angel in the snow

Summary: Dex finds her in a crowded club, beautiful and shining like a star. Even when she disappears, he doesn’t let go. He follows every trace she leaves behind, determined to have her, whether she wants it or not.

Characters: Benjamin Poindexter "Dex" x Ballerina Original Female Character

Chapter 1: A Blue Dance

Chapter 2: A One Night Stand

Chapter 3: Mania State

Chapter 4: A Swan in Bloodlight

Chapter 5: Catching Starlight

Chapter 6: A Beautiful Trap

Chapter 7: A Church for Sinners

Chapter 8: Blade on My Tongue

Chapter 9: Devour Me Whole

Chapter 10: The Ghost of You

Chapter 11: Hades and Persephone

Chapter 12: Domestic Creature

⛔Do not copy my work, translate or use AI with it and claim it as your own.⛔

She did it — B.P.

Paring: Benjamin Poindexter x fem!reader

Summary: When Dex receives a call from you, he expects the worst, only to remain presently surprised. (0.7k)

Tags/warnings: suggestive, mentions of violence, domestic abuse (side character), kidnapping, blood, and murder, dex is so down bad, horny freak #1 and horny freak #2 fr (pls get the reference), kinda abrupt ending

A/N: English is not my first language and this was not proofread. Enjoy!

masterlist

"Dex, it's me, I- I need your help with... something."

That's all you said to him before ending the phone call.

You weren't calling from your phone — the caller ID being "unknown" — and the tracker on your actual phone told him you had left it at your apartment.

Still, the urgency in your tone activated something primal in him, making Dex drop everything he was doing to start looking for you.

delicacy was not something benjamin poindexter was used to. excuses were all that emerged from his hands, dead birds like the far-off smoke of the city that watched him decay every night.

no, benjamin poindexter wasn't cut out to hold a butterfly between his fingers. he watched them flutter over the flowers, lively and startled, without disturbing his reality. the things that needed protection turned out to be the most troublesome. what did a colorful ladybug contribute to the world? headaches, guilt for having to watch them die so early.

that's why, one day, when you told him the sun seemed to caress him and you ran a buttery-soft hand through his blond hair, he understood why he hated you. he looked at you, at his neighbor on the third floor of the building's rooftop, in silence… and he saw himself.

he hated you for making you love him. you didn't even know who he was, but he'd given you a beautiful, mistaken idea. you didn't even have to try very hard; love flowed from you so easily it made him want to throw up.

dow could you want to love something so rotten, twisted, and violent? what did that make you? a would-be savior or a martyr? that's what you wanted from him, wasn't it? recognition. to be able to tell the world that you were a person capable of showing mercy.

fuck you, he already hated himself for both of you. he didn't need your pity.

disappearing was the hardest part, ironically. you didn't know it yet, but prison had made him even more lonely. without looking for it, he searched for you in the corners of his memories, he always found his way back to you, to your kind eyes and your caramel mouth, ready to lie to him, spitting out the sweetest words, which he dismissed with a vague nod.

he stared out the cell window, and the bars weren't the only thing keeping him locked up; it was the ghost of your presence. where were you to hate you? would someone else take the place he'd left on the rooftop? someone uglier, more corrupt, more unforgivable to keep you on that moral pedestal?

fuck you, he was missing you.

when he escaped from prison, he didn't look for you. that would have healed a wound he kept scratching.

however, you found him one evening in his usual spot, on the empty rooftop, with the smell of potato chips in the air and wispy clouds in the sky.

you smiled when you saw him. yes, he could hear that smile even with his back to you. he could smell your honey shampoo from that distance and taste your citrus cologne on his tongue.

he swallowed words and didn't answer you. he kept himself busy carving a piece of wood with one of his favourite knives.

he heard you take the necessary steps to sit on the edge, next to him, and you remained in that silence as the afternoon bled into night.

"what you doing here?" you asked him after a while, because he seemed very... changed. his expression was sharper, perhaps because of that straight line he always wore on his lips, which accentuated his furrowed brow. fortunately, the scar on his cheek softened his expression. it continued to confirm that he was human, after all, and that words could hurt him as much as they hurt you.

from where did your empathy come from? he would wonder. you would have laughed if he had. questioning why someone was being considerate for another human being was like asking the earth why it kept nourishes the trees. but you would have killed to get him to talk to you beyond the reproaches he always spouted.

"fuck does it look like 'm doing?" he retorts, chucking a scrap of wood from hundreds of meters high

"if they find you here..." you barely said, more worried than intrigued by his presence, staring at his face and waiting for him to look back at you.

"then why are you here?" he answered you, examining the wooden anthropomorphic figure in his hands. "go away"

he had been waiting for months for that sunset to tell you directly and not only in his thoughts. he could ask you first, then he will yell at you to leave him, and his last resort being to grab your small arms and pull you away from him

but you didn't move, and you awakened an anger in him that he didn't knew he had.

why didn't you leave? you, the neighbor from the third floor.

when he looked into your face, the cuts on his darkened features didn't frighten you. he didn't see you flinch or grimace uncontrollably at your good samaritan principles. no, you turned benjamin poindexter into a wounded kitten and gritted your teeth to try and save him with what little you had to give him. even if it was little, even if it was never enough, even if he hated you for it because he saw in your help a projection of the rejection he inflicted upon himself.

"i really don't know" you whispered, half smiling half sighing, because that was your truth.

── .✦ jealousy ˎˊ˗

dex who gets jealous long before he realizes that's what he's feeling. at first he just notices little things - how often that person talks to you, how close they stand, how easily they make you laugh. the irritation builds quietly until one day he's staring holes through someone across the room and finally understands what's wrong.

Got this inspiration from my own edit, unfortunate, but most fortunate for you guys. Here's the tiktok video referencing my inspo: HERE.

Pairing: Benjamin Poindexter x Reader

Warnings: No explicit warnings, but squint for emotional manipulation/gaslighting.

The first text came in at 11:47 p.m., when the apartment had already gone quiet enough for every small sound to feel deliberate.

Are you ignoring me?

You stared at it longer than you should have. The screen lit your face in the dark, cold and bluish, catching against the edge of the coffee table where an untouched mug had gone stale hours ago. Outside, the city moved in uneven pulses: tires hissing over wet pavement, a siren bleeding through the distance, the low mechanical groan of pipes settling inside the walls. You had been trying not to look at your phone. That was the worst part. You had placed it facedown beside you with the childish belief that not seeing his name would make the pressure in your chest loosen. It had not. Another message arrived before the screen had time to dim.

Please, I just need to talk.

Your thumb hovered near the notification without touching it. Dex’s name looked almost ordinary there, as if it belonged to someone who knew how to leave things alone, someone capable of stepping back when silence asked him to. There had been a time when you mistook his intensity for attentiveness. He remembered the smallest things with frightening precision: the way you took your coffee, which side of the sidewalk you preferred, the exact pause before your smile when you were trying to decide whether to let him have it.

It had felt flattering once. Chosen. Like being seen. Now it felt like being watched. You turned the phone over again, but the room had already changed shape around it. The narrow hall seemed longer than before, the door at the end of it too still. You told yourself he was across the city. You told yourself he was sitting somewhere with his jaw clenched and his hands folded too tightly together, trying to look reasonable while something inside him came apart. You told yourself many things that would have been comforting if you believed any of them.

The next message came at 11:51.

I’ll be good.

The words made your stomach pull tight. Not because they were cruel. Cruelty would have been easier. Cruelty could be answered. Anger could be met with anger, blame with defense, a demand with the hard satisfaction of refusal. But Dex rarely sounded cruel when he wanted something badly enough. He sounded stripped down, almost soft, as though he had taken every sharp piece of himself and placed it carefully at your feet. As though he expected you to understand that the offering was also a warning.

You read it once. Then again. The three words blurred slightly at the edges before your phone went black. For a few minutes, nothing happened. You sat still on the couch, knees drawn close, listening to the refrigerator hum and the rain tapping lightly against the window. The silence stretched until it felt intentional. You were almost beginning to breathe normally when there was a sound from the hallway outside your apartment.

Not a knock. A footstep. Your whole body went rigid. The phone lit again in your hand.

Open the door.

You did not move. Even your breathing felt too loud. The apartment door stood at the end of the hall, locked, deadbolted, chained. You had checked it twice after getting home, once out of habit and once because habit had not been enough. Now, with his message glowing in your palm, every lock between you and the other side felt suddenly decorative.

Another sound came from the hall, closer this time; not loud enough to be threatening, but too deliberate to be nothing. A shift of weight. The faint brush of damp fabric against the wall. The quiet, controlled patience of someone standing exactly where he knew he should not be. Your body reacted before your mind could decide what to do, every muscle drawing tight as if the sound had reached through the door and touched the back of your neck. Slowly, you rose from the couch, the floorboards giving a soft, traitorous complaint beneath your bare feet, and you hated how carefully you moved. Hated that even now, even frightened, some part of you still understood Dex well enough to know that noise would matter, that silence would matter, that any small sign of panic might change the shape of whatever waited on the other side. The phone trembled once in your hand, not from another message, but from the force of your grip tightening around it until the edge bit into your palm. You stared down the narrow hall at the locked door, heart beating hard enough to make your ribs feel too small, and for one breathless second, you could not tell whether you were afraid he would come in or afraid he would leave before you saw him.

From the other side of the door, his voice came through, controlled and almost gentle. “I know you’re there.”

Your eyes shut for half a second, not long enough to steady you, only long enough for the truth of it to settle coldly behind your ribs. Of course he knew. Dex always knew. He knew things he should not have been able to know and remembered them with the unnerving precision of someone who did not understand where devotion ended and possession began. The pattern of your lights. The soft yellow glow in the living room when you were trying to stay awake. The blue-white flicker from the television when you could not sleep. The times you came home, the nights you were late, the mornings you left with your hair still damp because you had overslept. Whether you had worked past your shift, whether you had gone out after, whether you had forgotten to eat because stress turned hunger into something distant and inconvenient. He collected those details silently, almost reverently, the way other people collected apologies they were too proud to give, and then looked wounded when you found the weight of his attention unsettling.

For a moment, your hand hovered near the lock without touching it. The door between you felt impossibly thin, like he was not standing in the hall but just behind your shoulder, breathing in the same air. Your heartbeat had climbed into your throat, each pulse sharp and humiliating, because some part of you still remembered when being known by him had felt like being chosen. Now it made your skin prickle.

“You can’t be here,” you said, and your voice sounded quieter than you wanted, threaded with something too close to fear and something worse than fear, something that knew exactly why he had come.

“I didn’t know where else to go.” His voice had dropped around the words, quiet enough that you had to hold still to catch them, yet not weak.

That made you laugh once, quietly, without humor. The sound seemed to surprise both of you. On the other side of the door, he went still; you could feel it, somehow, the way his attention sharpened through wood and metal.

“You could have gone home,” you said, your voice low and controlled only because you were forcing it to be. “You could have called someone else. You could have done literally anything except show up outside my apartment in the middle of the night.” The anger was there, but it sounded bruised at the edges, thinner than you wanted. Your throat tightened around the last words, betraying how badly he had shaken you, and you hated that he could probably hear it through the door.

“I tried.”

“No, Dex. You texted me four times and then came here.”

“I waited.”

The simplicity of it unsettled you more than if he had shouted. You pictured him standing in the hallway with rain still in his hair, shoulders squared beneath his jacket, face composed by force rather than calm. Dex had a way of making restraint look like suffering. As if every second he did not break something proved devotion.

“You waited eleven minutes.”

His silence answered before he did.

“It felt longer.”

You pressed the heel of your hand against your forehead, breathing through the ache building behind your eyes. Some part of you wanted to open the door just to see his face, to confirm that he was real and not only the shape your guilt took when you were tired. Another part, smaller but wiser, told you not to reward the fear he had brought with him.

“Go home,” you told him, though the words came out quieter than you intended, worn thin by everything you were trying not to let into your voice.

A pause followed, long enough that you could picture him on the other side of the door, his head slightly bowed, listening for the smallest shift in your breathing.

“Look at me first.” He sounded almost careful, as if he knew the request was too much and was asking anyway, unable to stop himself from wanting one last proof that you were still close.

“No.” The answer left you immediately, before the weaker part of you could turn it into something else.

Then his hand touched the door.

Not a knock. Not pressure. Just the faintest sound of his palm settling against the wood between you. “Please.”

Silence follower for a few seconds, you catch your forehead resting against the darkened wood. Opposite of where his palm was resting, unaware to your knowledge; something symbolic if it weren't for how insane this back and forth, push and pull dynamic was.

“I scared you,” Dex murmured.

You said nothing.

“I didn’t mean to,” he added.

“That does not make it better,” you replied.

“I know,” he admitted.

But he said it too quickly, like a man repeating something he had been told rather than something he had learned.

“You don’t get to do this,” you said, your voice steadier now, though your fingers were still cold. “You don’t get to make me responsible for what happens to you because I didn’t answer fast enough.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

On the other side, his breathing changed. Slightly. Enough that you knew the words had found him.

“You make it sound like I’m trying to punish you,” he said.

“I think you don’t always know the difference.”

The hallway went quiet again. Somewhere below, a door opened and shut. Laughter rose briefly from the stairwell and then vanished, swallowed by distance. You wondered if Dex turned his head toward it. You wondered if he hated the reminder that other people existed around you, ordinary and uninvited, able to come and go without turning longing into surveillance.

“I can be normal,” he said finally.

Your throat tightened at that, at the effort in his voice, the careful arrangement of every syllable. You believed he wanted to. That had always been the cruelest part. Dex did not sound like a man lying when he promised gentleness. He sounded like a man standing in a burning room, insisting he could learn not to breathe smoke.

“Not like this,” you said.

He gave a small, humorless breath. “You always say that.”

“Because you keep doing this.”

“I just needed to know you were okay.”

“No,” you said, and the word came out sharper than intended. “You needed to know I was still there.”

That silence was different. Not empty. Wounded. You could almost see his expression: the brief downward flick of his eyes, the tightness at his mouth, the way his face would harden not because he felt nothing, but because he felt too much and had never trusted anyone enough to let it show without turning it into something dangerous.

When he spoke again, his voice was lower.

“Are you still there?”

You looked at the door for a long moment.

The question should have been simple. Yes, you were there, standing barefoot in your hallway with your heart beating too hard and your phone still lit in your hand. Yes, you had stayed up reading his messages, worrying over them despite yourself. Yes, some ruinous part of you still knew the exact shape of his loneliness and wanted to place a hand over it, as if tenderness could keep it from becoming teeth.

But that was not what he was asking.

“I don’t know,” you said.

The answer seemed to move through him. You heard him inhale slowly. Then came the faintest sound, almost nothing, his forehead resting against the door.

“I’ll leave,” he said.

You did not believe him until you heard him step back.

The distance between you changed by inches, then by feet. His shoes moved over the hallway carpet with unnatural quiet, pausing once near the stairwell. For one terrible second, you thought he would come back. That he would decide your almost-kindness had been enough permission to try again.

Then the stairwell door opened.

Then it shut.

You stood there until the apartment became your own again.

Only after several minutes did you return to the couch. The rain had strengthened against the window, turning the glass silver where the streetlights caught it. Your phone remained in your hand, screen dark now, holding the last shape of him like a bruise beneath the surface.

At 12:08, one final message appeared.

I’m sorry.

You looked at it until the words stopped meaning anything. Then, before you could stop yourself, you typed back.

You actually listened.

The reply came almost immediately, as if he had been waiting with the phone already in his hand.

I said I’d be good.

Heat rose under your skin before you could reason it away. You hated that those words felt different now, with space between you and the locked door, with proof that he had obeyed the one thing you had asked of him. He was still Dex, still too intense, still all sharp edges disguised as devotion, but there was something in the restraint that pulled at you more dangerously than his desperation ever had.

That doesn’t earn you anything.

you wrote.

The dots appeared, vanished, then appeared again.

You stared at the message, your mouth tightening around a response that took too long to become irritation. He knew exactly where to place the pressure now, not against the door, not against your fear, but against the quieter part of you that had wanted him to stay almost as badly as you had needed him to leave.

The room felt suddenly too warm. The rain struck the window in soft, steady lines, and you sat very still on the couch, aware of your bare legs beneath the hem of your oversized shirt, aware of the pulse in your throat, aware of how ridiculous it was to feel cornered by a man who had finally done as he was told and walked away.

You tell yourself you’re not going to text first.

You last nearly four minutes. Put the phone down. Why are we opening the chat? Why are we typing? The message sends. Oh, for God’s sake.

Dex.

Delivered 12:20AM

Read 12:20AM

dex <3

Just my name?

A warning.

Delivered 12:30AM

Read 12:30AM

dex <3

I like when you say it.

Heat rose before you could smother it, spreading beneath your skin with a shameful immediacy. It was only a text, hell, a few words on a screen. Nothing that should have had the power to make your breath catch or your knees draw closer together on the couch, as if making yourself smaller could hide the reaction from him. He was not even in the room, and still he found a way to touch some reckless, humiliating part of you that mistook danger for devotion.

That was what frightened you most. Not that Dex wanted too much, but that some part of you still answered.

I'm bacccckkkkkkkk. The motivation comes from dear @dubiousdonkler So you need to say thanksss ;)))

Masterlist

[ Neteyam x Omatikaya!reader ]

Request: Can I request a Neteyam x Omaticaya!reader

Author’s note: I recommend listening to From Darkness to Light, The Spirit Tree, and The Songcord if you have tissues prepared

Warnings: angst, mentions of blood, death

Word Count: 3,101

“Feels like I haven’t been here in ages,” you muttered, hands brushing the glowing strands of the tree of voices. Kiri and Tuk were already immersed in their own worlds, not hearing a thing you were saying. Spider was out exploring on his own, eyeing the sky, the flowers, the tree, and basically everything else.

“Better make the most of it then,” Lo’ak replied, attaching his queue to a strand.

Neteyam was standing near the bark, and it looked like he wasn’t going to join them any time soon, so you followed Lo’ak and did the same.

It had been a while since you’d done this, or had been anywhere near the tree at all. Although there were plenty of excuses to use, you knew you were just scared of what you’d see.

[ Neteyam x Metkayina!reader ]

Summary: Despite your uninterests in getting to know the Omatikaya guests, you’d somehow managed to capture the attention of the eldest brother and Neteyam messed up by doing the one thing your brother told him not to. Plus Lo’ak being the captain of the ship.

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2,033

©nyctophicbtch 2022 — do not copy, repost, or translate

Just as expected, there were no particular signs of interest your siblings found in you when Omatikayas showed up on the shore, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious upon their arrival.

“She will show up.” You faintly heard Rotxo quietly say to Ao’nung as you approached the commotion.

A glimpse of your father and mother speaking to an Olo'eyktan had you pushing through the crowd to get a better view. You could see your sister already examining the outsiders alongside your brother, being fairly kinder than he was.

“See,” remarked Rotxo as he spotted you making your way over to them.

Main Masterlist | "All energy is only borrowed, and one day you have to give it back." ── Neytiri te Tskaha Mo'at'ite, Avatar

𓏲⋆ ִֶָ 𓂃 ⋆ Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk'itan ── .✦

Outsiders - Neteyam x fem!Metkayina!reader 2k words; fluff 𑣲

⋆˚࿔ Despite your uninterests in getting to know the Omatikaya guests, you’d somehow managed to capture the attention of the eldest brother and Neteyam messed up by doing the one thing your brother told him not to. Plus Lo’ak being the captain of the ship.

The Songcord - Neteyam x gn!Omatikaya!reader 3.1k words; angst

⋆˚࿔ You were only Tuk's age when Lo'ak found you all those years ago, and ever since, you've been inseparable with the Sully kids. One in particular, takes a liking to you, though he tries not to show it.

Dangerously Envy - Neteyam x fem!reader 1.9k words; jealousy

⋆˚࿔ After promising to spend a day with Neteyam, he finds his patience tested when other males from his clan interrupt your time together to flirt with you. Worst part is, he can't really do anything about it. Not when he has to make peace with everybody as the future Olo'eyktan, and definitely not when they think you're his "sister".

Little Secret - Neteyam x fem!Omatikaya!reader 11.9k words; secret dating

part 1, part 2

⋆˚࿔ Being in a relationship with Neteyam is not as simple as one might think. The two of you are constantly navigating through your feelings, the rights and wrongs, the do's and dont's, all whilst keeping the whole thing hidden from his family. Naturally, he pretends to hate you for the sake of the secrecy, but Neteyam is starting to grow tired of keeping you as his little secret.

The Omatikayan Prince - Neteyam x gn!human!reader 3.4k words; hidden feelings

⋆˚࿔ The Omatikayan prince was attractive. His looks and status alone were enough to make even the most beautiful girls crave his attention, but Neteyam had always responded in reserved politeness. Who would've thought that the reason behind it was you, a little human who could bring the Olo'eyktan's son to his knees with just a bat of your eye.

Born of Fire, Loved by the Forest - Neteyam x Mangkwan!reader 4.5k words; forbidden love, enemies to lovers

series masterlist

⋆˚࿔ When Neteyam finds you on the battlefield, a Mangkwan; injured, he decides against killing you.

Drabbles .☘︎ ݁˖

The Spirit Tree - gn!Omatikaya!reader

Wandering Human - fem!human!reader

Something to Take the Edge Off, Literally - fem!reader

dad!neteyam - fem!reader

soft!neteyam - fem!Na’vi!reader

Headcanons .☘︎ ݁˖

Neteyam with Tsireya’s sister - fem!Metkayina!reader

Neteyam with Tonowari’s firstborn daughter - fem!Metkayina!reader

Seeing Neteyam for the first time in years - fem!Omatikaya!reader

𓏲⋆ ִֶָ 𓂃 ⋆ Lo'ak te Suli Tsyeyk'itan ── .✦

But We’re Different - Lo’ak x fem!avatar/human!reader 3k words; hurt/comfort

⋆˚࿔ Some boys in the clan weren’t too friendly. They’d somehow convinced Lo’ak that you, a human, would never choose an outcast, let alone a na’vi, as your mate. You were left to figure out why he was unusually pulling away from you so much.

Not so Little Crush - Lo'ak x gn!human!reader 6k words; fluff n angst

⋆˚࿔ His mother has never been a fan of humans, but to Lo'ak, they're just people looking for a second chance at a home. Well, except for you. Pandora has been the only home you've ever known, so he hopes his mother sees reason with you, especially with how you seem to be the only person who truly sees him.

Lo’ak’s Little Secret - Lo’ak x fem!Omatikaya!reader 5,6k words; unreciprocated love

⋆˚࿔ When Lo’ak found out that you and Neteyam had been secretly dating all along, he couldn’t help but feel conflicted.

Headcanons .☘︎ ݁˖

Lo’ak with a Metkayina Mer - gn!reader

𓏲⋆ ִֶָ 𓂃 ⋆ Ao'nung te Tsika'u Tonowari'itan ── .✦

Heartfelt - Ao’nung x fem!Sully!reader 2.6k words; second chances

⋆˚࿔ You knew Ao'nung picked on your siblings, especially your twin brother, Lo'ak, but he'd been so taken with you when you'd first arrived, you never would've expected him to put your brother's life at risk.

Should’ve Saved Me Sooner - Ao’nung x gn!Metkayina!reader 1.7k words; hurt/comfort

⋆˚࿔ Ao'nung isn't the most gentle person, that you've know since you were children. But when you injure yourself one day, the gruff man suddenly becomes so insistent on helping you, and is quick to become frustrated when he's not gentle enough.

Courting Rituals - Ao’nung x gn!Omatikaya!reader 1.5k words; idiots in love

⋆˚࿔ Getting tired of your obliviousness to his attempts at flirting with you, Ao'nung decides to make a bold move that you can't possibly ignore, right?

Little Getaway - Ao'nung x gn!Metkayina!reader 1.6k words; fluff

⋆˚࿔ Loud festivals weren't really your thing, that much Ao'nung knew. So when he found you sitting alone on the outskirts of the village, he offered to go for a swim, knowing you wouldn't be able to resist the little getaway.

Drabbles .☘︎ ݁˖

A Little Push - fem!reader

The Right Way - fem!Sully!reader

you’re a troublemaker - Na’vi!reader

Headcanons .☘︎ ݁˖

Being Ao’nung’s expected mate - gn!Metkayina!reader

Being Ao’nung’s Sully mate - fem!Sully!reader

𓏲⋆ ִֶָ 𓂃 ⋆ Colonel Miles Quaritch ── .✦

Na’vi - Colonel Quaritch x fem!Tawkami!reader 2.4k words; strangers to lovers

⋆˚࿔ Injured and stranded, Quaritch has no choice but to trust you, a na'vi who decides to help instead of killing him. Will you learn to fall in love with the dream walker as you nurse him back to health?

Other Drabbles ── .✦

Not a Freak - Rotxo x fem!Sully!reader

Sleep Deprieved - Tsu'tey x gn!avatar!reader

‧₊˚.ೃ ࿐

©nyctophicbtch 2025 — do not copy, repost, or translate

Inspired by @itzariafiles, check out her work!

𓂃 Ft. Neteyam and Lo’ak (planning to do one for Tonowari, Jake and Ao’nung as well)

𓂃 Warnings: fluff, mention of insecurities, a bit of jealousy, may be out of character, not canon obv

𓂃 Author’s note: Papa is back (kind of) this was a way to get out of my writer’s block. But hopefully I’ll be posting the other unfinshed works I have in my drafts as well. English isn’t my first language so please be kind!

Enjoy!🫶❤️

Main masterlist

Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk'itan

You fell first.

How could you not?

He was everything. Strong, kind, respectful and never once did he make you feel any less.

Your skills in archery weren’t the best. You had failed your coming of age ritual twice before you finally succeeded in bonding with your own Ikran. You almost pierced an arrow through his head accidentally once.

So it was safe to say the whole clan knew you as the walking disaster.

Of course you had improved immensely with time and age. Now during training nobody had come close to losing their head or any other limb. And you riding skills were the best among the young ones in your clan. However that reputation was not an easy one to erase.

So you spent your days training to prove how you could do it. How you weren’t the clumsy girl who did nothing but harm anymore.

And he was the only one who believed in you.

Every time you missed, he guided your hands slowly, showing you the right direction and his tips on hitting the target right in the center. Every time someone shamed you for your mistakes he defended you, voice stern as he told them off.

Perhaps it was the way he smiled so gently at you, or the way he spoke so respectfully, or the way his warmth lingered on your skin every time he guided you. But you had fallen for him and there was no way out. Not when you had been spending much more time alone lately.

However you did not stand a chance.

He was the most wanted boy in the clan, every girl had their eyes set on him, ready to jump whenever there was the chance.

After all he was the future Olo’eyktan, that meant only the best got to be his mate. Someone worthy, unlike you.

The girl who almost pierced his head once.

He fell harder.

At first he didn’t even register it. He just found himself spending more time with you unconsciously.

Always smiling whenever he managed to spot you. Not one of those cured, polite smiles of his, those he practiced for whenever there was somebody who needed him. A genuine smile. One that came so naturally each time his gaze set on you.

He found himself looking forward to seeing you everyday. Something about you intrigued him.

At first he tried to shake it off as just admiring your strong will, the way you never bent, always keeping your chin up, never backing down from a challenge and always getting right back up whenever you failed.

Even with such a famous reputation as a clumsy girl around the clan you were still working hard everyday.

He still remembered the first time your arrow had almost stuck him, almost taking his head right off.

Your skills weren’t exactly the best at first. Your shots were never straight, your arrow wobbled, never staying still before a shot. However he realized just how much you had improved. The way you started actively shooting the target, some times even hitting right in the center after remembering those tips of his.

Soon enough his eyes strayed from your bow and rested on your face. The way you beamed with light every time you did something correctly, a smile so sweet that melted him, making him wiggle his tail like a puppy.

He also noticed the way you were so unforgivably yourself, even after all the mean comments from some, you carried yourself with no care, head high but spirit humble.

Your hand was always extended to whoever needed it, and your smile always present on your radiant face.

It was starting to become something he couldn’t deny anymore, even his siblings never failed to tease him about it.

He was with no doubt in love.

And every time he saw you smiling at another his heart squeezed painfully in his chest.

He knew it was selfish but he wanted you to only smile at him. To be the one making you laugh, be by your side till the end.

And each day that passed only settled those feelings deep into his bones, he was sure he was gonna die every time his heart started beating frantically in his chest when he saw you.

So after a push by his younger brother Lo’ak, who was tired of seeing his older brother act so helplessly in love while actively denying it, he decided to court you.

He had faced warriors twice his size without hesitation. He stood before the clan and spoke with the steady authority expected of a future Olo’eyktan.

Yet standing in front of you made his throat feel dry.

You were by your Ikran when he approached, fingers smoothing over the creature’s wing. You hadn’t noticed him yet.

For a moment, he simply watched. Mesmerized by the simple sight of you. But nothing about you was simple, not when you had consumed his every thought and not when your laugh echoed in his mind every night.

“Are you going to keep staring” you teased without looking up, “or did you actually need something?”

His heart nearly leapt out of his chest.

You always did that, you always sensed him before he spoke. He wondered if his steps had grown heavy with the burden of carrying a love he wasn’t sure you reciprocated, a love that consumed him whole.

He stepped closer, close enough that your Ikran lifted its head but did not hiss. Only stared curiously at the person who’s scent it had grown quiet accustomed to.

“I need something”he said, voice steadier than he felt.

You finally looked up.

And there it was again that smile.

It almost broke him.

“I would like to court you.”

You froze.

He saw it, the disbelief flickering across your face. The way your brows pulled together slightly, as if you thought he was joking.

“Do not tease me”you whispered and your small voice hurt him more than any blow he had ever received.

He stepped even closer now, gently lifting your chin so you would look at him fully.

“I have never teased you.”

His thumb brushed your jaw, lingering.

“I see you”he said quietly. “Not the mistakes. I see your strength. Your heart. Your stubbornness. I tried to forget but I have been a fool to think I could ignore what I feel.”

Your breath trembled, tail swaying behind you, showing the excitement you wanted to hide.

“For how long?” you asked.

He huffed softly, almost embarrassed.

“Long enough that Lo’ak threatened to announce it to the whole clan himself.”

That startled a laugh out of you. Your fingers reached for him slowly before stopping, before touching, your hand retracted, clenching. He instinctively leaned forward hoping to feel an ounce of your touch, of your warmth.

“You are the future Olo’eyktan”you said softly. “You could choose anyone.”

“I do not want anyone.” He answered immediately, shaking his head. “I want the girl who almost shot me in the head and still managed to steal my heart.”

Silence.

Then a slow grin spread across your face

He reciprocated, hand sliding to yours, firm and sure. Forehead coming to rest against yours. The world stilled and it was just the two of you.

Lo’ak te Suli Tsyeyk'itan

He fell first and harder

Without much thought, honestly.

Because the first time he set his gaze on you he knew he wouldn’t be able to take it off.

You were the daughter of one of the most respected fishermen in the clan, always helping mend nets near the shore or bringing fresh catches back to the village alongside your father.

The ocean seemed to follow you wherever you went, sunlight dancing across your skin.

A sight for sore eyes, truly.

What surprised him the most though, was learning you were close friends with Ao’nung.

You were so gentle. So patient. Always speaking softly, always offering help when someone needed it. Yet somehow you managed to keep up with Ao’nung’s teasing and sharp tongue without ever losing that calm smile of yours.

Lo’ak couldn’t understand it.

But he liked it. A lot.

At first he tried to convince himself he was only curious. Maybe he just wanted to know how someone like you could tolerate Ao’nung for so long. Maybe he was only interested because you were new to him.

But curiosity turned into something else very quickly. He started noticing things more than he admitted.

Like how you laughed whenever Roxto or Ao’nung got themselves in a mess. Or how you always tucked that one stubborn braid behind your ear whenever you were concentrating, brows furrowed in such an adorable manner. Or how you never seemed bothered by the whispers that sometimes followed him around the village.

In fact, you were one of the few people who treated him normally. Not like a troublemaker, not like a problem or his brother’s shadow.

No awkward glances.

No excuses to get away.

Just you.

And that alone was enough to hook him.

Soon he found himself lingering near the shore whenever you were there.

Helping fishermen carry baskets. Carrying conversations with your father to appear like a responsible and hard working young boy.

Even volunteering to repair nets, something he absolutely hated doing because his fingers were left sore but that he would do for the rest of his days if it meant seeing just a glimpse of you.

Ao’nung noticed almost immediately.

“You know”he drawled one afternoon as they were both sat against a rock near the shore, watching Lo’ak completely butcher a knot. “You have tied that wrong three times.”

Lo’ak scowled, gaze still locked to the net in his hold”shut up.”

Ao’nung smirked in response, holding back a laugh.

“You could just admit you came to see her.”

Lo’ak’s ears flushed, hands stopping in their movements as he looked up at his friend. “I didn’t.”

But his body soon betrayed him, ears perking at the sound of a familiar sweet sound. Eyes flicking toward where you were sitting a few meters away, carefully separating shells from the fishing lines as you laughed at something your father said.

Ao’nung followed the look, his grin widening. “Wow”he spoke, breaking Lo’ak out of his daze as he shook his head. “You are hopeless.”

Lo’ak hated how right he was, because by that point it was already too late.

Every time you smiled at him, soft and warm like the morning sun, his heart kicked against his ribs like it was trying to escape his chest.

But what truly gnawed at the back of his mind was the fear of rejection. The fear of seeing you at the side of another one. The fear of you never looking back at him.

He swallowed back every word he had been dying to let out every time he saw another Metkayina boy offer you a gift. Or when he saw you smile so tenderly at that boy who worked alongside your father.

He knew he stood no chance. He was just an outsider. He was different from you in many ways.

You probably didn’t want to spend the rest of your life tied to someone who wasn’t even from your clan or who wasn’t worth anything.

His insecurities grew heavier by the day, by the second.

But a part of him still kept reaching out because maybe you would look at him just once. Maybe your sweet smile and contagious laughter would be redirected at him.

And when that happened he was sure he could die happy.

He had accompanied you back to your Marui after you had spent the day together, or more like he was tagging along as Ao’nung and you hanged out.

But you didn’t seem to mind, on the contrary, you were very welcoming. Always wanting to include him. Always ready to teach him new techniques.

Never once did you show any sign of being bothered by his presence. Although he felt pathetic to admit it, a flicker of hope appeared.

So he took the chance to walk you home. You spent the journey chatting and he found out that you seemed very interested in the forest clan. In his clan.

He found himself smiling widely as he reminisced at the memory of his old home. You asked respectful questions and listened attentively as he spoke.

He had lost his train of thoughts stammering a few times since he could feel your gaze on him.

And once you reached your destination he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sadness.

The walk had been too short.

Just as he was preparing himself to say goodnight you suddenly stepped closer pressing your lips softly against his cheek. A quick, shy kiss.

Then you pulled away just as fast, waving at him with a small smile before disappearing inside.

He stood outside your Marui, frozen as he was still processing what had just occurred. His tail swaying uncontrollably and pathetically behind him.

His hand slowly lifted to the spot where your lips had touched his skin, eyes wide as the moment replayed in his head again… and again… and again. He could still feel your lips on his cheek.

A grin spread across his face so wide it almost hurt.

He had to bite his lip to stop himself from yelling across the entire reef. Body buzzing with excitement, he turned and practically ran back toward his own family’s Marui, heart pounding wildly in his chest.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow he would see you again.

And maybe…

Just maybe…

Next time the kiss would not land on his cheek.

Pairing: dark!Ao’nung x reader, dark!Neteyam x reader, dark!Lo’ak x reader

Warnings: slight dark content, fighting and pinning over, blood barely mentioned, some suggestive content, some sexual sense

Summary: your Ao’nung’s betrothed and he vowed to be the only one on your mind and would do anything to do that, even if it meant hurting others. When the sullys arrived, it seems as though they came to the same conclusion about having you.

Authors note: I lowkey didn’t want to make it too dark because I refrained from writing those, so I added in the dark content while also keeping it from being too much if that makes sense. There might be spelling error, please don’t mind those. English isn’t my first language and I have work in a little

Requested by: @ammarasully

𓂃 ⭒ What if you died instead of Neteyam

𓂃 ⭒ Honestly, I have NEVER done something like this so I’m so sorry if it’s corny :( (and sorry if the request is not what you asked..:(()

Neteyam finds you first and that’s the thing he’ll never get over, that it was him, that he was right there and he still couldn’t stop it. 

You’re on the ground and he’s saying your name and you’re looking up at him like you’re surprised, like this wasn’t supposed to happen to you specifically, and he gets his hands on you and starts yelling for your dad before his brain even catches up to what his eyes are seeing.

Lo’ak comes around the corner and stops. 

Neteyam has seen his brother scared before but not like this, not this specific kind of still, and he says “go get dad” and Lo’ak doesn’t move and he says it again, louder, and something in Lo’ak’s face cracks and then he’s gone.

You grab Neteyam’s arm. Your grip is strong and that feels important, that feels like something to hold onto. “It’s not that bad,” you say, which is such a you thing to say that he almost loses it right there.

“Okay,” he says, because what else is there.

“Seriously, I’ve had worse.”

“You haven’t.”

“The ilu thing—”

“That was a bruise,” he says, “that was a bruise and this is not a bruise, so can you please just—” he stops. Presses harder. Looks at the door. “Dad’s coming.”

Your dad comes through that door and he doesn’t stop moving, doesn’t pause, doesn’t do anything except drop straight to his knees and get his hands on you. 

He’s already ripping at his lioncloth, already pressing down, already talking, not to you but at the room, at Neteyam, at whoever is closest. “I need something to put pressure on this, I need — Neteyam, give me your shirt, now—” and Neteyam is pulling it off before he finishes the sentence.

“Dad—” you start.

“Don’t talk.” He’s focused. His hands are steady. He’s done this before, you can tell, he’s been here before in some other life with other people and he knows exactly what to do and he’s doing it. “You’re gonna be fine, just don’t talk.”

“It hurts.”

“I know. Keep looking at me.”

You look at him. He’s looking at his hands, at what he’s doing, jaw tight, like if he just keeps the pressure right, like if he just holds on hard enough, he can make the math work out differently. 

Lo’ak is in the doorway. He won’t come closer and nobody pushes him to. Kiri has her hand on his arm and she’s looking at you and her face is doing something Neteyam doesn’t want to look at directly. Tuk doesn’t fully understand yet and that’s somehow the worst part, Tuk keeps asking what’s wrong and nobody is answering her.

Your mom gets there and makes a sound that Neteyam feels in his chest and she’s down next to your dad immediately, touching your hair back from your face, saying your name the way she said it when you were little and scared, and you look at her and something in your face goes soft.

“Mom,” you say.

“I’m here,” she says. “I’m here, I’m here.”

“I don’t feel good.”

“I know, baby.”

Your dad still hasn’t stopped. He’s still pressing down, still trying, and then he looks up at your mom and she looks back at him and something passes between them, something Neteyam isn’t supposed to see, and your dad’s hands go still.

He doesn’t move them. He keeps them right there, pressed to you, like letting go isn’t something he’s willing to do. But he stops trying. And that’s how Neteyam knows. Not the blood, not the sounds, not any of it. Just his dad’s hands going still.

Your dad looks at you and takes your face in both his hands and he just looks at you, and Neteyam has to look away.

“Hey, baby,” your dad says, very quiet.

“Hi, dad.”

“I’m right here.”

“I know.”

Lo’ak is still in the doorway and you turn your head a little and find him and you look at him and he finally comes forward, finally closes the distance, and he sits down next to you and you move your hand toward him and he takes it immediately like he was just waiting for permission.

“Hey,” you say.

“Don’t,” he says.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything.”

“Good.”

You’re quiet for a second. The ship sounds far away. Everything sounds far away.

“You’re gonna be so annoying without me,” you say.

Lo’ak makes a sound that isn’t a laugh.

“Someone’s gotta keep you humble,” you say, and your voice is getting quieter, and your dad presses his forehead to yours and his shoulders are shaking and he is not making a sound, Jake Sully does not make a sound, he just shakes, and your mom’s hand tightens in your hair and Neteyam grabs your other hand because he needs to, because he doesn’t know what else to do with himself.

You don’t say anything after that.

You don’t have to.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Nobody says it out loud. That’s the first thing. Nobody in the Sully family stands up and says she’s gone, it just becomes true the way weather becomes true, the way you don’t need someone to tell you it’s raining because you’re already wet.

Jake is the one who carries you. That part is not a discussion. He picks you up off that floor and he doesn’t put you down for a long time and nobody tries to make him, not even Neytiri, who walks beside him with her hand on your hair the whole way like she can’t stop touching you, like she needs to keep confirming something she already knows.

Neteyam doesn’t remember the walk back. He’ll think about that later, how a whole stretch of time just went missing, how he was on the ship and then he was outside and he has no memory of the in between. 

He keeps going back to your grip on his arm. How strong it was. He keeps thinking if he’d been faster, if he’d turned around sooner, if he’d just—he stops that thought every time it starts and it starts constantly.

Lo’ak doesn’t cry right away and that scares Kiri more than anything else. He just gets very quiet. Lo’ak is never quiet. He sits down on the ground at some point and doesn’t get back up for a while and nobody makes him. 

Kiri sits next to him because she doesn’t know what to say and she’s learned enough by now to know that sometimes there’s nothing to say so you just put your body next to someone else’s body and you stay there.

Tuk understands by the time they’re outside. Kiri watches the moment it lands on her, watches her face change, and it’s the kind of thing you can’t unsee. 

Tuk is the youngest and she has always been protected from the worst of things and this is the first worst thing that has gotten all the way through, and Kiri pulls her in and Tuk cries the way kids cry, completely, no holding back, and somehow that makes it more real than anything else has.

Neytiri holds it together until she doesn’t. She’s talking to Jake, quietly, and then she’s not talking anymore, she just stops mid sentence and puts her face in her hands and Jake wraps around her from behind and they stay like that for a long time, his chin on top of her head, both of them completely silent. 

Jake’s eyes are open. He’s staring at something that isn’t there. He looks like a man doing math that keeps coming out wrong no matter how many times he runs it.

Later, when it’s quieter, Lo’ak finds your dad sitting alone. He sits down next to him and doesn’t say anything and Jake doesn’t say anything either and they sit there for a long time and at some point Jake puts his arm around him the way he used to when Lo’ak was small and Lo’ak doesn’t pull away, just leans into it, just lets it happen, because he is so tired and because his dad’s arm around him is the only thing right now that feels like it exists in the right place.

“She said it was fine,” Lo’ak says eventually.

“Yeah,” Jake says.

“She always said that.”

“Yeah,” Jake says again, quieter. “She did.”

Lo’ak looks at the ground. “She wasn’t fine.”

“No,” his dad says. “She wasn’t.”

A/N: hello, my lovelies! usually i write fanfiction on wattpad but it’s been a reallly long time since i last wrote anything for public consumption. recently a friend i met on YouTube recommended that i get back into it, so here i am and here’s the first thing i wrote (obviously inspired by said YouTube video where i met this awesome friend, so it’ll be linked below). Thank you so much for reading this post and if you’re reading this, thank you for the inspiration! Enjoy!

•••••••••••

“Come on, you slowpokes!” Kiri called out over her shoulder, laughing as she sped ahead on her ilu.

Tuk, who was hitching a ride on Kiri’s back, playfully stuck her tongue out at you and her brothers.

Cool water lapped against your legs as you smiled and gripped the reins of your ilu a little tighter, gently commanding her to go faster. Behind you, the Sully boys, Neteyam and Lo’ak, laughed and called out for you to wait for them.

In response, you turned and smirked. “You heard her! Move your asses!”

With that, you raced off, cutting through the water like a knife. Air whipped past your skin as it did many times before when you had ridden your ikran, and for a moment, you felt as if you were back home in the forests of Pandora again.

A flash of piercing blue and vibrant green flashed through your mind- a brief, but beautiful reflection of what once was. An ache settled in your chest as you thought of her, Telisi, your fierce and adventurous ikran. Though she made the crossing to the Metkayina with you, you were no longer allowed to fly through the dense and colorful rainforests of your home. Your real home.

Homesickness tugged dully at your heart as if the forests were a gigantic magnet and you were nothing more than a piece of metal, longing to be one part of one whole again.

Your smile slipped, pulling into a subtle frown.

Without noticing, your speed gradually decreased until you had come to a stop in the ocean. Warm sunlight washed over your dark blue skin, making the droplets of water shine like tiny drops of the sun.

Your frown deepened, pulling at your usually bright and elegant features as you looked around you, suddenly reminded of your current surroundings. There wasn’t a tree in sight, neither tall nor low to the ground. Here, vines didn’t weave like an intricate work of art made to be navigated. Here the sea was all that stretched out before you for miles, seeming to touch the sky. The ache deepened.

The five of you had swam further from the Metkayina clan than you ever had since you first came there, obviously against Jake and Neytiri’s wishes, but what else was new? It had been Neteyam’s idea to take everyone’s mind off of the stress of moving to a new home, more specifically for the reason behind the move.

Dimly, you remembered the soldiers that were ruthlessly hunting you and your friends down, intent on not only taking your lives but stealing your land, your culture, and all that you loved. A shiver ran down your spine.

Again, as if they had a mind of their own, your thoughts drifted back to the depths of the Omatikaya’s rainforests- back to your home.

A tear slipped down your cheek just as the water around you stirred, announcing the arrival of the others. Reluctantly, you looked up and met their concerned eyes.

Kiri was the first to speak, gliding closer to you so she could touch your hand. “My heart hurts for you, Y/N. This was not your fault.”

Sniffling, you thoughtlessly wiped away your tears with your free hand, frown deepening when your wet hand only made matters worse. “I know. We all had our part to play that day. But it’s not that, sister. I just… I miss home, you know? And I know it’s only been a few months but-“

“But it feels like it’s been forever.” Neteyam nodded understandingly, reaching out to rest his hand on your shoulder. “But it hasn’t been ‘forever’ alone.”

You nodded your acknowledgment at Neteyam. You appreciated the gesture from him and Kiri. They were always the most rational and supportive of the Sully siblings, and overtime you had become gravitated to that and become closer than you could’ve ever imagined. Just the feeling of their hands on you not only showed their support, it grounded you.

Tuk reached as far as she could towards you from where she sat on Kiri’s ilu, struggling to cross the distance with her small arms. Kiri laughed and pushed her little sister closer to you, allowing her fingers to reach your leg.

“Sully’s stick together, Y/N. Remember?” Tuk said. Her smile, though genuine was oddly melancholic.

You couldn’t help but wonder when you looked at her whether she would one day grow to be more Metkayina than Omatikaya, given that she was so young when she was forced from her natural home.

“Well, Sully’s or not, it has been forever.” Lo’ak complained, rolling his eyes. “At least back home we had friends. I swear, if I have to see that skxawng’s smug face-“

“Or take more lectures from his father?” Neteyam interrupted with a teasing grin.

Lo’ak sucked his teeth and looked away from his older brother, staring at the water rippling against his ilu.

“You wouldn’t get it.” He huffed. “Tonowari- he’s a good Olo’eyktan and a good father- but the way he looks at us… the way Ronal treats us… it’s like they don’t see us.”

“That’s isn’t true, Lo’ak.” You argued.

Ronal could often be cold to your family at times and of course that made you naturally hostile towards her and her family, but she was also Tsahìk. You understood that she was just doing her job to protect her clan from perceived dangers, as all good Tsahìks are trained to do. Despite her harsh criticism, you respected her wisdom and her place in the clan as spiritual leader.

“Yes it is!” Lo’ak insisted. “We’re the sons and daughters of Toruk Makto- not some desperate refugees! They don’t even give us the honor of hunting with them.”

Neteyam sighed a long and drawn out sigh, clearly meant to be comical. He scratched his head, rattling the beads in his braids. “My brother the advocate! Since when did the opinions of the elders matter to you, huh?”

Lo’ak waved off Neteyam’s words with a sharp and feral hiss. “They don’t! You don’t get it, just forget it.”

Kiri and Neteyam locked eyes and smirked mischievously. Then they looked at you and you quickly caught on.

“Oh, I think we get it, Lo’ak.” You teased, slowly swimming closer to him.

Kiri grinned as Lo’ak eyed the two of you suspiciously.

“I think this has something to do with that skxwang’s sister, doesn’t it?” Kiri laughed and waggled her eyebrows.

“Tsireyaaa~” Neteyam sang teasingly, grinning widely.

Lo’ak immediately rolled his eyes again and slapped your hand away from him as you reached out to tickle him. The other Sully siblings laughed boisterously at Lo’ak’s embarrassed expression.

“Shut up!” Lo’ak snapped.

“Aw, don’t pout, water-boy. It’s nice that you have a crush, it keeps you busy! And focused too. Don’t think that I haven’t noticed how good of a diver you’ve become.” You praised, raising your eyebrows.

Lo’ak paused and looked up at you again, this time unfolding his arms and not pouting. “Really? You think I’m that good?”

“Sure! For a forest Na’vi, you’re not half bad!” You shrug off your compliment, not wanting his head to get too big.

Lo’ak nodded in appreciation at you as you smiled and did the same.

“Oel ngati kameie, brother.” You said, meaning it with every fiber of your body.

Smiling and seemingly less hurt than before, Lo’ak returned the gesture with three fingers, swimming closer so he could reach you too. All four of the Sully siblings’ hands were on you now, comforting you, grounding you, but most importantly reminding you that like Neteyam said, you were not alone.

As the eclipse began and the sun sank in the sky, the bioluminescence of the ocean flowed beneath your ilu, igniting the world around you. You couldn’t help but smile at its trademark beauty, ache in your heart giving way to something else- love and appreciation for your truest home. No matter where you were, Pandora would still always be your home. And you thanked Eywa for that.

“Thank you, guys. I really needed that. And you know something else?” You asked with a bright smile, gripping you ilu’s reins.

“I’m winning the race! HA HA!” You shouted, urging your ilu with a series of clicking sounds.

Without missing a beat, your ilu (oh how you loved her), dove deep into the water and shot off like a bullet. You could still vaguely hear the muffled voices of the Sully siblings, your chosen family, complaining and shouting behind you as they scrambled to chase after you.

The love in your heart deepened.

Being in a strange new land was never easy for anyone, but you knew that as long as you had the Sully’s at your side, you would never be far from home.

🌊💙🌊💙🌊💙

𓂃 ⭒ lo’aks love story with older reader

You’d gone out past the village because you needed air and the village had too many people in it tonight, all of them talking about the Sully family and Neteyam and what a tragedy and did you hear what Jake said to his son, and you couldn’t sit in the middle of it anymore. So you went out. 

And then you heard something that didn’t sound right and you followed it, the way you’d been taught to follow anything that doesn’t sit right in your chest.

Lo’ak is on his knees in the dark with a sky people weapon in his hands and he is shaking.

You have seen Lo’ak Sully do a lot of things since his family came to the reef. You’ve seen him pick fights he couldn’t win, you’ve seen him make his family laugh, you’ve seen him grieve in the loud desperate way he does everything. 

But you’ve never seen him like this…

You cross the distance between you in seconds that feel like years and your hand finds his wrist before your brain catches up to your body, and you wrench — hard — fingers locking around bone, and the thing in his hands goes skidding across the rock and disappears somewhere into the dark below you and Lo’ak spins, and the sound he makes is something you’ve never heard from him before, something animal and cracked open, and his eyes are wild when they find your face.

“What —” he starts.

“What are you doing.”

It comes out quieter than you mean it to. Not soft — your voice is shaking too hard to be soft — but quiet, because you can’t seem to make it any louder. Your hand is still around his wrist. You can feel his pulse hammering against your fingers.

Lo’ak’s jaw works. He looks at you and then away from you, chest heaving, and his eyes are wet and red-rimmed and have clearly been that way for a long time before you arrived.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says.

“Lo’ak.”

“It doesn’t matter, just —” He tries to pull his arm back. You don’t let go. “Go back to the village. You didn’t see anything.”

“I saw everything.”

He looks at you again. Whatever he finds in your face makes him flinch.

“Go home,” he says, and his voice breaks in the middle of it, and he turns his face away fast, jaw clenched so hard you can see the muscle jumping in his cheek.

You don’t go home.

You step closer instead, closing the gap until you’re right in front of him, until he’d have to physically move you to get away from you, and you keep your hand wrapped around his wrist and you look at him until he has to look back at you. 

His eyes are glassy. The tears haven’t fallen yet. He looks like someone who has been holding himself together by his fingernails for so long that he’s forgotten there was ever a version of himself that didn’t have to.

“Tell me,” you say.

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Lo’ak.”

“There’s nothing to tell.” His voice cracks again on the last word and he squeezes his eyes shut and tips his head back and breathes through his nose, and you watch his throat move as he swallows. “He’s dead. Neteyam is dead and it’s — it happened because of me, because I can’t do anything without —” He stops. Presses his lips together. Opens his eyes and stares at the sky. “I’m always the problem. I’ve always been the thing that goes wrong. And now he’s —”

“Stop.”

“— and my dad doesn’t even — he can’t even look at me —”

“Stop.”

“Why?” He looks back down at you, and this time the tears do fall, two of them, cutting fast down his face. 

“Because it’s not true? Because you want to tell me it’s not my fault?” His voice has gone ugly and mean, the way it gets when he’s directing the ugliness at himself. 

“You can save it. I know what I am. I’ve always known what I am. Neteyam was —” He makes a sound. Not a word. Something worse than a word. “He was the one who was supposed to be here. He was the one who mattered. I’m just —”

You grab his face with your free hand.

Both palms now — one still locked around his wrist, one cupped against his jaw — and you turn his face toward you and he goes still, like a held animal, like something startled into silence.

“You matter,” you say. You say it right into his face. You say it close enough that he can’t look anywhere but at you. “You matter to me. I-“

Behind you, footsteps.

Two sets.

“Lo’ak.”

Tsireya’s voice. High and tight with relief, the way a voice gets when it’s been searching for a while. And Kiri behind her, breathing hard, both of them coming up over the ridge with their hands reaching for him —

Lo’ak is already turning.

You feel it — the shift of his weight, the way he pulls out of your hands like he forgot they were there — and then he’s on his feet and Tsireya has her arms around him and he’s holding on to her and Kiri has her hand on his back and the three of them are something closed and complete, and you are standing two feet away with your palms still warm from his face.

You watch him.

He doesn’t look back.

You pick up the piece of shell from the rock beside you — the one he’d been turning over in his fingers — and you close your fist around it, and you walk back to the village alone.

𓂃 ⭒

He comes to you three days later.

You’re in the middle of repairing a net — sitting cross legged outside your family’s pod with the thing spread across your lap, fingers working the same knot you’ve been working for twenty minutes because you keep losing count — and his shadow falls over you before you hear him.

You look up.

Lo’ak is standing there with his hands on his hips and an expression on his face like he’s rehearsed something and already forgotten it.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey.”

He sits down beside you without being invited. You don’t say anything about it. He watches your hands for a moment.

“How do you do that without looking?”

“Practice.” You pull the knot tight. “What do you want, Lo’ak?”

He’s quiet. His knee bounces once and then stops. “I don’t know,” he says honestly. “I just — I didn’t know where else to go.”

You look at him sideways. He looks tired still, but present, both eyes forward, actually here. You think about the ridge. About the way he’d turned toward Tsireya without a second glance.

You think about how you’re going to let that go, because he was grieving and he didn’t owe you anything and you are not going to make this about yourself.

“Okay,” you say. And you go back to the net.

He stays.

That’s how it goes.

He just  keeps showing up. 

You’ll be mending something, or weaving, or working a strip of hide into a wrap, and he’ll drop down beside you like gravity decided he belonged there, and he’ll start talking. About his father. About the way the other reef boys look at him. About how he tried to go spearfishing alone yesterday and fell off the rock twice.

“Did you land the fish at least?”

“On the second fall. I landed on the fish. Does that count?”

“Absolutely not.”

He grins. It’s the first real one you’ve seen from him.

You keep your hands moving. Wrapping cord around a handle, weaving strands of sea-grass into something flat and useful, sorting shells by size for the younger kids’ craft work. Your hands always have something to do. It keeps you from looking at him too long.

“You’re not even listening,” he says one afternoon.

“I’m listening.”

“I just said I think my ilu is avoiding me.”

“Your ilu is an animal. It doesn’t have opinions about you.”

“She absolutely does. She looked at me with judgment.”

“Lo’ak.” You pull a knot tight without looking up. “Are you gonna help me or are you just gonna talk about how you fell for the twentieth time this week?”

“It was nine times —”

“Help or leave.”

He grabs the end of the cord you’re holding and pulls it taut for you without being asked, and the knot sets cleanly, and you hate that he’s useful. You were hoping he wouldn’t be useful.

It’s a few weeks before you notice more.

You’re sitting close, you always end up sitting close by the end of these sessions, because he migrates toward you inch by inch without seeming to notice and you’ve got a strip of bark fiber drying across your knees and you’re separating it into threads, and Lo’ak is lying on his back beside you with one arm over his face just talking, talking, talking.

And then he stops talking.

You glance at him.

He’s propped up on one elbow now, chin in his hand, watching you work. There’s a look on his face you haven’t seen before — softer than usual, less guarded, like he forgot to put the wall back up.

“What?” you say.

“Nothing.” He pauses. “You smell good.”

You stop separating threads.

“What.”

“You always smell like — I don’t know. The air is different on you. Like it’s warmer.” He says it like he’s commenting on the weather, like it’s the most ordinary thing. “I noticed it the first time you sat near me. I thought it was something you put in your hair.”

You stare at him.

He looks back at you with complete sincerity.

“Lo’ak —”

“Do you use something? Like an oil?”

“Go home,” you say, and you turn back to your fiber, and you spend the rest of the afternoon very deliberately not thinking about the fact that your face is warm.

He comes back the next day. He brings you two fish he caught himself and drops them in your lap like an offering and then sits down and starts telling you about his ilu again, and you take the fish and say nothing and keep your eyes on your work.

He smells like the sea and something darker, warmer underneath.

You are not going to think about that.

He’s sixteen when you finally say something.

Sixteen, and sitting close enough that your arms press together when you both lean over the same piece of work, and he’s laughing at something you said and his tail is moving slow and contented behind him like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, and you look at him and think: this has to stop.

“Lo’ak.”

“Hm.”

“You should be spending time with people your age.”

He looks at you. “I spend time with Kiri.”

“I mean —” You stop. Try again. “I’m almost two years older than you.”

He blinks. “Okay.”

“That’s — that matters.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m closer to Neteyam’s age than yours, and —” You watch his face at the name and keep going, because stopping every time someone says his brother’s name isn’t going to help either of you. “— and my parents are already talking about potential mates. Aonung’s name has come up more than once.”

Lo’ak goes very still.

“Aonung,” he repeats.

“He’s a good match. He’s older, he’s proven, he’s —”

“He’s Aonung.”

“Lo’ak —”

“You don’t even like him.”

“That’s not — it’s not always about —” You press your lips together. “The point is that you’re sixteen and I’ll be eighteen in a few months, and it’s a little —”

“I’ll be seventeen in a few months.”

“I’ll be eighteen in a few months.”

“So it’s —” He does the math on his face. “A year. That’s barely anything.”

“A year is not barely anything at our ages and you know it.”

He sits up straighter. Crosses his arms, which on him looks less defensive and more like he’s bracing himself for an argument he intends to win.

“I’m not a kid,” he says.

You look at him.

He’s got the faint beginnings of markings on his jaw — the ones that come in slow over years — and his shoulders are wider than they were when he first started sitting beside you, and he looks back at you with complete seriousness.

You almost laugh. You save it, barely. “Lo’ak —”

“I’m not.”

“You’re sixteen.”

“I’m a man.”

The laugh escapes. You can’t stop it — it comes out through your nose and you cover your mouth and Lo’ak’s expression goes through three different things at once: embarrassed, indignant, and then, underneath both of those, something quieter. Something that watches you laugh and seems, despite itself, to like it.

“It’s not funny,” he says.

“It’s a little funny.”

“It’s not.” But the corner of his mouth is doing something traitorous. “I mean it. I’m not asking you to — I’m just saying… bro”

“Okay,” you say quietly.

“Okay?”

“I’m not agreeing to anything. I’m saying okay. As in — I heard you.”

He holds your gaze for a moment longer. Then he nods, once, and he looks back down at his hands, and neither of you says anything else for a while.

Time passes.

Lo’ak earns his first reef mark at sixteen and a half — a small thing, high on his left arm, for bringing up a catch that three older hunters had given up on — and he comes to show you with barely restrained energy, presenting his arm like he’s presenting evidence in a case.

“Look.”

You look. “I see it.”

“It’s the first one.”

“I know, Lo’ak.”

“There’ll be more.”

You raise an eyebrow. He sets his jaw.

There are more.

Seventeen.

His voice settles into itself. The markings on his jaw come in properly, dark blue-green against his skin, the ones that mean he’s been accepted by the reef as fully as anyone born to it. 

He’s taller — not dramatically, but enough that you notice — and he moves differently, more settled in his body, less like a collection of limbs trying to agree on a direction.

He still comes to sit beside you.

He still talks. About training, about his father — the relationship between them slow and difficult and sometimes tender in a way that clearly surprises Lo’ak every time — about Kiri, about his ilu, about the reef boys who are finally, finally starting to treat him like a peer and not an outsider’s kid.

“Ao’nung sparred with me yesterday,” he says one evening. “Actually sparred. Not — you know. Not like before.”

“Who won?”

“…He did. But it was close.”

“How close?”

“Close enough that he said it was close.” He pauses. “He said it. Himself..”

You glance at him. “That’s significant.”

“Right?”

You smile at your work. He sees it — you know he sees it because he gets this look, this particular look, like catching that smile is something he was actively trying to do.

You still don’t say anything about it.

Eighteen

He’s got four marks now — two on his upper arm, one across his collarbone, one at the base of his throat that he earned pulling a child out of a deep current that nearly took her under. 

He’s the one who tells you about it like it was nothing, like it was just what anyone would’ve done, and you have to very deliberately not reach out and touch the mark while he’s talking.

He smells like something warm and familiar that by now you know is just him, and you’ve stopped trying to tell yourself you haven’t memorized it.

He’s sitting closer than usual. Your knees are touching. He’s been watching your hands work for twenty minutes without saying anything, and when you glance up he doesn’t look away.

“What?” you say.

“Nothing.” He pauses. “I’ve been thinking about something.”

“Dangerous.”

“Shut up.” But he says it warmly, and his knee presses a little more deliberately against yours. “You said give you time.”

Your hands slow.

“I’ve been giving you time,” he says. “I’ve been — I know I have. And I’m not trying to push, I just —” He stops. Exhales through his nose. “I just want to know if it’s working.”

You look at him.

He looks back. He’s nervous — you can see it in the set of his shoulders, in the way his tail has gone very still — and underneath the nerves he’s earnest in a way that makes your chest ache, this boy who once stood at the edge of a ridge with nothing left and who has spent two years building himself back into someone who can sit beside you in the evening light and ask for something.

“Lo’ak —”

“I’m nineteen in four months.”

“I know.”

“And you’re —”

“I know how old I am.”

“I’m just saying the —”

“Lo’ak.”

He stops.

You put your work down.

He watches you put it down and something shifts in his face, a kind of held breath, and then without quite seeming to decide to he slides down from the log he was sitting on, drops to his knees in the sand in front of you, and leans forward and tucks his face into your lap.

Just — buries it there. Both hands coming up to hold your knees. Forehead pressed against your thighs. The back of his neck is right there, the marks on his throat, the ones he earned, and you feel the breath go out of him like he’s been holding it for two years.

“I’m not asking you to decide anything right now,” he says, muffled against your leg. “I just needed you to know. That it’s you. That it’s been you for a long time and I’m not — I’m not going anywhere, I’m not gonna —” He stops. His fingers tighten slightly on your knees. “I just needed you to know.”

You look down at him.

At the back of his head, the slope of his shoulders, the marks you watched him earn one by one while you sat beside him and pretended not to be counting.

You bring your hand down slowly and rest it in his hair.

He goes very, very still.

“Lo’ak,” you say quietly.

“Yeah.”

“Look at me.”

He lifts his head. His eyes are dry this time — he’s not crying, he’s just looking at you, open and steady in a way you know it cost him something to learn — and you keep your hand where it is, against his hair, and you look back at him.

“You’re still a lot,” you say.

“Yeah.”

“And you talk constantly.”

“I know.”

“And every time you fall off a rock I somehow hear about it in detail.”

“…In my defense, the rocks are —”

“Lo’ak.”

“Yeah,” he says. And he waits.

“You’ve been a man for a while now,” you say. “I was just being slow.”

Something happens to his face. Something that starts in his eyes and moves outward, and it’s the best thing you’ve ever seen, and he reaches up and covers your hand with his — the one still in his hair — and presses it there like he’s afraid you’ll take it back.

You don’t.

You mate in the spring, when the bioluminescent blooms are so thick the whole shallows glows, and Lo’ak holds both your hands and bumps his forehead against yours and says I told you, and you say you really did, and he laughs — loud, too loud, the same way he does everything — and pulls you in.

His tail still finds yours in the water like it always has, like it was doing it long before either of you were admitting to anything.

You keep the shell from the ridge. It’s small and worn and a little chipped at the edge and you’ve had it for two years in the bottom of your bag. You never told him about it.

That night, when he’s asleep with his arm thrown over you and his face pressed into your shoulder, you take it out and look at it in the dark.

You matter, you’d said. 

You matter to me.

You’d never gotten to finish the sentence.

You didn’t have to.

So I really hope you liked this:( please let me know if you didn’t and I will re write it bc I wrote this a few times and I didn’t know what to do with it:(

Sorry it took a while to post, I have been super busy lately

lo’ak x fem!na’vi!reader

synopsis: you love every part of lo’ak, from his human features, right down to every bioluminescent freckle on his perfect body

tags: they’re so in love it makes me want to cry, fluff

wc: 513

a/n: pandora in bloom by @junebugonjupiter , prompt 15 - tracing tahni/ freckles

a/n pt.2: u cannot convince me this baby boy does not deserve a puppy love like he’s soooo baby girl like ughhhhhhh just let me hug you forever. chille i’ll check and edit it in the morning xoxo gossip girl

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The stars of the universe lit up your planet, the sun long gone to rest. Around you nature glowed, from the smallest insect to the largest tree.

And right in the middle of it, Eywa’s most beautiful creation, Lo'ak te Suli Tsyeyk'itan.

Dad!Jake Sully (x EldestDaugther!reader) headcanons

a/n: im a sucker for these especially bc im the eldest sibling

requests are opened !

GENRE: flufff + angst

Warnings: fem!reader

‧₊˚ ⏾. ⋅ "'Cause all I ever wanted was to be enough for you"

navigation ‧₊˚ ⏾. ⋅

——•⏾•——

Dad!Jake who relies on you a lot more than he realizes. He trusts your judgment when he's too busy to be yelling orders left and right. He also trusts you the most with tuk, kiri and lo’ak. (he knows Neteyam can handle himself)

Dad!Jake who’s overprotective of you because you were his first daughter, and he believes no one would ever be good enough for someone as capable as you.

Dad!Jake who will never hesitate to run to you if you ever call for help while injured, because he knows that you wouldn’t stop at a small injury.

Dad!Jake who was tough on you ever since he saw how you took after neytiri with the bow. Most of your childhood was being taught proper form and learning how to aim properly.

Dad!Jake who trained you harder than neteyam and lo’ak because he saw that fire in you. He trusted you to know what to do in hard situations, even though it was a lot of pressure for you,  you never complained.

Dad!Jake, who didn’t know how to deal with your first few meltdowns, after a mistake and him correcting you harshly, you broke down. He didn’t know how to handle it because he was used to a fierce and strong daughter you always showed. So he let you run away.

Dad!Jake who listened to you pour out your emotions one night after another argument occurred. He listened to how you felt like you couldn’t mess up, how you always felt like he treated kiri and tuk differently just because you were older. He really listened, and his heart broke.

Dad!Jake who started to learn how to separate "leader" from “father” for you because he hated how he made you feel like less. 

Dad!Jake who started expressing how proud he was of you. He’d rest his hand on your head—or shoulders and tell you that you've done well that day or some sort of praise.

Dad!Jake who would start sitting next to you under the stars, in silence or not, he would stay just to let you know that he would always be there.

Dad!Jake who started to see his little girl who just wanted her fathers love.