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(bye avatarđđđ) and the winner of the month is Naruto!! Yaaayy
Specifically, Narusasu. I was always obsessed with them.
And I recently found the best video about the topic! It's a deep analysis of Naruto and Sasuke's relationship, a deep dive on Sasuke himself and the queer representation (even if unconsciously) of the show.
I absolutely loved it! I used to see the show as simply as an action story about cool ninjas who fight and are mysterious, but the video showed me it's so much more than that. I loved seeing Naruto in a new light and Sasuke as well.
I absolutely recommend the video! And show the creator some support!đ
YIN and YANG, SUN and MOON⌠Sasuke and Naruto đ
[ itâs actually a love story ]
[ID: Naruto fanart. The first shows Sasuke leaning over Naruto at the end of VOTE1; Naruto is unconscious, and Sasuke looks tired and miserable as rain pours around them. The second has the same composition, but now they're adults, and Naruto is leaning over Sasuke with a big grin as Sasuke smiles back sweetly, laying in a flowery field. End ID]
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I wish we got to see more dynamics with the Sully kidsđđ
More of those scenes where they are just kids playing around. No worries or war in their little minds.
I also wish Kiri and Lo'ak would spend more time together. They could really REALLY bond over their differences. Their humans traits and being viewed as "weird" or "outcast".
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Summary: There was this scent. Like a distinct call for his name that only he could hear. And Loak was under no illusions about who was the hunter and who the prey. Every instinct told him to run like hell and catch this thing, this prey, that smelled so sweetly. It belonged to him.
Warnings: explicit smut, dub-con, enemies to lovers, vaginal fingering, mutual masturbation, stripping, dirty talk, size kink, praise, fated mates, scent kink, predator/prey chase, alien biology/anatomy, a/b/o elements (heats, ruts, knots, scent marking, biting, etc.), kidnapping, possessive behavior, body worship, this is written in Loaks pov so l'll be using 'she/her' instead of 'you' for the reader
Loak art by @aeralithiel đŠľ
Four days.
It had been four days since the river and the vicious little demon still wouldnât trust him. Four days in which she had refused him in all ways possible and was driving Loâak near madness.
There is a saying in naâvi: "Lu txan syulang ayngeyä, slä ke zene pivlltxe frato."
It means, "there are many flowers in the world, but not all need to be touched to be known."
Loâak didnât know where heâd first heard it, probably from his grandmother, long before the sky-people came back. Back when his world was simpler and trust wasnât something you had to measure by the hour and earn through days worth of hard work.
On this morning, his little flower was still asleep. Her breaths came slow and even, lashes resting against her cheeks, that scowl finally gone from her face. Heâd grown used to her voice, that sharp, defensive, always questioning tone that made him shiver. She was always spitting venom when she was awake. Always demanding answers, always trying to figure out how to manipulate him into letting her go. But on these rare occasions when she was sound asleep, there was only silence. And he didnât want to break it this early in the morning. Didnât want to remind her that she was still⌠That she was still his.
Not in the way she thought, though. Not a captive, as she preferred to call it. He hadnât kidnapped her. He had just taken what was already his.
Loâak crouched above her, keeping watch perched on a low branch that stretched over the hollow theyâd camped in for the night.
The past three nights had been nearly sleepless for him. She refused to sleep in the trees like any sane person wouldâ like any Naâvi would. No, she insisted on staying close to the ground, curled against a rock or buried beneath the ferns like a small animal begging to be preyed upon.
Foolish human. She had no idea what prowled the forest floor after eclipse. The sounds that drifted through the underbrush werenât just the wind or insects, they were warnings. Eyes heâd seen flash in the dark. Shapes too quiet, too fluid, to be anything friendly.
So when he wasnât awake worrying about her running away, he was awake, keeping an eye out on her before she would become a palulukanâs dinner.
More than once, heâd caught the glint of fangs in the distance and each time his hand had gripped his bow tighter, heart hammering, ready to kill for her before she even stirred in her sleep. She never knew.
She didnât thank him and he didnât ask her to.
He wasnât doing it for gratitude.
He was doing it because he couldnât shake the feeling that she was his, even if she denied it, even if she fought him at every turn. He couldnât explain it. The bond, though he couldnât fulfill it in the way his people normally did, was still there. His instincts to protect and care for his mate were there. Something deep had taken root the moment he found her.
And now here she was, sleeping peacefully beneath him. Trusting him with her back, if not her heart. Yet.
Loâak shouldâve been exhausted. Three nights of near-constant vigilance had left his muscles sore and his mind fogged. But what truly kept him awake wasnât fear of what could possibly harm her. No, it was her.
And most of all, that scent.
He didnât understand it, not entirely. Humans werenât supposed to smell like that. They were all sweat and metal and strange sterile things back at the base. But she⌠she was different. Her scent clung to the air around her like something soft, warm and inviting. It pulled at him, sweet and subtle, and it was maddening.
It wasnât just in his nose. It was under his skin. Every hour of the day, he found himself wanting her. Loâak didnât even know it was physically possible to constantly feel this itch when he was nowhere near his rut.
As he memorized every inch of her sleeping so peacefully below him, he found himself leaning forward before he even realized it, eyes locked on the rise and fall of her chest, slow and steady. A few strands of her hair had fallen across her face, but Loâak didnât reach for them. He wanted to, but didnât.
Instead, his eyes trailed up to her eyelids. They fluttered. A twitch. Then another.
She was dreaming.
"What could you possibly be dreaming about to smell so sweet, hm?" Loâak sighed to himself.
He wondered if he was part of her dreams now, if her stubborn little mind had let him slip in there somehow. If he was chasing her, like always. Or maybe⌠maybe in her dreams, she wasnât running from him at all. Perhaps she was dreaming of his hands all over her strange, human body, bringing her pleasure. His tongue moving to places she was normally trying so hard to hide from him. If only she was open minded enough to accept that she did enjoy his touch⌠He would give her more, so much more. Enough that they had to be forcefully separated to catch their breaths, and even that would not stop him.
On feather light feet, he lowered himself down from the branch to crouch next to his sleeping beauty.
"If you can hear me, little tawtute [human]," he whispers softly in her ear, his breath barely stirring the fine hairs near her temple. A grin spread slowly across his lips as he watches her brow twitch. "I hope you dream of me."
But before he could lean back, her voice already cut through the morning air, dry, groggy, and full of bite, "That wouldnât be much of a dream and more like a nightmareâŚ"
Loâak blinks, caught somewhere between amusement and offense. When her eyes flutter open, she is immediately back at glaring daggers at him, like heâd just poured cold water over her to disturb her sleep.
"Ah, good morning sunshine," he beams. If there was one thing he had learned since heâd found her, it was to not let her sour mood change anything about his own enthusiasm. Soon, he thought. She would accept him soon enough.
"What time is it?" She grumbles, then shoves the makeshift blanket off her shoulders and pushes herself up with more frustration than grace. Before he can answer, her eyes squint at the first rays of sun above the trees. "Do all Naâvi rise before the sun just to torment innocent captives, or is that just your thing?"
"You kidnapped me!" She snaps back. "Forgive me for not being more grateful."
Loâak only shrugs, eyes never leaving hers. "Couldâve fooled me with the way you drool in your sleep."
"I do notâ!" But she cuts herself off, flustered, wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. Laughing under his breath, Loâak then stretches to a full stand.
"Iâve told you already, I didnât kidnap you. Iâm merely protecting you for your own good. As your mate, it is my duty. And Iâm being nice," he says, as if reminding her that this is something he doesnât necessarily has to do. But he was a man of honor. "Gentle, even. Although you donât make that very easy. Would a kidnapper do that, huh?"
She rolls her eyes and mutters something he doesnât catch, dragging a hand down her face.
Loâak watches her a moment longer, and though sheâs still glaring at him, there was not much time for any more teasing on this morning.
Because he had plans for today.
They couldnât stay here any longer. This hollow had served well enough for a night or two, but she was human, soft-skinned and ground-bound. She didnât see the risks of this forest the way he did. Couldnât smell the shift in the wind or feel the weight of predators lingering just out of sight.
And if she kept refusing to climb up any of the surrounding trees, it meant they had to move to somewhere else entirely.
Loâak rose to his feet with a fluid motion, before he handed her the last two Utumautiâs [banana fruit] heâd gathered yesterday.
"Eat, maâmuntxate, [my wife/mate]. Youâll need it," he said, smiling at her. "We move soon."
She groaned, whether from one of the many pet names he had for her or the very idea of moving, he didnât know. Not that it mattered anyways. She would have to adapt, if she liked it or not.
Because until she stopped looking at him like the enemy, he had no choice but to keep her away from his clan, yet still safe and out of reach from the rest of the world. Even if that meant making it more complicated for the both of them.
Once Loâak had finished covering their tracks and urged her to walk in front of him so the little human was in his view at all times, her usual curiosity got the best of her.
"At least tell me where weâre going."
"If you havenât noticed, Iâm tired." Loâak yawned as if on cue. "Iâm taking you somewhere safe so I can rest properly. If weâre staying out here for another day, maybe longer, I want you out of the way of anything that might want a taste of my sweet little âinnocent.â" He chuckled, then lifted a rather big leave of a fan out of her way so she could pass. "And since youâre still too stubborn to sleep up in the trees, I only know of one place thatâs more suitable for us."
She paused mid-step, letting him pass. Her brows lifted in a way that reminded him of a begging nangtang pup, about to receive a treat. "You mean⌠youâre finally taking me to your clan?"
Loâak stopped walking. Just for a second. Then he snorted, short and amused, and glanced at her over his shoulder.
"No," he scoffs. "Not a chance."
Her face dropped at that, clearly disappointed, before she continued trailing behind him. "Why not?"
"Because until you havenât learned to trust me, I wonât trust you either,â he replied, not cruelly, but with brutal honesty. "Especially not when my whole clanâs at risk. Sorry, thanĂŹ [little star.]"
At his words, she crossed her arms, clearly frustrated with his never changing answer. "What do you think Iâm going to do? Burn your village down? Call the RDA? Itâs not like I have any way to get in contact with them, even if I wanted to."
"I think youâd run," he said, gaze settling on her. "And lead them straight to us, even if youâre saying the truth and it wouldnât be your intention. They will make you. Trust me, I would know. And that," he added, turning back to the path, "would be the end of a lot more lives than yours or mine."
Silence fell between them for a few moments, with Loâak leading the way again and her following behind quietly.
Then, after a while, Loâak added, "You want me to take you to civilization? Then we need to learn how to trust each other. Maybe start with acting like youâre not just waiting to escape the second my back is turned."
Then it was her turn to scoff.
Loâak half expected her to fire back, something sharp and mean, probably. Maybe sheâd lecture him on how he could earn her trust. (She definitely had a mental list.) But surprisingly, she didnât say anything. Just walked in silence behind him, steps quieter now.
For once, he didnât turn around and kept pressing. If she wanted to stay quiet, fine. Heâd take the peace while it lasted.
Together they hiked through dense brush and narrow vine-strangled paths, with him either leading her or gently pushing her to move forward. It took a good hour or two, and the little human was panting and complaining and cursing (him, mostly), but eventually the trees thinned and the forest opened up.
Loâak stepped through the final wall of hanging moss and came to a stop.
There, nestled on the edge of a cliff, sat the crumbling bones of an old lab. A rusted-out husk, smothered in vines and slowly being reclaimed by the forest. Metal walls warped with heat and time. Windows cracked or missing. The once smooth roof buckled like it had been stepped on by something enormous. An 'angtsĂŹk [Hammerhead Titanothere] fighting for its territory perhaps. To him it mattered little.
Loâak knew these abandoned laboratories like the back of his hand. All of them within a ten miles radius from his camp had been discovered and raided by him and his brothers, some even used as a makeshift hangout spot for when they were teens. A space to hide cigarettes from the watchful eyes of their parents and a place to bring pretty girls to kiss and experiment. He smirked at the pleasant memories. In the back of his mind, Loâak hoped this was the place he could replay these moments, but this time with his mate. Heâd learned a thing or two in these old shacks, but now it was time heâd teach her.
Beside him, the woman that was at fault for several sleepless nights of his stopped, eyes widening as she took in the familiarity of the building. But then her brows creased.
"What is this place?" she asks, her nose scrunching up as if smelling something foul and rotten. He doesnât know if sheâs doing it intentionally, but she takes a step back and partially hides behind him, seeking protection. It makes his chest swell with pride. Even if she denied it, her body, her heart and soul, they already knew who she belonged to.
"Old science outpost," Loâak said, stepping forward. "I mean, thatâs what it was before the war. Now itâs abandoned. Most of it is hollowed out and useless. But itâs high, hidden and no oneâs been back here in years."
He paused again at the entrance, then looked over his shoulder to check if she was still following. Which, of course, she was not.
"Uh, I think you got that wrong. I know what this is," she cleared her throat, her eyes glancing between the dents in the walls, some of the shattered windows and him standing in the doorway. "I meant, what happened to it?"
Loâak followed her line of sight. Sure, the building looks a little roughed up, but itâs not that bad compared to the ones near hells gate that were basically at the center of the war.
"Nothing." He shrugged, then pushed the door open as he was waiting for her to pass through. "The great mother just took back what was once hers. And now weâre using it."
"Loâak. This is a ruin. It doesnât even look safe to be near, Iâm definitely not going in there!"
This little menaceâŚ
Loâak sighed through his nose, his tail flicking once with irritation. Why had she always something to say, always had to challenge him, even when he was literally offering her shelter and a safe place to rest? Eywa help him understand this woman!
"Oh, youâre definitely going in there," he said, voice low and patient in the way one might speak when taming a particularly stubborn palĂ [direhorse].
"Iâm not sleeping inside a collapsing metal box," she said, arms crossed, chin tilted up in defiance. "It looks like one strong wind could take the whole thing off the cliff."
Loâak chuckled, then took a step behind her. Looming over her to intimidate her wasnât his favorite thing to do, but it still worked like a charm. Crumbling like a dry leaf under the sun, it only took mere seconds of him staring her down before she quickly scrambled inside.
Inside, the light filtered through jagged gaps in the walls and roof, casting fractured sunbeams across dusty equipment, broken glass and scattered leaves. The air smelled like rust and moss, with a faint trace of something wet, like rain had eventually leaked through the little cracks in the roof.
Despite herself, she looked around with a kind of reluctant curiosity.
The further she stepped inside, the more it became obvious that this place wasnât exactly abandoned.
Yes, the bones of the building were still RDA steel and glass, rusted and cracked with time. The floor was littered with dried leaves, bits of debris, dirt that had blown in and settled like a second skin. Moss crept along the corners of the ceiling and the windows, and where they hadnât shattered they were fogged with age and overgrowth.
But in the far corner of the largest room, nest-like beddings woven from soft plant fiber and padded with furs were arranged. Hand-formed clay pots sat beside a wall, the tops covered with carved wooden lids. A few tools, bone knives, small satchels, a bow without a string were laid out on a flat slab of stone that clearly hadnât come from this building originally.
Her brows knit as she pointed at it. "This isnât human made."
Behind her, she heard the scratch of flint.
Loâak knelt by one of the old metal shelves near the wall, fingers cupping the base of a half-burned oil candle. A moment later, the wick caught. Faint golden light bloomed against the dull walls. He moved to the next one without looking at her.
"We use this place sometimes," he said casually. "If weâre out for longer hunts or scouting missions too far from the clan and night catches us, we stop here. Safer than sleeping in the open."
She blinked, watching him light another candle. "We?"
"Me and my brothers." Loâak shrugged. "But itâs not just us. Some of the hunters, sometimes our humans too. We donât like using these old places, but⌠the walls hold up. And the stoneâs warm in the morning."
"But you said no one comes here," she said, glancing over the beddings again, almost suspicious. "That itâs abandoned."
"Abandoned by your people," he clarified, finally meeting her eyes. "Big difference."
Her gaze flicked toward the doorway, as if half-expecting someone else to step through at any moment. "So, what youâre saying is Iâm not alone with you after all?"
Loâak snorted softly, blowing out the flint. "If someone else was here, youâd know."
With a sigh, she crossed the room slowly, brushing her fingers along the rim of one of the clay pots as she passed. It likely contained animal fat for cooking, the others cleansing oils and one might even have a bit of water safe for drinking left in it.
"How long have you been using this place?" She asked, not quite meeting his eyes as she came to an halt in front of a big shelve. The books in it were mostly intact.
"Since I was a kid." He told her. Then Loâak moved to the doors, pulling thick vines from a coiled bundle resting near the entrance. With a few swift motions, he looped them through the rusted metal handles and yanked them tight, securing both sides with firm knots. The vines creaked faintly under the tension, but they held.
He gave them a testing tug, then nodded to himself before he turned to the center of the room, where a wide circle had long since been cleared of debris. There, surrounded by a ring of stones scavenged from the forest, he built a small fire from dry sticks, old cloth strips heâd found and leaf bundles stashed in a clay pot nearby. Within minutes, soft flames crackled to life, casting a flickering glow across the low walls.
With slow, tentative steps and her arms wrapped around a small stack of water stained books she mustâve pulled from the half collapsed shelves, his little mate approached then. She sat down across from him, knees tucked up defensively. Even after the week theyâve spent together, she was still untrusting of him.
He would need to change that soon, Loâak thought as he looked at her. He noticed the dirt on her cheek first, a smudge of rust from touching the shelves that he desperately wanted to remove for her. Anything to find an excuse to put his hands on her skin again. Then he noticed the way her lashes caught the firelight when she blinked. Then her mouth, drawn tight, but soft at the edges. So kissable. The books rested in her lap, her fingers idly tracing the faded, peeling covers. Immediately, his sleep deprived mind wandered to darker places. To places, that his body desperately needed to explore.
Oh, how much he wanted to feel these dainty fingers elsewhere. Around his cock would be a good start, squeezing and stroking while he inhaled her sweet scent straight from the sourceâŚ
"So, whatâs your bedtime story about?" Loâak asked, leaning back on one hand.
The little demon glanced up, but was otherwise unimpressed at his teasing. "You just tied the doors shut and I just watched what looks like a spider the size of my head crawl across the ceiling. Forgive me for needing a distraction."
"I wouldnât know," Loâak shrugged, still grinning as he watched her up and down. The fact that he suddenly felt significantly warmer in his skin wasnât solely the fault of the fire crackling in front of him. "Youâre already distraction enough for me."
With an eye roll dramatic enough to make him bite back a laugh, she turned slightly away from him, before she continued to stick her nose up into her new book.
This was a lot harder than he had originally thought. All he wanted was to touch the woman that was supposed to be his, how difficult could that be? Had he not provided for her enough, not shown her that he could satisfy her? What else was there to do to proof that he was a worthy male? Great mother, even a simple kiss would be enough for him in these desperate times.
Unable to stay put, Loâak shifted quietly across the floor, the pads of his feet brushing over the cracked concrete. He moved with the silence of a born hunter, settling beside her without a word.
She was so close now. The shape of her curled legs, the gentle rise and fall of her breath, the way her lips pressed together in concentrationâ it was unbearable. Torture, really. Beautiful, human torture. A forbidden fruit he desperately wanted to taste. Just once, just a bit and he could finally sleep. A crumb of attention would be enough to calm down for another night and get his mating instincts under control.
The moment he settled next to her, her shoulders visibly tensed, but she didnât look up. She didnât say anything. Just kept her eyes fixed stubbornly on the yellowed pages of the book in her lap, jaw tight, fingers gripping the edges.
"You look different when youâre not yelling at me," Loâak mused, leaning back on his palm. With his other hand he gently brushed the side of her arm. An innocent touch, really.
She glanced up, squinting at him suspiciously. "Better or worse?"
"Better." His grin widened. "Definitely better."
She stared at him, and for a moment, he thought maybe she would gift him a smile. All women loved compliments about their appearance, didnât they? He might not be an expert at this whole mating thing, but sweet talking had always been his talent. But instead, she only gave a soft, exaggerated sigh and returned to her book.
"If you keep talking, I am going to yell at you again."
Not caring for a word she said, he shifted closer, just a teeny tiny bit. And then a little more. Enough that their arms touched and his breath fanned over the top of her hair. From his point, he had the perfect view of her chest from above.
Before he could even think about reaching out to pull her shirt just that bit lower to catch a glimpse of her pretty tits, her eyes drifted from the page and up at him. "What?" She barked, clearly annoyed that he hadnât given up yet. Oh, she was definitely in for something if she really thought he would give up that easily.
Still, Loâak sighed. Leaning his weight onto his other arm, he dragged a hand over his face. "Nothing," he groaned. "Just wondering how you can look like that and still act like Iâm the problem. Itâs not fair!"
She blinked, unimpressed. "Because you are the problem. Keep your hands to yourself."
Unable to keep himself from doing so, he reached out once more, just another innocent, gentle brush of his fingers along the back of her hand.
Immediately, she swatted him away with a sharp flick. "Loâak," she said his name in warning, yet it didnât stop him from trying again, more careful this time. His hand ghosted towards her shoulder, fingers brushing barely over the fabric of her shirt andâ
Smack.
Her palm met the back of his hand again, firm and fast. "Stop it!"
"What?" he asked, feigning innocence, though his tail flicked in agitation behind him. "I canât help it, baby. Youâre so warm and soft, and you smell so good and argh!" He threw his hands up in frustration. "Youâre driving me insane, woman! Come on, stop acting like you donât want this too⌠I can smell you, you know?"
"Absolutely not! Youâre not touching me today. Or on any other day," she snapped, pulling her hand back into her lap and shuffling a few inches away from him. "Not unless you bring me back."
Loâak sighed, running a hand through his braids. "Youâre killing me, sevin [pretty],â he whined and yeah, admittedly he might even sound a lot like a toddler throwing a tantrum.
"Good." The human huffed. "Let your great mother finish the job then."
Giving up, Loâak collapsed backward with a groan, arms sprawled above his head, tail thumping against the ground once. Already, his cock was hard as a rock just thinking about his hands on her skin, his head between her thighs. She could continue reading that stupid book if she so desperately wanted to, he didnât care. At this point, all that mattered was that she would eventually allow him another taste of her. Or a touch. Heâd satisfy her with his fingers again, if she wanted. Or he would let her tie his hands behind his back and just let her use him if thatâs what she decided to do. Everything, she could do everything to him. Anything to satisfy this unbearable hunger inside of him. His cock was aching for it. His mind, his urges were screaming at him, yelling to finally fucking do something.
"This is torture,â he muttered to the ceiling.
The human shaped devil next to him was merely impressed by his pain, just flipped another page, before she muttered, "touch me again and Iâm dumping that candle wax on your tail."
Loâak gave a quiet, strangled groan and rolled onto his side, eyes narrowing at her.
"You have no idea how much Iâd be into that, little human," he grumbled, palming the bulge in his loincloth to ease some of the pressure building there.
By the time night fell in, Loâak had barricaded every weak point he could find to keep himself busy and his mind occupied. The door was secured and braced with a rusted shelf, and the windows had been covered with large, flat bark slats heâd scavenged earlier, reinforced with heavy stones. It wasnât pretty, but it was enough. No one would get through that without making noise first.
Finally, he thought, stretching his arms overhead with a long exhale as he settled down in one of the nest-like beddings. Tonight he would sleep like a newborn.
But he didnât. Not even close.
The moment his eyes closed, his senses openedâ to her. The sound of her shifting under the blanket heâd tossed her earlier, the little huff of her breath as she flopped from one side to the other, the faint rustle of old paper from the books she mustâve tried to keep reading in the dark. Her scent perfuming the air in thick, rich clouds of sweetness, so penetrating it made it physically impossible to ignore.
Loâak turned onto his side, then his back. Then onto his stomach, arm curled under the nest padding. Nope. Nothing.
He was restless. His body burned with it, his skin itched and his heart was beating fast and somehow even louder in the silence. His mind circled around her, around her scent that clung to his skin. It wrapped around him like a second blanket, warm and tight.
In the back of his mind, he wondered if something else about her would wrap around him warm and tight.
PxasĂŹk! [Fuck!] How was a man supposed to withstand this kind of torture!?
When he finally cracked an eye open and glanced toward the other side of the room, there she was. Moving again, flipping to her other side. Then her back. Then curling in on herself with a soft groan.
A grin tugged at his lips. There was something oddly satisfying at seeing her suffer in the same way he currently was. Poor thing, he thought. So affected by these urges she didnât even knew she had and the only solution was for her to give up and give in to them. To accept that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her.
For a while, Loâak simply watched the rise and fall of her breath, the restless twitch of her leg as she shifted again. Of course she couldnât sleep, he thought smugly. She was feeling it too.
They were bonded, even if she didnât want to admit it. Even if she didnât understand the pull yet. That invisible thread between them stretched thinner with each hour they spent apart, unfulfilled. The desire would spike, until it was truly unbearable and it would hurt like they were in heat. Better take care of it now, when she was somehow still able to make her own decisions, before her sweet neglected cunt would take over the rational part of her brain.
Being near but not touching, not giving in, it only made the ache worse. For both of them.
Loâak turned onto his side, head propped on one arm as he watched her. The moonlight filtered faintly through the cracks in the bark covering the windows, painting her in silver-blue. Her mouth was pressed into a thin line, brows still creased in frustration, like she could just force herself to sleep if only she was being stubborn enough.
"Canât sleep?" Loâakâs voice carried through the room like a breeze and even in the dark he could see the fine hair on her arms raise by the sound of it. If his voice alone had this effect on her, she was certainly more effected by the bond than he thought.
He could practically see the war behind her closed eyelids, whether or not to pretend he hadnât spoken, to keep up the act that he wasnât getting to her. That he hadnât been getting to her since the moment heâd stumbled into her life and refused to leave her thoughts ever since.
After a moment, her voice came, dry and low. "Neither can you."
Loâak smiled to himself. "You feel it too, donât you?"
Across the room, her eyes peaked open, just in time to Loâaks hand as it slipped past his navel and down to squeeze his half-hard cock through his coverings. That earned him a scoff and an eye roll she didnât bother hiding. "Youâre unbelievableâŚ"
"And youâre lying to yourself," he said easily. "Youâre tired, I see it. But you keep tossing like the bedâs full of thorns. You know this is because of me, that itch under your skin that makes you feel like youâve got fever. That makes you want to rip your clothes off. Itâs because Iâm here, because we are meant to be together, yet you are still refusing me."
She sat up a little then, dragging a hand down her face with a quiet groan. Her hair was messy and one shoulder was bare from her loose shirt slipping off.
Loâak watched her, patiently. He wasnât trying to start a fight, he just wanted the truth. Any little piece she was willing to offer him. If only she would give him something to work with, to help their relationship move forward.
Finally, she said, "Youâre imagining things. This has nothing to do with you! Actually, itâs because I canât sleep in this damn place."
"Donât lie, baby." A soft chuckle left his lips. "I know you were enjoying me touching you a few days ago."
"No," she corrected sharply. "I tolerated it. Thatâs a difference."
And another lie, he thought, but he didnât say that out loud. He also never said out loud how she basically melted against his arms back at the river. How he had to carry her back and she had drooled on his shoulder when she feel asleep, right after he had wrung the most perfect orgasm from her body. Loâak never said those thing out loud, there was no need to. She knew that. She knew damn well that this had nothing to do with tolerating, and everything with her wanting these things to be done to her. She was just being a stubborn little brat at this point.
Loâak pushed himself upright now too, legs crossed, his silhouette a dark blue shape against the low flicker of their dying fire. "So tell me whatâs wrong with this place. You have a roof over your head, we have food and youâre safe, what elseâs is there that bothers you so much that you canât sleep?"
Her eyes flicked over to him, frustrated.
"This place makes me feel like a prisoner," she muttered. "Even more than the forest did. At least out there, it didnât feel so⌠closed in. But this?" She gestured around at the metal walls, the jagged holes, the barricaded door. "This feels like a cage, Loâak."
Loâak tilted his head, digesting her words. "Youâre not in a cage," he said confused.
"No?" she snapped. "Because everything about this screams 'donât try to leave.' Not exactly the best way to gain each others trust, huh?"
He paused, then nodded. "Thatâs fair."
Surprised at his lack of defensiveness, she just blinked at him. She was right, though. They were supposed to learn how to trust each other, yet he couldnât even make her feel comfortable and less like a prisoner. Of course she wasnât one. Of course he would much rather have her at his tent, where it was safe and she could make herself feel at home. But things were complicated, and she wasnât exactly helping her own situation with the way she was still so wary around him.
"Listen. I donât want to make you feel trapped," he continued. "But I do want to keep you safe. That hasnât changed. The reason weâre here is because you wonât sleep up high, and Iâm not about to let something find you down low in the grass while I rest. This is the best middle ground."
She crossed her arms and looked away again. "Well, it doesnât feel like a compromise to me."
A compromise? Loâak thought for a moment. Watching her, the stubborn clench in her jaw, the tension in her shoulders that hadnât eased all night, it did made him feel pity for his precious mate. But he was also tired and in no mood to argue with her. They both needed to relax, to find trust in each other before this back and forth wore them down completely.
And thatâs when Loâak remembered that old saying: "Lu txan syulang ayngeyä, slä ke zene pivlltxe frato."
"There are many flowers in the world, but not all need to be touched to be known."
It was about restraint, about learning through presence rather than force. The idea that sometimes, simply being near something was enough to understand it, perhaps even to make it yours, without plucking it from its roots.
Maybe the problem wasnât that she refused to trust him. Maybe it was that he was trying to tear the petals open before the bloom was ready. If he could give her space, show her that his hands didnât have to take to know her, to make her understand and feel pleased with him as her mate, she might start to believe him.
"Alright," he said, voice lower now, more serious. "Letâs make a deal then."
"A deal?" She gave him a wary side glance.
He leaned forward, elbows resting loosely on his knees. "Come on. Youâre a smart girl, arenât you?"
Loâak tilted his head slightly as his eyes lingered a moment too long at the curve of her hip, the bare skin of her collarbone, before returning to her face.
Her brows knit and her lips parted slightly in what appeared to be an offensive scowl. "Whatâs that supposed to mean?"
"You know what making a deal is," he explained calmly, ignoring the bite in her tone, "and how a deal benefit both parties?"
"Yes?" She raised a brow, still skeptical.
"Good." A smirk played at the edge of his lips, lazy but sharp. "I will show you what you want if you do the same for me."
Confusion flickered through her expression, quickly followed by what Loâak hoped was interest. Under the weight of his hungry stare, she shifted, fidgeting with the worn corner of the woven blanket in her lap. It did little to hide her, but still she held it close like a shield.
"You want me to bring you to my clan, right? So thatâs what Iâm gonna do. But I want something in return."
"And that is what exactly?"
When his eyes dipped from her mouth to her chest, heat flushed across her skin like lightning. Her arms curled tighter around herself as if that might stop the rush of heat pooling low in her belly.
"You." Loâak licked his lips. "I want to see you, thatâs all."
With a loud, offended scoff, she immediately turned her head away from him, arms crossed. "My body is not part of any deal, Loâak."
Dragging a hand through his braids, he sighed.
The fire next to them had burned low by now, casting soft, flickering shadows across the room. His body ached, not just from exhaustion, but also from the tight coil of want that had been winding inside him. He wanted sleep, nothing more but sleep and a way to relief this pent up hunger inside of him. But that required somethingâ something that was willingly given by both of them.
"See, this is where weâre starting to trust each other. I wonât touch if thatâs not something you want. Iâll hold back, keep my hands to myself. I promise." He explained softly, both of his hands outstretched in surrender, to show that he meant no harm. "But I want to see you, paskalin. I want to see your pretty face and your beautiful body. I want to see what eywa has gifted me. Please, allow me that."
Loâak felt hot under his skin. Tired. Frustrated in every sense. But eywa, he needed this. Just a little glimpse at his favorite girl and it should be enough. His eyes could feast on her if his mouth was not allowed.
"Come on, just let me look at you. You canât keep me away forever." He tried to reason her. "Thatâs torture, for both of us, and you know it. You know it because youâre feeling it too."
"Forget it," the feisty human grumbled, not meeting his eyes as if trying to ignore his sheer existence.
"Listen," Loâak tried again, then paused for a moment until her gaze finally flickered back to him. "You want to know if I can be trusted, just as I want to know the same thing about you. Make the deal with me and youâll see. I promise to keep my word."
She looked at him, uncertain and still defensive, so he didnât move closer. Didnât reach out. Just met her gaze with open hands. Patience wasnât exactly his strong suit, especially not in moments like these, but he could be patient for her. Or, at least he tried to be.
The silence stretched. Loâakâs ears twitched at every little sound she made, every breath, every small movement pulled his focus like a thread being wound tighter.
Soon, her eyes searched his face, like she was trying to read the fine print of whatever unspoken contract was being offered. The flames reflected in her gaze, making them glint gold for a heartbeat.
"Just⌠Youâre just looking? No touching?"
Loâak leaned forward slightly, enough for his voice to drop into something more intimate. "No touching," he confirms with a faint grin.
The little human huffed out an irritated breath, the kind meant to sound dismissive but failing miserably at hiding the tension beneath it. Then, with a sharp motion, she pushed herself up from her spot.
The movement was awkward, hesitant in the way someone acts when theyâre hyper-aware of being watched. Her hands twitched uselessly at her sides, then crossed over her stomach, then dropped again, like she couldnât decide what to do with them. Her steps toward the center of the room were uneven, and the firelight caught the faint, betraying flush rising along her neck.
Loâakâs brows shot up in pleasant surprise, but he didnât dare move, didnât dare disrupt this moment. His eyes, however, tracked every shift in her body like a predator watching his prey walk willingly into itâs open mouth.
She stood there for a moment too long, her gaze flicking between him and the fire, as if gauging just how much she would regret this later. Then, with a single, shaky inhale, her fingers curled into the hem of her shirt.
Loâakâs smirk widened.
Slowly, she tugged the fabric upward, over her stomach, her ribs, pausing for a fraction of a heartbeat before pulling it over her head entirely. The motion left her hair mussed, her breathing quicker and her blush a lot deeper. Next were the makeshift shorts heâd gave her. She untied them, then let them pool around her ankles before clumsily kicking the fabric off into the corner of the room, along with her shirt.
Loâak let his head tip back against the wall, gaze dragging over her like he was savoring something rare and precious. "My eywaâŚ" he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear, voice thick with approval. Her body was flushed all over, her skin soft and bare before him. Every curve of her was worth the be worshiped, every dip and valley enough to bring him to his knees.
Beneath his loincloth, he could already feel his sheat opening up for her. His cock was covered in slick and aching, so ready to be plunged into her tight warm body. Loâak shifted to a more comfortable position, pressing the balm of his hand against his growing erection. To keep it down or to add friction, he didnât know.
"Why are you alreadyâŚ" The human mumbled sheepishly, quickly glancing away when he caught her staring.
"Why?" Loâak scoffed as if it were so obvious. To him, it was. "Câmon, you know exactly why."
Instead of a verbal response, she just annoyingly blew a stray strand of hair from her face, a restless flick that betrayed how nervous she was. Her hands hovered at her sides, flexing once before lifting again, like she wasnât quite sure whether to hide or keep going.
She was such a sweet thing, he thought.
Loâak didnât rush her, though. Leaning back against the wall, he let the weight of his gaze do the work, drinking in every inch of her, every tiny hair and little freckle. With a mind of its own, his hand began to wander. Again, he brushed his palm over the bulge of his loincloth.
Fabric whispered as she worked at the fastenings of her bra, her movements small and precise, betraying how aware she was of being watched. The slide down of the straps over her shoulders and arms was slow, almost sensually.
When her breasts came into view, Loâak exhaled shakily. How could anyone doubt the existence of eywa when this human mustâve been created by the great mother herself?
She shifted her stance then, before she dragged her underwear and the last piece of fabric on her body down her legs. Dipping her chin as though bracing herself for whatever this felt like, being so bare beneath his eyes, she gently kicked her underwear away too.
And there she was, in all of her glory. Soft and flushed and so very human. She was breathtaking. Delicious.
"Look at you," Loâak mused, tilting his head in an attempt to get the best view of her from all sides. His tail curled in excitement. "Youâre so pretty, baby. Eywa truly made you just for me."
Within seconds, her face had grown as red as a fortuneâs fruit. Cute, he thought with a grin. She was still standing there all awkward and nervous. Even the tiny goosebumps on her skin he could see, and the way her nipples hardened under his hungry eyes. His cock throbbed heavily at the sight.
If only her thighs werenât pressed to tightly together, he could catch a glimpse of her pretty pussy. He was sure she was trying to hide her scent from him, this unmistakably rich sweetness would instantly betray her arousal. And if his own painful erection was any indication, she mustâve been soaking wet by now.
The thin tendrils at the end of his kuru slowly begin to tingle in anticipation. Normally, now would be the time for him to bond with her. Their bodies were already calling to each other, sending pheromones and other signals to mate, the urge growing unbearable strong. But heâs made a promise here that could not be broken.
Loâak sighs heavily, then slides a hand below his loincloth and briefly closes his eyes just to feel. "Why do you do this to me?" He whispered.
At his words, her eyes widened drastically, and she almost looked offended by them. "I- Iâm not doing anything! You wanted to see me!"
"Thatâs not what I meant." He chuckled breathily. Her little gasp was like music to his ears when he pulled his coverings down to reveal what was causing him so much pain. "Canât you see how bad I want you, paskalin [honey]? I canât stand it any longer."
Thereâs a thick, throbbing vein along the base of his cock and when he wraps his hands around it, Loâak moans softly. Heâs slick and smooth all over, heavy in his own hand and warm to the touch. Right now his knot is small, but that will change soon.
The first touch is like sweet relief, the drag of his fist up and down his cock as slow as he could be. Just one stroke, then he stops, just so the curious human could admire him. He knows sheâs trying not to show it, but he could tell she was holding back from reaching out, touching and prodding at his cock that mustâve looked to different to what she was used to. She could, he thought. Heâd happily be her personal subject to study.
The thought makes him chuckle, the sound enough to make her flinch from being caught staring.
"Youâre playing unfair," she quickly glances away as she flops back down onto the bedding. Covering her bare chest with her hands, he canât deny that he is disappointed she wants to end this little show so soon.
"Iâm not. I said Iâm not touching you, so I wonât. But I never said anything about touching myself."
Slowly, he drags his fist up once more. Despite herself, her eyes still flicker towards the motion of his hands. Even from afar, he can clearly see her pupils dilate and how her breathing comes heavier.
With a breathy groan, Loâak rubs his thumb over the crown. His hips hitch into his fist in a desperate attempt to gain more friction and his face creases in a moment of pleasure. Heâs been wanting to do this for the past four days. It was either this or loosing his mind if he were to go another day without some sort of relief.
"You can⌠touch yourself too, you know? Thereâs no harm in it." Loâak says, but thereâs a strain in his voice, like heâs trying to sound calm and collected, but heâs not.
Across the room, she swallows thickly. The thought behind her eyes is impulsive and it probably says something like 'I could', but sheâs far too proud to admit this to herself. If she needed a bit more convincing, then convincing her he would. Even if that meant playing unfair.
"Youâre thinking about it," he said quietly, not as a question, but as fact. The confidence in his tone only made her spine stiffen further.
"Iâm not," she counters, too quickly. His ears twitch, catching the sharpness of her voice, and his head tilts just slightly, studying her. That earns him a glare, but she canât quite meet his eyes for long.
With a soft moan, Loâak spreads his knees farther apart, his fist moving over his length in another languid stroke.
"I know you want to," he says between heavy breaths. "It hurts, doesnât it? Bet you feel so empty right now, all you want is to touch, to do something to satisfy this hunger."
Heâs rocking into the pleasure, just a little, and then works his fingers over the head of his dick, feeling it leak and pulse. Where pre-cum beads at the slit, he smears it over his tip with the palm of his hand, slicking himself.
When he looks over at his human, her eyes are glossed over in lust. Shes not even looking back at him, not directly. Her gaze is entirely fixed on the way Loâakâs playing with his cock. Good, he thinks. Keep watching and see for yourself. See how bad I want you.
"You could," he repeats, voice dipping lower. "No oneâs stopping you. No one but you."
At this, his mate squeezes her eyes shut, unmistakably pressing her legs together as heat flowers under her skin. Sheâs trying so hard to resist this, but itâs impossible, Loâak knows. His cock throbs in sympathy to the way she struggles, the way sheâs trying so hard not to give in. And then, finally, mercifullyâ her hand moves.
Immediately, she pulls back as if touching herself would burn her, as if she just remembered that she was being watched. But a simple touch was already enough to make her try again. It was like an addiction, once youâve started there was no going back. Fingers skim across her upper thigh ever so slowly, before they disappear between her legs. Her chest stutters and she bites her lips in embarrassment. Skittish eyes flick between him, his cock and the wall next to her, unable to decide where to look. Her pride prevents her from enjoying this.
Relax, tawtute. [human.]
"See? Isnât that so much better?" Loâak coos softly to encourage her. And her hand does move at his words, but thereâs barely any space to do it properly and she already seems frustrated by it.
"S-Shut upâŚ" She growls under her breath, still refusing to look at him directly. But that sharp edge in her voice slowly cracks under the strain.
A soft, teasing hum slips from his throat. "Mmm, youâre so sexy when youâre mad, paskalin [honey]."
Her hand shifts again, fumbling just slightly in the cramped space between her thighs, the movement jerky with her mounting frustration. Itâs cute, the way sheâs trying so hard not to let him see.
"Are you wet?" Loâak asks. The question throws her off guard a little, he can see it in the way her eyes widen. Heat travels up the back of her neck, engulfing her face in hot flames. But to his surprise, she gives a curt nod. "Show me, baby. Spread your legs for me."
This stubborn little human may have no interest in anything to do with him, refusing the desire to see his cock or have it anywhere near her, but even she couldnât deny that watching him touch himself was doing something to her, knowing heâs doing this because of her. That the blood rushing to his cock was doing so out of the same desperation as her own blood pulsing in her clit.Â
Peering over, where his hand was moving confidently, stroking himself from root to tip, thumb occasionally brushing over the head, she carefully and ever so softly let her legs fall open, granting him with a view that was far more than just a blessing to his tired eyes.
"Look at you." Loâak gave a low, appreciative sound. Already, her lips were shining in arousal, red and swollen, tiny hole clenching around nothing as it drooled honey-like liquid. He swallowed. "Fuck. Youâre dripping."
Immediately upon spreading her thighs, this delicious sweet scent was invading his senses.
Great mother, the things he would do to pin her down right now, to taste the wetness straight from her core, lap it up like he was a starving man.
The speed of his hand picks up. He does this like he's proud to be doing it, like he doesn't know what modesty even means. Loâak doesnât care that the pretty vrrtep [demon] is watching, knowing that just the glimpse of her pussy was enough to make his cock pulse with want, to make his pre-cum overflow. This was nothing to be ashamed about. If anything, he was proudly showing off, enjoying her eyes on him.
Her toes were pointed, skin wet with sweat, dripping from her temples and down her throat, between her breasts. Eywa, he wants to lick it off of them. Wants to stick his head between her perfect tits and inhale her scent before he would plunge himself into her heat.
His eyes flicker down again, to where her hands had shakily found their way to her clit. Dainty fingers begin to rub the small nub in circles, causing a whimper to tumble from her lips. Already her hips are rolling forward, pressing against her own fingers, seeking more of what sheâs doing to herself.
"Your body is trying to tell you something, sevin." Loâak hums as heâs watching her pleasure herself. "It is calling my name."
"ItâsâŚ," thereâs a brief pause in which she breaths heavily, "..not."
"Keep telling yourself that." He huffs. "But deep down you know the truth. You know whoâs cock youâre imagining inside of you right now. Your cute little pussy is crying for me, and only me."
That being said, he watches as another droplet of slick ran from her core to soak onto the soft bedding beneath her. Great mother, he was desperate enough to lick it off the floor if only she would allow him another taste.
Loâaks thoughts jumped from one filthy image to the other, it was hard for him to focus on any part of her body for more than a minute because there was always something new, something hotter, something he wanted more desperately.
"Shit, baby," he whispers, pausing his strokes to squeeze the base of his dick. All of this felt like he was edging himself, but somehow far worse. He needed more and he needed it quick. "Can you.. can you put a finger in? Let me see how tight you are."
In all honesty, Loâak didnât expect her to obey. So far, she never had. But with her face flushed and her chest heaving, she doesnât waste a second of time before she slides her middle finger down between her folds and dips them through her entrance. She moans and Loâak does, too.
Her channel is tight, he can see that even from afar. It grips around her finger like a vice, leaves it shining and wet once she pulls it back out, then in again in a slightly upward motion. Her mouth falls open and she breathes heavily, before her other hand comes to aid her. She plays with her tiny, swollen clit like one would roll a small marble around in their fingers and it urges him on to stroke himself faster.
"I⌠I like your voice," the human murmurs suddenly, and when Loâak looks up, sheâs looking directly at him.
"Yeah?" He huffs out a breathless laugh, like he canât quite believe what she just said. For some reason unbeknownst to him, her confession makes his hips buck and he pushes his length against his own hand, chasing more friction.
"Yeah," she echoes. Her fingers starts flying back and forth over her clit like it might escape otherwise, and heâd laugh at how she was matching the increase of his own hand working over his dick if he werenât so desperate to see more.
"Then be a good girl, put another finger in and Iâll keep talking for you." Shit, heâd talk for hours without catching his breath if she was finally doing as she was told.
A soft "mmm" fell from the humans lips as she slipped her index finger inside her wet core, the two digits spreading her open enough that they enticed wet squelching sounds from her cunt whenever she pushed them in.
Loâak nearly came just from the sound of it.
"Perfect, youâre doing so good, baby."
Occasionally, her hand went to cup her breast, rubbing slow circles around and over her nipples, which hardened at her touch. She flicked her fingertips across her nipples, a light, quick back-and-forth that raised little sparks of sensation, made her shiver, before she went down again to mirror the motion on her clit. If only she would allow him to, he would help her touch all these sweet spots to make her cum.
Loâaks fingers would be thicker. He'd press harder, reach deeper. With their size difference he could oh, so easily stroke her g-spot. Just a slight curl of his finger, his thumb at her clit and she would fall apart so quickly. He wants to tell her that, but itâs so hard when his cock is throbbing in his hand and heâs stroking himself so fast and thereâs bioluminescence pre-cum leaking everywhere, spilling over knuckles making his grip all slippery and great mother, his toes are curling with how good it is.
"L-Loâak," she mewls like a plea. By eywa it takes all of his strength to stay put. The last bit of rational thinking in his mushy brain tells him to donât fucking get up and touch herâ donât. He promised.
"Iâmâ Iâm here. Right here, paskalin," he coos, his voice raspy with want and restrain. "Just keep going, youâre doing so well. Donât stop."
But itâs so difficult not to get over there and help the poor thing out, fuck her so hard until her pretty little brain finally accepts who she belongs to. Especially when she inserts that third finger and fucking moans so sweetly, her wetness soaking the sheets sheâs perched on, dripping down her narrow wrist. He wants to, he wants to mate her so bad. His hips stutter and buck and thrust.
"Fuck, thatâs good," Loâak groans, gives his tip a not so gentle squeeze, tugs on his shaft like he wants to milk it for all itâs worth. "Talk to me, baby. Tell me how it feels."
The little pleasure demon stammers for words, a coherent response, anything. She licks her lips and thereâs drool running down her chin like sheâs in heat andâ
"Iâm close. So close! Iâm gonna cum."
The image of her fingers desperately seeking release, thrusting in and out, in, out, so hot and wet and filthy might be irrevocably burned into his eyelids. He holds it tight, unwilling to let it go as she keeps touching herself to her orgasm.
"Coming, Iâm coming, Iâmâ" When she does, her mouth falls open and for a moment time stands still. Her thighs are shaking and her fingers are buried deep inside her. He can see sheâs moving them, curling and wriggling to prod at her insides, find the spot that does it for her. And oh, it does, once sheâs found it.
Distantly, he can hear himself talk. "There it is, good girl. Youâre such a good girl," he tells her between heavy pants. "Cum for me, baby. Let it all out."
The breath is practically punched out of her in a loud moan when she reaches her pleasure high. With her toes curling and her head falling back against the wall, she squeezes her eyes shut and holds painfully still. Her tiny hole is clenching around her digits, so tight she almost slips out just to push them back in deeper.
"Eywa, youâre so beautiful," he moans. "So pretty. F-Fuck! Fuck!"
Loâak knows heâs close to coming too, and sheâs still touching herself, but sheâs eased up on the pressure and pace, just enjoying swirling her wetness around her folds, occasionally swiping lightly over her clit to squeeze another shudder from herself.Â
When his knot begins to swell, he hides it with his other hand, as shes not quite ready for that yet. The thought of mating scares her more than enough. Heâll introduce her to this another time. Right now, heâs just squeezing the tissue of flesh that grows and grows until itâs hot and heavy. Loâak kneads it in his palm, mimicking the way it would feel to slip it through her tight entrance and itâs enough to drive him absolutely feral.
His skin prickles with the need to thrust, so his hips rise to meet the embrace of his fist. Faster. Harder. So close, close, closeâ
Loâaks orgasm damn-near kills him.
With her name on his lips, his cock throbs heavily while itâs spurting thick white robes of cum into his own hands. Some of it misses and lands on his stomach, the feeling enough to make him shudder. He comes and comes until it physically hurts with how empty he is, yet he still feels little tremors going through him.
When he finally finds it in himself so peel his eyes open, he finds her looking absolutely ruined and so wonderfully spent. Her eyes are half-lidded, which only highlights her pretty long lashes. Her lips look nibbled red, and even the sweat sliding down her heaving chest looks like something that could only be crafted by Eywa herself. He swallows.
It takes a long moment until she has finally caught her breath, but when she does, she meets his eyes with a small, defiant smirk.
"Dealâs done," she pants. "Iâve kept my end of the bargain, Loâak. Time to keep yours."
"Ohhh Spider is sooo Y/N!! He's the Chosen Human!!! Sooo annoying!!!"
My brother in christ, have you forgotten JAKE SULLY exists?? You know, 1st movie protag who was the only one allowed to join The People of His group??? Who got to hitch a ride with the chief's daughter?? THE SUPER SPECIAL COOL TORUK MAKTO?? WHOSE CONCIOUSNESS WAS FULLY TRANSFERED INTO A NA'VI BODY BY EYWA AND HE BECAME OLO'EYKTAN???
It's so funny how strong he is y/n coded/ the chosen oneđđ like, Norm studied na'vi language for 5 years and did many of those avatar tests (and still wobbled a lot when he ran to catch Jake) AND JAKE RAN LIKE A PRO IN HIS FIRST LINK WITH THE AVATAR.
I write fics to myself because im a terrible writer, and I'll never post anything. But i don't know how to write smut!!!!đđđ IM SHAKING I need So'lek smut rn but I've read them all aaaađŠđŠđŤ
a/n | hey!! I'M STILL SO DEAD THAT PEOPLE LIKE HOW I WRITE NETEYAM. i've gotten so many dms and inboxes abt writing him again. i always get super nervous posting him. i rlly like him, and i hope i do him justice in this!! neteyam is kinda ooc in this, but as always i think he's rlly funny :,)
synopsis | after an ikran race leaves you alone with neteyam, his teasing finally turns into kisses and touches that blurs the line of friendship and the words he keeps daring you to say.
The sunlight beat warm across your shoulders, the wind rushing wild over your ears as your ikran veered sharply through the cliffs. Your fingers tightened on the reins, but it was no use. Loâak and Neteyam were already streaks of blue ahead, cutting across the sky like twin bolts of lightning, all shrieks and gleaming grins. You knew you werenât winning. Honestly, you hadnât really tried. The real thrill wasnât the race itself, it was watching them, both so fiercely alive, throwing jabs mid-flight like they werenât soaring hundreds of feet above solid ground.
Loâak was shouting again, something about how Neteyam always cheated with his head start, voice ragged with laughter. Neteyam only barked back louder, twisting in his saddle to shoot a smug look over his shoulder, braid lashing in the wind. âWhat was that, little brother?â he called, his voice ringing above the gusts. âSpeak louder! I cannot hear losing!â
You laughed before you could help it. Loud, unguarded, bubbling up from your chest. Loâak groaned, dramatic, his head tilting back as he yelled, âEven sheâs laughing at you!â
Neteyamâs ears twitched. His head turned, catching your face where you flew a few lengths behind. You tried to hide your grin behind your hand, but it was too late. His eyes caught yours, and his smirk curved sharp and satisfied.
When you all finally touched down, your ikranâs talons scraping over the packed dirt near the edge of the village, Neteyam hopped off with that same cocky swagger still clinging to his frame. He stretched with exaggerated flair, arms raised high as he arched his back, tail flicking behind him. âAnother win,â he said, all mock-solemn. âTruly, Eywa has blessed me today.â
Loâak snorted, dragging his fingers through his braids. âEywa has blessed you with a head start, you skxawng.â
Neteyam only grinned wider, fangs flashing. âExcuses.â He nudged his brother with an elbow that was more shove than anything, ignoring the way Loâak shoved back twice as hard. âYou just hate losing in front of her.â
âPlease,â Loâak muttered, brushing past them both, âas if she cares.â
You dismounted last, patting your ikranâs flank in thanks. When you turned around, Loâak was already vanishing into the crowd, muttering about needing to wash the wind from his teeth. Neteyam stayed behind.
He didnât speak right away. Just watched you with that look he always wore when no one else was around; quiet and amused, eyes glinting like sunlight scattered on water. His arms were crossed over his chest, muscles flexed beneath skin dappled in gold light. There was a satisfaction in his posture, lazy and feline, like a hunter who already knew heâd caught his prey.
âYou laughed at me,â he said finally, voice low with feigned betrayal.
You blinked. âWhat?â
âIn the sky,â he said, stepping closer. âYou laughed when I asked who the mighty warrior was.â
You fought the smile threatening your lips. âBecause it was stupid.â
His brows lifted, mock-offended. âStupid?â
You nodded, biting back a giggle. âVery stupid.â
His tail swayed behind him. âYou wound me,â he said, pressing a hand to his chest, but his eyes were warmâmolten gold, laced with humor. âYou should have defended me. Said my name. You know I am the mightiest.â
You tilted your head, teasing. âYou really need me to say it?â
His grin curved wider. âIt sounds better when you do.â
You looked away, pretending to busy yourself with a loose braid falling into your face, but your cheeks felt too warm, your skin prickling under the weight of his gaze. He noticed. Of course he did. He always noticed. Neteyam stepped close enough that his shadow brushed yours, his voice dropping just slightly.
âYou laugh at me, tease me, never say my name when it counts⌠I begin to think you do not take me seriously.â
Your eyes flicked up to meet his. âYouâre right. I donât.â
He chuckled, but his eyes never left yours. âA shame,â he murmured, voice velvet-smooth, âbecause I take you very seriously.â
Your stomach dipped, the warmth of his tone rippling through you in waves. You opened your mouth to answerâto laugh, to deflect, to say something that would keep things light and easy between you, the way they always were, but the words tangled in your throat.
Neteyamâs expression shifted. Just barely. His smile softened, the curve of it gentler now. His hand lifted, slow, fingers brushing the end of one of your braids where it curled against your collarbone. His touch was barely there, featherlight, but the look in his eyes burned.
âYou know,â he said softly, âyou are the reason I let Loâak fly ahead at the start.â
You blinked. âWhat?â
âI wanted you behind me.â His voice was hushed, but sure. âSo I could hear you laugh. So I could look back and see your face.â
Your breath caught. He tilted his head, searching your expression for something you hadnât quite figured out how to show him. His fingers skimmed yours where your hands hung at your sides, a ghost of a touch, barely brushing, but it sent a jolt up your spine.
You swallowed. âNeteyamâŚâ
He leaned in just a fraction, the scent of him filling your nose; salt and sun and wind, familiar and grounding. âYou really do not see, do you?â he whispered.
âSee what?â
His smile tilted, eyes gleaming. âHow I look at you.â
You stared up at him, pulse stuttering, the world suddenly too quiet. He stepped closer still, close enough that your arms brushed, close enough to count the flecks of green in his eyes. His voice dipped low, nearly lost in the rustle of wind through the leaves.
âI will make you say it,â he said. âThat I am the mighty warrior.â
You couldnât help it. The laugh escaped you before you had time to catch it, quick and breathy and bright. You clamped both hands over your mouth, trying to stifle the sound, as if that might preserve what little dignity he had left. But it was useless. The look on your face, the way your eyes crinkled, gave you away instantly.
Neteyam groaned softly, though the exasperation didnât reach his eyes. He reached forward without hesitation, fingers curling around your wrists with practiced ease. His touch was firm but never rough, the pads of his fingers warm against your skin. He tugged your hands down from your face, holding them low between you, gaze fixed on your lips with the kind of intent that stripped the air from your lungs.
The laughter faded like dew beneath sunlight.
Your breath hitched, shallow in your throat, and in that stillness that settled between you, Neteyam just looked at you. No teasing now. No smug smile or cocky flair. His eyes had gone quiet, darker, like a stormcloud just beginning to stir at the edge of a hot sky. His lips parted as if he might speak, but instead he simply leaned in, no hesitation, and kissed you.
Your thoughts stuttered to a halt.
His mouth was soft, warm, pressing against yours with an ease that spoke of long-held want, not hurried hunger. His hands slid from your wrists, letting them fall gently as his touch drifted to your waist, fingers curling against the dip of it like heâd done it in dreams. The other hand rose to your cheek, palm cradling the side of your face, thumb brushing beneath your eye with reverence that made your knees feel unsteady.
You were frozen for half a heartbeatâthe shock of him, the surprise of how natural it felt, and then your body remembered what your mind was still catching up to. You kissed him back, slow and unsure at first, but it didnât matter. He met you where you were, always had, molding to your rhythm like he had all the time in the world.
Neteyam smiled into the kiss. A faint, crooked thing, full of triumph and affection, before parting from your lips just enough to speak. His breath was hot against your mouth, his voice low and thick, threaded with teasing. âSay it.â
You blinked, heart hammering. âSay what?â
He leaned closer, brushing his nose against yours. âThat I am the mighty warrior.â
Your lips twitched.
He was close enough that you could see every line in his irises, the way they shimmered like dusk through honey. His grip had tightened just slightly, the hand at your waist anchoring you, the other tracing slow circles behind your jaw. He was so sure of himself. So convinced.
You smiled and shook your head. âNo.â
Neteyam let out a sharp exhale that sounded like half a whine, the corner of his mouth curling in disbelief. He didnât argue. He didnât give you the chance to gloat. He surged forward and kissed you again, harder this time, mouth parting against yours with all the breathless urgency he'd held back. Your breath caught, hands flying up to steady yourself; one against his chest, the other curling into the beads of his shoulder strap, as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss with a heat that made your legs tremble.
His lips moved over yours like a promise, slow but insistent, full of all the things heâd never said out loud. His fingers splayed at your waist, pulling you flush to him, and the space between your bodies vanished in a rush of heat and need. His tail brushed yours in a slow arc, the contact electric, sending sparks licking up your spine.
You whimpered softly into his mouth, the sound swallowed between his lips, and felt the smile that curved against you in answerâsmug, satisfied, utterly Neteyam. He didnât pull back this time. Not fully. He lingered, breathing hard, his forehead resting against yours, his voice a murmur between panting breaths.
âStill donât want to say it?â
You closed your eyes, dazed, trying to collect your thoughts. âNever.â
He kissed you again before the word had fully left your mouth, lips slanting over yours with a hunger that made your knees buckle. His tongue brushed your lower lip, a tease that sent a bolt of heat through your core, tightening every muscle in your body. You barely had time to react before your back met the tree, the bark cool and unyielding against your spine. His body pressed into yours, heat rolling off him in waves, his presence filling every inch of space you didnât know youâd been missing.
Your tail lashed behind you, twitching with frantic energy, coiling on itself in chaotic spirals. You couldnât hide the way your breath caught, couldnât pretend that this wasnât affecting you. Not when his hand found your hip again, fingers spreading wide like he needed to feel all of you beneath his palm. His other hand settled on your jaw, his thumb grazing your cheek with a softness that contrasted the heat of his kiss.
When Neteyam broke the kiss, your lips were left parted, breath shallow, a low whine slipping out before you could catch it. His mouth lingered barely a breath away, close enough that his exhales tickled your chin. His eyes gleamed, dark with mischief, hunger, pride, but he didnât speak.
He dipped his head instead, mouth tracing a molten path along the curve of your neck. His lips brushed your pulse point first, barely touching, and you shivered against him. His voice came next, low and amused and thick with velvet heat, each word murmured directly into your skin. âYouâre so easy to tease,â he breathed, letting his lips drag upward just beneath your jaw. âI kiss you once and you forget how to stand.â
You giggled despite yourself, fingers digging into his hips where your hands had settled, clinging like you needed to anchor yourself to him or else drift out into the air with no hope of return. Your head tilted instinctively, offering more of your neck to him, not consciously, but with the kind of blind trust that had always lived between you.
Neteyam noticed, of course. He always noticed.
His tail curled around your thigh like a vine climbing a trunk. The strength of it startled you, not because it hurt, but because it held. It gripped you, claiming space on your body like it had always belonged there, sending shivers racing up your spine. You felt his tail shift slightly, the smooth band of muscle flexing as it squeezed, drawing your leg flush against him.
Your breath escaped in a quiet moan, muffled into the space between his shoulder and neck, your lips brushing skin before you realized how close you were. You startled at the sound youâd made, face flushing with sudden heat. Your voice came stammering and small. âSorry.â
His chuckle was low and pleased, rich as honey and warm as firelight. He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes narrowed slightly with that same mischievous glint he always wore when he had the upper hand. His grin was crooked, mouth glistening where heâd kissed you, and his thumb brushed the corner of your lip like he was savoring the look on your face.
âWhy are you apologizing, syulang?â he asked, voice soft but thick with heat. âYou think I didnât like that sound?â
Your lips parted to speakâa protest, maybe, or just an excuse, but no words came. Your mouth went dry under his gaze, the intensity of it all-consuming. You couldnât hide from the way he was looking at you now. Like he was seeing you for exactly who you were, and loving every second of it.
His fingers drifted lower, slipping beneath the edge of your waist wrap with casual ease, knuckles brushing the skin just above your hipbone. He didnât push or pull, at least not yet. He just toyed with the fabric, eyes never leaving yours. His tail remained coiled around your thigh, the contact impossible to ignore, each twitch a reminder of how close he was, how tightly he held you.
âSo,â he murmured, leaning close again until his lips hovered just beside your ear. âTell me, yawneâŚâ
The word coiled in your stomach like fire. My beloved. Heâd never called you that before. Not even once.
ââŚwho is the mighty warrior now?â
You swallowed hard, trying to will your face back to neutrality, trying to resist the flush you knew was crawling up your chest. âStill not you,â you whispered, breath trembling.
Neteyamâs answering groan was low and dramatic, but it vibrated through you where his chest pressed to yours. âYou are stubborn,â he murmured. âSo stubborn.â
Your fingers shifted on his hips, curling into the bone beneath the skin. âYou like that about me.â
He laughed against your throat, his mouth returning there with a soft, open-mouthed kiss, no longer teasing. The heat in it made your spine arch subtly, your hips pressing closer into him. He responded instantly, pressing you harder against the tree, his hands sliding down to cup the underside of your thighs. You barely had time to react before he lifted you, strong arms curling beneath your legs as he pressed forward.
Your thighs parted instinctively to accommodate him, wrapping around his waist as your back hit the tree again. His strength wasnât something he flaunted often, but in moments like this, when he lifted you like you weighed nothing, like carrying you was as easy as breathing, sent your heart racing, a heady thrill that soaked into your bones.
He held you pinned, firm but gentle, one hand gripping the curve of your thigh, the other bracing beside your head against the bark. His mouth found yours again, slower this time. He kissed you like he wanted to memorize the taste of your breath, like each movement of his lips over yours was carving the memory into his skin. You met him there, your arms sliding around his shoulders, hands threading into his braids, holding on tightly as heat bloomed through you like sunlight spreading across damp earth.
His body shifted against yours, fitting himself into you like puzzle pieces finally aligning. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the heat of his breath, the rhythm of his pulse beneath your palms. He wasnât rushing. He wasnât pushing. He was sinking into you slowly, like heâd waited long enough and didnât want to miss a single second of it.
âIâve wanted this,â he breathed against your mouth, voice hoarse, full of unsaid things. âFor a long time.â
You nodded before you realized you had. Your voice came barely louder than a whisper. âMe too.â
His eyes closed, a pained kind of relief washing over his face. His forehead dropped to yours, noses brushing again, breaths mingling. You could feel every part of him, every inch of skin pressed to yours, every breath he drew like it was tethered to your lungs.
âSay it now,â he whispered, smiling slightly. âI earned it.â
You laughed softly, the sound shaking with nerves and heat, hands sliding down to his chest. His heart pounded beneath your touch, steady and strong. You leaned forward, brushing your lips across his jaw. âYouâre close,â you said, voice teasing. âVery close.â
His groan was muffled against your throat as he nuzzled into you, lips dragging across your skin in slow, reverent sweeps. âCruel,â he said. âYou are cruel to me.â
But his voice was full of warmth, affection wound tight into every syllable. There was no frustration in him, only hunger, only delight. You could feel how much he was holding back, how carefully he moved even now, as though he was restraining every instinct that begged to go faster, rougher, deeper.
âTell me what you want,â he said, voice low against your ear. âIâll give it.â
You inhaled slowly, dragging the breath deep into your lungs, letting your body remain still in his arms. His words hung heavy in the thick air between you, charged with the weight of promise, of invitation. Your lips parted like you might speak, but instead you tilted your head slightly, gaze rising to meet his through thick lashes.
âI donât know,â you said softly, teasingly, though your eyes gleamed with mischief. âI think I need more time to decide.â
Neteyam clicked his tongue with exaggerated disapproval, the sound low and sharp, like a scolding chieftain addressing a rebellious warrior. His head tipped back slightly as he sighed, drawing the breath in slow and letting it spill over your neck in a warm stream that made you shiver. His arms flexed around you, holding you tighter against the firm lines of his body.
âYou test me,â he murmured, mouth brushing your throat as he spoke. âEywa help me, you test me so well.â
His lips pressed to your neck again, softer this time, a slow drag of his mouth over your skin, punctuated by a nip that made your toes curl. He stayed there, trailing open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your shoulder. Every press of his lips was a question, and every shift of his body said he already knew the answer.
His hips rolled against yours, the weight of him grinding into your core with an intensity that stole the breath from your lungs. It wasnât a thoughtless motion, not the clumsy urgency of a boy chasing heat. He moved with purpose, dragging the thick press of his arousal up against the thin barrier of your wrap, the friction sending sparks blooming through your nerves. A moan tore from your throat before you could catch it, the sound cracking through the trees like wind breaking open the sky.
Your arms wrapped around his neck instinctively, holding him close, your fingers threading into his braids. He was so warm, so solid against you. The rhythm of his hips, the strength of his arms, the way he held you like you were precious and breakable, even as he rutted against you like he was half-feral. Your legs tightened around his waist, breath coming fast, heart hammering in your chest like war drums.
Neteyam groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating through your chest. His nose brushed the underside of your jaw, his voice a dark purr against your skin. âThatâs it,â he said. âYou feel that? Youâre making such sweet sounds for me, yawne.â
You couldnât answer. Not properly, not when your body arched into his without thought, not when every nerve had narrowed to the place where he moved against you. Your hips rocked forward helplessly, seeking friction, more pressure, more of him.
âNeteyam,â you gasped, voice cracking. âPlease. Please give me more.â
His pace slowed, cruel in its precision, as his lips curled into a smirk against your throat. âMore?â he asked, his tone soft but thick with heat. âIâll give you anything you want. All you have to do is say it.â
You whimpered, breath shuddering as you clung tighter to him, but he didnât let up. His hips pressed harder, his movements grinding up into your core with just enough restraint to make you ache. Every pass of his body sent heat pooling low in your belly, every roll of his hips making your wrap cling wet and clumsy to your skin. Your body was on fire, alive beneath him, need curling in every breath.
âSay what I want to hear,â he whispered, voice hot against your ear.
You bit your lip, teeth digging into the tender flesh, your face flushed from heat and friction and the unbearable tension in your spine. He kept moving, kept dragging himself against you like he had all the time in the world, like he didnât care that your breath was catching in sobs, that you were unraveling for him.
He moved his hand then, sliding it up beneath your top wrap, fingers curling against your bare ribs as his thumb brushed just under the swell of your breast. His touch was teasing, maddeningly slow, dragging another broken sound from your lips.
âSay it,â he said again, slower now, drawing each syllable like a kiss against your ear. âCall me the mighty warrior.â
You shook your head, half in protest, half in desperation. âPleaseâŚâ
Neteyam groaned at the sound of your voice, hips rutting harder this time, less controlled. Your entire body jolted with the sudden pressure, your mouth falling open in a breathless gasp.
âIâm giving you what you asked for,â he said, voice low, breath ragged. âYou wanted more.â
Your body arched again, head falling back against the tree, mouth parted, lips trembling. The pressure was unbearable now, your whole body taut with the promise of release that hovered just out of reach. Every pass of his hips made your thighs twitch, your fingers dig into his shoulders, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you upright.
Your voice broke again, soft, pleading. âNeteyamâŚâ
He pulled back, just far enough to meet your eyes, golden and wild. âSay it.â
You looked at him, really looked. His flushed cheeks, the mess of his braids, the sweat glistening on his brow. The way his mouth was swollen, the way his chest heaved against yours. He was beautiful like this.
âNeteyam,â you whispered again, voice hoarse with need.
He stilled, hips pressing forward one last time, the friction deep and perfect. Your mouth fell open, your whole body tightening, every breath a shudder. You couldnât hold it back anymore. Not the moan, not the answer, not the way your hands trembled as they cupped his face.
âYou,â you breathed, gasping the words like they were sacred. âYou are the mighty warrior.â
His groan was full of stunned pleasure and unrestrained pride. He kissed you again, hard, swallowing your moan with a whimper that left you breathless.
âSay it again,â he whispered.
âYou are the mighty warrior,â you repeated, voice trembling.
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During a brutal RDA raid on Pandoraâs eastern seas, a human medicâtrained as both nurse and soldierâfinally seizes the chance she has planned for in silence. Haunted by years of complicity, she flees the chaos with only her medical kit and her guilt, diving into the ocean with no clear destinationâonly instinct.
What she finds is a dying Naâvi warrior bleeding out on a rock, abandoned by circumstance but not by fate.
As gunfire echoes and the sea runs red, she makes a choice that will brand her a traitor to her own kind: she saves him.
When his family returns, weapons drawn and grief-stricken, her presence ignites tension, fear, and furyâbut her work speaks louder than her species. In the midst of explosions and impossible decisions, the wounded warrior refuses to let her go, binding their fates together.
notes: guys i've been dreaming about this idea for days and i couldn't find a fic like my imagination Ëâ Ë so i wrote this during the hours of midnight in a literal daze, i rlly hope its ok. I want to continue but i genuinely don't know how i would finish the story - idk i guess i'll see how it plays out in my dreams HAHAH
(ŕš > á´ < ŕš) ᥣđŠ
đ ཟâźđ đźđ˛*ŕŠâŠâ§âË
The water feels wrong.
Neteyam notices it before the painâbefore the weight in his chest, before the way his limbs suddenly refuse to answer him with the same sharp precision they always have. The ocean closes over his head as he dives, powerful stroke after powerful stroke, chasing the silhouettes of his siblings toward safety.
The reef blurs past him, light bending and warping through salt and motion. He kicks harder, muscles burning, lungs screamingâbut thenâ
His strength falters.
Itâs subtle at first. A drag. Like the sea has hooked its fingers into him and decided he should stay.
Neteyam frowns, confusion flickering through him. He adjusts his stroke, tries to correct, but his body lags behind his intent. The water presses heavier against his side, each movement suddenly costing more than it should.
He reaches the rock outcropping on instinct alone.
His hand scrapes stone, fingers slipping before finding purpose. He hauls himself halfway out of the water, breath stutteringâsharp, shallow, wrong. The sounds of the battle crash around him now, no longer distant: engines, shouting, the crack of gunfire echoing across the open sea.
He looks down.
Red.
Not the soft glow of reef light or the shimmer of bioluminescence clinging to coral. Something darker, blooming outward in lazy clouds beneath the surface, curling around his thigh and drifting away with the current.
His ears flatten.
He presses a hand to his side and feels warmth.
Too much warmth.
âOh,â he breathes, barely audible over the crash of waves. Not fearârealization. âNoâŚâ
His knees buckle.
Loâak is there instantly.
Neteyam barely registers the impact as his brother grabs him, shouting his name, eyes wide and wild. The world tilts as Loâak pulls him upright, panic bleeding through every sharp movement.
âIâm shot,â Neteyam manages, the words tearing out of him like they cost something vital.
Loâakâs face crumples.
âNoâno, noââ he says, voice cracking as he swings Neteyam onto his back. âStay with me. Stay awake. Iâve got you.â
They plunge back into the water.
Neteyam clings loosely to his brotherâs shoulders as they move, each second stretching thin. The pressure of the sea is unbearable now, his vision dimming at the edges, sounds muffled as if heâs sinking deeper than he is.
By the time Loâak reaches the rock outcropping again, Neteyam is barely conscious.
Loâak drags him up, hands shaking as he presses hard against the wound, blood slicking his fingers no matter how hard he tries to stop it.
âIâll get Dad,â Loâak says desperately, voice breaking. âIâll get Mom. Justâjust stay here, okay?â
Neteyam doesnât answer.
Loâak hesitates only a second longer before diving away, fear driving him faster than exhaustion ever could. Tukâs small form follows, her cries swallowed by the sea.
The rock grows quiet.
Neteyam lies half-submerged, chest rising faintly, blood continuing to leak from beneath his ribs and slide into the water.
đ ཟâźđ đźđ˛*ŕŠâŠâ§âË
You have been waiting for this moment longer than you care to admit.
Not thisânot the RDA shooting against a few boys âbut the distraction. The fracture. The second where the RDAâs attention splinters just enough for someone small, quiet, and expendable to disappear.
You move through the flooded wreckage like a ghost.
The raid has fractured the ocean into chaosânoise above, silence belowâbut beneath it all, the water speaks. It always has. Youâve learned to listen to it the same way you listen to a pulse or a breath.
Your waterproof pack is tight against your back, weight familiar and reassuring. Inside: compressed rations, emergency meds, suture kit, antiseptic foam, sealant patches, two spare breathing masks. You packed light on purpose. Everything else waits for youâhidden deep in the mountains, far from sea lanes and patrols. Your avatar body. Your exit.
You slip from the sinking structure without hesitation. The mask seals with a soft hiss as you dive, breath evening out as the sea closes around you.
The water is cold as it envelops you, pressure squeezing your ribs as you kick downward, mask sealing with a soft hiss as it engages. Youâve done this beforeâescaped patrols, sunk into shadows, stayed unseen.
For years, youâve walked the edge of this warâpatching wounds, issuing orders, following protocols that kept your hands busy and your conscience quiet. You stayed detached because you had to. Because speaking up meant disappearing in a way no one would ever question.
You tell yourself to focus.
Then you see it.
Blood drifts past your visor in slow, terrible ribbons.
Thin at first. Then thicker. Dark, unmistakable.
Your chest tightens.
This was supposed to be clean.
You were supposed to disappear.
You slow instinctively, adjusting your course, following the trail without thinking. You donât tell yourself why. You donât justify it. You just move.
The blood leads you to a rock formation breaking the surface.
Thereâsomeone lies sprawled across it, massive body barely moving, skin marked with streaks of red that the sea keeps trying to claim. No one else is there. No weapons. No guards.
Just a Naâvi male, young, badly wounded.
You hover at a distance, heart pounding.
This is not your fight.
Surfacing here means riskâcameras, patrols, witnesses. Everything youâve planned could unravel in seconds.
But youâve watched too many bodies sink quietly into water like this.
You surface.
The air hits your lungs as you pull yourself onto the rock, movements careful, deliberate. You stay low, scanning the horizon once before crawling closer.
The Naâvi male stirs faintly.
His eyes flutter open, unfocused, catching on your shape. A human. Small. Close. His fingers twitch weakly against the stone, confusion and pain etched into every shallow breath.
You lift your hands slowly.
âItâs okay,â you say softly, even though you know he wonât understand the words. âIâm a medic.â
You kneel beside him, hands already working, pack open, supplies laid out with practiced efficiency. The wound is severeâbut not beyond saving. Not yet.
As you press gauze to his side, his breath hitches.
He watches you dimly, vision slipping, but something in your touch steadies him. Your hands are sure. Your movements confident.
For the first time in years, you stop waiting for someone else to do something.
You choose.
And you donât stop.
đ ཟâźđ đźđ˛*ŕŠâŠâ§âË
Your hands donât shake.
Not now.
They used to, years ago, when you were still just a nurse moving through bombed-out clinics and half-lit tents, learning how to keep your voice calm while the world came apart around you. They trained that out of you eventuallyâfirst through repetition, then through necessity, then through war.
You push fear down where it belongs and let instinct take over.
âOkay,â you murmur, more for yourself than him. âLetâs see what weâre working with.â
You start at his shoulders, palms firm and efficient as you sweep down his torso, checking fast for additional wounds. Entry wounds hide. Exit wounds kill. Youâve learned never to assume thereâs only one.
Your fingers slide over smooth, warm skin, then around his back, careful but thorough. Blood slicks your gloves, saltwater diluting it just enough to mask how much heâs lost.
âOne,â you breathe quietly. âJust one.â
Relief flickers through you, sharp and fleeting. You donât let yourself linger on it.
You press gauze to his side again, harder this time, and his breath stutters in response. His chest rises shallowly beneath your handâtoo shallow, but present. Still fighting.
âThatâs it,â you say softly. âStay with me.â
He doesnât answer.
But his eyes donât leave you.
Theyâre glassy, unfocused at the edges, but locked on your face with a quiet intensity that makes your throat tighten. Youâve seen this look beforeâpatients anchoring themselves to a single sensation because everything else hurts too much to hold.
You keep talking.
It doesnât matter that he canât understand the words. Tone has always mattered more than language.
âYouâre doing really well,â you tell him, voice low and steady as you cut away the damaged edge of his armor. The material is intricateâlayered, etched with patterns youâve seen on warriors before but never this close. âThis is beautiful craftsmanship,â you add, deliberately conversational. âSomeone put a lot of care into this.â
His ears twitch faintly.
Good. Heâs still responding.
You peel the armor back just enough to expose the wound properly. Itâs uglyâragged at the edges, still oozingâbut clean enough to work with. You irrigate quickly, antiseptic hissing softly as it hits raw tissue.
His jaw tightens.
âI know,â you murmur immediately. âI know it hurts. Youâre okay. Breathe with me.â
You exaggerate your own breathing, slow and deliberate, letting him follow the rise and fall of your shoulders. His chest mirrors it, unevenly, but enough.
Shock is the bigger threat now.
You keep him talkingâasking gentle, meaningless questions he canât answer, filling the space so he doesnât slip too far inward. You tell him about nothing. About the sea. About how the light looks different under water. About how his armor caught the sun when you first saw him.
Your hands move with ruthless efficiency.
Packing the wound. Sealing it. Needle out. Thread through.
You stitch fast but careful, fingers sure despite the blood and the risk and the pounding of your heart. Every second feels stolen. Every sound from the distance makes your spine go tight with the fear of being seenâof being labeled what you already know you are choosing to be.
A traitor.
Like Jake Sully.
The thought flashes through you, cold and sharp, but you donât let it slow you down.
Youâve lived too long doing nothing.
Neteyam barely registers the pain anymore.
Itâs distant, like thunder heard from deep underwater. His body feels heavy, unresponsive, but the pressure on his side lessens slowly, gradually, in a way that tells him something important is happening.
He focuses on you.
On your voiceâsoft, steady, grounding. On the warmth of your hands as they move over him, purposeful and kind. On the way your fingers trail along his skin as you work, not hesitant, not afraid of him.
He doesnât know who you are.
Only that you are here.
His breathing stays faint but constant, each inhale an effort, each exhale shallow. His eyes never leave your face, even when they sting, even when the edges of the world blur.
When you near the end, his fingers twitch.
They lift weakly, drifting until they brush your arm.
Just barely.
You still.
You look down at his hand where it rests against you, blue fingers trembling with exhaustion. A tear slips free from the corner of his eye, tracking slowly along the curve of his ear.
Without thinking, you reach up.
Your thumb is gentle as it wipes the tear away.
âItâs okay,â you whisper. âIâve got you.â
He tries to smile.
Itâs small. Crooked. Barely thereâbut itâs everything he has left to give. Gratitude floods his chest, heavy and warm, even as his body fails him. He wants to thank you. To speak. To offer somethingâanything.
Instead, he holds your gaze.
Eywa, he thinks dimly. Thank you.
Thank you for sending her.
And then his eyes flutter, his grip loosening, breath still thereâstill fightingâas the world finally, mercifully, slows.
đ ཟâźđ đźđ˛*ŕŠâŠâ§âË
You donât hear them.
Not the rush of wings overhead. Not the heavy, rhythmic flapping as skimwings circle low, nor the frantic splashes as bodies break the surface and scramble onto the rock.
Your entire world has narrowed to the rise and fall of his chest.
To the faint warmth still present beneath your palm. To the steadyâmiraculousâfact that he is breathing.
Youâre adjusting the final dressing, fingers already moving to secure it when the shadow falls over you. Then another. Then several.
A sharp intake of breath cuts through the air.
You look up.
They are thereâsuddenly, impossibly close.
Naâvi warriors crowd the rock, wet and wild-eyed, weapons half-raised on instinct alone. Their grief is raw, barely contained, and when their eyes land on youâ
A human.
Small. Unarmed. Kneeling beside their son.
Neytiri moves first.
A sound tears from her throat, sharp and broken, and she lunges forward with lethal speed, blade flashing in her hand. Her face is contorted with fury and terror, grief so sharp it borders on violence.
âGet away from him!â
You freeze.
Not because you donât understand herâbut because you do.
You know enough Naâvi to catch the edge of it. The command. The motherâs scream beneath the words. Youâve studied the language in secret for years now, late at night, hunched over stolen files and recordings, telling yourself it was only practical. That if you were going to disappear into Pandora one day, you couldnât afford to be ignorant.
You had thought knowing the language might help you stay invisible.
It doesnât help now.
Before Neytiri can reach you, a voice cuts through the chaos.
âWaitâ!â
Loâak.
He stares at the scene in front of him, eyes darting wildly. His gaze drops to Neteyamâs chest.
Neytiri falters mid-step, eyes snapping down to her son. She drops to her knees beside him, hands shaking as she presses her ear to his chest, one hand cradling his face.
A sob rips free from her, unrestrained and devastating.
âOh, my son,â she whispers, voice breaking completely. âMy sonâŚâ
You understand that too.
Enough that your throat tightens painfully as she clutches him, forehead pressed to his, trembling with the aftershock of a grief she had already begun to accept. Her hands roam him desperately, checking for wounds, for warmth, for proof that he is still here.
Jake is there tooâimmediately, solid and steady despite the way his jaw tightens as he takes everything in. He helps turn Neteyam carefully, eyes narrowing as he inspects the wound.
Itâs clean.
Stitched.
Packed properly.
Jake looks up at you.
Really looks at you.
Recognition hits you like a blow.
You know him.
Everyone does.
Jake Sully. The name whispered through RDA halls like a warning. The human who crossed a line that couldnât be uncrossed. The example they used when they wanted to scare you straight.
This is what happens when you forget your place.
You meet his gaze without flinching.
âIâm a medic,â you say, voice hoarse but steady. âHe had a single entry wound. No exit. Blood loss was bad, but I caught it in time.â
Jake studies you, eyes sharp, guarded. You can see the calculation happeningâthreat assessment, intent, risk.
âYou RDA?â he asks quietly. English, clipped.
âYes.â
Neytiri stiffens at the word.
You swallow. âNot for much longer.â
Jakeâs brow furrows.
âIâve been waiting for a chance to leave,â you continue, the words spilling out now that theyâve started. âI couldnât keep pretending anymore. Iââ Your voice catches. âI couldnât keep watching.â
Silence stretches.
Then Jake nods once.
âThank you,â he says simply. âWeâll take it from here.â
Thatâs your cue.
You shift back, slowly rising to your feet, suddenly very aware of how small you are among them. You hesitate, eyes drifting back to the Naâvi warrior still lying between his parentsâstill alive because you chose not to look away.
You kneel again.
Just for a moment.
You reach out, resting your hand gently on his shoulder. His skin is warm beneath your fingers.
âYouâre going to be okay,â you whisperâinstinctively, softlyâusing the few Naâvi words you trust yourself not to break. Not enough to draw attention. Just enough to mean something.
You start to pull your hand away.
You donât get far.
His fingers close around yours.
Weakâbut deliberate.
The grip isnât strong, but itâs enough. Enough to stop you. Enough to tell you that somewhere beneath the haze and pain and exhaustion, he knows.
Loâak notices.
So does Jake.
You look down at him, breath catching as his hand tightens just a fraction more, like youâre the only solid thing left in the world.
You squeeze backâjust once.
Then, gently, you try to pull away again.
He doesnât let go.
And for the first time since you dove into the water, fear gives way to something else entirely.
Connection.
đ ཟâźđ đźđ˛*ŕŠâŠâ§âË
His fingers donât loosen.
They tighten.
The pressure is shockingâsharp enough that it steals the air from your lungs for a split second. You glance down instinctively, disbelief flickering through you. He has been shot. He has lost blood. You stitched him together with shaking hands and hope.
And yet he holds you like thisâlike letting go would cost him something vital.
The others notice.
Loâakâs eyes widen first. Neytiri stills completely, her gaze snapping from your hand to her sonâs face. Even Jake hesitates, registering the way Neteyamâs grip curls around your wrist, knuckles pale, stubbornly alive.
Another explosion tears through the air.
Closer this time.
The rock shudders beneath your feet, spray erupting around its base. Gunfire cracks in jagged bursts, echoing off the water.
Jake straightens instantly.
âWe need to move,â he barks, voice cutting clean through the chaos. Commanding. Absolute. The kind of voice that doesnât askâit directs. You see it then, fully: not just a father, but a leader forged in war.
âNow!â
The family springs into motion.
Jake crouches beside Neteyam, already positioning himself to lift him. âIâve got him,â he says, decisive. âWe fly.â
But when Jake reaches for his son, Neteyam doesnât respond the way they expect.
He doesnât release you.
Jake pauses, eyes narrowing. He follows the line of Neteyamâs arm. Sees the way his sonâs fingers are wrapped around your wristânot frantic, not confused.
Intentional.
Jake looks at you.
Then at the sky, where tracer fire lights up the clouds.
A decision is made in a heartbeat.
âShe comes,â Jake says.
Neytiri whirls on him. âJakeââ
Another blast detonates somewhere too close for comfort, the shockwave rattling your bones. Neytiri flinches, eyes snapping back toward the horizon, calculating the danger with a warriorâs instinct.
She looks at Neteyam again.
At the steady rise and fall of his chest.
At the way his hand still clings to you.
Her jaw tightens.
âFine,â she snaps. âMove.â
They lift Neteyam carefully, Jake shifting him onto his back with practiced ease. Youâre pulled along with them, swept into motion before you can even process whatâs happening.
Only thenâonly when youâre moving, when the decision is no longer theoreticalâdoes Neteyamâs grip finally loosen.
His fingers slip from your wrist.
You feel the absence immediately.
His eyes are closed now. His breathing is stronger than beforeâstill weak, but steady enough that relief floods through you in a dizzying rush. You donât know if heâs conscious, but something in your chest tells you he is.
That he chose this.
Gratitude wells up unexpectedly, fierce and aching. Toward him. Toward fate. Toward the impossible mercy of timing.
You mount behind Neytiri, hands gripping tight as the skimwing launches into the air. The force of it punches a breath from your lungs.
And thenâ
You are flying.
The world opens beneath you in a way no sim, no cockpit, no briefing ever prepared you for. The eastern sea stretches endlessly below, a living mosaic of color and light. Coral reefs bloom beneath the surface like constellationsâturquoise, gold, burning pinkâthreaded together by currents that glow faintly in the fading light.
You gasp, unable to stop it.
The wind roars past your ears, warm and salt-heavy. You glimpse the others flying aheadâJake steady and sure despite the weight on his back, Loâak flanking him protectively, the family moving as one.
Ahead, the water shifts.
Structures rise organically from the shallowsâwoven marui homes nestled within the roots of colossal mangrove-like trees. Their trunks arch outward and upward, forming a living cradle above the waterline, shielded from the open ocean by a natural, ring-shaped seawall of coral and stone.
Itâs not built against the sea.
Itâs built with it.
Your breath catches.
Thisâthisâis what they were destroying.
As Neytiri guides the skimwing lower, banking toward the village, something settles inside you. Not peace. Not yet.
But certainty.
You didnât just save a life.
You crossed a line you could never uncross.
And as Pandora rises to meet you, glowing and alive beneath the sinking sun, you knowâwithout doubtâthat you are not going back.
