this will be fun,” Lo’ak grinned.
Later, when the news reached Jake and Neytiri, reactions couldn’t have been more different.
“She kissed him,” Neteyam reported carefully.
“And it was not small,” Lo’ak added with dramatic emphasis.
“They chose each other,” Kiri said simply.
“It was beautiful!” Tuk bounced.
Neytiri’s expression softened immediately. Pride flickered in her eyes. “Good. They are strong together.”
Jake froze mid-step.
“They what?”
His hand pressed to his chest as though struck by an invisible arrow. “Alone? In the forest? My daughter—”
Neytiri laughed under her breath. “You are impossible.”
Jake murmured, walking back and forth. “I knew this day would come. I prepared. I trained. I warned him.” He stopped, exhaling sharply. “But… she is happy?”
Neteyam nodded.
Jake’s shoulders lowered slightly. “Then he lives.” Behind them, the siblings dissolved into laughter.
Somewhere beyond the trees, two young warriors stood close together, unafraid now. The teasing would continue, the threats would echo, the chaos would never truly fade, but neither would the way he looked at her.
And this time, she did not look away.
･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆
Hey, you hungry readers of drama,
I poured my brain, caffeine, and probably some questionable life choices into this story. I know it’s not exactly an award-winning plot, but I’m trying to get better.
Pairing: Tarsem x Sully!reader, Jake Sully and oldest daughter!reader
Description: Jake Sully uses his skills as Olo'eyktan to play matchmaker for his eldest daughter.
Based on this request and these suggestions.
Content Warnings: None? Jake is maybe just a hair out of character. I think he would probably be more protective realistically.
Author's note: This takes place in a AU where the humans never came back to Pandora and the Sully's stayed with the Omatikaya. I have been wanting to write for Tarsem for a minute, so this was so exciting for me!! (Why are there no pictures of him at all!! Like nothing! I know he had only a few scenes, but I need more).
Playlist:
Man I Need by Olivia Dean
“Come on, grab your gear, we're going fishing,” Your dad said, clasping his hand on your shoulder as he passed by you. Your mom and Neteyam’s heads shot up at the words, as did yours.
“Fishing?” you asked, “We already have dinner.” He grabbed his spear and waited at the door as you lagged behind, confused.
“Just get your stuff, babygirl,” he sighed, but a slight smile still played on his lips.
“Can I come?” Neteyam asked, forehead wrinkled in question and Jake’s smile wavered at disappointing his son.
“There’s something we need to discuss. Sorry ‘Teyam. Next time,” he answered.
“Uh oh… you are in trouble big sis,” Neteyam teased, turning to you. Externally, you rolled your eyes, but internally your stomach dropped. Even at 18 years old, you still felt like a child being scolded whenever your parents asked to talk to you.
You grabbed your spear and a basket and followed your father outside.
“What is it?” you asked, anxiety gnawing on your gut as he led the way to the river, passing the other families as you walked through the village.
“You’ll find out when we get there,” he replied, shaking his head at your impatience.
Your gut dropped even further when you saw him. Tarsem. Your father’s protege and your nearly life long crush.
He was sitting outside his kelku (home) with his elbows resting on his knees as he braided delicate beads onto his songchord. His little sister played at his feet and made little ikran sounds as she flew a wooden toy around. His mind looked preoccupied as he reached for more beads on the bench beside him.
“Kaltxì Tarsem (Hello Tarsem),” your dad’s voice broke Tarsem’s trance and made you avert your eyes as he looked up. Your dad’s back stopped in front of you to talk to the young warrior.
“Olo’eyktan,” Tarsem said respectfully, standing up and putting his songchord down hastily on the bench. “Oel ngati kameie (I see you),” he greeted your father, signaling the traditional hand gesture to match.
“Oel ngati kameie,” Jake responded.“Kaltxì, little Se’val,” Jake added, saying hello to Tarsem’s little sister. The second his attention was diverted, Tarsem’s gaze slid to yours and you smiled bashfully, feeling like the little girl who first realized Tarsem was growing up to be kinda cute all those years ago.
“Oel ngati kameie, y/n,” Tarsem greeted you as well, his tail snaking around his knee. His eyes locked to yours so intensely it almost made you want to scream.
“Tarsem, Oel ngati kameie” you nodded, meaning the words with all of your heart. He smiled slightly, the corners of his lips curling up a fraction and it made your heart jump.
“How did the hunting party do?” your dad asked Tarsem and he tore his eyes away from you. It felt like a sudden influx of air hit your lungs.
“Good, sir. Three talioang from the East and several yerik from the North as well,” Tarsem explained, recounting the previous day’s spoils as you turned your attention to the little girl still playing on the ground. You crouched beside her, already familiar with her quirky attitude and kind heart.
“Hello Se’val, what is Yipip up to today?” you asked, referring to the purple ikran in her hands.
“He is flying to his home up in the mountains. He has been out hunting all day like Tarsem,” she said, weaving the toy through the air and making it do a loop. You tamped down a laugh as she squawked like an ikran.
“Wow, he must be tired then, that is a lot of work,” you pointed out and she nodded.
“He is very sleepy, he needs to go to bed,” she affirmed.
“Tarsem,” you heard your dad bark. You looked up to catch the young man already staring at you as you spoke with his little sister. His face flamed purple as his head shot to Jake. “Sorry sir, what did you say?”
Your dad’s eyebrows and ears were lowered as he scoffed. “Where’s your head at? I said I need your help with the ritual tomorrow night. Kalu is doing her dreamhunt,” Jake repeated and you stood up, Se’val was in her own world anyway.
“Right, I will be there,” he nodded, avoiding eye contact with you now as if it would burn him.
“Okay…” your dad sighed, “We better be off then. You two have a good night, get some sleep.”
“Tsìltsan txon (good night),” Tarsem said, eyes finally glancing over to you and there went all the air again.
“Tsìltsan txon, Tarsem, Se’val.” you repeated, gut twisting as you tore your gaze away from his and turned your back on the two.
“Bye!” Se’val called, hand waving as her eyes still stayed locked on her game.
Your dad waved back and you turned around to wave as well only to see Tarsem’s eyes on you again. You were like a magnet drawn to him, you could not escape his eyes. Your body whirled back around to follow your dad and you tried to ignore the embarrassment and hope rising in you.
-
“So, what was that?” Your dad asked, his gaze stuck on the water in front of him, but his words were directed at you. You stood side to side in the stream, water up to your knees as you watched carefully for any fish.
Your stomach dropped, “What was what?” you asked, feigning confusion. You were a bad liar, your voice was far too pitchy for someone supposedly innocent and Jake didn't believe it for a second.
“Come on, that back there with Tarsem,” Jake prodded further.
“I don't know what you mean,” you lied. Sirens went off in your head, this was a conversation you did not want to have with your dad.
“You think I don't know my babygirl? I see the way you look at him,” He said and your cheeks flamed.
“Sempu! Is it that obvious?” you asked, hand coming up to put pressure on your temple. This was giving you a stress induced headache.
“Only because he’s looking right back,” he snorted and you closed your eyes in embarrassment. Your ears flattened at the threatened feeling taking over your senses.
“Do you like him?” he asked, finally turning to level his eyes at you, wanting to read your reaction.
You sighed, “This is not something a girl wants to talk about with her dad,” you ground out, shooting him a glare.
“Well I’m not just any dad, I’m Olo’eyktan, so you have to tell me. Do you like him?” he teased and you huffed out a laugh at his persistence.
“Yes, Sempu. I like him, I have liked him for many years.” you admitted, your hand gripping tightly to your spear.
Jake hummed, “Ah, now we get into it. He obviously likes you, why has no one made a move?” he asked, a soft smile gracing his lips.
“Because we are duty bound and shy,” you gritted out.
Jake barked out a laugh, somewhat surprised that you had an actual, honest answer. “Well, that will do it. You should talk to him, tell him how you feel,” he suggested.
It was your turn to scoff, “Yeah right, what if he does not like me back? No, I would rather not know,” you said, embarrassment already clouding your mind of just thinking about that.
“If he doesn't like you back then he’s an idiot and I’ll tan his hide into a new cumberbund,” your dad said stoically and you rolled your eyes at his dramatics.
“Be serious, Sempu,” you chided.
“I am, babygirl! Who wouldn't like you? It’s obvious he does,” your dad said softly, placing a hand on your shoulder.
“I guess I’m just scared. I don't want to have misread him,” you explained, shoulders slumping at the defeated feeling in your gut.
“You’ll never know until you talk to him about it,” he reminded you and you nodded.
“Yeah, I’ll think about it,” you agreed, but you and he both knew that when it came to matters of the heart, you’d never scrounge up the courage unless an opportunity forced you to.
“He’s a good man. No one deserves you and I wouldn’t go that far to say he does, but if someone was to come close, it would be him,” Jake said, looking at his little girl with adoring eyes.
“Thank you, sempu,” you smiled, despite the shame still plastered to your face.
“You know, I could always set up an arranged marriage between you. He'd have to like you then,” he shrugged and you could tell he was joking, or at least you hoped he was.
“That would be just perfect! Why did I not think of that?” You said sarcastically, rolling your eyes as Jake laughed.
“Good, I’ll make it happen,” he teased back.
You sighed looking back down at the water, “We were never gonna do any fishing were we?” you asked as a Pekavol fish finally swam past you and neither of you moved.
“Nope.”
“Figures.”
-
You sat in the grass the next day near the cliffs edge, picking apart blades of grass and staring out into the sky, watching as ikrans dipped and veered. You had been lost in thought all day, so much in fact, that your mother had sent you away after you dropped one too many items and Lo’ak lost it laughing at you.
Your mind was on your conversation with your dad yesterday. Well, that and Tarsem, always Tarsem. He had occupied every waking thought in your mind and it was driving you crazy.
“I’m so sorry!” the very subject of your thoughts exclaimed, bursting through the tree line and scaring half the wits out of you. “I’m so sorry I’m late. I didn't know,” The words rushed out of him like a river as you gaped at him with wide eyes.
You had shot up to your feet when he emerged. “What are you talking about?” you demanded in shock.
Tarsem’s eyes narrowed, “Your dad said you were waiting for me.”
“I wasn't waiting for you, I was just… Oh. Oh no.” you stopped suddenly, eyes widening.
“What?” he panicked, stepping closer to you.
Your shoulders slumped as realization hit you, “He set us up,” you confessed, and Tarsem’s face opened into one of confusion instead of worry.
“I don't understand, what do you mean?” He shook his head.
You sighed again, “He told you I was waiting for you here so we would be forced to talk.”
“Why would he do that? We talk nearly every day," he pointed out.
You decided to grasp the last thread of courage you had and hold tight to it. You were a Sully after all. Your dad had put you in a difficult position, but you might as well take advantage of it, “Because… he says I should tell you how I feel…” you stammered, the words not coming out how you wished.
“How you feel…” Tarsem stated, staring blankly back at you. “How do you feel? Tell me,” he urged.
“That I… like you.” you continued, covering your face with your hands to hide the deep purple it was turning.
You felt rough hands grasp yours, tugging them away from your face and holding them tightly between your bodies. “You like me?” he asked, bright eyes boring into yours.
You nodded, not possessing the will to speak any longer. You could have shriveled up in embarrassment right then if the Na’vi body was capable of it.
His lips broke out into a smile, “That is convenient.” he said and your heart lept, in fear or hope, you were not sure.
“Yeah?” you asked softly.
He nodded, “Yes, because I like you too.” He smiled softly and you returned it.
“Oh!” You exclaimed brightly, “Yeah, that is fairly convenient, since you know, you will be Olo’eyktan, I am in line to be Tsahik. You like me, I like you. It is all very… convenient,” You rambled uselessly as Tarsem grinned wider.
“You are very beautiful when you blush,” he said, reaching up to trace a finger over your cheek and your breath hitched.
“Thank you,” you stuttered.
“You are welcome. May I kiss you?” he asked with more confidence than you imagined him to possess.
“Please,” you sighed as he smiled wider and hooked your chin between his finger and thumb.
He lowered his face to yours, pressing his lips against your mouth softly, barely a whisper of touch before you both relaxed, meshing together. Tarsem brought his other hand to your waist as you rested your hands on his chest, coming closer before finally separating for air.
“You’re good at that,” you chimed, a laugh running through your words.
“Thank you, yawnetu (beloved),” he smiled smuggly.
“My dad is gonna freak,” you muttered.
“We will never hear the end of it now,” he agreed.
“He will probably even threaten to kill you if you hurt me. I might take it seriously if I were you, he has done crazier things,” you explained with a worried grimace.
Tarsem nodded once grimly, “He already did, last week.”
“Oh… and you still like me? That is so sweet,” you cooed.
cw: Omatikaya clan; fluff; friends to lovers; courting
You remember the first time Tarsem truly looked at you—not as one of the clan’s many young weavers or singers, but as you.
It is before the Sky People return in force, before Jake’s family flees to the reefs, before the weight of leadership ever touches Tarsem’s shoulders.
He is already respected—a quiet, steady hunter with a calm strength that makes elders nod approvingly and young warriors listen when he speaks. But he is not yet Olo’eyktan. He is simply Tarsem: thoughtful, observant, slower to smile than most, but when he does, it feels earned.
You are gathering sweetberries near the base of the new village with a few friends when he approaches. Not boldly like some other males, striding up with loud compliments and flashy gifts. He waits at the edge of the clearing until you notice him, then steps forward with measured grace.
“I have something for you,” he says, voice low and even.
In his hands is a single, perfect bloom—a rare night-glow orchid that only opens after dusk, its petals shimmering soft violet and silver. He must have climbed high into the upper canopy at twilight to find it untouched.
You take it carefully, fingers brushing his. “It is beautiful,” you murmur, cheeks warming under his steady gaze.
“I thought of you when I saw it,” he answers simply. “Quiet, but bright in the dark.”
Your friends giggle behind you, but Tarsem does not look away. His ears flick once—nervous, you realize later—but his expression stays calm.
That is how it begins: quietly, steadily.
He finds reasons to be near you without crowding.
During hunts, he brings back the choicest cuts of yerik and leaves them at your family’s hearth with only a nod.
When you sing with the women at evening gatherings, he sits farther back than the other young males, listening intently, amber eyes reflecting the firelight. Once, after a particularly haunting mourning song, he approaches afterward and says softly, “Your voice carries memory. It is a gift.” No teasing. No bravado. Just truth.
Tarsem courts you the old way—patient and respectful.
He carves you a delicate songcord bead from banshee bone after his first successful tsahìk-guided vision quest, presenting it wrapped in soft leaves.
He teaches you to read the wind currents on ikran flights, steadying you with careful hands when you practice on calmer mounts.
When you twist your ankle on a root during a gathering trip, he carries you back to Hometree without complaint, your weight nothing in his arms, his tail curled protectively around your leg to soothe and keep you steady.
He is never loud about his interest, but the clan notices.
Neytiri teases him gently one day when she catches him watching you weave: “Our quiet hunter has found his song at last.”
Mo’at watches with knowing eyes and later tells your mother, “He has a leader’s heart already. Steady. Kind. He will choose well.”
And you feel it growing—the pull toward him.
His rare smiles are for you, and his quiet presence becomes your calm in crowded gatherings.
When other young males flirt or boast to catch your attention, you find your eyes seeking him instead, finding comfort in his calm observance.
One night, under the Tree of Voices, he finally speaks what has been unspoken for moons.
You sit together on a low root, atokirina drifting lazily around you. He reaches for your hand—slowly, giving you time to pull away—and when you don’t, he threads his fingers through yours.
“I wish to court you truly,” he says, voice soft but certain. “Not in secret glances or quiet gifts. Openly. With honor. If you would have me.”
Your heart stutters. You turn to him, searching his face—strong, kind, already carrying the weight of responsibility even before the mantle is his.
“I would have you,” you whisper.
He smiles then—slow, genuine, lighting his whole face—and leans in to press his forehead to yours.
“I see you,” he murmurs.
“I see you,” you answer.
Years later, when Jake places the ceremonial mantle on his shoulders and names him Olo’eyktan, you stand proudly at his side—already promised, already bonded in the eyes of the clan.
But you will always remember the time before: when Tarsem was simply the quiet hunter who brought you night-glow orchids and looked at you like you were the brightest thing in the forest.
The courting that began long before he ever became leader.
The love that grew steady and deep, just like him.
a/n: for @junebugonjupiter's jealousy in june event, prompt 1 & 32
Tarsem had never considered himself a violent man.
In fact, everyone had always described him as anything but. He was calm and collected. Someone with a good head on his shoulders. Someone reliable. Someone for the clan to look up to.
A born leader.
He didn't feel like any of those things as he stared at the sight in front of him.
There, across the crowd, beyond the dancing flames and the loud chatter was you.
But that was not the problem.
The problem was that you weren't alone.
It was the peak of courting season where na'vi would scope out potential mates to find the best suitor to begin a new chapter of their lives with.
This was yours and Tarsem's first season.
It was never a question for him really. He had known for a long time who he would choose.
Ever since that day as children, when you fell on him from a tree branch, Tarsem had been in love with you. When you apologised frantically, tears in your eyes, he didn't hear a thing, too busy watching with a dopey smile, the way the light flittering through the leaves framed your face.
Perhaps it had been nothing but a simple infatuation at that age.
But as you grew, so did his feelings. It became something more dramatic as the years went by. Something more clear. Something unshakable.
He admired your intensity when you trained. The way your face stayed focused and your eyes pierced through your target. He swooned at your kindness to others. The way you taught the youngsters, with patience and care. The way you shared snacks with them and made them tiny gifts. The skill you possessed when flying on missions. The way the bow was like a part of your body. Precise. Natural.
He liked everything about you. He loved it. He loved you.
And he was sure that no one—not a single man other than him—loved you like he did. Especially not the clueless male that decided he had a shot with you. Everyone else had known for years that the only one that could have you was Tarsem. Every male or female that had a crush on you always stepped back when they saw the hearts in Tarsem's eyes whenever you were near. They also saw the way you never tried to stop it. The way you kept him near. The way you touched his arm like you wanted more but modesty won over. The way you never said anything when he glared at anyone that tried to make a move on you.
It was common knowledge.
So really it would be no one's fault, other than that fool who was talking to you, if Tarsem decided to put an end to that entire situation.
He wasted no time.
His feet were heavy against the ground, thundering enough that others looked up. One look at his face and everyone understood exactly what was about to happen. It was rare for a man like tarsem to show such rage so of course everyone tuned in for the show.
Tarsem came up behind you, stopping just close enough that your body heat mingled but your skin didn't touch.
You felt him behind you. Of course you did. His presence was one that has been with you every single day for years. You would be a fool to not know when the man who adored you was hovering with intent to possibly kill.
You hate to say it but you loved when he got like this. Possesive. Like you were already his. Because in a sense you were, just without the formal ceremony.
The male who just could not take a hint every time you tried to sidestep him finally stopped talking. Actually it was more like he froze. You don't blame him. Tarsem was a spectacle of a man. Yall, broad, strong and the most accomplished within his age group. He was a very popular man no matter how much he tried to deny it. For years girls have tried their luck with him but he was always too focused on you to even notice. You never even had to try and stop them because it never took long for them to become dishearted when he never spared them the time of day.
You could only imagine the look on Tarsem's face right now. The hardened set of jaw, and the way his usually kind eyes narrowed enough to turn you into stone as he looked down at you. You're sure the sight that the male infront of you was subjected to was downright terrifying. Your thoughts were confirmed when he staggered back, then muttered something about having somewhere to be before all but running away with his tail between his legs.
"You chased off my suitor" you did not turn yet.
He snorted and stepped around you to see your face "he was not worthy"
"Says who" you turned your chin up.
"Says me"
"And who are you, to decide who is worthy of me and who is not?" you fluttered your eyes up at him, trying not to smile.
He came closer, his muscled chest, adorned with a red and purple feathered chest plate you had made him, brushed against your own which wore a matching neckpiece.
His voice lowered, and his eyes lost the edged that they had before, softening now.
What if Jake and Neytiri had a daughter 3 years older than Neteyam?
And so life begins Cover by @sirscampi
Part 1: The first year of life
Part 2: The second year of life
Part 3: From only child to big sister
Part 4: The first and forgotten daughter
Part 5: A sense of responsibility in one so young
Part 6: A pattern forms and sickness shows
Part 7: Love for her family and sick!reader arc
Part 8: The steady presence and role model
Part 9: A dutiful burden of love injured!reader
Part 10: A test of faith temp paralysed!reader
Part 11: Hope is like the sun on a foggy day
Part 12: wip When Emotions become a flood
Part 13: Eywa’s miracle end of temp paralysis arc
Part 14: Prey and Predator
Part 15: Everything Changes
Part 16: Time cannot be slowed
Part 17: Flight
Part 18: Growing fangs
Part 19: The end of this phase of life
Part 20: Two years later
Part 21: Where did the time go?
Part 22: Born again as part of the people
Scorched Earth Arc Cover by @loaf-with-jam
Part 23: Day of Reckoning
Part 24: The Weight of Command
Part 25: Rising Tesnions
Part 26: So we can say we tried
Part 27: It all went wrong
Part 28: In RDA hands
Part 29: The Rescue
Part 30: Wrath meets Wrath
Part 31: Rest at Last
Part 32: The road to recovery
Part 33: The strain
Part 34: Hard decisions
Part 35: The cold shadow
Part 36: All Shall be Tested
Part 37: Realisation
Part 38: Better Times Are Always Around the Corner
Way of water cover by @loaf-with-jam
Part 39: So it begins
Part 40: No other choice
Part 41: One Life ends another begins
Part 42: Father and Daughter
Part 43: Mother and Daughter
Part 44: Different Kinds of Distance
Part 45: Just Siblings Again
Part 46: Heart to Heart
Part 47: The Inevitable
Part 48: It's Different
Part 48.5 The alliance of the ages
Part 49: The Good Times End
Part 50: The Job of The Eldest
Part 51: That One Second When You Can Lose Everything
Part 52: No Longer 7 Strong
Part 53:
Avatar Fire and Ash Covers
Cover 1 by @cofies-of-ntymsluvr
Cover 2 by @whos-nin1
wake up. dilf jake to my left. age gap solek to my right. enemies to lovers tsutey to my other left. childhood friends to lovers tarsem to my other right
Written for the Pandora in Bloom event by @junebugonjupiter! The prompt: both are in love but neither know it ... at least, that was the one I started with
***Tarsem has been watching you for months, too afraid to confess. You've been waiting, too afraid to hope. This is the day one of you finally finds the courage to speak—and everything changes.
A sweet, nervous love story about two people too scared to believe the other feels the same.
Word Count: <7k
You've always known Tarsem as steady.
That's the word that comes to mind when you think of him—steady. Like the ancient trees that hold up Hometree's branches, like the rhythm of your heartbeat when you're at rest. He's the warrior who never flinches, never hesitates when the clan needs him. When Jake Sully calls for volunteers for a dangerous scouting mission, Tarsem's hand is always first to rise. When younger hunters need guidance, he's there before dawn, bow in hand, ready to teach. You've watched him train Neteyam countless times, patient and firm, correcting the boy's stance with careful hands and quiet praise.
Dependable. Self-assured. Confident in a way that doesn't need to announce itself.
So it's strange—very strange—that for the past several months, Tarsem has been anything but steady around you.
It started small. You'd catch him watching you across the communal fires, his golden eyes tracking your movements as you helped prepare the evening meal or wove baskets with the other women. At first, you thought nothing of it. The Omaticaya are a close clan; everyone watches everyone. But then you began to notice the pattern. How his gaze would linger just a moment too long. How he'd look away the instant you glanced back, suddenly very interested in whatever conversation was happening beside him.
Then came the moments of almost-interaction. He'd approach you with clear purpose in his stride, and you'd turn to greet him, only for him to veer off at the last second to speak with someone nearby. Or he'd open his mouth as if to say something, then close it again and offer you a nod before walking away. Once, he'd been heading directly toward you with what looked like a carved wooden comb in his hands—beautiful work, the kind that takes hours to craft—and then Neteyam had called his name, and Tarsem had quickly tucked it into his belt and jogged off in the opposite direction.
You'd found that same comb weeks later, abandoned on a training platform.
Your friends have noticed. Säla'ite had nudged you during a weaving circle, grinning as she watched Tarsem walk past for the third time in an hour, each time glancing your way. "That warrior has something on his mind," she'd whispered, her voice full of knowing amusement.
You'd brushed it off. "He's probably just thinking about the next hunt."
"Mm-hmm. And I'm thinking about becoming Tsahik." Säla'ite had laughed, her tail swishing with mirth. "He looks at you like you're the only person in the village."
You'd felt heat rise in your cheeks, your ears flicking back in embarrassment. "Don't be silly."
But you'd noticed it too. Of course you had. It was impossible not to notice the way Tarsem's whole body seemed to orient toward you whenever you were near, like a plant turning toward the sun. The way his voice would soften when he spoke to you on the rare occasions he actually managed to hold a conversation. The way he'd appear whenever you needed help with something heavy or difficult, as if he had some sixth sense for when you required assistance.
Just last week, you'd been struggling to carry a bundle of medicinal herbs back from the forest, your arms full and your balance precarious on the winding branch-paths. Tarsem had materialized out of nowhere, gently taking the burden from your arms before you could protest.
"Let me," he'd said, his voice low and warm.
You'd walked together in comfortable silence, and you'd stolen glances at his profile—the strong line of his jaw, the focus in his eyes, the way his braids swayed with each step. He was beautiful in the way all Na'vi were beautiful, but there was something else about him. Something solid and real that made you feel safe.
When you'd reached the healer's alcove, he'd set down the herbs with care, and you'd thanked him with a smile that made his ears twitch. He'd looked at you then, really looked at you, and you'd seen something vulnerable flash across his face. His mouth had opened, his hand had lifted slightly as if reaching for you—
And then Mo'at had called for him, and the moment had shattered like a drop of water hitting stone.
He'd left quickly, almost stumbling over his own feet in his haste.
You'd stood there, heart beating faster than it should, wondering what he'd been about to say.
The truth is, you've been aware of Tarsem for far longer than these past few months. How could you not be? He's one of the clan's finest warriors, respected by Jake Sully himself, trusted with the training of the Olo'eyktan's eldest son. He's the one who volunteers for the dangerous tasks, who stays up late to reinforce the village defenses, who checks on the elders without being asked.
And yes, you've noticed the way his muscles move beneath his skin when he draws his bow. The way his laugh sounds when he's relaxed and among friends—deep and genuine and rare enough to be precious. The way he's kind to the children, letting them climb on him like he's a tree, patient even when they're being particularly wild.
You've noticed all of it.
But you've also noticed his hesitation around you, and you've respected it. If Tarsem wanted to approach you, he would. He's not a shy man by nature. So his reluctance must mean something—maybe he's not interested in that way, maybe he's just being friendly, maybe you're reading too much into lingering glances and almost-moments.
You've told yourself not to hope.
But hope is a stubborn thing, and it's taken root in your chest despite your best efforts to uproot it.
So you've settled into this strange dance—this circling of each other, this tension that hums between you like a bowstring pulled taut. You've learned to expect his presence and his absence in equal measure. You've learned to smile at him when you pass, to accept his help when he offers it, to pretend you don't notice the way he watches you when he thinks you're not looking.
You've learned to wait.
And today—today something feels different.
The afternoon sun filters through the canopy in golden shafts, painting the village in warm light. You're sitting on one of the lower platforms, helping repair a fishing net that got torn during the last expedition to the river. Your fingers work the cordage with practiced ease, weaving new strands into the gaps, your mind pleasantly empty of thought.
The village hums with activity around you. Children shriek with laughter as they chase each other across the branches. Hunters return from the morning expedition, their calls echoing through the trees. Somewhere nearby, someone is singing—a low, rhythmic song that matches the pulse of the forest.
You're so focused on your work that you don't notice Tarsem until his shadow falls across your hands.
You look up, and your breath catches.
He's standing there, bow slung across his back, his chest still rising and falling from exertion—he must have just returned from something. There's a sheen of sweat on his skin that makes him glow in the dappled light, and his braids are slightly disheveled, a few loose strands framing his face. He looks like he's been running.
But it's his expression that makes you pause. There's something intense in his eyes, something determined and almost desperate. His jaw is set, his shoulders squared, like he's preparing for battle.
"Tarsem," you greet him, setting down the net. "Are you alright?"
He blinks, and the intensity flickers. "I—yes. Yes, I am well." His voice is rougher than usual, like he's been shouting. Or like he's nervous.
You tilt your head, studying him. "Did something happen on the hunt?"
"The hunt?" He looks confused for a moment, then shakes his head quickly. "No, no. The hunt was... it was fine. Good. We tracked a yerik to the eastern groves, but we let it go. Not the right time."
"Oh." You wait, but he doesn't elaborate. He just stands there, looking at you with that strange intensity, his hands flexing at his sides like he doesn't know what to do with them.
The silence stretches.
"Did you... need something?" you ask gently.
"Need something," he repeats, and there's something almost wild in his laugh. "Yes. I need—" He cuts himself off, his ears pinning back. His hand moves to his belt, fingers brushing against something tucked there, hidden from view. His eyes drop to the net in your lap. "Your net. It's torn."
You glance down at the obvious repair work in your hands. "Yes... that's why I'm fixing it."
"Right. Of course." He shifts his weight, and you notice his tail is lashing behind him in agitation. "Do you need help? I could—I'm good with knots. I could help you."
This is odd. Tarsem has helped you with many things, but he's never offered to help with weaving or repair work. That's not usually his domain. He's a hunter, a warrior. His skills lie in tracking and fighting and survival, not in the delicate work of mending nets.
But there's something almost pleading in his expression, so you smile and gesture to the space beside you. "I would welcome the company."
Relief floods his face, and he sits down with less grace than usual, his knee bumping against yours as he settles. The contact sends a little spark through you, and you notice he doesn't move away.
He reaches for a section of the net, and his fingers immediately fumble with the cordage. You watch, bemused, as he attempts a basic weaver's knot and somehow ends up with a tangled mess instead.
"Here," you say softly, reaching over to guide his hands. "Like this."
Your fingers brush against his, and he goes very still. You can feel the warmth of his skin, the calluses on his palms from years of holding weapons. His hands are larger than yours, stronger, but they're trembling slightly.
You look up at him, concerned. "Tarsem, are you sure you're alright? You seem..."
"I'm fine," he says quickly, but his voice is strained. He's staring at where your hands touch his, his eyes wide and his pupils dilated. "I'm just—it's been a long day."
"It's barely past midday," you point out gently.
"A long morning, then." He pulls his hands back, and you feel the loss of contact like a physical thing. He clears his throat, looking away. "You're right. I'm not very good at this. I should—I should let you work."
He starts to stand, and you don't know what possesses you, but you reach out and catch his wrist. "Stay," you say. "Please. You don't have to help with the net. Just... stay and talk to me."
He freezes, looking down at where your fingers wrap around his wrist. His pulse is racing beneath your touch—you can feel it, rapid and strong. When he looks at you, there's something raw in his expression, something vulnerable that makes your heart squeeze.
"I..." He swallows hard. "I would like that."
He sits back down, closer this time, and you release his wrist reluctantly. You return to your work, but you're hyperaware of him beside you—the heat of his body, the sound of his breathing, the way he keeps glancing at you when he thinks you're not paying attention.
"How is Neteyam's training going?" you ask, trying to ease the strange tension in the air.
Tarsem latches onto the topic like a lifeline. "Good. Very good. He's a natural hunter—has his father's instincts and his mother's grace. Yesterday he tracked a hexapede for two hours without losing the trail once." There's pride in his voice, the kind of pride a teacher has for a gifted student.
You smile, picturing the earnest young boy following Tarsem through the forest. "He admires you greatly. I've heard him talking about you to his siblings."
Tarsem's ears perk up, and he looks at you with surprise. "He does?"
"Of course. You're patient with him. Kind. You push him to be better without making him feel inadequate." You pause in your weaving to look at him directly. "You're a good teacher, Tarsem."
The compliment seems to undo something in him. His expression softens, and for a moment, he looks at you with such open affection that it steals your breath. "I just... I want him to be ready. For whatever comes. The sky people are still out there, and Jake says—" He stops himself, shaking his head. "But that's not what I wanted to talk about."
Your heart skips. "What did you want to talk about?"
He opens his mouth. Closes it. His hand moves to his belt again, touching that hidden object. His jaw works like he's trying to force words out, but they won't come.
"Tarsem?" you prompt gently.
"I—" He's interrupted by a shout from above.
"Tarsem! There you are!" Neteyam's voice rings out, and you both look up to see the boy swinging down from a higher branch with the fearless agility of youth. He lands beside you with a grin, his tail swishing excitedly. "I've been looking everywhere for you! You promised we'd work on my aim this afternoon, remember?"
Tarsem looks torn, his eyes darting between you and Neteyam. "I... yes, I remember, but—"
"Great! Let's go!" Neteyam is already bouncing on his toes, eager and energetic. Then he seems to notice you for the first time, and his grin widens. "Oh, hello! Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."
"You're not interrupting," you assure him, even though he absolutely is. You glance at Tarsem, who looks like he's in physical pain. "Go on. Neteyam needs you."
"I could come back," Tarsem says quickly. "Later. I could come back later and we could—"
"It's alright," you say, smiling even though you feel a pang of disappointment. "I'll be here."
He stares at you for a long moment, something desperate in his eyes, and then Neteyam is tugging on his arm, and he's being pulled away. He looks back at you twice as he goes, nearly walking into a support beam the second time.
You watch him disappear into the forest with Neteyam, and you can't shake the feeling that he was about to say something important.
Something that might have changed everything.
An hour later, you're helping prepare vegetables for the evening meal when you see him again.
The communal cooking area is busy with activity—several women working together to prepare food for the clan, the air filled with the scent of herbs and roasting meat. You're slicing tubers into thin pieces, your knife moving with rhythmic precision, when you feel that familiar prickle of awareness that means Tarsem is nearby.
You look up, and sure enough, he's standing at the edge of the cooking area, watching you. When your eyes meet, he straightens, and you see him take a deep breath, like he's steeling himself for something.
He walks toward you with purpose, and your heart starts to beat faster.
"Hello again," you say, setting down your knife.
"Hello." His voice is steadier now, more controlled. He's cleaned up since earlier—the sweat is gone, his braids are neat again, and he's changed into a fresh loincloth. He looks... prepared. Like he's dressed for something important. "I wanted to—I brought you something."
Your eyebrows rise. "You did?"
He nods, reaching into the small pouch at his side. He pulls out a fruit—a perfect yovo fruit, the kind that grows high in the canopy and is difficult to reach. The skin is unblemished, the color a deep, rich purple that indicates perfect ripeness.
He holds it out to you, and you notice his hand is shaking slightly.
"I remembered you saying you liked these," he says quietly. "And I saw this one while I was out with Neteyam, and I thought... I thought you might want it."
Something warm blooms in your chest. He remembered. Such a small thing—a passing comment you'd made weeks ago about loving yovo fruit—and he'd remembered.
You take the fruit from his hand, your fingers brushing his palm. "Thank you, Tarsem. This is very sweet of you."
His ears twitch at the word 'sweet,' and a faint flush darkens his cheeks. "It's nothing. Just a fruit."
"It's not nothing," you say firmly. You turn the fruit in your hands, admiring it. "This is perfect. It must have taken you a while to find one this good."
He shrugs, but you can see the pleasure in his expression at your praise. "I wanted... I wanted you to have the best one."
The way he says it—so earnest, so sincere—makes your heart flutter. You look up at him, and the intensity is back in his eyes, that same desperate determination you saw earlier.
"Tarsem," you begin, but he's already speaking.
"I need to tell you something," he says, the words coming out in a rush. "I've been trying to tell you all day, and I keep—I keep losing my courage, but I can't keep doing this. I can't keep circling around you like a—like a—"
"Tarsem!" One of the other women calls out, waving him over. "Could you help us lift this pot? It's too heavy."
He closes his eyes, and you see his jaw clench in frustration. For a moment, you think he might ignore the request, might finally say whatever it is he's been trying to say all day.
But then his sense of duty wins out—because of course it does, because he's Tarsem, and he can't ignore someone who needs help.
"One moment," he calls back, then looks at you with something like anguish in his eyes. "Don't go anywhere. Please. I'll be right back, and then we can—"
"I'll be here," you promise, clutching the yovo fruit to your chest.
He nods, then hurries over to help with the pot. You watch as he lifts it with ease, his muscles flexing with the effort, and you see several of the women exchange knowing glances and giggles.
You're not the only one who's noticed Tarsem's strange behavior today.
He sets the pot down where they need it, accepts their thanks with a distracted nod, and turns back to you—
Only to find that Säla'ite has appeared at your side and is already pulling you away, chattering about needing your help with something urgent.
You look back at Tarsem apologetically, and the expression on his face is so forlorn, so utterly defeated, that you almost laugh. He looks like a child who's had his favorite toy taken away.
But Säla'ite is insistent, and you let yourself be pulled along, still holding the yovo fruit like a treasure.
The "urgent" matter turns out to be Säla'ite wanting to gossip about Tarsem.
"He's courting you," she says gleefully as soon as you're out of earshot. "He has to be. Did you see the way he looked at you? Like you hung the moons in the sky!"
You feel heat rise in your cheeks. "He was just being kind. Bringing me a fruit doesn't mean—"
"Oh, please." Säla'ite rolls her eyes dramatically. "Men don't climb to the top of the canopy for 'just a fruit' unless they're trying to impress someone. And Tarsem has been following you around all day like a lost yerik."
"He has not," you protest, but even as you say it, you realize she might be right. The net-mending, the fruit, the way he keeps trying to talk to you...
"He has," Säla'ite insists. "Everyone's noticed. Even Mo'at commented on it—said she's never seen him so distracted during the morning prayers." She grins, her tail swishing with delight. "I think he's going to ask to court you."
Your heart does a complicated flip in your chest. "That's... that's a big assumption."
"Is it?" Säla'ite gives you a knowing look. "You like him too. Don't even try to deny it. I've seen the way you watch him when you think no one's looking."
You open your mouth to deny it, then close it again. What's the point? Säla'ite knows you too well.
"I might like him," you admit quietly. "But that doesn't mean he wants to court me. Maybe he just wants to be friends."
Säla'ite laughs so hard she nearly falls off the branch. "Friends. Right. Friends who look at each other like they're starving and the other person is a feast." She sobers slightly, reaching out to squeeze your hand. "He's going to ask you. I'd bet my best weaving on it. And when he does, what will you say?"
You look down at the yovo fruit in your hands, running your thumb over its smooth skin. What would you say?
The answer comes easily, rising from that place in your chest where hope has taken root.
"I'd say yes," you whisper.
Säla'ite squeals with delight, and you shush her frantically, looking around to make sure no one heard.
But your heart is racing now, anticipation building in your veins like electricity before a storm. If Säla'ite is right, if Tarsem really is trying to court you, then today might be the day everything changes.
You just have to wait for him to find his courage.
You don't see Tarsem again until late afternoon, when the sun is beginning its descent toward the horizon and the village is preparing for the evening meal.
You're walking back from the river, carrying a vessel of fresh water, when you hear voices ahead on the path. You recognize Tarsem's low rumble and Neteyam's higher, younger voice, and you slow your steps, not wanting to interrupt.
"—but why don't you just tell her?" Neteyam is saying, sounding exasperated. "You've been acting weird all day. Even I noticed, and I'm not exactly known for noticing things."
"It's not that simple," Tarsem replies, and there's a note of frustration in his voice that you've never heard before. "I can't just... what if she doesn't feel the same way? What if I ruin everything?"
Your breath catches. They're talking about you. They have to be.
"But what if she does feel the same way?" Neteyam counters. "You won't know unless you ask. That's what my dad always says—'Fortune favors the bold,' or something like that."
"Your father is much braver than I am," Tarsem says quietly.
"That's not true! You're one of the bravest warriors in the clan. You literally fought a thanator last month."
"Fighting a thanator is easier than this."
There's a pause, and then Neteyam says, with the blunt honesty of youth, "You're being a coward."
You expect Tarsem to be offended, but instead, he laughs—a short, rueful sound. "You're right. I am. I've faced down sky people and predators and I've jumped off cliffs into rivers, but I can't seem to find the courage to talk to one woman."
"So talk to her!" Neteyam sounds like he's about to shake Tarsem in frustration. "Just go up to her and say, 'I like you, I made you this thing, do you want to be my mate?' It's not that hard!"
"I made you this thing?" Tarsem repeats, amused despite himself. "That's your advice?"
"Well, you did make her something, didn't you? I saw you working on that necklace for weeks. It's really pretty. She'll love it."
A necklace. He made you a necklace.
Your heart is pounding so hard you're sure they'll hear it, even from around the bend in the path.
"I hope so," Tarsem says softly. "I've been carrying it around all day, waiting for the right moment, but every time I try to give it to her, something happens, or I lose my nerve, or—" He makes a frustrated sound. "I'm a mess, Neteyam. I don't know what's wrong with me."
"Nothing's wrong with you," Neteyam says firmly. "You're just in love. My mom says it makes everyone act stupid."
"Your mother is a wise woman."
"So go find her! Before someone else does. I heard Takuk saying he thought she was pretty."
There's a moment of silence, and when Tarsem speaks again, his voice has an edge to it. "Takuk said that?"
"Yeah, yesterday. He was talking about maybe asking her to—"
"I need to go," Tarsem interrupts, and you hear the sound of rapid footsteps coming toward you.
You panic, realizing you're about to be caught eavesdropping, and you quickly duck behind a large tree trunk, pressing yourself against the bark and holding your breath.
Tarsem strides past, moving with purpose, his hand touching his belt where you now know he's keeping a necklace. A courting necklace. For you.
Once he's out of sight, you lean against the tree, your heart racing and a smile spreading across your face.
He's going to ask you. Today. Soon.
And you're going to say yes.
You find him near the training grounds, pacing back and forth like a caged animal.
The sun is lower now, painting everything in shades of gold and amber. Most of the clan has gathered near the communal fires for the evening meal, but Tarsem is here, alone, clearly working up his courage.
You watch him for a moment, hidden in the shadows of the trees. He's talking to himself, you realize—practicing what he's going to say. His hands move as he speaks, gesturing emphatically, and every few seconds he touches his belt, as if reassuring himself that the necklace is still there.
It's endearing. This strong, confident warrior, reduced to a nervous wreck by the prospect of courting you.
You step out of the shadows, and he freezes mid-pace, his eyes going wide.
"Oh," he says, and his voice cracks slightly. "You're here."
"I'm here," you confirm, walking toward him slowly. "Are you alright? You've been acting strange all day."
He laughs, but it sounds slightly hysterical. "Strange. Yes. I've been... I'm fine. I'm good. I'm—" He runs a hand through his braids, messing them up again. "I'm terrible at this."
"Terrible at what?" you ask gently, even though you know. You want to hear him say it.
He looks at you, and in the golden light of the setting sun, his eyes are molten amber, full of emotion. "At telling you how I feel. At being brave enough to... to..."
He trails off, his hand moving to his belt again. This time, he pulls out the necklace.
Your breath catches.
It's beautiful. Delicate beads carved from wood and stone, interspersed with small crystals that catch the light. The pattern is intricate, clearly the work of many hours, and at the center hangs a pendant—a small carving of a flower that grows near the Tree of Souls, its petals detailed and perfect.
"I made this for you," Tarsem says, his voice rough. "I've been working on it for months, and I've been carrying it around all day, trying to find the courage to give it to you, but I kept—I kept failing." He laughs self-deprecatingly. "Some warrior I am. Can't even talk to the woman I—" He stops himself, swallowing hard.
You step closer, your eyes fixed on the necklace. "Tarsem, it's beautiful."
"You haven't let me finish," he says quickly. "I need to—I need to say this properly. I've been practicing all day, and I keep getting interrupted or losing my nerve, but I need to tell you." He takes a deep breath, and when he speaks again, his voice is steadier. "I see you. I have seen you for a long time now, and I can't keep pretending that I don't. I can't keep circling around you, hoping you'll somehow know how I feel without me having to say it."
Your heart is thundering in your chest.
"You are kind," he continues, his eyes locked on yours. "You are sweet and patient and you make everyone around you feel valued. When you smile, it's like the sun coming out from behind clouds. When you laugh, I want to do anything to hear it again. And I know I'm not good with words, and I know I've been acting like a fool all day, but I needed you to know that I—" He pauses, gathering his courage. "I want to court you. Properly. Officially. I want the chance to earn your affection, to prove myself worthy of you. I know I might not be, but I want to try."
He holds out the necklace, his hands trembling slightly. "This is my declaration. My promise that I will do everything in my power to make you happy, to protect you, to be there for you the way you deserve. If you'll have me."
The world seems to hold its breath.
You look at the necklace, then at Tarsem—this strong, dependable warrior who's been reduced to a nervous wreck by his feelings for you. This man who climbed to the top of the canopy to find you the perfect fruit, who spent months carving a necklace with his own hands, who's been trying all day to find the courage to tell you what's in his heart.
This man who sees you.
"Tarsem," you say softly, and you see fear flash across his face, like he's bracing for rejection. You smile, reaching out to cup his cheek with your hand. "I see you too."
His eyes widen, hope blooming in them like a flower opening to the sun.
"I've seen you for a long time," you continue. "I've watched you with the clan, with Neteyam, with everyone who needs you. I've seen how you're always there, always ready to help, always putting others first. I've seen your strength and your kindness and your patience. And I've been waiting—hoping—that you might feel the same way about me."
"You have?" His voice is barely a whisper.
"Yes." You laugh softly. "I've been watching you watch me, and I've been wondering when you'd finally work up the courage to do something about it."
He makes a sound that's half-laugh, half-groan. "I've been a coward."
"You've been careful," you correct gently. "But you don't need to be careful anymore. I want this too, Tarsem. I want you to court me. I want to see where this goes. I want—" You pause, feeling bold. "I want you."
For a moment, he just stares at you, like he can't quite believe what he's hearing. Then, slowly, reverently, he reaches up to fasten the necklace around your throat.
His fingers brush against your skin as he works the clasp, and you shiver at the contact. The necklace settles against your collarbone, the weight of it unfamiliar but welcome—a physical reminder of his feelings, his promise.
"It's perfect," you whisper, touching the pendant.
"You're perfect," he replies, and there's such sincerity in his voice that it makes your eyes sting with tears.
You look up at him, and the distance between you seems both vast and nonexistent. He's so close you can feel the heat of his body, can see the way his pupils have dilated, can hear the slight hitch in his breathing.
"Can I—" he starts, then stops, his eyes dropping to your lips. "May I kiss you?"
Your answer is to close the distance between you, rising up on your toes to press your lips to his.
The kiss is soft at first, tentative, like he's afraid you might disappear if he's too eager. But then you make a small sound of encouragement, and something in him breaks free. His arms come around you, pulling you close, and the kiss deepens, becomes something more urgent and real.
He kisses like he does everything else—with complete focus and dedication, like you're the only thing that matters in the world. His hands are gentle on your back, holding you like you're precious, and you can feel the rapid beat of his heart against your chest.
When you finally pull apart, both breathing hard, he rests his forehead against yours.
"I've wanted to do that for so long," he admits, his voice rough.
"Then why did you wait?" you ask, smiling.
"Because I'm an idiot," he says simply, and you laugh.
"You're not an idiot. You're just... careful."
"I'm done being careful," he says firmly. "At least when it comes to you. I've wasted enough time already."
You pull back slightly to look at him, and the expression on his face makes your heart swell. He's looking at you like you're the answer to every question he's ever had, like you're everything he's been searching for.
"So what now?" you ask.
"Now?" He smiles, and it's the most genuine, unguarded smile you've ever seen from him. "Now I court you properly. I bring you gifts, I spend time with you, I prove to you every day that choosing me was the right decision."
"I already know it was the right decision," you say softly.
"Then I'll prove it anyway," he replies. "Because that's what you deserve. The best of me. All of me."
You reach up to touch the necklace again, feeling the smooth beads beneath your fingers. "You've already given me so much."
"I've barely started," he promises, and there's something in his eyes that makes you believe him.
The sun has nearly set now, the sky painted in shades of purple and pink. In the distance, you can hear the sounds of the clan gathering for the evening meal, voices raised in laughter and conversation.
"We should go back," you say reluctantly. "They'll be wondering where we are."
"Let them wonder," Tarsem says, but he's smiling. He takes your hand, lacing his fingers through yours, and the simple contact sends warmth spreading through your whole body. "But you're right. We should go. I want everyone to see you wearing my necklace. I want everyone to know that you've agreed to let me court you."
There's a possessive note in his voice that makes your stomach flutter. "Proud of yourself, are you?"
"Proud that you said yes," he corrects. "Proud that I finally found my courage. Proud that I get to walk beside you." He squeezes your hand gently. "Is that so wrong?"
"No," you say, squeezing back. "It's not wrong at all."
You walk back to the village together, hand in hand, and you can feel the weight of the necklace against your skin with every step. When you emerge into the firelight, conversations pause, heads turn, and you see Säla'ite's face light up with delight.
Mo'at catches your eye from across the fire, and there's a knowing smile on the Tsahik's face, like she's been expecting this all along.
Neteyam whoops with joy, pumping his fist in the air. "Finally!" he shouts, and several people laugh.
Tarsem's ears flatten in embarrassment, but he doesn't let go of your hand. If anything, he holds it tighter, like he's afraid you might slip away.
You lean into his side, and he looks down at you with such open affection that it makes your breath catch.
"Thank you," he says quietly, just for you. "For saying yes. For seeing me. For being patient with me while I figured out how to be brave."
"Thank you for the necklace," you reply. "For the fruit. For all the almost-moments that led us here."
"There will be more moments," he promises. "Real ones. No more almost. No more circling. Just... us."
"Us," you repeat, and the word feels like a promise. Like a beginning.
The evening unfolds around you—food and laughter and music, the clan celebrating another day of life in the forest. But you're barely aware of it, too focused on the man beside you, on the warmth of his hand in yours, on the future that's suddenly opened up before you like a flower blooming in the sun.
Tarsem stays close to you all evening, attentive and affectionate in a way that makes it clear to everyone that something has changed between you. He brings you food, makes sure you're comfortable, includes you in conversations with a hand on the small of your back or your knee.
It's not possessive, exactly—more like he can't quite believe you're real, and he needs to keep touching you to make sure you're still there.
You don't mind. Every touch sends little sparks of warmth through you, and you find yourself leaning into him, seeking out his presence the way a plant seeks sunlight.
When the evening finally winds down and people begin to drift away to their hammocks, Tarsem walks you to your family's alcove. The village is quiet now, the fires banked to embers, the forest alive with the sounds of night.
At your doorway, he pauses, reluctant to let you go.
"I'll see you tomorrow?" he asks, and there's a vulnerability in the question that makes your heart ache.
"You'll see me tomorrow," you confirm. "And the day after that. And the day after that."
He smiles, relieved, and leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. "Sleep well."
"You too."
He starts to leave, then turns back. "The necklace—it looks beautiful on you. Even better than I imagined."
You touch it, smiling. "I'll wear it every day."
"Good," he says, and there's satisfaction in his voice. "I want everyone to know you're being courted. That you're..." He trails off, like he's not quite ready to say the word 'mine,' but it hangs in the air between you anyway.
"Yours," you finish for him, and his eyes flash with something hot and possessive.
"Yes," he breathes. "Mine. If you'll have me."
"I already said yes, Tarsem."
"I know. I just... I need to hear it again. I need to know this is real."
You step closer, rising up to press a quick kiss to his lips. "It's real. I'm real. This is happening."
He catches you before you can pull away, deepening the kiss for just a moment before releasing you with obvious reluctance. "Tomorrow," he says again, like a promise.
"Tomorrow," you agree.
You watch him disappear into the darkness, and only then do you allow yourself to fully process what just happened.
Tarsem—strong, dependable, wonderful Tarsem—wants to court you. Has been wanting to court you for months. Made you a necklace with his own hands and spent an entire day working up the courage to give it to you.
You touch the necklace again, feeling the careful craftsmanship, the hours of work that went into each bead. This is more than just a piece of jewelry. It's a promise. A declaration. A beginning.
And as you settle into your hammock, the necklace still around your throat, you can't stop smiling.
Tomorrow, you think. Tomorrow and all the days after.
With Tarsem.
Finally.
The next morning, you wake to find a fresh yovo fruit sitting outside your alcove, and beside it, a small carved figure—a tiny yerik, no bigger than your thumb, its details perfect and precise.
There's no note, but you don't need one.
You pick up the carving, running your fingers over the smooth wood, and your smile is so wide it makes your cheeks hurt.
prompt: how will the sully family react when they find out that the eldest is pregnant with her mate, tarsem?
pairings: Tarsem x fem!omatikaya!reader, Tarsem x eldest sully daughter!reader
wc: 3.0k
warnings: fluff, touchy feely tarsem, jake being a girl dad, sorta protective dad!jake, kinda suggestive, pregnant reader, family feels.
notes: this has been in the drafts for a while, i love tarsem he needs more fanfics okay bai
You are awakened by something you’ve never felt in your life. An unwanted, thick quest that arrives before you even open your eyes.
In the first blurred moment of waking, before the village has even shaped itself for the morning, there is a hollow weight in your chest.
You feel starved and full at the same time, then you double over and spew all over the floor. Tears fall, almost at once and your hand flies back to clutch Tarsem’s, anchoring yourself.
His heart jumps and he sits up immediately, assessing, watching. Your tail is still, stiff and lifeless, shoulders weak and tense at the same time.
He has never seen you like this.
He straightens, one hand moving around your waist and the other still holding your hand, his fingers curl in yours now, rubbing your knuckles softly.
“Stay upright, slow breaths.. you hear me?” He says calmly.
You sob quietly, the large hammock sways as you rock back and forth in slow motions. Tarsem is there, rubbing your back, massaging your shoulders—because he doesn’t know what else to do, and nothing feels worse.
“I will get Mo’at.”
“Please,” you gasp, head falling onto the hammock, body curling when his warmth is gone.
Tarsem moves straight to Mo’at’s kelku, not stopping to greet any villagers who may still be awake, his focus is entirely on you and getting you the treatment that you need.
He returns minutes later with your grandmother, Mo’at’s eyes narrow slightly when she sees the emesis just beneath your hammock.
“Tarsem, place her on the mats.” She says.
He doesn’t hesitate, he slips one arm beneath your knees and the other behind your back, lifting you from the hammock as if you might shatter in his hands.
Your body feels too heavy and too light all at once and you groan softly, fingers curling in his chest.
“I’ve got you, yawne.” he murmurs, unsure if he’s trying to steady you, or himself.
He lowers you onto the woven mats, one hand covering your shoulder as if afraid to let go completely.
Your breathing is uneven, shallow, and your eyes squeeze shut against another wave of nausea that twists through you.
Your grandmother kneels beside you immediately, her presence is different from Tarsem’s, where his is warmth and urgency, she is stillness.
Her hand hovers near your abdomen first, not touching, just feeling, reading.
Your grandmothers eyes close, calculating, listening to something deeper than what is seen. “Breathe, my grandchild.” She says quietly, though it is not a suggestion—just a command rooted in calm.
You try and your chest stutters for just a second, then slowly obeys.
Mo’at finally places her palm against your stomach. It’s warm, steady in a way that cuts through the dizziness just slightly.
“This is not sickness of the body alone,”
Tarsem’s jaw tightens. “Then what is it?”
Mo’at’s gaze shifts to your face, studying the tears that haven’t stopped, the way your body curls inward instinctively—as if protecting something you don’t yet understand.
“This is change.”
Tarsem glances at you, then back at her. Confusion flickering across his face. “Change?”
Mo’at does not answer him immediately. Instead, she presses a little more firmly against your abdomen, and something in your body reacts, subtle, but unmistakable.
Her ears tilt back slightly, and she smiles. “You are not empty,”
Even through the nausea, the weakness, and the strange fullness, you feel it. Something shifts in your chest that has nothing to do with pain.
Tarsem freezes. “Tsahik, what do you mean?”
Mo’at finally looks at him completely. “She carries life.”
Tarsem’s hand finds yours again, this time it is different, he his holding you. “Are you certain of this?”
“Yes.” Her hand never leaves your abdomen, she places a soft kiss to your temple. “You will see me again when I call for you.”
“Yes, grandmother. Don’t tell dad yet, or mom.”
She smiles mischievously. “I will not.”
You nod softly, then your eyes drift to Tarsem, low and tired. Your fingers tighten slightly around his.
“How do you feel?” He asks quietly, leaning to kiss your temple. His eyes search yours like the answer might change everything.
Tarsem doesn’t rush you.
He doesn’t move his hand away, even as the moment stretches, even as the weight of what was said settles deeper into both of you. His palm stays warm against your stomach.
Your body still aches, still feels unfamiliar, but something inside you has shifted. The nausea, the weakness.. they’re still there, but no longer frightening in the same way, just overwhelming.
Your eyes drift half-shut, lashes damp, and your voice comes out softer than you expect. “I feel strange.”
“We will figure this out, my love.”
“I don’t know how my father will react..”
Tarsem freezes for a second, offering you a side glance. “He won’t react before we are ready for him to.”
“No. he won’t.” You smile.
Later, you and Tarsem sit surrounded by your family in their kelku. Jake passes around tiny bowls of teylu, Neytiri organizes portions of meat and paskalin.
Neteyam displays portions of drinks, and Kiri helps with the roasting. Lo’ak and Tuk laugh about something stupid in their corner of the hut and you…
You and Tarsem remain seated in complete silence. Tense and unmoving.
The fire crackles between you and your family, Jake hands you the food, your mother plates it for Tuk—it’s a happy mess.
You eat a bunch, Tarsem occasionally wipes your mouth with a cloth and makes sure to remind you that you should slow down.
Of course, your family notices the silence—but they don’t comment on it. Dinner drags on for what feels like hours until the food is gone, the only sound left being the fire, and your family’s conversation.
You stand to assist your parents in cleaning bowls and utensils. “Papa,” you say, “can you pass me that bowl there?”
Your father passes you the bowl immediately, kissing your head as he passes. Jake pauses suddenly, turning to look at you.
“What’s that smell?” He says.
“Hm?” You ask without looking at him.
“You smell like your mother when she was- you pregnant?”
You turn sharply, the bowl almost slips from your fingers. “Dad!”
“What?! I’m just asking! I mean it’s, it’s normal- it’s okay to be pregnant.”
“I am not pregnant!” You almost hiss, brushing past Tarsem and shoving the bowl in his chest a little too hard.
He catches it instinctively, glancing at you over his shoulder. He turns slowly to face everyone, they’re all staring at the entrance where you left.
Tuk and Lo’ak are no longer laughing, just staring—eyes wide in confusion. Your mother shoots your father a pointed glare, he shrugs.
“What did I say?”
You and Tarsem continue to visit Mo’at secretly, she determines that you are seven weeks along—a likely result of your mood swings and morning sickness.
You are in the training grounds when your mother comes by—Tarsem, pressure flaking a newly crafted bow, straightens when he sees her.
Neytiri watches you train for a moment, the way you intake more breath than usual, and the way you very often glance down at your belly before releasing an arrow.
What she watches the most is your chest, your breathing pattern, and the way your breasts have curved into something larger.
She steps closer, her hands smooth through your hair—it is moist, moist with sweat. “ma’ite,” she sighs. “You are breathing heavier than usual, are you hurt?.. or tired?”
“No.” You say, shifting again.
Tarsem moves closer, very subtly. Neytiri smiles then, “you are carrying new life.” She says not a question, just a truth.
Your eyes skim over her expression for a second before moving back to the target. “Yes.” You whisper.
Her smile grows, a hand moving down to your belly. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Tarsem and I have only just mated… it felt too soon. We were careful, I promise.”
“It does not matter. You are my eldest. The life you carry is a blessing, not something to hide. You are not standing apart from this family, you are growing it.” She reassures, one hand cupping your cheek. “You are loved, always. Did you think your father and I did not face the same fears when we first had you?”
You smile softly, wiping tears you hadn’t realized were falling. “Don’t tell dad yet.” You laugh.
“You wanna repeat that?” His voice cuts through the space, not loud, but sharp enough to still everything.
“Yes,” Jake nods once, jaw tight. “I did, just makin’ sure I didn’t imagine it.”
Your eyes finally lift to him, “dad-“
“I was right,” he interrupts. “How long?” There is no anger in his words.
“Seven weeks..” you admit quietly.
Jake runs a hand over his face, pacing once, and then another time—like he needs to move or he might explode. “Seven weeks,” he repeats under his breath.
His eyes flick to Tarsem. “And you didn’t say anything?”
Tarsem straightens, shoulders squared despite the tension. “It was a mutual decision, sir.”
Jake studies him for a long moment, measuring. “Nobody thought to tell me?” His eyes go back to you.
You swallow. “I was going to.. I just needed time.”
Jake huffs a breath, shaking his head slightly. “Baby girl, you don’t get seven weeks of ‘time’ on something like this.”
“I only found out two weeks ago.”
Neytiri finally turns fully toward him. “Jake. She does if she needs it.”
Jake glances at her, something unspoken passing between them, before his shoulders drop, just a fraction.
Silence stretches, then he looks at you again. At the way you’re standing, the slight tension in your body. The way your hand hovers—without realizing—near your stomach.
Something in him shifts. His voice, when he speaks again, is different. Softer. “C’mere, you okay?”
You edge nearer and he pulls you in, your forehead against his chest.
Your lips part, and for a second, you can’t answer. “I’ve been sick,” you admit. “Tired.. everything feels strange.”
Jake nods slowly, “Yeah,” he murmurs. “That sounds right. Your mom was the same, knocked her flat some mornings.”
That seems to calm something in him.
“I love you, we’re here for you.” he mutters into your hair.
You let out a shaky breath, gripping his arm. “I know.”
He pulls back just enough to look at you again, hands still on your shoulders. “You’re gonna be a mom, my baby’s having a baby” he says, like he’s still processing it himself.
A small, disbelieving huff of a laugh escapes him. “Damn.”
His gaze shifts to Tarsem again, lingering a second longer this time. “You and I are gonna talk later,” he adds, not unkindly, but definitely meaning it “just focus on takin’ care of yourselves.”
His hand squeezes your shoulder once more, steady and sure. “Let’s get you home, you need rest.”
Jake guides you gently, Tarsem holding your arm at the opposite side.
You can barely make it inside without everybody noticing, not because anyone says anything, but because of your father’s protective gestures; a hand on your arm, one on your back.
Tarsem being around longer than usual, holding you, helping you with everything, barely going on hunts any more.
Lo’ak is the first to speak. “What’s going on?” He asks, glancing between all of you.
Kiri looks up from where she’s sitting, head tilting slightly. Tuk pauses mid-sentence, eyes bouncing between faces.
Neteyam doesn’t say anything but he’s watching.
“You wanna tell ‘em?” Jake asks exhaling through his nose, squeezing your shoulders briefly.
You hesitate, kinda, then.. “I am with child.”
Silence falls, absolute. Lo’ak blinks, when his eyes open, they are wide. “What? You’re what?”
Tuk gasps, loud and dramatic, hands flying to her mouth.
“You’re joking? Nah.” Lo’ak says.
“I’m not.”
“Oh..”
Kiri goes still, eyes softening almost instantly. Neteyam straightens slightly, processing, eyebrows raised.
“There’s a baby here?!” Tuk pokes your stomach.
“Yes-“ you laugh weakly.
“Let me touch!”
Jake’s lifts a hand. “Easy.”
“It’s okay.” you murmur.
Lo’ak drags a hand down his face. “No way. no way.” Slowly, his head turns to Tarsem. “You?”
Neytiri’s ears flick. “Lo’ak.”
The next day, you’re sitting near the fire, picking slowly at food while Jake watches as if you’ll fly away if he doesn’t.
“Eat a little more, babygirl.” He says, nudging the bowl back toward you.
“I am,” you mumble.
Tarsem sits close behind you, arms locked around your waist, head resting against your shoulder—almost asleep, tired from the long morning hunt.
Neteyam is across from you, sharpening something, Kiri is nearby, half listening, half somewhere else entirely.
Lo’ak is lounging, which is bad in itself. He glances at you and Tarsem, a grin slowly forming like he’s been holding onto something all morning.
Neteyam notices and nudges his shoulder subtly, but he doesn’t care. “So, I've been thinking, right?”
Jake doesn’t even look up. “That’s new..”
Lo’ak smirks, “about how fast this all happened.”
You freeze, listening. Tarsem pauses behind you.
“You are talking about my mate.” Tarsem says, muffled against your shoulder.
“Lo’ak,” Neteyam follows, but he doesn’t stop, just saying things without thinking.
“I mean, what? I’m just saying, seven weeks is-“
“Lo’ak.” Jake warns
Like a complete idiot, Lo’ak keeps going. “they’ve been mated for two months, they had to be busy..”
His eyes widened as if he wasn’t the one saying it, a hand slapping against his mouth.
Tarsem fails at holding you back, despite the small giggles escaping your lips, you launch yourself at Lo’ak, pinning him down and punching his chest.
“Off!” he yells, pushing you away, laughing.
“Stop teasing him.”
“Fine!”
Your family doesn’t stay away, you sit inside, weaving with Kiri. “How do you feel, ma tsmuke?”
“About the baby?”
“Yes,” she sets down her equipment, taking your hand.
“Nervous. Tarsem is ready, I can feel that he is.. I’m more nervous about myself.”
“You will be the greatest mother. My only tip is to never leave your child with Lo’ak.”
“Yeah.. that was never really an option.”
“Good..”
Neteyam comes in, hands clapping your shoulders. “You feel okay?”
“Yes, just tired.”
“We’re going on a hunt. Kiri, come.”
“I am not hunting.” She says.
You crawl closer to her. “Then go roll in the riches of the forest like you love to do.”
She giggles when you ruffle her hair.
The rustle of the doorway catches your attention, it is Tarsem.. “My love, I am staying here with you.” He breathes, crouching beside you.
“Good.” You murmur, half teasing, half appreciating.
Your siblings leave and relief floods your body, you immediately turn to face your mate.
“We have not had any alone time in so long. My family is glued to me because of this baby.” You take his hands, guiding them to a comfortable place on your thighs.
“I agree, but I like to see them happy.”
“Me too, I just miss you so much, sometimes it feels like I’m forgetting to ask how you are feeling about all of this.”
“I could not be happier,” he says, hands riding up and down your thighs now.
Your cheeks flush, hands moving up to rest against his shoulders.
He pulls you in, fingers squeezing the bottoms of your thighs, guiding you onto his lap. “Tarsem-“ you try, but his lips catch your words.
“mm,” you hum, one hand curling in his braids.
You’re completely lost in him when he deepens the kiss, fingers tightening in his braids, body moving slowly against his.
“Be careful,” he murmurs, but his own actions betray his words.
He moves slow, and you lean into it without thinking, your breath catches, a soft, involuntary sound escapes from your lips. “Tarsem-“
It’s quiet, barely more than a whisper—sounds that he’s obviously heard before. But that always does it for him.
His hands cup your breasts, kneading gently. Another, unplanned, small sound pulls straight from your chest.
Tarsem pauses mid kiss, panting heavily, head cocking back. You don’t notice the sound of the hut’s flaps moving, or the stillness around you until you hear a sharp inhale from the doorway.
Your eyes snap open too late, Neteyam, Kiri, Tuk, and Lo’ak stand there frozen for one second and then Lo’ak breaks. A wheeze escapes him, and his shoulders tremble violently. “No way I just heard that.”
You jerk back from Tarsem so fast you nearly fall off of his lap. “Lo’ak—“ you start, horrified.
“Ohh my eywa…” he gasps, straightening just enough to look at you. “Tarsem-“ he repeats in a painfully accurate, breathy imitation.
“Stop!”
Kiri turns away immediately, biting her lip to keep from laughing. Shoulders trembling.
Tuk just stares. “What noise was that?”
“Nothing!” you snap, face burning
Lo’ak clutches his chest like he’s been personally attacked. “don’t lie. that was not nothing!”
Tarsem is still behind you, watching your tail flick. “Lo’ak. You will stop speaking now.”
Lo’ak points at him immediately. “Bro she said your name.”
“Lo’ak!” You scream, “stop! I am trying to have some alone time with my mate and that I cannot even do!”
Tarsem is suddenly more alarmed than he was before, standing and pulling you against him.
Lo’ak’s eyes widen and Kiri just rubs your arm. “She is hormonal.” She says.
“Oh yeah, we can tell.” Lo’ak is still teasing and Neteyam slaps the back of his head.
“Get out!” You yell, pushing him away, guiding Neteyam and Kiri away after him.
They leave in a couple of hurried steps, Tarsem pulls you into him within seconds. “It’s okay,” he murmurs.
“I am so embarrassed.”
“I know.” He laughs. “You said my name.”
“Tarsem,”
“yes?”
“be quiet.” You warn, but you stay calm against his chest.
“They will love this child,” he murmurs.
“I know,” you reply, your voice steadier now. “I feel that they already do.”
For a moment, neither of you speak.
The fire crackles low. The forest hums beyond the walls, your family’s chaos carries on just outside. but in here, wrapped in his arms, with his hand over yours and both over something new.. something growing, everything feels exactly where it should be.
