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smile for the camera! ˖°📸 ༘

˖°📸 ༘ lo'ak x reader | fluff, request

a/n | hi hello!! I LOVEEE LO'AK SOO MUCH I'M GONNA SCREAMM. this is also my last oneshot for awhile, as uni is picking up :,) (i've lowkey been writing nonstop) this was also a request, anon just wanted lo'ak :^)

synopsis | lo'ak is given a camera by the sky people, and quickly becomes obsessed with capturing everything, especially you. he takes photos when you aren’t looking, but when he finally asks to take one of you, it's nothing like the other photos.

content warning(s) | smitten lo'ak, oblivious reader, kissing (intense?), mild embarrassment

The forest had a different sound when you were alone with Lo’ak. Even with the hum of insects and distant calls echoing through the trees, there was a hush between you that made everything else seem like background noise. Vines curled like lazy fingers around branches, light dappled across his blue skin, and above you, the sky was half-shuttered with thick canopy, green and gold and aching with heat. Your toes dug into moss-soft ground, your hips leaning into the cool bark of a thick-rooted tree, half-bored, half-listening to him ramble about some new toy from the sky people.

“See, look—press here,” he said, practically vibrating with excitement as he shoved the strange boxy object in your direction. His fingers were clumsy against the buttons, the edge of his thumb still smudged with ash from his earlier sparring session. His braid stuck to the side of his neck, damp with sweat, and when he glanced up at you, grinning like a child who'd just learned fire was hot, his eyes were glowing. Literally.

You frowned at the camera. “What is this thing again?”

Lo’ak let out an exasperated breath, all puffed chest and wounded pride. “It’s a camera. Norm said it captures what you see. Like... you press this button,” he said, tapping it with way too much force, “and it keeps the picture. Forever. So you can look at it again.”

You didn’t answer. You were too busy watching how his hands moved. The camera hung loose in his grip, but his fingers kept twitching, like they were resisting the urge to reach for something else. His tail flicked behind him in slow, irregular strokes. He was trying too hard not to be obvious.

You blinked. “You can just... keep someone’s face like that? In a box?”

He laughed. “Yeah. Creepy, right?”

There was mischief in his voice, but he wasn’t laughing at the idea. He was nervous. You could hear it. Could see it in how he kept glancing at your mouth when he thought you weren’t looking, his expression turning a shade softer when your lip caught between your teeth in thought.

You didn’t know how many pictures he had taken already. Lo’ak never told you that part. That he carried the camera with him like a second set of eyes. That it held dozens of quiet moments; your face turned toward the sun, your braid caught in wind, your hands reaching for fruit, arms streaked with the sticky gold of nectar. He had a hoard of images no one knew about. No one but him. And you were in every one.

You let your eyes drag over him, head tilted slightly. “What do you want to use it for?”

The question hung there. You weren’t suspicious or accusing him. You just had quiet curiosity, the kind that could peel someone open without drawing blood.

Lo’ak didn’t answer right away. His mouth opened, then shut, like words had to fight through the weight of whatever was balled in his throat. He ran a hand through his braids, cleared his throat. “I want to take a picture of you.”

You blinked, unsure if you’d heard him right. Your lips parted. His ears twitched.

“What?” you asked.

“A picture. Just one. Of you,” he said again, softer this time. “While you’re looking at me.”

His voice dropped, lower than you were used to, the edge of it rough with nerves, like it had been pulled across stone.

The look on his face didn’t match the casual ask. His eyes were wide, bright like leaves after a storm, and there was tension wound through his body like a bow drawn tight. He was waiting to be laughed at. Waiting to be told no.

You tilted your head. “Why?”

He blinked, startled. “Because,” he said, weakly at first, then stronger, “I just want to see you. The way you are right now. You always look different when you're with me.”

That made your chest stutter. He didn’t say it to flatter you. His words weren’t smooth or practiced. They were raw, hesitant, like he didn’t trust them to land. Like he’d dug them out from someplace deep inside him, and they still trembled.

You nodded once. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

You shrugged. “You want a picture. Take it.”

A slow grin curled his lips, but it wasn’t cocky. It was grateful. The kind that made your skin warm where his eyes lingered. He lifted the camera slowly, reverently, like it was a ritual tool, not just a chunk of sky metal and lenses.

“Stay still,” he said. “And look at me.”

You did.

You looked at him, really looked, and it knocked the breath from his chest.

Your mouth was soft, curved in a barely-there smile, your head tilted as if you were studying him back. The light hit you just right, caught in the hollow of your throat and the curve of your cheek, and something in Lo’ak’s throat caught. His finger trembled on the shutter.

click.

You blinked at the sound. “That’s it?”

He swallowed, hand dropping, camera held loose again. “Yeah. That’s it.”

But he didn’t move. Didn’t look away. His gaze dragged over you, like he was trying to burn the image into his mind even beyond the one trapped in the device.

You stepped closer. Not much. Just enough for your hip to brush his hand where it hung by his side. “You gonna ask me what I think of it?”

He laughed once, nervous and breathy. “No. I’m gonna ask if I can take another one.”

You lifted a brow. “Same pose?”

He shook his head slowly, voice thick. “No. This time, I want you to smile.”

You gave him a look—flat, teasing. “I was smiling.”

He took a step closer. His voice dropped, all velvet. “Not for the camera.”

You didn’t speak. You just looked at him, the line of his jaw, the way his brows lifted in gentle challenge, the faint hitch in his breath as you tilted your head again. Slowly, you let your lips curl, just barely, a soft, true smile that pulled across your cheeks and lifted into your eyes.

He lifted the camera again.

click.

But this time, he didn’t look at the photo after. He just stood there, frozen. Your smile lingered, and he watched it like it might vanish if he blinked.

When he finally spoke, his voice was barely a whisper. “Can I tell you something?”

You didn’t move. “Always.”

He lowered the camera to his side, reached up, and touched your hair gently. His fingers brushed the braid that lay against your collarbone, slow, thoughtful. His breath hitched.

“I take pictures of you all the time,” he admitted, eyes on the strand between his fingers. “When you’re not looking. When you laugh. When you’re angry at me.”

You didn’t look away.

“I don’t mean to be creepy,” he rushed on, stumbling, “it’s just—those are the moments when you look alive. Like no one else sees you that way but me.”

Your heart did a slow, painful somersault. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

His eyes met yours again. “I didn’t want to stop.”

Your breath caught, not because of what he said, but how he said it. There was no trace of mischief in his voice, none of the wild teasing that usually danced on his tongue. It was plain and unguarded, the kind of truth that lived too long in the back of a throat before daring to rise. His gaze didn’t waver, glowing low and slow in his golden irises, like embers waiting for wind.

You stepped toward him, your bare feet silent against the moss-soft earth. Reaching for the camera with delicate fingers, you let your touch linger on the curve of it—warm from his hands. Your smile broke loose, wide and helpless, the kind that lifted your cheeks and crinkled the corners of your eyes. You giggled, the sound light, colored with disbelief and affection. “Skxawng,” you murmured, the word fond. “You know I would have told you to stop… and then I would have let you do it anyway.”

Lo’ak blinked. Then his head tilted to the side, sharp chin lifted slightly, and for a moment you swore you were staring at his father’s ghost. It was that same look Jake gave Neytiri when she said something that undid him. Quiet pride braided with awe. His smile grew, one fang slipping past his lip. “You would let me?” he asked, voice low, somewhere between teasing and reverent. “Even now?”

You didn’t look away. “Yes. Even now.”

There was no wind in that moment, but it felt like the world shifted. Your chest was tight, too full, like the space inside you was being re-molded into a shape you hadn’t known you could carry. The air between your bodies buzzed, not with energy, but meaning. The way his fingers twitched, how his tail coiled tight behind his calf, the way he stared at you like your face was the first sunrise.

You took another step, until you were near enough to see the tremble at the corner of his smile. “Lo’ak?” Your voice softened. “Can we take one together?”

Surprise struck his features like a stone dropped in a still pond—ripples blooming across his face. His ears lifted, eyes widening, mouth parting in the barest breath of astonishment. For a moment he didn’t answer, his thoughts flickering like a flame behind his eyes. But then he blinked, his mouth curving into that wild, half-sure grin of his, and nodded. “Yeah. We can.”

You couldn’t stop the joy that surged up through your chest, spreading warm across your skin like firelight. Your smile turned radiant, reaching all the way to your eyes. Lo’ak raised the camera, holding it out in front of him the way he’d seen Norm do, arm extended, hand steady despite the slight shake in his fingers. The lens faced you both, but there was space between your bodies that was awkward and noticeable. It made your brows twitch in faint frustration.

You reached out, curling your fingers into the edge of his arm, tugging. He came without resistance. His body shifted against yours, his side brushing your shoulder, and you slipped into the curve of him like you belonged there. Your head tilted gently, pressing against his shoulder, the angle soft, casual. Like you’d done it a hundred times.

He stopped breathing. Or maybe he just forgot how.

His mouth went slack, eyes darting down to where your cheek rested against him. Your warmth seeped into his skin, left him stunned. His expression was open, too open. His lips parted just slightly, brows drawn together in quiet disbelief, as if he couldn’t understand how you were real, how this was happening.

You could feel him staring.

“Lo’ak,” you murmured, voice amused, almost scolding, “look at the camera.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His lips curved, slow, stubborn, a smirk blooming with heat behind it. “Kehe,” he said, voice low, rough-edged with feeling. “I would rather look at you.”

Before you could laugh, before your breath could catch, he pressed the shutter.

click.

The camera snapped.

But he didn’t pull back. Didn’t even glance at the photo.

You stayed there, pressed into his side, your heart beating in slow thuds, your cheek still resting against his shoulder. The air between you was thick, as if the trees had leaned closer to hear what you would say next. Lo’ak’s fingers twitched where they gripped the camera, and his other hand rose like he was reaching for a bird that might fly. He stopped just short of touching you, his knuckles brushing your waist.

“I’ll keep this one,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Forever.”

Your heart knocked against your ribs like it had lost its rhythm entirely. The weight of those words settled on your skin, thick and warm, like a shawl of heat woven from every unspoken thing between you. Your cheeks flushed instantly, not just with surprise, but with the kind of warmth that bloomed beneath the surface. You hummed softly, the sound low in your throat, almost bashful, your eyes flicking toward the camera still clutched loosely in his hand.

“I want one too,” you murmured, voice gentle. You glanced up at him from beneath your lashes, eyes round, voice barely more than a breath. “Can you take another? For me.”

Lo’ak didn’t speak, he just nodded, once, slowly, but his eyes never left you. Not even a flicker toward the camera lens. It was like he hadn’t heard the second part of your request at all, or maybe he had and decided he didn’t care. The way he looked at you—it wasn't playful anymore. There was no tease, no smirk. Just that deep, molten gaze, steady and burning. Like he was memorizing every inch of your face, every twitch of your mouth, every subtle shift in the air between your bodies.

You exhaled a sigh that was more of a laugh, rolling your eyes. “Lo’ak,” you chided under your breath, your tone warm despite the word. Your arm curled around his waist without thought, your body angling into him naturally. Your tail betrayed you completely, flicking and twitching with every thrum of excitement that you couldn't contain. “If you are going to take the picture, you need to look at the camera. Not just stare at me like I am glowing.”

His lips parted, and the faintest curve of a grin shaped his mouth, but his eyes didn’t budge. “No,” he murmured, head giving a slight shake, his voice dropping low. “I like looking at you better.”

Your heart fluttered up into your throat, too loud, too heavy. You opened your mouth to speak, to say pleaseeee with that sing-song tone you always used to get your way, but the word never made it past your tongue.

His mouth was already on yours.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t a question. It was a claim filled with certainty, like he had made the decision long ago and was only now brave enough to act on it. His lips found yours with the kind of care that made your breath catch, slow and soft at first, a gentle pressure that melted the space between your bodies. You blinked once, stunned, the feel of his lips sending a wave of heat down your spine, pooling in the base of your stomach. His breath mixed with yours, warm and shallow, and instinct guided your eyes shut, your head tilting to fit him better.

You leaned into him without thinking. The moment your body relaxed into the kiss, Lo’ak’s hand rose to your cheek, his palm cupping it like it was precious, like your skin was woven from light and he needed to touch it to believe it was real. His thumb brushed over the hollow just below your cheekbone, featherlight, and your lips parted beneath his. He followed instinct like breath, deepening the kiss slowly, savoring the way your mouth moved against his like it was meant to. The kiss didn’t feel rushed. It was slow-burning, full of held-back longing and quiet hunger, like he’d been dying to taste you but had forced himself to wait.

His fingers curled against your jaw, cradling your face as his lips molded to yours with a new kind of reverence. His entire body trembled ever so slightly, his chest brushing yours as he tilted the camera slightly—still held in one hand—and in the space between one heartbeat and the next, you heard it.

click.

He had taken the picture mid-kiss.

A whimper left him. It caught in his throat and spilled into your mouth, a soft, trembling sound that made your whole body buzz. There was no mockery in it, no dramatics, like the kiss itself had overwhelmed him, like the moment had pulled too much from him all at once, and he couldn’t keep it in. His hand dropped slightly, as if his strength had faltered, his fingers gripping your waist to steady himself, the camera dipping down and hanging loose from his wrist by the cord.

He pulled back first, just a breath apart, eyes still closed, forehead resting against yours. The world around you stilled. Your lips were tingling, parted and damp, your chest rising and falling fast and shallow. When you blinked up at him, your face flushed deep violet, all the breath knocked out of you, the first thing you managed to say was:

“I can’t believe you took a picture of that.”

The words came out high and breathless, more a gasp than a scolding, hands rising to cover your face. You were mortified. Your mouth was still tingling, your thoughts still tangled up in how he had kissed you—not like a joke, not like a dare, but like he meant it.

Lo’ak let out a breathless laugh, stunned. The camera slipped from his hand, the strap unspooling from his wrist, and it landed in the moss with a muted thump, forgotten entirely.

“I don’t care,” he whispered, voice raw. “You should have seen your face.”

His arms wrapped around you suddenly, pulling your body flush to his. Every inch of him pressed against you. His chest heaving against yours, his breath warm on your skin, his hands sliding low to anchor you. There was nothing hesitant in his hold anymore. You gasped softly at the contact, one hand instinctively bracing against his collarbone, the other gripping his bicep.

Before you could speak, his mouth was on yours again.

This kiss was different.

Gone was the slow build, the cautious reverence. This time, he kissed you like he needed it. Like you were the air he had been denied and now he couldn’t stop breathing you in. His hands moved with purpose, one flat against the small of your back, the other curling into your hip, grounding you to him. He tilted his head, lips parting to taste more, and his tongue swept against yours with a quiet, aching urgency that made your knees falter. You swayed into him, your tail flicking wildly in protest of how quickly your balance unraveled.

You moaned softly, involuntarily, the sound swallowed between your mouths. His answering moan was low and hoarse, vibrating through his chest and into yours. Your fingers curled into his shoulders, gripping tight. He kissed like he’d been starved. Like he’d thought about it too long. Like he was terrified you might vanish if he pulled back.

When he finally did pause, just enough for breath, just enough to whisper—his words slipped against your lips, hot and trembling.

“I have waited so long to do that.”

AND WHEN IT COMES TO LO'AK I DON'T PLAY.

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