#norm spellman

That's what you told yourself, anyway. Repeated it like as you walked back to your closet, as you lay in bed staring at the ceiling, as days bled into weeks. The dream is dead. Move on.

It was something you'd grown to be fine with, in theory. Something you could walk through and exist despite, the way you existed despite a hundred other losses. 

Orphans existed, after all. Sweet girls and boys who needed homes. The dream didn't need to die, just expand. Shift sideways into something different but still good.

Except finding an orphan was a lot harder than you'd initially thought.

Most from the initial wave were like you and Spider—fathers and mothers who'd fought and died during the Battle of the Hallelujah Mountains. By the time you were grown enough to handle a kid or two, most orphans had already been absorbed. Family-friends. Extended clan. A real community, the kind that didn't leave cracks for someone like you to slip through.

Spider would scold you for the phrasing, remind you the Na'vi way was better, that their systems of kinship were what you should aspire to. Easy for him to say. He'd been the outcome of that specifically, gotten folded in despite what he thought.

The Na'vi thought so too.

Any Na'vi orphans were immediately relocated to another clan. Not that you blamed them. What could you offer a child who'd grow tall enough to look down at you by age eight? How could you strip away their heritage, their language, their birthright?

So maybe the dream expanded more and more, stretching farther and farther until you were left with crumbs. 

An insect. Macy.

That was the best you could get.

Six-legged. Beautiful in the way only a mother could see—which was to say, objectively ugly. She had the temperament of a career criminal and the loyalty of a feral cat.

She was your baby.

You'd fashioned her a little habitat from spare parts and mesh netting. Fed her by hand. Whispered to her at night when the lab got too quiet, and made her toys from whatever you could find.

Yeah, okay… so the dream fell apart.

But Neteyam was always sweet about it, at least. He'd crouched beside the terrarium, those golden eyes patient and warm, and asked what she ate. He just smiled that gentle, knowing smile and let you have it.

So, so sweet.

You heard a gentle knocking against the door.

The tweezers trembled in your grip as you lowered the live-feed into the tank. Your tongue pushed past your lips in concentration. Macy surfaced with that familiar urgency, her whiskers twitching as she nibbled. Then—and this was new—she patted the metal with one webbed paw.

“Oh, you’re learning manners! Good Macy!”

Another knock.

Harder this time.

"Y/n."

Your pulse stumbled. You pressed your palms together, fingers lacing tight. Please. You crossed your fingers against your thigh where he couldn't see. Please, please, please.

You crossed the room in three uneven strides and wrenched the door open.

Blue.

That was your first thought—just blue, filling your vision. Neteyam stood hunched in the doorway, his height forced into something smaller by the frame. His braids fell forward, obscuring half his face, and you caught the familiar beads and bone wrapped around each one.

Behind his back, one hand cradled something small. You caught the edge of it: pale petals, the faint glow that meant munx, the flower you'd asked for. The one that might—might—tip the odds in your favor.

He'd found it. He'd actually—

But then your gaze lifted.

His face.

His ears lay flat. His mouth worked soundlessly for a breath before he managed, "I…" A shake of his head, slow and defeated. "I'm sorry, Y/n." He brought his hand forward, presenting the box you'd given him days ago—the one meant to carry the sample.

You took it. The weight felt wrong. Too light, or maybe too heavy; you couldn't tell anymore. Defeat was already seeping in, familiar as old bruises. "What happened to it?" Your voice came out steady, you’d learned not to show it in your face.

Neteyam's jaw worked. He shook his head again, ears twitching in that particular way that meant frustration directed inward. "I don't know, Y/n." His gaze dropped to the box, then away. "During the delivery it…"

He trailed off.

You didn't wait. Your thumbs found the lip of the container, prying it open with a soft click that sounded too loud in the space between you. You looked down.

That cheeky little shit.

Your breath caught. You stared, then looked up sharply, eyes wide and wild.

Not one sample.

Several.

You jumped onto him.

It was girlish, sweet. Your arms wrapping around him until your face pressed full against his stomach. Then, with the softest sound he laughed. "O-Oh!" His hands fumbled, one settling atop your head in a clumsy pat. "Is this enough?"

"More than enough!"

You tilted your head back, eyes wide and shining, and pretty in the way that made his heart stutter and trip over itself. His smile too—what a shy thing it had been—melted into something softer and harder. An ache, he’d describe it as.

His thumb grazed your skull. He just looked at you, drinking in every fleck of color in your eyes.

Say something. Tell her.

"I wanted to—"

"How did you find so many anyway? I thought these were rare!"

You let go. His hand hovered where you'd been, still outstretched. He didn't blink for a long time, eyes gone wide, mouth fallen into an unmistakable pout. "Oh… uh…" His fingers curled inward, dropping to fidget at his sides as he shifted closer.

"I heard Norm mention these only grow in the Hallelujah Mountains, where the—" The words tumbled out as you turned away, already carrying the case to your workbench. You extracted each blossom with the carefulness suited towards something less botanical and something more divine. All the same to you—gods and plants. You always managed to pray for fertility with either, anyway. 

You didn't see the way Neteyam's shoulders fell. Didn't quite catch the soft sigh that escaped him either.

"Well," he said at last. He smiled when you shot him a playful glare. "they are hard to find—for humans. But a Na'vi knows." He tapped his temple, took a pull from his oxygen mask, and settled into a crouch beside you.

He wouldn't tell you it had taken three days nor would he mention the way his calves had burned climbing ridge after ridge, or how the wind had nearly swept him off a floating peak twice. Wouldn't say that rare was an understatement.

"You sound smug," you murmured, not looking up. Your fingers worked the seal on the container, careful.

"I am smug. I did something impossible for you." He controlled the twitch of his ear. He hoped to hear you laugh, or see a smile. This push and pull. Ache. It ached.

"Impossible?" You scoffed, but there was warmth in it. "You just said a Na'vi knows."

"A skilled Na'vi."

"So humble."

"It is a burden I carry." He pressed a hand to his chest, solemn. Then ruined it by grinning when you finally looked at him.

Your laugh was quiet. But it was there—and Eywa, he wanted to bottle that sound. Keep it somewhere safe where nothing could touch it, maybe put—

You stopped.

“What…?” He caught himself before his tail could wag, dimming the eager glow of his freckles before they could betray him more.

You looked away, fingers brushing the edge of the sealed case. "Thank you, Neteyam." Your voice was quieter now, and you set the container somewhere dry and safe. "For doing this, I mean. I just hope that this time…"

The sentence died.

He already knew.

His ears flattened against his skull. He watched you—the line of your shoulders, the way you wouldn't meet his eyes. "It will," he murmured. "The Great Mother provides."

And there it was.

That wall between you. Eywa. Always Eywa.

You believed in her the way his people did—the way he was supposed to. With your whole chest, your whole heart. You prayed, and you waited, and you hoped that this time the flower would heal whatever was broken. That this time the sperm would stick to your stupid eggs. That this time—

This time.

"Yeah," you said

You knew better than to question Eywa in front of a na’vi. Barren, but not dumb.

.

.

.

The seeds didn't fix anything.

They wouldn't. You'd known that, really—known it deep down in that intuitive thought that gnawed until reality and truth came. But hope was a stupid, stubborn thing. It rooted itself close to your heart anyway. Until that too withered and died.

Apathy came for you after that. It crept along the edges of who you were, taking pieces you didn't notice were missing until you reached for them and found nothing.

It found your words first, turned them flat and distant in your mouth. Then your vision, dulling the bioluminescence you'd once found so beautiful. Astigmatism, you called it. The blurring of the lights till they became muddy. y. Even your tears dried up eventually, and those had been the last honest thing you had left.

That, and of course, your empty womb.

You swore you wouldn’t think about it, but your palm always pressed against your belly. There sometimes, pressing for the possibility that you were Mary carrying Jesus. 

I’d be your Mary, Eywa. You’d think. But she had already chosen her Mary. She’d chosen Dr. Grace Augustine—returned her through Kiri, blessed her with a daughter who was beautiful and perfect.

And in the worst moments, you wondered if this was punishment. If you’d been cursed for simply being human and wrong in a world that demanded balance. Was this the great mother, picking and choosing who could be part of it? 

Had Eywa looked at you and decided: No.

Not you. You imagined Her saying. Not the ugly little thing you are, with your five fingers and your extra hair and your demon blood. Several is enough. You are one too many.

How these thoughts spiraled.

"Eywa will see it through," Spider said once, his hand on your shoulder, his voice doing that thing where it tried to sound certain. "You'll see."

But his eyes wore the same dressing of apology. Him, Neteyam, Kiri too when she thought you weren’t looking. It sat in their eyes so clearly, you wondered if they did it on purpose, at times. 

Or maybe they practice it? Standing in front of mirrors, rehearsing the right amount of softness.

You'd stopped responding

Pity. Apathy. Disillusionment. You half-expected to find those things growing inside you instead of a baby. At least then you'd be full of something.

Neteyam was sweet—of course he was. Infertility was rare among his kind, but he researched it anyway. Brought you herbs wrapped in careful bundles, explained each one to you. Talked to his grandmother until she mixed pastes that might just help a human as it did a na’vi.

"This one," he'd say, holding up a root that looked like gnarled fingers, "Grandmother Tsahìk says it strengthens the womb. Encourages life."

You’d taken one only, you didn’t have the heart to take the rest.

He offered what he could after, companionship mostly. A place to cry, to rant, to talk through desperate solutions that never went anywhere. He listened. Cried with you sometimes, his face pressed into your hair. Held you after in a bed too small for his frame, his knees bent awkward, his tail curled against the wall.

You started to drink, badly, if you were being honest.

You didn't have a problem—or at least that's what you told yourself when Neteyam's brows pinched together, or when Norms mouth thinned into a flat line. 

But the alcohol filled you in ways nothing else could, and you cared less and less about your stupid health. What did it matter anyway? You felt useless as a woman. Work became your only other anchor. Work or drinking. Those were your options now.

Five bottles in the morning, the small ones with the screw caps that fit in your jacket pocket. Ten by afternoon, nursing them between sample analysis and data entry. Twenty by evening, when the lab emptied out and you had the place to yourself.

You were drunk more often than you were sober, and the distinction between the two had begun to blur.

Some science guy—Stevens? Stevenson?—did the math once. Pulled up your consumption logs from the inventory and laughed. Actually laughed in your face.

"Jesus Christ," he wheezed, wiping his eyes. "You need help. Like, clinical intervention level help."

But again, it was dressed with laughter and so you found no reason to take him seriously.

Neteyam did, though.

"Y/N."

His voice came from somewhere far away. 

You groaned, face pressed against something cold and hard. The floor, most likely. You couldn’t remember landing on something soft. Really, you didn’t remember anything from last night at all.

"Y/N." Neteyam's palm connected softly with your cheek, his body too close, his worry too obvious. You groaned and pushed his face away.

You forced your eyes open, and you sat up.

You felt bottles clink around you, some empty, some still half-full. One had tipped over near your hip, leaking amber liquid against the floor and soaking yesterdays jeans.

Neteyam crouched beside you, his face creased.

"Jesus," you muttered. Your skull protested immediately, a sharp spike of pain that made you wince. "What time is it?"

Neteyam's frown deepened, lips pressed thin. He glanced toward the small window. "Second eclipse," he whispered, then shuffled back to give you space as you rose.

You rubbed at your face with both hands, trying to scrub away the fog. Your mouth tasted sour. Your skin felt sticky.

Headaches. You always had headaches now.

You knew how to fix that.

Your hand was already reaching—fingers closing around the neck of a half-empty bottle before Neteyam could say a word.

Neteyam's hand caught your wrist mid-reach.

"Stop that."

The smack came quick and you jerked back with a hiss, cradling your hand like he'd actually hurt you. He hadn't. But the principle—

Your eyes narrowed as you tracked the bottle he'd kicked just out of range, watching it roll pathetically across the floor before settling near the wall.

"The hell, Neteyam… come on." You reached again, fingers stretching. This time his foot swept the bottle away entirely, skittering it across the floor into a pile of its siblings.

You froze, gaze lifting slowly to meet his. "The fuck is your problem?" The words came out rough. You’d never spoken to Neteyam like that and he visibly paused, eyes turning watery. But you were in too deep now. "I was drinking that."

"Yes. I can see." 

He rose to his full height—all of it, shoulders back, spine straight, tail swaying in that particular way that meant he was trying very hard not to grab you by the scruff of your neck. As if size alone could shame you into submission. 

I don’t have shame anymore, doesn’t he know that?

"Just as I can see the fifty other bottles littered around your room." He looked so clean. So together. It made you want to throw something at him.

The number wasn't exact. You'd counted. Sixty-three, if you included the one under the cot.

…You didn’t correct him.

He huffed, eyes never leaving your face as you frowned. "What about Macy?"

"Dead."

You shoved past him, shoulder catching his ribs. It was like shouldering into a wall. Your head throbbed like a damned thing, and you pressed the heel of your palm against your temple as though pressure could drown it.

"Her species lasts months. She was already old when I got her." You shrugged. "I'll get a Macy Jr. or something."

"A Macy Jr.," he repeated, flat. "You will replace her."

"Why not?" You didn't look at him. "Everything else is replaceable."

You immediately felt the weight shift from your head to your stomach, where that stupid nervous system got all tangled up and wired. You knew you said the wrong thing, but pride was a terrible thing.

Even if Neteyam looked damn close to crying. Am I replaceable? You saw it spelled out in his mind.

No. You’d tell him. But pride—terrible pride.

You collapsed into the chair by the kitchen table—if you could call it that. More like a metal slab bolted to the wall. Recycled RDA shit. Everything here was recycled RDA shit. You tapped against the metal, an erratic rhythm that matched nothing, then rested your head against the palm of your hand. The coolness of your skin felt good against the heat behind your eyes.

Neteyam watched. His ears flattened. He viewed your defeat as his—the Na'vi were empathetic in that way. Couldn't help but absorb the misery of everyone around them like emotional sponges.

It was exhausting just thinking about it.

“Y/n,” He said softly. He lowered himself, knees folding until he was eye-level, and suddenly you were staring at him whether you wanted to or not. You could smell the forest on him.

It smelled really comforting.

You dug your face against your palm some more. His head tilted, chasing your gaze when you turned away. "Stop this madness. This self-destruction. What purpose does it serve?"

What purpose?

You had nothing, but your jaw tensed. You turned further away. If you couldn't see him, he wasn't real, simple logic.

"Just go, Neteyam. I—"

"N-No." His ears flickered back, you saw that much at least. "No," he repeated, firmer now. "I came because Norm needs you."

You rolled your eyes so hard it made your headache worse. "Don't be dumb."

"I am not being dumb." He sounded genuinely insulted. "Norm asked for you specifically. There is work—important work—and he believes you are the one to do it."

"Then Norm's drunk too."

"He is not."

"Should be." You waved a hand vaguely. "Makes everything easier."

Neteyam's tongue clicked against his teeth, that tsk he picked up from his mother. He stared.  His yellow eyes traced the slope of your hunched shoulders, the tremor in your hands, the bottles. He measured you against some internal scale of moraling and found you tipping.

One moment you were seated. The next, the world flipped.

"Hey—wait!"

His shoulder drove into your stomach, forcing the air from your lungs in a graceless oof, and suddenly you were up, dangling, the floor swinging past in nauseating arcs. His hand settled firm against your thigh, fingers splayed wide to keep you steady.

Your arms dangled uselessly, fingertips brushing his lower back, and your legs kicked before you realized how pointless it was.

You weighed nothing to him. Less than nothing. Tuk-weight. Baby-weight.

"You will not listen. You act like a baby, I'll treat you like a baby."

"Neteyam—"

He adjusted his grip, hoisting you higher, and the movement sent the room spinning. Your stomach lurched. Oh, god. You were going to throw up. You were going to throw up all over his back and he'd probably deserve it but you'd never hear the end of it from Kiri—

He ignored you. His stride was even, unbothered, carrying you through the narrow corridor as though this were the most natural thing in the world.

Faces turned—humans pausing mid-step, expressions caught between concern and poorly hidden amusement. Someone whistled. You wanted to die.

You whined. Squirmed. Hissed through your teeth.

Crack.

Did he just—?

He did.

The slap landed right on your ass—three fingers and a wide palm, the sting blooming instant and mortifying. You froze, a strangled squeak escaping before you could stop it.

"Quit moving," he hissed, ducking smoothly beneath a low doorway.

Your shorts did nothing. Might as well have been naked for all the protection they offered. Three fingers. One wide palm. The print of him burned into your skin, no doubt blazing red, no doubt visible to anyone who—

Embarrassing.

You pressed your face against his back and tried very hard to disappear.

"Where are you even taking me?"

"The lab."

"I don't want to go to the lab."

"I don't care."

His tail swished, the tip brushing against your dangling hand, and you grabbed it without thinking—yanked hard enough to make him stumble slightly. Sweet, petty victory—

Crack.

Harder this time.

"Ow—!"

"Do not touch my tail."

You released it immediately, hands flying up in surrender. "Okay! Okay—jesus—fine."

You heard the swish of the doors opening and shifted, hips squirming to rest your elbow against his shoulder, gaze drifting lazily toward the hall that retreated behind you. "So why does Norm need me?" You stared at those who stared back, though your head bobbed with Neteyam’s slow walking speed. 

Not that you could do much about it—Neteyam had a death grip on you.

"You'll see." 

Your eyes narrowed.

The corridor stretched longer than it should've. Or maybe time just moved differently when you were being carried like this. When he sat you down, it was right in front of the doors. 

Your reflection ghosted across the metal paneling, and Neteyam's golden eyes caught yours in the warped surface. Something soft moved behind them, it didn’t looked bad from what you could gather.

You glanced offhandly at the stamped on poster. Na’vi and Drivers only. Piloting currently in session.

So thats where he took you. The drive room. You'd never been here. Couldn't without permission. The equipment was old, and for someone like Norm who relied on the technology to stay with his family, precious.

Neteyam's palm pressed between your shoulder blades. "Go on. Go."

You shot him a look before pushing the door.

"Norm?" The door gave under your hand. "Neteyam, the asshole, said—"

The words died.

Norm stood grinning—nervous as hell. Max beside him, patchy labcoat rumpled, glasses slipping down his nose.

Behind them—

Behind them—

An avatar.

Suspended in the amnio tank, an avatar with your face stretched across Na'vi features.

You.

Not you. You told yourself.

But yes, you.

"Surprise...?" Norm's voice was unsteady like the rest of him. Blue limbs postured awkwardly, and Max fumbled with his glasses, shoving them up only for them to slip right back down. "So... er... we didn't ask, uh—you know. Permission. For the whole avatar thing. Just... with your fertility problems and you know, overall not being able to—" He gestured vaguely at your body, your human body, the one that failed you in every way that mattered on this moon. "—we thought maybe—god, this is kinda weird, right? Not asking permission? We swear we took every other ethical question into account before cloning you with the—I mean, we had meetings. So many meetings. Jake was there for some of them, and Neytiri, and—"

Norm rambled.

A lot.

And you stood dumbfounded, staring at yourself floating in sterile fluid.

"...How?" Your throat felt dry. "Avatars take six years to..."

Neteyam moved to your periphery. Close enough to reach if this went sideways, if you felt any sort of violation. Far enough to give you space if you needed it. He knew you.

"Max made a breakthrough." Norm's grin widened as he clapped Max's shoulder. Max stumbled forward from the unexpected force.

"Hey, man!"  Max huffed, adjusting his glasses.

"Sorry..."

Max rolled his eyes, but his smile came easier now. Dimmer. He stepped aside, gesturing to the tank. To her. To you. "We can grow them in half the time now. Had this one cooking for two years. Still needs a few more months until she's ready—see the queue? Still growing."

The queue. Right. Last thing to develop in Na'vi. Most complex part of them.

You pressed your forehead against the glass, and you stood there, watching it twitch before slowly lifting your gaze to meet theirs. "...I'm going to pilot an avatar?"

They grinned, hope naked in their eyes, and nodded in unison. "Are you, uh... angry?"

You snorted. "Angry?"

Tears blurred your vision as you pulled them both into an embrace—awkward because Max was shorter than you and Norm was taller, because your human arms barely stretched around them both.

"How could I be angry?" The words scraped out, rough and small. "Thank you."

There it was, that cruel seed. The hope blossomed again so easily, watered by the devotion of friends.

What a terrible thing it'd be, if the avatar failed. If by some accident, something happened. If you linked and couldn't make the connection. If your body rejected the neural interface. If, if, if.

Those thoughts came aplenty too, naturally. You were used to bad luck by now. Too familiar with disappointment to ever get too comfortable with joy.

Your knees buckled. You sank. They followed, lowering themselves to hold you.

Max was sniffling. Norm's laugh was watery. "You baby."

"Fuck off, dude." Max's voice cracked. "You're crying too."

And Neteyam watched, smiling softly before turning his gaze back at the avatar.

Pretty.

They'd made you perfect.

His eyes traced the shape of you—blue and striped, tall enough now to meet his gaze without that familiar tilt of your chin. Close enough that he wouldn't have to bend so far to meet your eyes.

But some things hadn't changed, which he thanked Eywa for. The hair along your brows, the four fingers. Your— His gaze dropped before he could stop it—a habit, muscle memory, whatever the hell you wanted to call it when a man looked at a woman and couldn't help himself.

Your breasts.

The People did not mark flesh with shame the way sky-people did, wrapping themselves in layers even under the sun's full weight. Nudity was breath, was movement, was simply being.

But he found himself wondering. Would they still carry that peculiar softness he'd felt through your shirt that one time? 

He'd seen human women move, that bounce from when they ran or laughed.

His throat worked around a swallow.

His eyes drifted lower still. To your belly.

It was flatter than your human form, still not fed any solids. But he was sure that would change once you started piloting. And it was capable of something else now, wasn't it?

Capable of swelling.

That eager cunt between your legs, it could hold a baby now. 

It'll be mine.

A voice said. His, undoubtedly. His tail cracked.

Mine. The thought was peaceful to him.

.

.

.

Day broke beneath the canopy.

It came slow, lazy—filtered through leaves that turned the light green and gold. The heat followed, thick and wet, the kind that clung to your skin and refused to let go. You understood now why the Na'vi wore so little. 

"It's not easy!" You huffed, breath catching. Your tail whipped sideways and cracked against Neteyam's hip. Heat flooded your face.

He was kind enough not to stare. Cruel enough, though, to catch the thing mid-swing and tug.

"Ah—!"

"Sure, it is." Neteyam sighed, and his voice dropped to that cooing tone when he thought he was right. “You simply refuse to listen." He pressed you to his chest, his lips near your flickering ears. "What did I tell you about the hands? Balance comes from the tail. Not hips, not arms, not those ridiculous toes of yours, sky-woman."

He let go and patted your bottom. "Go on, try again."

You whipped around, mouth open, ready to tell him exactly where he could shove his try again, but he was already leaning back against a boulder with his arms crossed, waiting.

Training.

You'd thought Neteyam would go easy on you. He had not. He was just as strict as his father—maybe worse, because Jake at least had the decency to look apologetic when he pushed you past your limits.

Neteyam just watched with those big golden eyes, and demanded perfection from his students.

Morning drills were the worst part. He woke you before dawn, dragged you out of your kelku while the village still slept, and put you through exercises that left your muscles screaming.

"You're not technically my teacher," you liked to remind him. The distinction mattered to you. It didn't matter to him.

"No," he'd said once, not even looking up from where he was checking your foot placement. "I am worse. Teachers have students who want to learn."

You rolled your eyes, stalking forward before slowly approaching the tree. Bark rough under your palms, grooves deep enough to catch your toes if you were careful. 

"This is stupid," 

You lifted one foot over the other, toes finding grooves. He'd mocked you for wearing shoes last time, lectured you about feeling the tree, about connection. If you did it again, you'd never hear the end of it.

"I'm not Na'vi."

"You are an avatar."

Neteyam's voice came from behind you, lazy and unbothered. You were sure he was assessing your form, and you could feel him counting every mistake that shifted with the wobble of a food, or wrong shift of weight. 

"If you plan to have a child—"

Your foot slipped.

"—they must know the ways of their ancestors."

You caught yourself, fingers digging into bark hard enough that splinters bit into your palms. Your heart hammered. Below, the ground looked very far away.

"Which also includes humans," you shot back, breathless.

You struggled upward, arms burning. Another handhold. Another foothold. Your breathing came ragged now, and you were sure he noted that too. Added it to his mental list of things to fix.

"And humans do not climb trees."

You reached a low branch and settled onto it, mimicking his stance. Arms crossed, one leg dangling. You looked smug.

"That is not—" He shifted, pausing when he caught you. "Hey!"

You stuck your tongue out. Neteyam's hairless brow arched.

"Impossible woman," He laughed like you'd stolen it from him. It softened his whole face, made him look younger. Less like the future olo'eyktan and more like the boy you’d grown up with.

Then he glanced back toward the village, ears swiveling.

Truthfully, he'd picked mornings for a reason: Fewer eyes. Fewer men to gawk at the sky-woman in her strange new body. Fewer whispers about clan taboos and what it meant that Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk'itan spent so much time with you.

Fewer interruptions.

Which meant he could hold you as long as he liked without someone in his ear reminding him of propriety.

"Yoo hoo!"

Fuck.

Movement in his peripheral. Anok—one of the more experienced hunters in his father's group—seemed to be holding something. “There you are!”

Anok's eyes found you.

Found you sitting on that branch with your legs dangling, chest still heaving from exertion, skin flushed. His gaze lingered a beat too long on the curve of your waist, the beaded top you wore.

Neteyam stepped between you and Anok's line of sight, a simple adjusting of his stance, all casual-like.

He glanced back at you. "I'm needed. Continue. I expect to see you in the top branches when I return."

You glanced down at him, pouting. “You’re leaving…?”

Something about the way you said it—or rather, the way you looked saying it—Your lower lip jutted forward, eyes going soft and wide…It made his legs refuse to move. He turned back. His tail stilled against his conscious will. 

"Do you want me to watch when you reach it?" he said softly, almost teasingly.

Your ears flattened.

"...No." You turned back to the tree, fingers searching bark. "Just go."

He turned back toward Anok, then stopped. He forced himself to smile instead of doing what he wanted, which was climb up there and kiss that pout off your mouth.

“Hm. Just wait for me, then.” He whispered. You began climbing again. He chuckled.

You could be cute.

He walked through knee-high grass, boots ghosting over bent stalks, before coming to attention beside Anok. The older man studied Neteyam with something between amusement and knowing—a faint smile that would never quite reach words.

"What is it, Anok?"

"Nothing dire." Anok extended what Neteyam recognized as paper—that fragile Earth-thing, thin as shed skin. It trembled slightly in his grip. "Your father wants this delivered to Y/n."

Neteyam frowned at the delicate sheet. "And this is…?"

A shrug. "Names, I think. A list. What for—" Anok's gaze drifted past Neteyam's shoulder, tracking something in the clearing beyond. "—I couldn't say for certain."

A pause.

Then, quieter: "Though I have my suspicions."

Neteyam turned.

You were on the trampled practice ground, cross-legged in the dirt, a child suspended above your head. Your arms held steady as you bubbled your lips against the child's round stomach. The sound was wet and silly—and the child shrieked. Pure joy. You brought them down to your hip, reaching for another, and cupping pudgy cheeks between your palms.

"Again!" the first child demanded, bouncing. "Again, again!"

They were screaming now. Happy screaming. The kind that split the air and made hunters across the clearing wince and shoot you irritated looks. They ran in circles around you, tripping over their own feet, dizzy with it, grabbing at your arms and tail and hair.

Neteyam's heart did something gentle. Something dangerous.

 His eyes went hazy, unfocused, seeing you but also not—seeing something further. A future, maybe. You, heavy with child. You, singing lullabies in that broken Na'vi you were learning. You, looking at him the way you looked at those children now.

Good mother, his mind whispered.

His children.

A sharp clap landed on his shoulder.

Neteyam jolted, blinking fast, head whipping back. "Hm? Sorry, what?"

Anok's laugh was low, knowing, unbearably smug. He shook his head. "Nothing, young one." A pause. His grin widened. "Go on. Go."

Neteyam stumbled half a step before steadying himself. He rolled his shoulders, deepened his voice, crossed his arms as he approached. "What did I tell you?" The growl didn't quite land; his smile betrayed him.

The children shrieked and scattered like prey, diving behind your legs, your hips, your thighs. Little faces peeking out, wide-eyed and grinning.

"Muptx," Neteyam sighed with false severity. "These are training grounds."

They giggled. You lifted one—the pudgy one with the huge, gap-toothed smile—and cradled them against your chest. Then you looked up at Neteyam. Puppy eyes. Full pout.

"Are you really mad at us, karyu?"

Neteyam stopped.

His ears snapped forward, desperate to catch the word again, to hold it, to keep it. "Karyu?" His voice cracked. Just barely. He stepped closer, head tilting, gaze locked on your mouth like he could pull the word back out if he stared hard enough. "Teacher?"

"Who's been teaching you Na'vi? I never—"

"No one," you said, far too innocent.

He pressed his lips together, gaze fixed on yours, and dragged his tongue across his bottom lip. Heat crept up his neck. "Mm." A cough. He turned to the children, voice gentler now. "Go play elsewhere. I need to speak with Y/n."

You set the child down. They scattered immediately, descending on another unsuspecting hunter across the field. Both of you watched them go, quiet laughter shared between you.

Then your attention snapped to the paper in his hand. "What's that?"

Neteyam blinked down at it as if he'd forgotten. "I'm not sure. My father wanted you to have it." He glanced back toward where Anok had been standing, handing out the paper.

Anok had already left, it seemed.

You snatched it from his hand,

He blinked. Tilted his head.

You were reading now. Fast. Eyes darting across the foreign symbols. Your lips moved silently, forming shapes he couldn't parse.

Then you sighed.

"Dammit."

Neteyam tried leaning over your shoulder, squinting at the figures that made no sense to him, so he settled for watching your face instead—which was, truthfully, what he'd intended to do anyway.

“What is it?”

"Insemination," you said, half to yourself. "But the options are slim. Norm, Gander, Henderson, Michael, Ergie…"  More names. A litany of men based to genetic potential. Even Jake had offered—Neytiri gave her blessing, which while kind somehow felt strange.

He’s like my dad…

You dropped into the grass, legs crossed, page bent between your thumbs. Neteyam lowered himself beside you. Close enough that if he shifted his knee just slightly, it would brush yours.

The problem was simple: you had options. Technically. Most avatars came from older bodies, older men. Worn hands, tired eyes, decent enough people who'd given decades to this moon and its science. Norm especially—you liked Norm. His nervous laugh, how he'd let you borrow his books without asking for them back.

But the thought of carrying his child, of a baby with his narrow shoulders and that apologetic smile…

Ugh. Your stomach turned just imagining it.

Spoiled, you thought. Picky and spoiled.

A year ago you would've jumped at any option. But now that you had a body that worked, a womb that could hold life, it felt wasteful to settle for just anyone.

Neteyam's frown deepened. "So you will wait? Until the next generation of avatar drivers arrive?"

You shrugged, setting the page aside. "Maybe. Probably. Two, three years at most. I can wait that long."

You couldn't. You'd waited long enough already. But you didn't tell him that.

"I could read baby books or something. Get prepared." You tipped your head back, staring at the canopy before flopping onto your back. "...Or maybe I should ask the People?"

Neteyam went still. His eyes widened, thumb twitching against his thigh. He looked down at you—at the slow rise and fall of your chest—then lower, before dragging his gaze away and swallowing hard. "...Na'vi?"

"Yeah." You squinted at the sky, frowning through the thought. "I mean… I don't know. You think any would be willing to…?" Another shrug, smaller this time.

I would, Neteyam thought.

If you let me, I'd be the father of your child and your mate equally. I'd do it properly—before Eywa, with witnesses, your name woven into my songcord. Look at me. Choose me, Y/n. Please.

"I—" He fumbled, fingers finding the edge of his loincloth, twisting. His gaze dropped. “Well, most likely," he managed. "People enjoy you. They know you would make a wonderful mother, but—"

"But what?" You sat up now, and his eyes softened. He ducked his head.

"My people don't believe in human technology, Y/n. And you'd raise the child alone. Purely human teaching. It's…" He swallowed again. "Taboo. To partner with a human. To father a child with one. Even my mother gets comments—jabs—and my father is Toruk Makto." Bitterness bled into his tone. "Most Na'vi wouldn't accept it. Despite their acceptance of you."

You paused. Your lips pressed into a thin line before you nodded.

"Alright then. Three years of waiting it is." The smile you offered was small, and it looked suspiciously like the ones you’d give in response to pitying faces.

“Good.” He whispered.

Not good. Ask me. Please ask me.

“Good.” You said back.

But you had never been a patient person, and you were far too close to stop now.

Which is why, three months later, you found yourself seeking Neteyam out. Any longer and you could see yourself tracking down the nearest viable sperm donor and just doing it—consequences be damned.

Desperation, tangled with need, led you to him.

Neteyam should have known something was wrong when you came in sporting your shy and expectant smile. 

He'd been mending a fishing net in the family hut, alone, fingers working the familiar rhythm of loop and pull when your footsteps announced you. Too heavy, always too heavy, even after all this time. Once you'd blamed Earth's gravity—twenty percent stronger, you'd said—until he'd reminded you that you'd never even been to Earth.

"Thumper," he'd called you then.

Today he chose kindness. "Y/n?"

He turned just enough to catch you in his periphery, his smile coming easy, his tail betraying him with a slow, pleased sway. You didn't visit often—not in his space. In this hut that smelled of woven grass and old leather and him. You belonged to other places: the compound's corridors, the forest groves where the People gathered fruits. But never here, where everything carried his mark.

But now you were here, and the wrongness of it—how right you smelled against the backdrop of his things—made his chest tighten.

"I heard you were looking for me. Did you need something?" His voice came rougher than intended. He cleared his throat, ducking his head back to his work. His fingers fumbled with the spider-thread. Looping, threading. Adding small beads for Kiri who sometimes wore his nets as jewelry.

Silence, you watched him.

“I…” You stepped forward and swallowed thickly. His ears caught the brief sound of it. “I need to ask you something.”

"Of course. Whatever you need, I will—"

"I want a baby."

His hands stopped.

The net hung suspended between his fingers, forgotten. His ears swiveled back, then forward, as if trying to confirm what they'd just heard, and you realized how stupid it sounded. Of course you wanted a baby, everyone and their mothers knew you wanted a baby.

You made a small, strangled sound. "I—I mean—" Your palms flew to your face, muffling the rest. "God, that's not—what I mean is—goddammit." You peeked at him through your fingers, and the words came out in a mortified rush. "Your sperm. I need your sperm."

Heat lanced through him. Blood rushed south and his cock twitched traitorously against his loincloth. He bit down on a groan.

"Y/n." Her name left him soft. He turned slowly, the net sliding from his lap to the floor.

But you were already spiraling. "I'm asking if you'd consider it. Being the father. I know it's taboo, I know your family would—and the clan—" The words tumbled faster, tripping. "But you wouldn't have to be involved if you didn't want to. I wouldn't tell anyone. It could just be like donating blood, right? Except it's not blood, it's—" You gestured vaguely at his groin. "—that."

"Stop."

You did. Immediately. Your ears folded flat, your tail tucking in tight against your leg. You looked up—and up—and the eight inches of height difference became the full eight feet of him looming. Your ears folded flat. Tail tucked against your thigh. His chest cracked.

"You want my baby."

Your uncertainty bloomed when his voice gentled. When he reached for your wrists, slow enough to be a question, and bent until his face hovered above yours. Amber eyes searched your expression for the joke, the lie, the panic. He found none.

"Yes."

His smile widened, just a fraction. He stepped closer, closing the distance until he could tug you forward, bending until his half-lidded amber eyes were in direct opposition to yours.

A low, shaky breath escaped him.

"Yawne," and the endearment hurt to say. "You know what this means to my people. The joining is sacred. A gift from Eywa. It is not a… a transaction." His jaw worked. "I told you this. No na'vi would accept it."

His chin settled atop your head. His hands spread across your back, fingers splaying wide, and he pulled you closer. Tighter. Too tight, maybe, but he couldn't seem to help himself. You fit so perfectly against him. Your head barely reached his chest, and he could feel every curve of you pressed into the hard planes of his body. His eyes squeezed shut.

"I am… glad I can give you this."

The embrace lingered past what friends might share. But you didn't seem to notice. You never did.

Then you were stepping back, and the air between you cooled. Your eyes were already chasing the doorway behind him.

But Neteyams hand never did trail off. One hand rose, hovering above the soft dip of your navel before his fingertips made contact—warm where your womb rested beneath skin and muscle. He traced upward, then down, feeling the gentle curve of you.

You squirmed.

"Any na'vi, sure. But it's you, Neteyam." Your voice cracked open. "Please… I tried to wait but three more years, then another nine just to—" You shook your head, gaze dropping to where his palm burned against your stomach. "We wouldn't have to… you know. Touch. It'd just be a p-pump." The word came out bitter. "It won't be weird, I promise."

A pump?

He stopped.

The softness that had been in his eyes—the heat that had been building there, coiling low in his belly—all of it burned away.

He retracted, blinking as if clarity was just a wink away.

"A… pump." He repeated.

You nodded quickly. "Yeah. Like—like artificial insemination. The scientists do it all the time with the—"

"I know what it is."

The first thought was shameful—you, round with his baby, belly swollen and full, breasts heavy with milk. He'd take care of you. Hunt for you. The second thought followed: his mother's disappointment, the scandal, whispers behind hands. Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk'itan, lying with a demon. Spilling his seed in a cup like some— 

But beneath it all, sharper than any blade, was the realization that gutted him most.

You wanted the material.

Not him.

Not him.

A rough sound escaped. He pressed his forehead to yours. His breath ghosted across your lips. His eyes were completely shut, dark lashes wisping against his cheeks. "You have no idea, do you? What you are asking of me."

He'd do anything for you. Didn't you know that? How could he possibly deny you anything?

"I would give you anything." The confession tore out of him. "Anything, Y/n. My breath. My blood. My life if you demanded it." His hands cupped your face, thumbs stroking the ridiculous softness of your cheeks. "But you ask for this. For nothing of me except what you can put in a container."

Your eyes widened. "That's not—I didn't mean—"

"I told you, I told you." His voice was raw now. "When a man wants a woman, he courts her. Brings her gifts. Proves himself worthy." His thumb traced your lower lip. "He braids her hair. Learns her favorite foods. Makes her laugh."

You were trembling now.

"And when she finally says yes—when she chooses him—they go before Eywa. They bond. They make tsaheylu and they are never alone again." His eyes opened, molten gold and devastating. "That is how life begins for us. In love, with connection."

"Neteyam..." Your voice was barely a whisper.

"You want my child." He said it slowly. “But you do not want me."

"That's not true!"

"No?" He pulled back, just enough to see you clearly. "Then tell me, yawne. If I said yes—if I agreed to your... pump—would you let me court you after? Would you braid my hair and wear my colors and let the clan know you carried my child with pride?"

You opened your mouth, then closed it. Ge was Neteyam, childhood friend Neteyam who ate dirt with you and sometimes stole cookies from Norm’s jar. That Neteyam, who was confessing that he wanted to be with you.

Nothing came out.

And that—that—was answer enough.

He released you and stepped back. "I thought so."

"Wait—no, you don't understand—" You reached for him, but he sidestepped, graceful and practiced like all that he was. He refused to look at you, and that hurt. "It's not that I don't want you, it's just—complicated. The clan, your family, your are—"

"So you would have me in secret. Hidden away like something shameful."

"That's not what I meant!"

"Then what did you mean, Y/n?" He rounded on you, and there was something wild in his eyes now. "Because from where I stand, it sounds like you want me to father your child and then... what? Disappear? Pretend it never happened?"

"I want—" You faltered. What did you want? A baby, yes. But also... "I want you to be happy. I want—I don't want to trap you in something you don't want."

"You think I don't want you?"

The question hung in the air, and you realized like the slow idiot you were.

God… Neteyam loves you. 

Neteyam withdrew, and his eyes went flat.

And to think they'd been warm moments before. Amber catching firelight, soft at the edges where they creased when he smiled. 

"You want me to…" His jaw worked. Tendons surfaced along his neck like taut rigging. "In a room. Alone. With a machine. So the scientists can have what they need." 

He paused.

"And you would have a child. My child." His head tilted—just enough to show you his profile, the angle of his cheekbone catching faint bioluminescence. "But not me."

"Neteyam—"

"Did you think of me at all when you made this plan? Or only of what I could provide?"

You stayed silent. What answer existed that wouldn't flay you both? The quiet between you thickened, pressing against your ribs until breathing felt like labor.

"Why?"

His eyes pinned you there, and the air turned viscous, hard to pull into your lungs.

"Why me, Y/n?" His voice dropped lower. "There are many hunters. Strong warriors. Men with…" His jaw locked. He stopped himself. You saw his throat work around whatever words he'd swallowed back down.

His hand rose—hesitant, trembling at the edge of restraint—and this time his knuckles brushed your cheek.

You stepped aside.

The loss of contact felt mutual. "Because you are my friend. There is no one else I trust more than you."

Somehow deep down you knew that was wrong answer.

His ears collapsed. He took a step back. His tail curled loosely around his own ankle—a self-soothing gesture you'd seen only once before, when his father had dressed him down publicly for a mistake Lo'ak had made. The memory of it then had broken something in your chest. Seeing it now presented by you, because you decided to put this space between.

"Of course."

His voice became polite. Formal in the way he'd speak to visiting elders or Tarsem when his father watched. All the warmth scraped out and replaced with something that looked like respect.

"I am honored you would consider me. Your trust means a great deal."

Stop. Stop talking like that.

He turned halfway, hands finding a basket that sat fine where it was, but adjusted it anyway. 

"If this is what you need from me, I will give it. I told you, I would do anything for you. I meant it."

He stood there, his hands hung loose at his sides. His ears were still drooped, his tail still limp. "Before you go." His adam's apple bobbed. "I need you to understand something."

Three strides. That's all it took to close the distance. This close, you could smell him—rain on leaves, something warm beneath and masculine from him.

His hand rose and cupped your face with devastating gentleness.

"I would have given you a child the old way," he whispered. "The sacred way. If you had only asked."

His thumb brushed your lower lip.

"But you did not ask. So I will not… I will not burden you with what I feel."

You eyed him in several quick successions. First his eyes before landing to the ground. Your smile came crooked, wrong. You turned before it could betray more. “If… well, if the insemination doesn’t work…” You whispered. You awkwardly stood there, he could see you just beyond his point of vision.

You didn’t add more to the conversation, those words seemed to be enough for you, and so you left.

Just like that.

Neteyam’s arm dropped.

He turned away from the entrance, moving deeper into the hut. His foot caught the edge of the fishing net he'd abandoned earlier, and he kicked it aside with uncharacteristic violence. It skittered across the floor, tangling against a storage basket.

His chest heaved.

"Skxawng," he hissed at himself. He began hitting himself with the flat part of his hand. "Stupid. Stupid."

He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes until colors burst behind his lids.

She hadn't known. All this time—the gifts, the hunts, the jewelry he'd woven with her in mind, the way he'd maneuvered to be assigned as her teacher—she hadn't known.

Well…now she did.

A sound escaped him.

"If the insemination doesn't work…"

His hands fell away from his face. He stared at the ceiling, at the patterns woven there, and something dark and hungry unfurled in his chest. He felt it within his blood, pumping through the tight muscle of his heart. A steady beat of pumping blood, disgusting, vile. His thoughts were vile.

Perhaps the scientist's machine would fail. Perhaps Eywa would see fit to intervene. Perhaps the foreign sky-people medicine would prove incompatible with Na'vi biology, and the procedure would collapse before it began, and she would turn to him with those wide eyes and say—

He cut the thought off before it could fully form. Shame burned unsteady.

But his hands were still shaking when he finally lowered himself onto his sleeping mat, and sleep did not come for a very long time.

.

.

.

The next day, Neteyam went to the compound in High Camp. 

High Camp's research wing sprawled around the cliffside—away from most omatikaya structures. Here they did the real expirimentations, at least that is what he could gather from you, once upon a time.

Lets get this over with. Do what needs doing, then leave.

Neteyam snapped a mask, taking a breath. He moved like he was heading into battle and not into some sterile human box to jerk off into a cup, shoulders angled to avoid eye contact with the few scientists still hunched over their workstations. 

He didn't want to prolong the suffering. Just do what needed doing and let you have the life you always wanted—the one with an infant at your breast and all the small violences of motherhood. 

He could be generous. Play the part of friend. Provide the seed so some part-him, part-you creature could exist in the world, claim no responsibility, and slip back into the role of noble, prodigal son.

He could give you that, be the generous donor and watch from a careful distance while some part of him grew up calling someone else father.

Easy. Except—

I don't want that.

The admission was childish. He wanted to be constant into your life, not edited out of it. He wanted—Great Mother forgive him—he wanted the insemination to fail. Just so the two of you might—

"There you are!"

Neteyam had turned his head, frowning softly. He felt exposed. Ridiculous. A hunter of the Omatikaya, standing in a narrow corridor while Norm eagerly ran up to him.

Norm clapped his back hard enough to make him stumble. "You're good for doing this, man. Really. We already knew it was a long shot Y/n would accept me as a donor. I mean—" He laughed, sucking his teeth. "Mutxuk told me only a fool like herself would have my kids." Norms tail wagged.

It always did when anyone—anyone—mentioned his mate.

"Yes," Neteyam said carefully. "So I am here for the—"

"The insemination!"

Much too loud.

Heads turned. A pair of techs at a nearby console glanced over. Neteyam felt his skin prickle, every instinct screaming to bolt.

"—really remarkable, actually," Norm was saying, oblivious. His hands moved as he talked, gesturing wildly. "The Na'vi reproductive system has some fascinating differences from human biology. The volume alone is—"

"The room." His voice stayed polite. "Where is it?"

Norm blinked, seeming to remember himself.

"Right! Right, of course. This way."

Norm led him down another corridor—identical to the last, all gray panels and humming machinery—before stopping at a nondescript door. Norm's gloved hand pressed against a panel, and it slid open with a mechanical hiss.

Neteyam peered inside.

Small. Too small for someone of his height. A padded bench barely long enough for his frame. Harsh overhead lighting. And there, on a sterile metal tray beside the bench—

The pump.

It was… clinical. Plastic and tubing and a collection vessel that seemed almost insultingly small.

His jaw tightened.

"There are, uh... materials," Norm said, gesturing vaguely toward a screen mounted on the wall. "Visual aids. If you need them. Some of our avatar drivers mentioned that it helps with the, uh—" He cleared his throat. "—process."

"I do not need them."

The words came out edged, sharper than he meant. Neteyam forced his shoulders down, forced the mask of pleasant neutrality back into place even as something ugly coiled in his chest.

"Thank you, Norm. I will… manage."

"Take your time! No pressure. Just, uh—" Norm tapped the panel beside the door. "Just press the call button when you're done and I'll come collect the sample. Easy peasy.!"

The door hissed shut.

Neteyam stood alone in the too-bright room, staring at the pump on its sterile tray.

His tail curled tight around his own thigh.

It felt so unnatural, embarrassing. He looked at the pump, grabbed it, and felt dirty. His mother would kill him if she knew, and she'd know. Know he'd debased himself in a human facility, alone, for—

For what?

For you.

He clicked something. The pump jolted to life and suddenly it made a sound, vibrating and making a sucking motion. 

It looked obscene. A mouth, almost. Soft ridges inside that he could see through the translucent material, designed to... to...

His ears flattened so hard against his skull they ached.

A wet, rhythmic squelching sound filled the room now—schluck—echoing off the walls and crawling into his ears and making a home there. The vibration traveled up his arm, settled into his bones. His hand jerked and he nearly dropped it.

He moved to turn it off instead. His thumb slipped on the button and it took three tries before the awful sound stopped and the silence rushed back in.

The sound continued. Schluck-schluck-schluck.

"Turn off, you—" His voice cracked. "Please, please—"

Fourth try. The button clicked. The awful sucking stopped.

His breath came faster now.

He looked down at himself. At the loincloth he'd have to remove. At the clinical collection vessel waiting on its tray like a hungry mouth.

His stomach turned.

For Y/n. This was for Y/n.

He repeated it like a mantra as he reached for the ties at his hip. His fingers fumbled—Neteyam, who could string a bow blindfolded, whose hands never shook, couldn't manage a simple knot.

The loincloth fell away.

He sat on the padded bench, and his knees nearly touched his chest. Too small. Everything in the human world was too small. The padding was cold against his bare ass, and he shivered despite the regulated temperature that kept this place at a constant seventy-two degrees.

He looked at the pump again. Then at the screen on the wall—dark, mercifully, but he knew what could show. 

"Pornography," Lo'ak had said once, years ago, when they'd slipped into an abandoned storage unit and found a dusty disk case. The label was faded but readable: Barely Legal Beauties Vol. 3. "Heard it's like… humans mating. But, like, on purpose. For watching."

Neteyam had wrinkled his nose. "That's disgusting. And private, no? Who would film such a thing?"

Lo'ak had only shrugged, wiggling the disk between two fingers. "I dunno. Want to see?"

"No!"

But they'd both gathered at the screen anyway. Watched with wide eyes and burning faces as pale bodies writhed and moaned, as the woman's voice pitched higher and higher in sounds that seemed exaggerated, performative. Too mortified to speak of it after, though Lo'ak had made a joke three days later that earned him a punch to the shoulder.

And now—now it was being offered, and he felt sick.

I can do this myself, he thought, pride flaring stubborn and sharp. I don't need to watch demons mate.

His hand drifted down. He wrapped around himself with the kind of practiced familiarity that any man would know. He closed his eyes. Tried to summon something—anything—that might make this easier. The curve of a hip. The arch of a back. Soft sounds in the dark, breathy and wanting. Generic shapes. Anonymous bodies. Anything.

His cock remained soft.

"Come on," he muttered. His jaw clenched. His hand tightened, stroked faster, rougher—maybe friction would trick his body into cooperation.

Still nothing.

Panic crept higher. What if he couldn't? What if he went back out there empty-handed, the vessel as sterile and unused as when he'd entered? What would he tell them? Tell you?

Sorry, I couldn't even manage fucking my hand.

He tried again, fisting himself while his chest huffed. Two swallows, then one. Another when he traced the head of his cock and looked at the foreskin slowly slipping up and down, skin bunching up.

He thought of your face.

Your face when he'd touched your cheek in his hut. The way your expression had shifted from fear to confusion to realization. The step backward you'd taken, putting distance between his hand and your skin.

Friend.

His hand stilled.

“Fuck.”

He almost wanted to cry.

He couldn't go beyond half-hard.

Neteyam’s cock sat heavy against his thigh, half-swollen and useless. He stared at it, jaw tight, ears flat against his skull. His hand reached for the pump before he could think better of it. 

He turned it on, almost turned it off, before slowly pressing it. And then-

The suction hit him all at once—warm, wet, alive—and his breath punched out of his lungs in a shocked gasp. His head snapped back against the padded bench, braids scattering across the surface.

"Ah—fuck—"

The suction pulled a sound from him that would've gotten him exiled from the clan. A high, needy whine that cracked at the edges. His head snapped back, braids swinging, and his free hand scrabbled against the padding beneath him for something—anything—to anchor to.

It was warm.

Body temperature. Soft silicone that yielded and gripped and pulled with a relentless rhythm that made his thighs shake. When he sank deeper into it, the wet heat of it—Great Mother, it felt like—it felt like—

His hips jerked, chasing the sensation with a desperation that would've humiliated him if he could think past the pleasure sparking up his spine.

Ancestors forgive me.

The pump didn't care about his shame. It continued its mechanical rhythm—suck, release, suck, release—with a consistency no living thing could match.

His thighs trembled. His tail thrashed against the bench, the tuft at its end brushing the sterile floor with each desperate sweep. The bioluminescent freckles scattered across his chest and shoulders began to glow brighter, pulsing in time with his racing heartbeat.

"Ah—" He bit down on his lower lip hard enough to taste copper. "Eywa—"

His eyes squeezed shut tighter. He needed to focus. Needed to think of something, someone—

Y/n.

The image came unbidden. Not the clinical Y/n who'd explained insemination cycles like she was reading from a datapad. The other one. The one who'd hugged him so tightly he could feel every curve pressed against him. The one whose head barely reached his chest. Whose waist was so small his thumbs would touch if he held her.

His grip on the pump tightened.

He imagined it was her mouth instead.

Warm and wet and eager. Those pretty human eyes looking up at him while she swallowed him down, while she choked on him, while tears streamed down her flushed cheeks and she took it anyway because she wanted to, because she—

A broken moan tore from his throat.

The suction increased—he must've hit a setting—and suddenly it was pulling at him, milking him, and he couldn't—

His hips bucked harder now, chasing something building low in his belly.

"Y/n!"

Your name slipped out before he could stop it. 

His free hand fisted in his own hair, tugging hard, and he pictured you beneath him instead. Small and soft and finally, finally his.

"I love you—"

The words tumbled out, slurred and wanting. His hips bucked harder, faster, chasing the build in his belly. The pump squelched around him, slick and hot and relentless, and he pictured your face. The way you'd blush. The way you'd gasp when he pushed inside—

"I love you, I love you, I love you.”

He pictured you underneath him. Those thick thighs he'd glimpsed once (just once, when you'd bent to pick something up) spread wide. That soft belly he wanted to bite. The way you'd sound—would you whimper? Would you beg? Would you say his name in that breathy little gasp you used when surprised?

The pump made an obscene schlick-schlick-schlick sound as he fucked into it.

His tail lashed so hard it knocked over a tray of instruments. The clatter barely registered.

"Please—" To who? To what? "Please, please, Y/n—"

He was close. So close. The pressure built low in his belly, coiling tighter and tighter, and he could feel his balls drawing up, could feel the way his cock swelled even thicker in the pump's grip, could feel—

you. Under him. Around him. Squeezing him. Milking him. Taking everything he had to give and begging for more.

"Y/n!"

Your name ripped from his throat as he came.

The first thick rope of cum shot into the collection vessel with enough force to splatter. Then another. And another. More than any human could produce—more than he'd ever produced before—hot and endless, pumping out of him in waves that seemed to go on forever while he gasped and shook and whined through it.

He sat there, chest heaving like he'd run a mile, sweat cooling too fast in the sterile hum of climate control. The pump released him with a sound that shouldn't have been so loud. Wet. Obscene. The kind of noise that made his ears pin flat against his skull.

His cock slipped free—oversensitive, twitching, already softening.

The collection vessel sat on its tray, full.

He stared at it. At the evidence of what he'd just done. Thick and pearlescent, still warm, destined for a freezer somewhere in this sterile compound. To be thawed when needed. Inserted into you by clinical hands and instruments that had no right to touch you at all.

His child. Made like this.

Something wet slid down his cheek. He didn't recognize it at first—the salt, the heat. Then his hand moved, rough, angry, swiping it away and stood on legs that didn't quite feel like his own. His loincloth lay crumpled on the floor, and he retrieved it with stilted movements—tie here, adjust there—until he looked almost normal again.

His reflection stared back from a darkened monitor. Wild-eyed. Wrecked. The bioluminescent freckles scattered across his shoulders still glowed too bright—dying embers that refused to go out.

He looked away.

The call button sat beside the door. One press and Norm would come. Would collect what he'd left behind. What he'd given.

He pressed it.

Norm arrived smiling—awkward, a little too cheerful, like humor could smooth over what they both knew. Human shame. Neteyam wished he carried some of it. Just enough to make this hurt less.

"Kinda hard to focus, yeah?" Norm's laugh came out strained, forced. "It's supposed to be effective and quick, so—" He shrugged, pulling on gloves with practiced snaps. His gaze skittered away, then back, never quite landing. "You did good."

Did good. Like he'd passed some test.

Norm was already moving, gloved hands efficient. He took the pump, placed it in some bin with a hollow thunk. Then his attention shifted to the container. "Good amount, though." A pause. His smile softened into something almost kind. "Hopefully you're fertile!"

"How long?" Neteyam's voice came out rougher than intended.

Norm blinked. "Until we know if it takes?"

"Until she..." He couldn't finish. The image lodged in his throat—you, legs spread in this same clinical horror, while human hands inserted what should have been given in darkness and warmth and something resembling love.

"Oh." Norm's expression shuttered. Professional mask sliding back into place. "We'll prep her for insemination within the next few hours. The sample's viability window is optimal in the first six hours, but we've got extenders that'll keep it good for up to forty-eight if needed." He was already sealing the container, labeling it with quick, efficient movements. 

The words barely registered.

Neteyam moved through the corridor like something half-dead, his bare feet silent against the cold metal flooring. Norm's voice buzzed somewhere behind him.

"Pretty fertile."

His stomach turned.

"Right," he managed, the word hollow.

He didn't look back. Couldn't. If he saw the collection vessel one more time—saw what he'd produced while crying into a machine, he might do something shameful. Might grab it and run. Might smash it against the sterile floor.

Might beg them to let him try again.

And he did. 

Not out loud, never that honest, but the way he'd shown up yesterday—and the day before—After the first time, it became impossible not to want it again. It was easy. Accessible. A locked room where he could moan your name and no one would hear. No one would know. He could pretend his hand was yours, that the cold clinical touch of the apparatus was your heat, your softness, your—

Three times now. He'd done this three times in as many days.

Norm hadn't questioned it. Why would he? Wider sample. Just in case. The words had slipped out so easily, and Neteyam's ears had barely drooped at all.

But Norm caught on. The bastard.

"I'm gonna have to stop you now, kid."

Neteyam froze. His tail went rigid.

Norm shifted his weight, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. "We have enough. Er—more than enough. A goddamn sperm bank at this point." A sigh, almost apologetic. "If we need any more, we'll ask."

"No more?"

Norm's eyebrows rose behind his breathing apparatus. A flicker of something passed across the human's face—concern, maybe, or the beginning of uncomfortable understanding. The kind that made Neteyam's skin crawl because it meant Norm saw. 

"Y/n only needs one baby," Norm said slowly, carefully. "Maybe two if she wants another later. You've been…" A nervous laugh that didn't land. "Very thorough."

Neteyam's jaw worked, tongue pressed hard against his teeth. Thorough. Such a clean word for what he'd been doing. 

"If we need any more, we'll ask."

They did not ask again.

So Neteyam stole it.

A/N- Please remember to reblog or like! Much appreciated!!!

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Tag list- @viliwi, @flirtysnakes, @silveredpenumbrashark, @fuck-me-865, @flos-lunae, @maelleee-g, @kxsm3t, @hayley146, @lilacnavi, @spookylorcanlover, @cheryyyyyyyyyy6666, @glob-bottom, @evelynstanmarvel, @peachyfei, @ifeelsingle, @igoontoeveryone, @barnesinc, @aannyx, @anikasully67, @zephyrinesworld, @nshmrarki, @lusi0-0, @borneofthespirit, @lilacnavi, @spookypensworld, @n4twuzher3, @chandrababyface

Tsu’tey adjusted his grip on his bow, yellow gaze scanning your surroundings. You even looked around, too, just to try and be aware. In case anyone tried to jump you once again. Then he pressed a button against his collar on his throat before speaking in Na’vi. Seconds later, he grabbed the injured warrior.

“Follow.” He said to you.

And reluctantly, you did. Tsu’tey approached and called for a pa’li nearly hidden by a few trees. He connected his queue and got on with the warrior heaved behind him. Tsu’tey then looked to you with a frown, “Can you ride?”

You remembered doing it once before when you had been trying to get an injured Arvok back to the clan territory as your eyes found another pa’li nearby. Instead of responding, you approached the other pa’li while grabbing your own queue. Carefully, you brought yours up to its antenna and allowed it to connect. You hoisted yourself on its back, feeling it squirm slightly.

“Mawey.” At the gentle order, the pa’li eventually relaxed. Quietly, you thank Neytiri and Norm for one of the phrases that stuck with you.

After making sure the creature was settled, you turned your head to meet Tsu’tey’s watchful gaze. He raised a brow but nodded before steering his pa’li to start moving. You ordered yours to follow.

And you were able to follow him well enough, just as the two of you made it back to the clan territory. A few winged creatures flew over your head as you steered the pa’li to a stop. Tsu’tey was quick to slide off with the warrior and dragged her toward the Tsahik’s hut. How he had the strength and energy to carry that woman up a tree, you would never know. Nor did you voice out loud as you made it up the tree and cautiously followed him until you were standing at the doorway, watching him dump the warrior on a mat next to the bonfire at the center of the room. The hut was empty, surprisingly.

You watched as Tsu’tey was talking through the communicator collar as he stalked in your direction. Fortunately, he slipped past you, barking orders toward nearby warriors before entering back in the hut. Three warriors entered. Two were male and appeared older and more seasoned. The other was a woman who appeared closer to your and Neytiri’s age.

Their bodies were instantly guarded upon seeing the injured warrior.

“You,” Now Tsu’tey was addressing you. “Stay here, I will bring the Tsahik to heal her.”

There wasn’t much you could say in protest—frankly, you were still trying to process just what the hell was going on here. But after a small pause, you let out a sigh and nodded while staying close to the exit in case the warrior wanted to try anything.

Tsu’tey watched you for a second until he was content and left.

The warrior was panting while hissing at the three surrounding her. You clutched the spear in your hands, trying to still your trembling hands.

“Mawey!” One of the males snapped at her. Your gaze dragged back to the warrior who was hissing at them in Na’vi. Some words you could recognize and understand, while the rest just sounded like a blurred mess of sounds because of how fast she was speaking. It was a bit frustrating, being the only one in the room who didn’t know what everyone was saying—not entirely anyway. Maybe you needed to increase your lessons with Neytiri and Norm.

Then the warrior’s eyes snapped at you. She said something even though everyone knew you couldn’t fully understand her. You recognized ‘demon’ since Tsu’tey loved using that term the most whenever it came to you. But what you did know was that she made sure to fill each word with vitriol and hatred. But you took to ignoring her, deciding that reacting wouldn’t do either of you much good in the end.

But you didn’t think the warrior would be desperate.

No, you should’ve expected it.

For hatred can cloud one’s judgement so much so that they would do almost anything. Anything to quench that hungry rage.

So, when she suddenly lunged at you with a dagger, when she tackled you out of the hut and onto the ground, when the dagger hovered a feather above your eye while you held her back with the spine of the spear. Separating the two of you—you shouldn’t have been surprised. You shouldn’t have been so shocked.

“That poison didn’t finish you off, so I will!” She hissed.

Your eyes widened, and your hands began to tremble again. The dagger’s tip met the skin just under your eye.

Fortunately, the added weight lessened when another dagger entered the game. This time pressed against the warrior’s throat, and behind her were familiar, fierce yellow gaze that glimmered dangerously.

“Release.” Neytiri hissed venomously from behind the warrior. She pressed the dagger further against her skin. “Or I cut.”

Quickly, the warrior removed the dagger from your face. She was yanked off of you and dragged back into the hut. You scrambled back to your feet with some help—from Arvok, you realized—as Tsu’tey and Mo’at stalked into the hut, barking orders.

Arvok looked at you. “Are you okay?”

Dazed and still a little high on adrenaline, you nodded. “Well, I’m still alive, I guess.”

His ears flicked as he stared at you curiously.

“Arvok!” Tsu’tey called.

“Sorry.” The younger male nodded to you before ducking into the hut.

You followed seconds after seeing that they now had the warrior restrained while Mo’at examined her injured shoulder from Tsu’tey’s arrow. The warrior was screaming and thrashing abou,t making it quite difficult for the Tsahik to perform her duty.

Neytiri spotted you and instantly moved beside you, “Did she hurt you?” Before you could respond, her finger traced the spot under your eyes where the dagger had nearly pierced the skin. “You have a small cut, she cut you!” She whirled around to glare at the warrior. “You should not have brought her here, Tsu’tey!”

“Mawey, tiyawn,” Tsu’tey said calmly with a certain gentleness that he hoped would ease her growing anger.

The warrior hissed something at you, directly causing Neytiri to hiss back.

You kept yourself behind Neytiri and the spear close to you, now on guard in case the warrior decided to lunge for you again.

It wasn’t long until a few more people entered, one of them being Jake.

And when Jake entered, it felt like he had stepped right into chaos itself.

There were two of Tsu’tey’s warriors holding down a woman who obviously belonged to the Tipani clan, considering her armor and warrior paint on her face. There was a bloody hole in her shoulder that Mo’at tried to tend to.

“Keep her down! She does not get up or leave this hut!”

“She needs a sedative,” Mo’at grumbled.

“She needs to thank the Great Mother that I don’t pluck her eyeball from her head!” Neytiri hissed with Arvok holding her back the best of his ability.

Then there was you, tail tucked between your legs, pale, and a slight tremor in your frame.

Jake wasn’t sure what was going on—or why you were here for this. All that he knew was that there was an attack and that he was sending scouts out to check the forest and the surrounding areas near Hell’s Gate.

Admittedly, that made Jake nervous.

Mo’at must’ve finally given something to the Tipani warrior as she became less of a problem, her body suddenly going slack.

Neytiri was pacing when Jake made himself known to everyone as he walked further into the hut.

“What happened?” He asked in English since you were present. Originally, he had planned to fly to Hell’s Gate to work things out with you. Then he’s suddenly called back to base—urgently. He didn’t realize you’d be here, and now he was beginning to suspect that you were involved in this somehow.

“The warrior and her group tried to attack tanhi!” Neytiri spoke first, her tail lashing behind her while scowling down at the unconscious warrior. “Tsu’tey brought her here—”

“More of her people have been scouting near the Sky Clan’s home,” Tsu’tey explained calmly. “We’ve never been able to catch them until one revealed herself to our dreamwalker.” He raised his chin with authority. “I shot her with my bow and brought her to answer questions.”

Jake noticed Arvok staring at the woman closely, a slow dark expression crossing his face. “Tsmukan.”

The younger male perked up and turned to Jake expectantly.

Jake continued in Na’vi, “Do you recognize her?” This time, Neytiri, Tsu’tey, and Mo’at froze and watched Arvok’s expression closely, as if waiting for him to confirm it to be true. “Was she the one who attacked you and shot the dreamwalker?”

Even you watched closely. Despite not knowing the language, you were smart enough to put two and two together. They wanted to know if this Tipani woman was the one who attacked Arvok and poisoned you.

Neytiri was already ready for a fight with the way she held her hunting knife. And despite appearing put together, one couldn’t miss the hard look that settled on Tsu’tey’s face.

For Jake and even Neytiri, it didn’t matter if they weren’t related by blood to Arvok. They would go to war for him. There was no question about it. Jake nearly started one himself when Arvok was brought back injured that night.

Finally, Arvok shook his head, “She did not attack me, but she was there. I remember…she was the only one with a bow while her comrades carried spears.”

Jake’s chest tightened, breathing out a tired sigh before turning to you.

Noticing that he was now addressing you, you stood straighter and appeared guarded—he deserved that.

“Do you recognize her?”

You frowned at the question. “No.” But when you consider the words she spoke to you earlier. The phrases were vaguely familiar. You could make out “poison” and “kill.” It was a stretch, but you had a feeling that this warrior woman had something to do with the attack. “My theory is she might’ve been the one that shot the arrow—I’m strictly going off of how she keeps looking at me and how she recognized me enough to lunge for me just now.”

You watched his face tighten before looking at the unconscious warrior. He said something in Na’vi. Tsu’tey nodded, which seemed to surprise both Neytiri and Jake at once. Arvok looked intrigued while glancing from you to the other three. He kind of reminded you of a puppy with how animated his tail and expressions were.

Eventually, Neytiri approached you and gently tugged your arm. “We will fly back to your people for the night. Come.”

Just before you gained distance away from Mo’at’s hut, Jake called your name and ducked out of the hut a second later.

“Still have that hunting knife?”

With a frown, you nodded, “S’back at Hell’s Gate.” 

Jake gave a frown of his own, “Don’t leave the gate without it. Copy?”

Reluctantly, you considered his words, “I hope you’re not expecting a ‘yes, sir.’ I’m not your soldier, Sully.”

He gave you an exasperated look, “Just don’t go wanderin’ into the forest without it. Please.”

Since you weren’t in the mood to fight back on this, you wiped your forehead. “Yeah, sure, whatever.”

With that, you let Neytiri lead you to one of the winged creatures, which you gulped at. But she just tugged you closer until you both were close enough for Neytiri’s other hand to stroke its nose.

“This is Zu’ri. She is an ikran. Creatures that we bond with. They help us get to places faster.”

You nodded, slightly in awe at how easily she got on the ikran’s back. She offered her hand, which you took, as she just as easily pulled you up onto the back of her ikran, sitting you behind her.

And when Zu’ri took off, your eyes were squeezed shut, a small squeal leaving your lips as you held onto Neytiri for dear life.

You heard a laugh come from Neytiri and eventually dared yourself to open one eye, only to be met with the starry night sky. The cool wind caressed your face, coaxing you to open your other eye, finally taking in that you were flying. Not in a ship but on the back of a Pandora creature.

It was like you were in one of your dreams, like you were nine again.

And for that moment, you allowed a foreign expression to sneak its way onto your face. It was barely noticeable at first glance.

But Neytiri saw it. She saw that white crescent moon. It made you look a lot younger, brightened your face, and your eyes were vivid with stars twinkling in your gaze.

You were always beautiful to Neytiri—hauntingly so. Now you seem to finally bloom. And it only took the right amount of sunlight.

Hell’s Gate finally came into view just before Zu’ri landed in a tree. Neytiri slid off and helped you down.

When you climbed down the tree, your mind instantly went to your garden and the baby as you walked toward Hell’s Gate. You still looked up at the sky, taking in the stars. You never really looked at it until now. Your mind was always clouded and spinning, keeping you busy all the time.

“Ma ’tanhi.” You stopped short and turned to find Neytiri coming toward you. She grabbed one of your hands and frowned sadly. “I’m sorry I could not be there when those warriors came for you. We should’ve warned you about this when you were poisoned—”

“So, then tell me.” You squeezed her hand. “Tell me what’s happening.”

Neytiri’s ears flickered before nodding. Her gaze fell on Hell’s Gate, frowning. “Not many of the clans are happy with the few Sky People left here. There was calm for a while, and they turned their eye away. But when your ship arrived,” You winced, and she squeezed your hand in response. “They got nervous. Now there is a clan, the Tipani. We’ve had many disagreements with the Olo’eyktan and their Tsahik in the past. Even now. They want to remove all Sky People. By exile or blood.”

Your shoulder’s sunk, “Shit.”

You couldn’t really say you blamed them for their actions. But this definitely meant you had to be a lot more careful. No aimlessly wandering the forest anymore. You’d have to make your foraging trips shorter, maybe take a Samson out when you check on the link shacks—

Neytiri gently cupped your face, bringing you out of your thoughts. She smiled at you.

“I see you.”

Your tail swished behind you. “That sounds nice.” Though you titled your head curiously. “What does it mean?”

Her smile widened as she pressed your foreheads together. For a moment, you stayed like this. In your space of peace. You bit the inside of your cheek before wrapping her in a hug.

She hugged back instantly.

And you stayed like this for a second longer.

Eventually, you pulled away, face warm. “I’ll see you whenever then?”

Neytiri nodded. “Tomorrow.”

“See you then.”

Tsu’tey couldn’t breathe.

His surroundings, the world spun as he arrived back at his shared home.

Neteyam was asleep, so he tried his best to muffle his sobs and frantic breathing. It was the same feeling as last time. When his brother was unmoving in his arms. When he was forced to leave Mo’at’s hut so he wouldn’t have to see him bleeding out.

It was the same. It was always the same. The moment this fight between the clans started, the moment Eywa saved him from death, the moment he was crowned Olo’eyktan. His world never stopped spinning. His heart never stopped racing.

Tsu’tey tried breathing in, clutching his chest. Being quiet was a difficult task. He didn’t want to wake his little son; he didn’t want him crying, and Tsu’tey was unable to comfort him.

He would’ve been worthless. He was worthless.

Worthless. Worthless. Worthless. Worthless.

“Hey, hey,” A gentle voice reached his ears, drawing him out of his thoughts. Jake appeared in his line of vision, ducking his head down to catch his gaze. “Hey, love.” Jake rested his hand on Tsu’tey’s shoulder, squeezing it softly. “How bad is it this time?”

Instead of a verbal response, Tsu’tey dropped his head into the dip of his mate’s shoulder. Jake was quick to hold him, wrapping him in a secure blanket.

And something like this was a rarity. This much affection from Jake. Usually, he was more restrained, and it took both Tsu’tey and Neytiri to coax him out of the cage he surrounded himself in.

Jake could do small touches. If Tsu’tey and Neytiri initiated it, he would respond. In private, when it was just them, he allowed himself to be a little freer.

But this? Holding him this tight? Tsu’tey’s heart grew; he felt safe here. The world stilled, and he clung to this lifeline.

“I’ve got you. I’m here.” Jake promised, nuzzling his face into the crook of Tsu’tey’s neck.

It was then that he felt—noticed Jake’s hands trembling around him. It was then that he realized they both needed this moment.

Away from the chaos.

In their space of peace.

“We’ll get through it,” Jake whispered reassuringly. To himself or Tsu’tey, neither could tell.

“Eywa ngaha?”

Norm shook his head. “No, Eywa ngahu.”

You jutted your bottom lip out. “Eywa ngahu.”

“Good! You’re getting better!”

“Shut up, Spellman.”

Norm laughed as you glared grumpily at the ultrasound. “I didn’t even know you were interested in learning their language. You seem so determined, too.”

“I’m just tired of looking like a gaping fish whenever they do speak their language. Hell, they could be talking about me in front of me!”

Norm hummed, “True. That could be annoying. I thought you would’ve asked Neytiri to be honest.”

“I’m learning from Neytiri, I’m learning from you—hell, I’m binging my mother’s old logs until this language thing is imprinted in my brain.”

“Wow, I’d hate to see how you got your doctorate.”

You flipped him off as he laughed. The belly shifted a bit. Either from your voice or Norm’s. A part of you wondered if she recognized both of your voices by now. “See? Even the baby thinks you're unfunny. She’s not even out of the womb yet, and she’s the smartest girl I know.”

Norm clutched his chest. “Ouch! That really does hurt, Doc!”

“Good, I hope you suffer.”

“I missed your quips, Doc.” He sighed wistfully. “Even if you are cruel.”

You rolled your eyes at his theatrics. A second later, there was static coming from Norm’s coms. You watched curiously as he picked it up and placed it back in his ear. “Yeah? Mmm. Yeah, she’s with me. Sure thing. Okay, but a little advice: approach cautiously if you want to keep your head today. Mhm, yeah, no problem.”

He hung up.

You frowned curiously. “What, Sully going on some hunting trip?”

“No, he wants to see you.”

You rolled your eyes as he burst into another fit of laughter. Getting louder when you threw one of your blank notebooks at him.

“Come on! I got you, admit it!”

“Grow up, Spellman.”

You ignored the growing lump in your throat when you got outside just in time to see Jake sliding off his ikran.

It was almost strange, being as tall as him now—instead of having to look up all the time, you now met him at eye level. And it was easy to see hesitance upon seeing you. But he quickly covered it up as you got closer, instantly donning an authoritative, or rather stern, energy that of a marine.

You stopped short and raised your brows expectantly.

He flicked his head to the right toward the direction of the nearby forest. “Let’s move.”

Quietly, you followed him away from Hell’s Gate, and his ikran stayed put obediently. As you stepped into the forest nearby, you tried making your feet quiet, as Neytiri had shown you a couple of months back. Jake would glance over his shoulder every now and then, just to make sure you were following. And you were. At your own pace.

A part of you wanted to make it clear that you were still pissed at him. And you did that too. Whether he acknowledged it or not was up to him.

Finally, he stopped in a large clearing and faced you with an unreadable expression. He picked up a bow that was resting on a rock, along with a quiver of arrows, and handed them to you. “Since you can’t seem to keep yourself out of trouble, we thought it would be best to train you. Learn to defend yourself.” His ears pinned to the sides of his head, “Because nobody’s goin’ to be there to save you all the time. And if the time came to it, you would probably have to kill someone.”

You frowned. Jake sighed exasperatedly when you refused to move or respond. “Its kill or be killed right now. I need you to make the hard choice when it comes to it. Understand?”

You looked from him to the bow before nodding once. Slowly, you took the bow and quiver of arrows from him. Jake looked satisfied with your answer before turning and gesturing to a thick tree a few feet away from them.

You grabbed an arrow and loaded it on the bow as Jake started speaking once more, “We’re gonna try and get you to aim and shoot at that tree. Like a true Na’vi. But today we’ll be focused on you mastering your form before—”

He was cut off when you released the arrow. It flew past him and hit the tree he pointed to. Practically a bullseye.

Jake snapped his head toward you, eyes slightly wide. You lowered the bow, “You’ve done this before.” It wasn’t a question—more like a dumbfounded observation.

“Archery? Yeah, I took some classes when I was younger.” You shrugged.

Jake’s ears twitched, and his expression was controlled again. “Alright then. Lift your arms.”

Making sure there was a great reluctance in your response, you lifted back into form, pulling the arrow back with precise aim. Jake stared at you for a good few seconds. He began circling you like a vulture. Shoving your abdomen and smacking your arm, all of which remained firm.

“Good form.” He grunted.

“I know.” You said simply.

Jake tilted his head. “Now try it with your left.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s how the natives shoot.” Jake gestured toward her. “Switch hands.”

You hummed and eventually switched hands—which was noticeably a lot less firm—but you kept your face the same. “Sure you’re not just tryna make it unnecessarily difficult for me after I nailed that shot? You a little mad?”

“Are you mad that I’m making you use your left?” He responded, a hint of challenge clear.

You pulled the arrow back, ignoring the trembling in your left hand and arm—no doubt Jake noticed it anyway. “Oh yeah, I’m pissed.”

And you let the arrow fly. It missed the tree as you expected.

Jake quirked his lip slightly into a small smirk. “Again, but don’t release the arrow just yet.”

You sank back into your stance. Jake guided your arm and moved your fingers until there were only two left on the string. You frowned, looking at Jake, who watched you expectantly.

“Now release.”

And you did. Missing the tree completely. As expected.

“Again.”

You did this for the next hour. Fingers in pain, but you were incredibly determined despite your frustrations. Most times, you’d grab the arrow before Jake muttered, “Again,” and shot at the tree.

And again, you missed.

You clicked your tongue and moved to grab another arrow.

“That’s enough for today.” Jake walked past you to collect the arrows from the ground. “S’nice to see you into it though.”

You rolled your eyes as he approached with the arrows gathered in his hand. “Take these and practice until you’re used to the form.”

“Hmph.”

That was all you said as you grabbed the arrows from his hand. Only he didn’t let go. So, you didn’t let go either, staring at him challengingly. He noticed your tail lashing behind you and your grip tightening around the arrows.

“Easy.” He warned, his voice low.

You tilted your head, not breaking eye contact with him.

Then his expression relaxed—softened. His ears lowered a bit. “I’m sorry.” He whispered for only you to hear. His grip tightened around the arrows, stopping you from pulling away. “About the other night. And believe it or not, I do actually care about what happens to you.”

A part of you wanted to look away. There was an intensity in his eyes that you couldn’t name. That you didn’t want to name. It made your jaw clench.

Jake stepped closer, his voice lowering. “That means no more throwing yourself in front of poisoned arrows without knowing how to shoot one first.”

You frowned, considering his words. “You’re sorry?”

“Mhm.” He pressed his lips into a thin line, studying your face. “Do you want me to say it again?”

That, you considered. You really did. Finally, you rolled your eyes and shook your head, “No. Just give me the damn arrows.”

You went to pull it from his grasp only he still held firm.

Now you glared at him. Jake smiled then, his ears twitching and his tail swishing behind him.

Jake couldn’t help himself. Your small reactions were so cute.

“Did you bring your hunting knife?” He asked, tilting his head to examine the rest of your body—probably to find said knife.

“Why are you acting as if you care, Sully? Hmm?” Finally, he let the arrows go. You placed them all back in the quiver and slung the strap over your shoulder.

“Same time tomorrow, Doc.”

“Yeah, sure, Sully.”

After checking in on the baby a second time later that night, you went to the compound with the bow and arrows and went into the new stance that Jake had shown you.

It was uncomfortable still, but you were still determined, even if your fingers ended up blistered by the end of your long practice. When you finally went to bed, you managed to get used to falling into the new stance,  but it was still difficult to manage. Too shaky to shoot. The arrows almost always missed the target

You put some bandages around your now blistered hand, which you were used to since you had taken archery long before.

When Neytiri saw the bandaged hand the next day when she came to help out with your garden, she tsked and grabbed some herbs from your garden and began applying them while teaching you some more Na’vi.

“Ngaru lu fpom srak.” Neytiri spoke effortlessly.

“Ngaru lu fpom srak.” You repeated as best as you could.

Neytiri smiled at your attempt. “Close. Ngaru lu fpom srak.”

“Ngaru-lu-fpom-srak.”

She finished up your hand by wrapping it in long, clean grass and placed a gentle kiss on your palm. “Nga lu yawne.” You are…pretty—no, beloved.

Oh.

You ignored how your face heated up and cleared your throat, “Teach me more?”

Neytiri didn’t let go of your hand as she gave you more phrases to repeat. And you didn’t mind it.

A little later, you met up with Jake in the same spot as the day before. When you grabbed an arrow from the quiver, Jake watched you closely as you sank into the new form.

Jake circled you. Smacking your stomach and arm. Your arm was firm, but he purposefully added force to your stomach and made your foot slide back an inch. Jake noticed but didn’t say anything.

You ignored him and focused on your finger placement and how you were supposed to aim this perfectly—or at least so that it would hit the tree.

“Here.”

His voice came from behind you, making you jump out of your whirring thoughts. One hand lowered your arm while the other secured your grasp on the bow and moved it, only slightly. Your back arched when a sudden warmth met the back of your waist, his hand pushing her spine forward. “Keep straight, alright?” His hand stayed on your lower back. “Straight and….”

His breath brushed along your skin. The hair prickled from the touch, and you kept your eyes focused forward. Ignoring the steady drum of your heart against your ribs.

“Release.”

A shiver shot down your spine.

You let the arrow fly.

And it hit the tree.

Jake nodded and stepped away from you, his touch gone. Again, you ignored the small shudder that tickled your skin. You glared at the ground as you went to grab another arrow.

“Now try it yourself. Exactly how I showed you.” Jake ordered.

You tried to remember the exact position without thinking about how close he just was before. The placement of his hands—

And you let the arrow fly.

It grazed the bark, breaking a chunk off.

You bit the inside of your cheek while Jake chuckled, “At least you were close.”

“Quiet.”

Again, you got into your stance and aimed. The arrow completely missed. You cursed, grabbed arrows, and switched hands. You pulled the arrow back and let it hit the tree. Another landed just above that arrow. And the last one broke the arrow right at the center.

You lowered the bow, sighing as you threw your head back.

Jake’s eyes were searing into the side of your head. “Got that out of your system.”

With a shrug, you turned to look at him, “Maybe I’ll be the only one who uses a bow with my right.”

He sighed as he grabbed the broken arrow off the ground, holding it up for you to see. “You know we make these. A lot of hours spent.” You watched him toss them aside and collect the rest. There was a certain look on his face. “Stubbornness won’t get you anywhere here. Same with hardheaded idiots, too.”

You hummed, adjusting your grip on your bow. “Sorry, out of the two of us, which one is from the Jarhead Clan?”

“Easy.” He warned, his tail swishing as he passed.

With a roll of your eyes, you watched as he put the arrows back in the quiver. “We’re done already?”

Jake nodded once. “Mo’at wants to check your wounds—what’s that?” He nudged your bandaged hand before grabbing it.

You winced, yanking your hand back. “I got it from practicing. It’s fine.”

He regarded you with a look before tilting his head toward the left. “Let’s move.”

As he began walking, you waited for a beat before you finally followed. Jake noticed this, sending you an annoyed glare which was returned with one of your own glares (his heart skipped a beat, but he was skilled enough to keep a straight face).

You followed him to his ikran, who perked up as Jake approached. “Hey, boy.” He got on and helped you up with ease—show off.

The ikran took off, and you clutched onto Jake's waist, still not used to flying on these creatures. His body was tense under your touch, but he didn’t remove your hands.

Something then moved in the corner of your eye.

When you turned your head toward the direction of the movement, you saw a warrior looking back at you from a tree. Not Omatikayan. He wore armor and held a spear in his other hand.

Jake noticed him too, his face hardening. You gripped your bow nervously, praying that there weren’t more in the bushes, waiting to shoot you down.

It was out of instinct; Jake reached behind him to grip your thigh as he yipped to his ikran to speed up.

You continued watching the warrior until you couldn’t see him anymore.

Eventually, you made it to the Omatikaya Clan’s base. You slid off first, breathing out shakily. Jake got off and led you to Mo’at’s hut.

“Dreamwalker!” Arvok called to you as you passed.

You gave a small wave, and Jake caught the small interaction with an amused smirk.

When you arrived at her hut, Jake didn’t follow. “I’ll be back.”

And you didn’t question it; no doubt he wanted to check out whatever that was in the forest. You shrugged and entered the hut. Only to stop when you saw Mo’at already tending to someone.

Tsu’tey was hunched over while Mo’at was massaging his back, well, certain places that made him tense or lock up instantly. His tail was a giveaway to his pain.

Must’ve been past injuries, you figured out quietly as you set your bow down.

Both ears twitched at that. Tsu’tey instantly tensed, tail lifted. Mo’at looked at you and pulled her lips into a frown. “You are late.”

Your own tail swished. “I didn’t know I was being timed.” You crouched, sitting on the floor as you noticed a baby sling strapped to Mo’at’s chest. And a baby—Neteyam—was in the sling. Your chest warmed at the sight.

“Mmph.” The Tsahik grunted. “Stay there. I’ll get to you soon—eh? What’s that on your hand?”

You glanced down at your bandaged hand. “Just from training. Neytiri already looked at it.”

Mo’at grumbled. “I will look at it.” She tsked with a shake of her head as she pressed down on Tsu’tey’s left shoulder. The man grunted. “Are you trying to further scar yourself?”

She said the last bit in Na’vi, which you picked up on. Your tail swished excitedly behind you. “I’m not doing it on purpose. But at least I’ll end up with cool scars.”

“So, you are learning our language,” Tsu’tey spoke up this time, glancing over his shoulder toward you. He continued in Na’vi, and the only thing you picked up on was skxawng, which you knew meant “moron”. Mo’at huffed and stepped away to grab a bowl near the fire.

You scowled at him. “Ass. I’m not that far yet.”

He gave a smug smirk. “You have a lot to learn, dreamwalker.”

Mo’at finished up with him and allowed him to stand up. You watched as he took his son from her, his face softening. Something you haven’t seen much of—only once when you told them about Dr. Augustine’s avatar baby. That gentle parental look was strange to you. You were always used to that severe expression or resting bitch face that looked far too permanent at times.

“Come.” Mo’at gestured for you to replace Tsu’tey’s spot as he moved toward the exit.

You came forward and sank onto the floor. Immediately, she got to work, starting with your shoulder as she removed the bandages. You winced, the area still tender.

“Jakesully is training you?” she asked. You frowned, wondering how she figured that out as she raised your bandaged hand. “New warriors always come back with markings when they start with the bow.”

You huffed. “I’m good with my right anyway.” There was a scoff, and you turned to find Tsu’tey still standing a few feet away. “You’re still here?”

“I am Olo’eyktan.” He replied smugly. “I go where I please.”

You rolled your eyes as Mo’at hissed at you for moving too much. In the next second, the flap to the hut entrance moved, and both Jake and Neytiri entered. You straightened, and Tsu’tey became alert.

“The general from the Tipani Clan wants to meet with you. They want the warrior who attacked the dreamwalker back.” Neytiri informed with a deep frown.

Tsu’tey clenched his jaw. “Where is the general?”

“North from here. We’ll go together.” Jake replied.

“Sa’nok, can Neteyam—” Neytiri started only for Mo’at to wave the question off.

“Of course, my grandson can stay. Go.”

Tsu’tey handed Neteyam over before following Jake and Neytiri out of the hut. Neteyam squirmed against Mo’at’s chest as if sensing his parents’ absence. “Sssh, ssh.”

Once Mo’at was finished, you went to fish through your bag that you usually kept strapped across your shoulders when you heard your tablet begin to beep.

You took it out to find an activity alert on your tablet. For one of the old link shacks. Somewhere around Hell’s Gate. Of course, you were a little familiar with this area, and since it was on the way, you decided you would stop by, just to check up on things and get it out of the way.

“Bye, Mo’at.” You say as you grab your bow.

“No more scars.” She said in reply, just as you left her hut.

Halfway through the crowd of huts and the river of natives, you realize you didn’t have any arrows. Jake had taken the quiver.

You sighed, feeling around your shorts until your fingers brushed the hilt of your hunting knife.

That would have to do.

You found a pa’li just a couple of feet outside of the village and linked your queue with it.

“Dreamwalker!”

You glanced over your shoulder to find Arvok jogging his way over to you. “Where are you going? Is Neytiri or Jakesully not taking you home?”

“I can find my way home, actually.” You tucked the tablet on the pa’li’s back so you could see the GPS on the screen. “I’m just checking on an old link shack before I head home.”

He frowned. “Alone?”

“That is the idea, yes.”

“But you do not know the forest. And you are a dreamwalker. A very loud one.” You frowned as he went and grabbed a pa’li. “I will go with you.”

Not bothering to protest, you just steered your pa’li forward with Arvok following close behind.

The journey to the link shack wasn’t too long. Arvok, thankfully, wasn’t as distracting as you expected. Save for the small questions about everything you did.

“What is that you keep staring at?”

“A tablet.”

“Why are you staring at it?”

“Because it’s leading me to where I need to go. Like a map.”

“Ah.”

A beat went by.

“Dreamwalker?”

You sighed. “Yes?”

“What is a map?”

You didn’t have the heart to tell him to shut up—he wasn’t Sully or Norm. So, all you said in response was, “ssh.” And thankfully, Arvok listened.

Finally, you got to the link shack.

This was in a large tree. And one of the windows had been broken, which explained the toxic air alert on your tablet.

You slid off your pa’li and approached the tree. Both you and Arvok climbed up. By the time you got to the branch that led you toward the link shack entrance, Arvok took an arrow from his quiver and drew it slightly. You frowned, but you took out your hunting knife. Just in case.

Before either you or Arvok could do anything, an arrow whizzed out of the broken window. You ducked in time as it flew over your head.

“Damn these arrows!” You grumbled while Arvok aimed his arrow at the window.

“Mawey!” He called. The rest you couldn’t pick up, but it sounded like an order.

Whoever was inside responded back with a hiss. Someone was inside. Maybe more than one person, you weren’t sure yet. They went back and forth for a bit before Arvok lowered his bow slightly and gestured for you to approach the door.

With a confused frown, you approached the door, clutching your knife. You glanced back at Arvok, who gave you a reassuring nod.

After some great reluctance and ignoring your racing heart, you pushed the shack door open.

(i'm not adding any more people anymore!)

taglist: @doggyteam2028 @bigbootahjudy @innercreationflower @n7cje @celi-xxmoon @readerofallthingss @sillyblues @saturnhas82moons @1mawh0re @aprosiacperson @loserwithnofriends @garfieldsladybird @slutforsmut4ever @lik0

EEEEKKKK! hello! ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

i have been working on this since 2023 when ATWOW first released. with the new trailer out, i’ve finally found inspiration to finish it ㅤᵕ̈

so without further ado, i will now share with you all—Enjoy!

series masterlist

. . .

word bank: pup - short / sa’nok - mother / ‘evenge - child / nga - you / seykxel - strong (emotionally, spiritually, not physically) / sivako - you can do it, courage / ngatsyíp - little one / nena (spanish) - darling, honey

It starts at the age of 6…

“I think you’ll like his children just as much as you like Jake,” Your dad says to you, his figure crouching beside your small frame.

You stand in front of the big, metal door of the building.

Your eyebrows scrunch in question, round eyes full of curiosity. “What if they don’t like me?” Your voice is small, unsure—brown orbs flickering with doubt.

Your dad's face softens and he offers an encouraging smile.

“What’s there not to like?” He taps your nose playfully as the words leave his mouth. “Come on, now.” He stands from position. “Spider is waiting—”

“I don’t want Spider, I want Jake,” You interrupt—a pouty expression paints your face. You see Spider everyday here at home.

Your dad deadpans at the suggestion of Jake, as he originally planned for Spider to introduce you.

Spider’s foster parents have let him roam outside past the gates plenty of times. Your dad, on the other hand, is a little more… restrictive protective over the matter. He just worries, it’s his job.

He gives you another encouraging smile when he hears your whiny tone. “Nena...” He begins reluctantly, his hand scratching the back of his head. The word—a term of endearment he adopted for you in honor of your mom and her culture—helps calm you briefly.

Your dad pauses, thinking hard. His face scrunches like he’s trying to solve a puzzle before he takes a knee again to match your height.

“How about I take you instead?” He asks softly, cautiously, well aware of how stubborn you are when it comes to Jake. He can only pray to Eywa that the heartening smile he sends your way has you agree.

Your face lights up for a second—but then your pout returns, stronger than ever.

“No, I want Jake!”

. . .

“Remember, nena! Never take the mask off, okay?” Your dad’s voice echoes in the hallway, scurrying to keep up, distracted by the monitors and screens as you pass through the lab room.

“She’s stepped foot outside before, Norm.” You practically hear Jake’s voice in your ear, your small frame enveloped in his larger arms. His hand finds the handle to the exit.

“Maybe it’ll be better if I come with y—”

Jake swings the door open, turning on his heels with you still in his arms. “They need you here, Norm,” he persists with a roll of his eyes. Your father grimaces, reluctant.

“Besides, she’ll be right outside with me, and she’ll love meeting the kids!”

Before your father could protest, the door shuts behind the both of you.

. . .

“She’s more pup than Spider.”

You’re small, and human, and definitely no speaker of this language the blue-skinned child spoke.

Still, having a dad who studies this language, you make it work. You understand that pup means short. It isn’t hard to put the puzzle pieces together.

You assume the Na’vi boy circling you finds it funny to pick at your height. You know you’re right when Spider laughs and the Na’vi girl next to him hisses at the words that roll off her brother’s tongue mockingly, his naturally taller body still moving around you in delight.

“Lo’ak.” Her yellow eyes shoot daggers at the boy. That must be his name.

“Penis face,” you retort.

Again, Spider laughs—only harder this time.

Lo’ak’s face scrunches up, confused. His sister mirrors his expression. He doesn’t have a chance to reply, not understanding at all what you said to him.

But your brazen tone is enough for him to know you were not going to let his last comment slide.

Jake was initially amused by the interaction, but upon hearing your words, he instantly takes your small frame into his arms, interrupting the two of you.

“Y/N,” Jake attempts to scold, but his stern demeanor fails to convince you of his disapproval. You know he thinks it’s funny by the smile he tries to hide.

“That isn’t a nice thing to say,” he tells you, recomposing himself, and resumes with a look of disapproval.

Jake remembers calling out to Norm and referring to your dad as penis face, which you actually learned from him. The vivid memory betrays him when it prompts a stifled chuckle to rumble through his chest, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

And so, you meet Lo’ak and Kiri first, at the small age of six. They're only slighty younger, as you were born right before the Pandoran War, like Spider. Despite this, your frame is much smaller compared to their naturally larger and bluer build.

Your introduction to the youngest Sully kids presents you with few glimpses of the Pandoran forest as you usually meet no further than the withered fences that still slightly guard Hell’s Gate, the place you call home.

Jake trusts your father to look after his young ones when they're around. The two youngest Sully children often spend their time with you in the lab for the first couple months of your newly formed friendships. They find fun in the little things you are far too familiar with and bored of.

Still, you never take their company for granted. Your life is a lot more fun with their presence in your life. You aren’t afraid to say that to them, and often if not, are very open to showing your gratitude and fondness for them through small acts of physical affection—casually sharing hugs, sometimes attacking them mostly Lo'ak from behind, usually ending in a piggyback ride.

As small children, differences in your language with the Sullys doesn’t stop your horseplay or what your dad calls “shenanigans” in the lab. And your dad isn't very happy about the shenanigans.

Then, at age 7…

You stare at the large, what you understand to be lifeless, N’avi body encased in a big tank of water. It seems so large, especially next to your small frame.

You mindlessly tap on the glass, intrigued by the sight in front of you.

“Kiri’s sa’nok?” You repeat your dad’s words after he explains to you the “complicated situation”—is what he calls it—involving Kiri and her real mom. Her birth mom, your dad tells you.

As a scientist, and now leader of the Avatar Program, your father prepares to introduce Grace’s encased Avatar form to Kiri here in the lab.

“Yes, ‘evenge.”

Your dad is too preoccupied with one of the monitors in the lab to notice the confusion that paints your face. You know he’s used the word before, but you can’t remember.

“’Evenge?” You repeat.

“Child,” he translates absentmindedly, still focusing his attention on the monitor.

If you weren’t so distracted by the unfamiliar Na’vi word, your heart normally would have ached at the mention of a mother—a figure in your life you always wished for.

You frown at your father’s behavior, too busy to pay any regard to you.

Lo’ak and Kiri should have arrived with Jake by now. For a couple of days, your father has placed emphasis on the importance of today. For him, Jake, and especially Kiri.

He also spoke to you about how maybe he could take you out to the forest to introduce you to “the foreign flora and life within the beautiful Pandoran forest” (again, his words) you so badly grew a wish to see.

“If there’s time.”

You hate when he says that.

You don’t like that sentence one bit. He says it all the time, and he’s said it to you too many times in the past couple of weeks to even count.

Your eyes wander around the lab, scanning every little object, screen, and monitor you haven’t already taken the time to observe before.

You grow impatient as your dad keeps talking, something about one of the plants in the forest. You tune his voice out, too distracted by the view the window beside the exit offers you.

You turn your head to catch a glimpse of your distracted dad, who continues to ramble and give you his back as he does. You quietly slip past the window, your eyes jumping to him from time to time.

Then your eyes lock on the encased mask in the clear compartment against the wall, right next to the exit.

. . .

You somehow make it to the fence successfully without your dad noticing your absence. Still, you don’t waste any time in figuring out how far you can get before he does. So you embark on finding Kiri and Lo’ak on your own terms. They shouldn’t be too deep into the forest anyway, right? They should be close by now.

You knew the perfect spot to wait for them.

Just a couple of steps outside the fences of your home, there’s an open area of higher ground with a very tall tree. You always spotted Kiri and Lo’ak at this spot. They’ve passed it plenty of times whenever they were making their way to the labs.

It isn’t too far.

Upon reaching the fences, you look over your shoulder once more, turning back to make sure your dad is still inside the lab.

With no one in sight, absolutely no witness (freedom, you feel like), you don’t think twice about setting foot in the foreign, forbidden forest. Your small feet take you only as far as a couple of meters before you go stumbling down from an area of higher ground. You yelp in pain before a large tree halts your hurtling with a crash.

You huff and dust yourself off before standing on your feet again, disoriented for a moment.

You were too focused before, with trying to slip away. But now, you finally pay mind to your surroundings.

Sounds of chirps and humming insects fill your ears. The Pandoran trees you grew so used to seeing from afar, have you looking now in awe. They’re way too tall to see fully from where you stand at the base of the trunk. Their height easily towers over plants you’ve never seen before. Only in the textbooks your dad owns. They’re more colorful than you could have ever imagined. You listen closely to the noises of critters, along with the sound of the breeze moving through the branches and leaves.

Small, enchanting species fly and pass you by. Your round eyes, full of wander and awe, follow the small creatures that pass the thing that catches your attention next.

It’s a very large, deep-colored purple mushroom. Maybe five times your size, and your eyes are quick to find more than just one of them—numerous planted in the area that you tumbled into.

Your dad always reminds you of the dangers of Pandora. Still your wondrous eyes and curious hands don’t think twice about reaching out to touch one of the towering mushrooms.

Almost.

Your fascination is cut short by a blaring, shrieking sound.

It’s deafening—alerting. It precipitates you to cover your ears with your hands, panic now painting your face as terror begins to set in.

You spin around, trying to find where that horrible, screaming sound is coming from—a large plant you have never seen before. It’s maybe twice the size of the mushrooms, with a tubular plant body.

You lower your hands, panic giving way to realization.

You don’t even realize it, but your reflexes are not fast enough for you to react to the sudden release of very large needles coming from that same plant—flying directly in your direction, as if targeted.

You barely miss them.

With one swift motion, a pair of arms instantaneously sweep you off your feet before you’re suddenly swinging through the forest for a fleeting moment.

You’re then gently placed on your feet, and you can finally see what is going on.

Before you stands a Na’vi boy.

Your eyes find his feet first as they travel up to meet his studying gaze. He looks at you intently, almost observing.

His slightly taller figure prompts him to look down at you, a frown tugging on the corners of his mouth. He looks almost…

Annoyed? You really couldn’t tell.

But he notices confusion in your eyes, almost mistaking it for fear, and his gaze softens.

His expression changes into one of understanding—his eyes watching you with a lightness now.

You notice he isn’t much taller or older looking than Lo’ak, so you guess he’s most likely around your age.

He blinks at you a couple of times, almost as if contemplating his next move, the brewing of ideas illustrated on his face.

He doesn’t give you a chance to speak a word before he grabs you by the shoulders gently, twirling you around as his golden eyes examine your small frame for any injuries.

He proceeds with pulling you by the wrist, instructing to follow right behind him.

It isn’t long before he has you reaching the proximity of your home. You know because you’ve now passed the spot you always greet Kiri and Lo’ak at. Then you’re back in the deep, tall unfamiliarity of the forest.

The arrival to your home should be any second now, probably with a worried father. Probably. A worried father who will more than likely punish you. Hopefully not.

“What’s your name?” Your eyes are glued to the grip he has on your wrist, but your voice holds benevolence—careful with figuring out the right way to speak to the unknown Na’vi boy whom rescued your reckless, little human life.

He saved you.

You assume he doesn’t understand what you asked when he doesn't say anything back—proceeding with leading the path. He seems set on getting you home.

He spares you a glance and small smile when he looks back at you over his shoulder.

“Y/N." Is all he says to you, and looks straight ahead to guide you properly with caution.

Your hand flies to your chest. “That’s me! So you do understand what I’m saying?” You cheer at his response with so much enthusiasm.

Before you can ask him how he knows your name, the doddering fences of your home come into view and a small frown transforms your face.

The very little time you’ve spent in the forest has been so much more fun than your entire life in the lab. With the obvious exception of Lo’ak and Kiri’s company (you adore your besties).

The Na’vi boy releases his hold on your wrist ahead of reaching your destination.

He gives you a short-lived grin, proud to have brought you home safely. But he’s quick to notice the switch in your expression, his face slightly faltering to match yours.

A little past the worn-down fences, a small figure appears from behind the exit, followed by a crashing slam of the metal doors garnering the attention of both of you.

“Y/N! Is that you!?” You recognize your father’s voice. Oh, he’s definitely mad, and you’re totally grounded for life. He keeps calling out to you from a distance as he squints his eyes for a clearer view.

You direct your attention back to the Na’vi boy who stands between you and the forest.

“Nga seykxel. Sivako, ngatsyíp (You are strong. Courage, little one),” he says gently and offers you a smile. His hand reaches out to pat your head, almost encouragingly.

You see the way his yellow eyes focus behind you, so you turn back to look over your shoulder and see what he’s gazing at. You realize your dad is dashing in your direction, seemingly and understandably in a panic.

You whip your head to turn back to the Na’vi boy once more, only to find that he’s already gone—leaving you only with the rustling sounds of the forest trees along with the scolds of your angry father.

let me know if you want to be added to a taglist for the next part! i hope you all anticipate~

. . .

AONUNG TE TSIKA'U TONOWARI'ITAN

Aonung didn't eat it at the start of your sexual life. Honestly, at first he didn't take you seriously. The guy just wanted a relief, you know? It was "casual". You two weren't even that close friends, just occasionally teasing each other and swimming together. He slept with you when he needed to take his mind off a few things, and that just became very, very often when the Sullies arrived to Awa'atlu.

You were also assigned to help them learn the way of the water. Overtime, you grew close with both the family as well as Aonung himself. As enjoyable as it was, he didn't appreciate you picking up "fishlips" from Lo'ak.

At some point, he became jealous of the guy for he was pending way more time with you than he should have. Back then, you weren't mated or anything, but you were... his. Neither of you looked to mating with other people, having sex only with each other. He knew Lo'ak could smell his scent on you, so why was that forest boy taking your time away from him?

The last straw was when Aonung saw you and him sneaking out together. He immediately stole you away, talking something about how you had an important chore to finish. Of course, you were annoyed, yet not surprised when he took you away to a secluded cove you usually fucked in.

He almost threw you on the ground with how fast he was moving. He was not playing games, not today. "Why were you talking to him?" Aonung almost growled, his ears pinned back and wide tail slapping against stone in agitation.

"It's none of your business, fishlips." You responded like you were really pissed of, and partly you were, but you were also amused with the situation. You've seen him angry before, but never jealous, never so territorial. That made you want to tease him.

The insult hit him more than you'd think. Frankly, he didn't expect you to be so annoyed with him, not that much, but his demeanor changed when he saw mischief gleaming in you eyes. "Fishlips, huh? I'll show you fishlips!" He took your thighs and spread them open, taking a not-so-discreet whiff of the air surrounding you two. It's freshness was tainted with a musky scent of your arousal, which has started to pull in your belly.

Aonung growled, kneeling between your legs. His deft hands, the same ones that he used to prepare you for his cock, now untied your loincloth with much more care but still as much need. He bit into the meat of your thigh, leaving his teeth imprinted there and in return a yelp left your lips. When the piece fell off, the man wasted no time. He licked a long stripe up your slit, his rough tongue catching on your swollen folds and clit. You could not help but gasp, arching into his mouth.

He licked your folds open, spitting on your cunt to properly devour it. He wasn't very gentle, his teeth sometimes scratching your skin, but very good. The man was determined to make you forget about everything but him tonight. His lips wrapped around your clit, sucking on the sensitive pearl. This made you cry with a smile on your face, especially when he slid a finger inside you, curling against your favorite spot he's learned from the previous night.

It has never been like this before. Sure, he did take care of your needs to and made you cum, otherwise you wouldn't continue sleeping with him, however this time his focus was only on your pleasure. It didn't take long for you to peak under him, the sounds you let out making his ears twitch.

Aonung wiped your slick off his chin with the back of his hand. You didn't get to take in the mess you made on his face, but you saw him lick it off his hand like it was the mos decadent cream.

"You marked me, skxawng." You pointed out, the was no pretense in your tone. He admitted to it proudly, reminding you of what it means. That night was one of the best in your life, also partly because he finally made you his official mate.

After your lovemaking, you explained to him that the reason for spending so much time with Lo'ak was helping him court Tsireya and that you two weren't any sort of thing. Aonung felt a little embarrassed with himself, but didn't regret his reaction one bit.

Ever since then he ate you out even without the intention to properly fuck you.

He fell addicted to your taste and sounds, getting drunk on them every time

He became more skilled with it too. He didn't rush, taking his sweet time kissing it like your actual lips, having passionate make out sessions with your pussy.

Great eater that aspires to become even greater, and what's better than practicing on his lovely mate?

JAKE SULLY

I once saw a meme with him saying that you need to kiss the pussy before eating it to be respectful and that pretty much sums up this guy for me. Jake is a munch through and through.

He loves to eat you out and is always gentle and precise about it.

Very skilled too. If you were with him when he was a human, he'd make you sit on his face until you are satisfied since he probably couldn't use his dick after getting in the wheelchair.

"Baby, please, sit on my face. I won't suffocate, I'm a soldier!" He'd beg you, his voice as playful and charming as it was desperate. "You weight nothing. And even if, I'd die happily."

When you agree, Jake starts by kissing your mound, as previously stated. Long, gentle kisses down your slit just to drag his tongue up it.

He teases your entrance with the muscle to relax it so it'd be easier for his fingers later, then your clit. He sucks and licks at it, and of course, kisses too.

When you're ready, he slips his fingers inside and stretches your pussy. One by one, until it's almost too much for you

"Jake, right there!" You'd moan as he curled his fingers against the spongy spot inside you, his tongue busy with your clit. He doesn't answer with words to it but actions, putting more effort to please you.

Jake licks you clean of your release. He doesn't want a single drop of your sweet juices to go to waste. It's messy but he puts his whole heart into it.

When he is in his avatar body though he pays less attention to it, just a little bit less. That means no more face sitting only session, but more use of dick!

To prepare you for the monster in his pants he still uses his tongue. His new, rough and big tongue that feels like heaven and hell on your clit. It rubs it in all the right places that make you moan and shiver. He's so cocky about it too.

"Aw, too much for you, baby?" He'd smile against your pussy, his tongue teasing your entrance before sliding in. Your wetness helps a lot.

The drag of the papillae against your velvety walls almost makes you come. It's so, so much bigger than it used to be and almost fills you entirely.

Then, in his usual fashion, Jake'd take you to sit on his face. To rub yourself on his nose as he eats you like a man starved. His hands massage your lower back, even if you pull at his ears.

A different story is when you tug on his kuru. That is a region too sensitive to fool around. He uses his tongue to make you break, almost in revenge. He pretends to be agitated, yet his groans only signify pleasure, just like his throbbing erection.

Jake truly can't wait to stuff you full of his cock, but doesn't want to give you what you want just yet. He'll even deny you an orgasm and stop you from grinding on him, his hands stilling your hips.

"Jake, come on, please!" You may beg. Or demand an insult "Eywa, you asshole! Let me come!". The only thing that can help you now is teasing his cock and kuru until his desperation peaks.

LO'AK TE SULI TSYEYK'ITAN

Lo'ak worships you and the ground you walk on. Like, just look at him, he wants nothing more than to please.

He will do anything to please you. He's got it bad and he knows it. So when it comes to sex the same rule applies. To him, making love to you is an act of devotion, one that calms and relaxes him.

After a bad day, when Jake is harder on him than usual. Especially after Neteyam's death, he just feels so guilty and down all the time. Lo'ak can't take any more disappointment from others. That's when he comes to you.

"[Name], come with me." He'd ask so gently, his voice almost a whisper. That's the tone he uses when he needs your comfort.

Lo'ak then takes you away, to your quiet spot where no one interrupted you. He cries into your embrace, and you just whisper reassurance in a loving tone.

"He- It's not my fault! It's not my fault he died!" His five-fingered hands digging into your waist. His ears are pressed so tightly against his shaved temples that they are almost invisible. "Why can't he understand that?"

"Ma Lo'ak, of course it isn't your fault. It isn't anybody's but these RDA demons." You wipe his tears, cupping his face to make him look at you. You hope it will help him. "Let me share your pain, let me help."

You make tsaheylu and your soft cuddling with time turns into a heated make out session. Lo'ak's hands grab everywhere you allow, his grief and your love fueling the need pooling in his abdomen. Soon, it builds in yours too and that is when he gives you the most reverent look in his eyes as his kisses descend down your stomach.

"May I?" He asks with wide, hopeful eyes. His hands have already found the strings of your loincloth, ready to untie them at your allowance, which you give. He kisses your mound, worshiping it with his mouth as if these were your actual lips.

His ears perk up at your sounds of pleasure. He just wants to please you, to make sure you feel good. It makes him feel reliable, strong, good. even the smallest moan lifts all insecurities off his shoulders. Of course, he feels your pleasure through the bond, but you know, the moans help.

His lips wrap around your clit, thumb teasing your tight hole, spreading it. "Lo'ak... You're doing so well, pleasuring me so well..." You whimper. He hears and feels your need and slides two fingers into your heat, stretching you well. They quickly reach the spot that makes you see the stars, his own need starting to grow stronger

As much as he's not proud of that, every time this happens he can't help but rush to give you an orgasm so then you can join properly. Though, if you want, he is more than willing to eat it again after.

LYLE WAINFLEET

In my opinion... not an eater. Sorry chat, I'm think he's a selfish lover.

He will if you really, REALLY want him too, but he's not a fan. And only if your human too. He's not eating it blue, he will bite.

I think he nibbles here and there, showing off his canines, but not enough to hurt you. His recom body gives him a need to mark you every time he has his mouth on you.

I don't have much else to say... Mid tongue game but great with his fingers.

MILES QUARITCH

Quaritch, on the other hand, does eat it. Maybe not something he'd do day and night, but it's his preferred way of foreplay and he enjoys it more than less. He makes sure you're ready for him every time, that you are relaxed.

Of course, the big colonel himself fucks you to blow up steam, especially after a fight. He's not affectionate, yet not quick.

He takes a bit of time eating you out, but has never taken as much as much as he did when after becoming a recom. Quaritch immediately went for you.

"Missed me, sugar?" He asked as he pinned you to your desk, laughing at your expression. You were shocked, of course. You haven't seen the man in years after his death, and now it was a completely new body. "You look like you've seen a ghost. Don't worry, it's still me."

"Colonel, is that you? I didn't know you woke up already." You sat up, brushing off your clothes.

"Well, I did." he smirked, looking down at the hem of your pants, hooking his thumbs underneath it. "How about we make up for the lost time?"

Time wasn't wasted in taking off your clothing, he threw them off you, even ripping it in some places by rushing so much. A shiver, both from anticipation and chilly air of the lab, run through your spine down to your pussy.

He hooked his azure fingers under your knees and spread them open. His strength was always impressive. I mean, look at these muscles. You couldn't close these legs even if you tried, especially not now. "Happy to see me, ain't ya? Be a good girl and keep them open for me." Quaritch teased when he saw your erected clit.

His fingers traveled down your thighs to your pussy. His thumb, new and free of callouses, gave your clit a few firm rubs before spreading your lips. In contrary to that, his tongue was almost like wet hot sandpaper against your sensitive slit. He gathered the sticky fluid of your arousal on the tip of the muscle before retracting it back into his mouth to properly taste you.

"Sweet as ever." He whispered with a kind of... pleasant tint to his voice. His blue, much bigger lips tried to wrap around your clit, but sucked in too much skin for his liking. That means he had to switch up to hard work. His coarse tongue was running circles on your clit, making sure it catches on the tiny barbs. To that, you could only respond with moans and pleas for more.

His fingers began to pump steadily in and out of your tight hole, curling and twisting to hit that perfect spot inside you with every thrust. It wasn't to hard, as they filled you similarly to how his cock would back in the human days.

You came with a loud sob, but that wasn't enough. He continued until you were completely limp for him. There was a slight slip-up that ruined his plan however. That was him cumming in his pants, a wet, bio-luminescent patch forming on the moro fabric. embarrassing as hell.

He pulled away, hoping you were too out of it to notice, and you were. Not unconscious, but worn out. Quaritch let out a sigh of relief, knowing that his pride was safe from you. His yellow eyes then dropped to the mess between your thighs, and he decided he was generous enough to clean it up with his mouth.

He didn't know why he was so obsessed with licking you down there, but it wasn't all. He wanted to bite too. Your inner thigh looked so soft. He simply had to sink his new teeth into it. "Come on, don't be a baby." was his attempt to comfort you as you whined at the pain.

From then on, the sessions that were supposed to be just for releasing pent-up frustration and crushing weight of work stress became much more lengthy, more than a casual fuck.

NETEYAM TE SULI TSYEYK'ITAN

Neteyam never had a problem with getting on his knees for you. He's so giddy about it, making small jokes and teasing comments about the way you react to his touch.

He has a lot on his plate. Responsibilities of being the eldest, the pressure of being the next in line for Olo'eyktan, and you. You're like dessert, he never minds eating you and quite enjoys it.

He's a little bit mean, in a playful way. He will edge you until you cry for him. Neteyam does want you to beg, but tries not to push to far. And avoids it when you have a bad day. His goal is ultimately your happiness.

And you know when you had a really bad day? Before he had to leave the forest with his family. How could you be anything but devastated? Your mate must leave, run away to protect your clan and himself, not knowing whether you see each other again. It's a tragedy.

Neteyam's attached at your hip, not wanting to be away from you until he is forced to. You spend your time cuddling, kissing, and then in "bed".

He needed you with all his body and knew you did too. He wished for nothing more than to comfort you.

Two of you ended up making out, his fingers rubbing your clit. He couldn't bare to break apart at first, but later decided he desires to worship you with all of his body.

You gasped for air when the kiss was broken, your lungs burning. Neteyam sat between your legs, taking them on his shoulder before he delved into you with his tongue.

He lapped at your wet heat with utmost need, like it was his whole world. He had to hear you moan as his wet muscle rubbed your insides, specifically the spot that made your toes curl. You felt so good, didn't you?

He spent the whole evening worshiping you, because it was the last time he'd see you for a long, long time.

NORM SPELLMAN

He may not look like it, but Norm does get bitches and knows how to eat it.

In his human body, his stubble would scratch you a little. It is more a funny feeling than anything really, a little tickling. The mustache stubble would be very nice as long as it's not to sharp.

He's a little shy while he does it. Norm knows he may not be as handsome as other guys, and though he has many amazing qualities, he is insecure.

He prefers it when you use his face as your seat, that way he is out of view for the most part. You can just relax and give yourself to pleasure as he works on his most favorite meal.

In his avatar, he's way more confident, or at least enough to let you look at him while he does.

At first, his tongue runs across the seam of your folds with learned precision, just enough to spread them. Then, he works his tongue so the tip of it massages your entrance and the base your clit.

If his whole face doesn't hurt, that means he hasn't done enough. Norm may not be a soldier, but his program is just as strict.

TONOWARI TE TSIKA'U ARWAK'ITAN

Look at this man and tell me he isn't an absolute much. Like all of the guys here eat it (except Lyle sorry) for fic purposes, but I honestly feel that Tonowari will have you on his shoulders each and every day.

His tongue game is elite. Up to this point i was convinced he had it tattooed and I wanted to say it's for his insane skill but he doesn't. Still, my point is very clear.

Between your thighs is his safe haven. He takes you with his mouth gently, he's a sweet giant.

His tongue flicks over your clit, slight vibrations shaking your whole body from how good it feels. He does the same to your actual pussy while his lips wrap around your sensitive pearl.

He sucks on it with immense strength, and he is very careful with it. He's just very strong.

I think his fingers stay in your hips and chest, feeling up the rest of your body. He will use them later to stretch you out or at least satisfy your need of penetration.

TSUTEY TE RONGLOA ATEY'ITAN

Tsu'tey has been eating you out since the day you two became mates. To him it is an almost religious thing, a duty he never fails to perform. Your body is a temple he wishes to kneel at and whisper prayers inside it.

Not much has changed in his tongue game since the day he made you his. He only perfected this art over time, adjusting it to your needs.

He remembers that day very well too. The glowing tendrils of them tree of souls casting a purple light on your body, dressed in your best clothes and jewelry. You looked like a dream, a vision of paradise, especially when you gave yourself to him.

Tsu'tey made sure you were relaxed beforehand. He rubbed his face against your, nose to nose, forehead to forehead, marking you with his scent and making sure he was covered in yours. He kissed you as your kurus intertwined with one another. Your thoughts filled his and vice versa. In both of you boomed love as well as desire.

His pupils were swallowing the gold of his eyes at the sight of your pussy. He felt himself drooling as he looked at you, knowing he's found his place in the world, and that look stays to this day. "Please, ma yawne, let me pleasure you." was the last thing he said before earning you out.

When he feasted on your altar, Tsu'tey made sure to shower your clit with a ton off attention. You want his tongue? Why of course. You prefer his fingers? His pleasure. You didn't even have to vocalize your needs he felt them through the bond.

He takes a lot of time to make sure his mouth and hands make you come before you beg for his cock. Not that he makes you beg, just wants you to be ready for the absolute unit he hides in his loincloth.

He is very skilled with his tongue, using every single part of it to his advantage. Tsu'tey has learned well how to move it to make you fall apart at his hands. He even purrs while pleasing you, so that the vibrations run through your lovely body, but he does not dare to speak. No, that would mean he has to stop, even if this is just a moment.

He loves to see you come apart on him, so his eyes are always on your face. His preferred position is when you sit on it and grind on his nose. He knows his place is between your thighs, so he grips them tightly and pleasures you until you both are satisfied.

It just wasn’t fair. And it certainly didn’t help that Jake felt the need to brag about having a ‘date with the chief’s daughter’. He knew he shouldn’t question it, be grateful for the opportunities he was already granted but it was hard to feel fortunate when his wildest dream was handed to someone else right in front of his face.

He’d been on another routine excursion with Grace, Trudy and Max for samples when they’d brought up Jake. Grace was excited, he knew that she saw this as a way to get back in with the Omaticaya. She should count herself lucky that she had gotten the chance to be one with the people at all. Of course, Norm couldn’t hold anything against Grace, he knew what happened wasn’t her fault and yet the guilt ate her up every day. Jake filled her with so much hope she couldn’t help but bring it up at every opportunity. Like this afternoon.

Norm was a little embarrassed at how quickly he’d gotten upset. Well, more annoyed really, his jealousy had tipped over the edge when Grace brought the whole thing up again and he’d stormed off without thinking. Grace tried to call him back but he waved her off, shouting that he needed some space.

Frustrated and needing to calm down, he walked and walked, steps heavy as his anger was channelled through his every move. They grew softer after a while and at last he came to a stop, taking a deep breath in through his nose. Norma looked down at his watch. Oh shit. He’d been walking for an hour. He sat down on a large tree root next to him, resting his elbows on his knees to place his head in his hands. He would head back in a moment, he just needed to compose himself. He sighed and rolled his neck, unaware of the pair of yellow eyes on him.

You had always been a curious thing. You couldn’t help it. Admittedly you know you were a little too far past clan territory but you were a grown woman, you were more than capable of taking care of yourself especially since you had your bow and arrows with you. Speaking of, you’d first aimed them towards the skyperson when you first locked eyes on him. But there was something about him that made you hesitate. Maybe it was his overwhelming emotions that he clearly wore on his sleeves. Perhaps his soft features or the way he gently moved around the nature surrounding him opposed to the way other sky people only knew to destroy and make their own path.

You’d tucked your weapon away, following him up in the trees. He was clearly upset about something and that curious itch of yours grew stronger. Your movements were silent and graceful, leaping from branch to branch to keep up with his long strides. You’d came to halt with him as he sat down, your head tilted to the side as you took in his disheartened form.

Your tail swished behind you with intrigue, so many questions ran through your mind and you were eager for the answers. Your friend Neytiri had found a warrior skyperson and brought him to the clan with claims of a sign from Eywa. He did seem different from most skypeople but he was arrogant and cocky even as he stumbled through the forest like a confused baby. This skyperson in front of you also seemed different, he had a gentleness to him. One you hadn’t seen in another his kind except from Grace when you took part in her school program until a few years ago.

Finally you could bear it no more, you needed a closer look. You jumped down off your branch to land in a crouched position in front of him with a soft thud. It was loud enough to gain his attention and you watched his head snap up to meet yours. Your tail whipped around behind you, your head tilting to the side making your black hair fall off your shoulders. The man quickly raised his hands in a sign of surrender, standing up onto his feet, “I…I come in peace.” Oh? He could speak your mother tongue? How pleasant.

Your eyes narrowed in suspicion and you remained silent as you slowly rose to your full height, walking around him to check for any weapons. You didn’t see anything to raise concern, but it was rather amusing to watch him dart his head side to side as he followed your movements. You could even hear his heart beat, it was so loud and fast. He was scared.

You reached your spot back in front of him, raising your hairless brow, “What are you doing in these parts?” The skyman stammered as he answered your question, his hands still raised in the air, “U-Uh, I came to gather herbs to study.” You hummed in thought taking a step closer to him. He was tall, taller than most of the clan males and his features seemed softer up close. His hair was unbraided and simply tied back with his kuru. Your eyes glanced to his hands that were still in the air. You reached out and grabbed one of his hands, pulling it closer to you to inspect it, curious over his extra fingers.

“What is your name?” You glanced at him from the side watching at his face flushed, a purple hue covering his cheeks and the bridge of his nose as he stared at your hands on one of his own. You wouldn’t admit it but you thought it was cute how flustered he seemed to be.

“My name is Norm. Uh Norm Spellman.” You hummed contently, removing one of your hands on his to slowly place against his chest where you felt the racing drum of heart beneath his skin, though it was dulled through the fabric of his strange clothing. “Calm yourself. I do not wish to harm you…yet.” Your mouth curved into a half smirk that showed your amusement at his panicked state.

He let out a soft laugh, slowly bringing his hands down. He mentally cursed as he felt his face warming but he couldn’t help it. You were so close, another step forward and you would be chest to chest. It didn’t help that he thought you were so pretty. He nervously swallowed before trying to speak, “May I ask your name?”

You started to walk around him again, closer this time. Your hands wandered over his form, his broad shoulders, his lean arms, even daring to wrap his swinging tail around your forearm before pulling it away. Your voice was light with amusement, “Ah, you speak with such formality. My name is (Y/N).”

“That’s..that’s a very pretty name.” You beamed under his praise, smiling at him as you came back into his view. His cheeks were still purple as he looked at you. You grinned, exposing your teeth and small fangs noticing the way his eyes glanced down at your mouth before meeting your eyes again.

“Do you flatter all the women you meet this way?” Your eyes were drawn to his throat watching it bob as he swallowed. You didn’t usually act so brazen but something about this man was pulling you in. He seemed so different than any of the clan males who had yet to interest you. Surely it wouldn’t be so bad just to find out more about this man.

Norm’s eyes widened, “No no! I don’t meet many women.” He cursed himself for how lame that made him sound as you covered your soft snort of laughter with your palm. “I meant to say, you are the first true Na’vi woman I have met.”

You tilted your head upwards, “I should be honoured then, to be your first impression of us. How am I doing so far?”

Norm felt dizzy, he kept having to turn around to keep eye contact as you walking around him. He hadn’t been lying, he didn’t get much female attention not even as a human. To have you, a beautiful Na’vi woman, giving him such intense contact was frying his brain. He couldn’t, or didn’t want to take his eyes off you. “Amazing. I..I mean you’re beautiful.” He switched to English at the last two words assuming you wouldn’t be able to understand him.

The way you fluttered your eyelashes at him made him suspect otherwise. You grinned up at him, “Thank you, Norm. I also think you are very handsome.” Now he was really blushing, the purple tint spreading down to his neck. You’d moved closer now, practically pressed up against his chest. He awkwardly stumbled back a few steps before his back found itself pressed against a tree. You took slow steps to follow him, removing the distance again.

He was so shy and embarrassed, you just wanted to see how much you would be able to push him before he exploded. You placed your hand on his chest again, feeling his thumping heart, “You are quite nervous. Do I make you uncomfortable?” Your ears pinned back and your eyes portrayed the sadness you felt at the idea of him agreeing with your statement.

Norm felt his mouth go dry, was this a dream? There was surely no way this was happening to him. He looked down at your hand on his chest, swallowing his nerves. “N-not uncomfortable, I’m just not sure if I’m dreaming.”

You smiled again at him, leaning in on your tiptoes until your eyes bore into his own. You saw the way his pupils dilated, “Close your eyes and see if you wake up.” Your voice had dropped to a soft whisper and there was little enough distance between you that he could feel your breath against his lips. He froze for a couple moments before his eyes slowly closed, his hands tensing against the tree he was cornered against.

His mouth was parted as he took shallow breaths. Your eyes flickered up to check his eyes were closed before landing back to his mouth. You had to gather your own courage before closing the small gap between you two, placing your hands on his shoulders. Softly pressing your lips against his for a moment before he tilted his head forward to kiss you back. His hands traded rough bark for the soft blue skin of your waist. Your ears twitched when you heard rustling in front of you close by. You pulled back and whispered in his ear, “keep your eyes closed,” before letting go of him. You bit your lip to muffle the laugh you wanted to release watching him lean forward as if he was trying to chase your retreating body.

You silently walked backwards for a few steps before turning and making a run for it back towards the clan. You had to be back home in a hour or you’d get into trouble and that was without anyone figuring out what you had been up to.

Norm waited but as the seconds ticked by his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Norm? Norm?!” Grace’s voice was far away behind him but he could still make it out from the distance. His eyes shot open, you were nowhere to be seen. A dejected sigh left him as his head rolled back to hit against the tree behind him. Perhaps it was just a hallucination, did he touch the wrong kind of plant or something? He knew it was too good to be true, why would a stunning creature like yourself be interested in him? All the Na’vi women were probably fawning over Jake. Tch, Jake. He kicked a rock by his foot as he scowled to himself before turning around and walking towards Grace’s voice. Hopefully she wouldn’t question his length of absence or what he’d be doing because he wouldn’t really have an answer for her.

He turned to look over his shoulder, peering out into the distance but saw nothing. His head tilted down as he walked back to the others, relaying every detail about you in his head.

———

Norm felt like he was in a daze, it had been two weeks since he’d last seen you and you were all he could think about. You’d even taken over his dreams, leaving him waking up in a cold sweat as he reached out for someone who wasn’t there. He couldn’t mention this to Grace or Jake and it really boiled down to the fact that he simply didn’t want to. He wanted to keep you all to himself. Maybe you didn’t know Jake but he’d seen the way women just seem to fall for his charm on many occasions so perhaps it was selfish but to him it was justified.

He’d scheduled himself in for as many expeditions to the forest as he could but he’d yet to see you again. Every time he’d been clapped round the back of the neck from Grace, too distracted staring into the forest in the hopes of seeing you to focus on his work.

He was on another expedition now, deeper into the forest. Still a way away from clan territory but he was certain it was close to where he’d met you last time. His body drummed with nerves of excitement as he mumbled some excuse to Grace before running off into the forest. She would be fine, she had Trudy and had brought three of the other Avatar students with her.

Norm panted as he looked around him, neck straining as he tried to look in the trees above him. He groaned as he saw nothing, speed walking in another direction and then another and another. It had been almost an hour at this point and he knew he didn’t have much time left before he’d be getting his ass chewed out by Grace.

He placed a hand on a nearby tree to lean some of his weight off his feet as he used his other hand to go under his shirt to lift the fabric and wipe the sweat off his forehead. A deep sigh escaped his lips as he turned to head back. As he spun around, there you were in front of him.

His ears pinned back and eyes widened in surprise but the smile on his face told you he was happy to see you. You mirrored his smile, but you’d found yourself shocked when you watched Norm press the pads of his fingers against his forehead before lowering his hand down in a curved motion, “Oel ngati kameie, (Y/N).”

You visibly perked up, a sparkle in your eyes as he performed the Na’vi greeting. You grinned, lowering your head to repeat the motion. “Oel ngati kameie, Norm.” Your voice was light with surprise but the good kind.

“You know much for a skyperson. I am impressed.” Norm blushed again and you felt that same swell of giddiness in your chest at being the reason why. None of the clan men were like him. They were very serious and straight to the point, none of them reacted to you the way Norm did. Although you didn’t really act the same way towards them as you did with Norm, but you couldn’t resist it. Everything screamed at you to push his buttons, see how far you could spread his blush.

Norm rubbed the back of his neck, “There’s still a lot I don’t know. But I don’t think I’ll get the opportunity to be taught by the Na’vi people.”

“Ah! You mean like Jake Sully? He is a friend of yours?” Norm’s head snapped up to meet yours as you mentioned Jake. Of course you knew him. You watched as his ears drooped and an air of dejection overcame him. “Erm yeah. Yeah, I guess you could say we’re friends. We work together.”

“Hm,” you were intrigued. You spied a thick log out the corner of your eye and made way to sit down on it, straddling it. Norm followed you but chose to sit facing you with one leg tucked in as the other fell straight down by his side. “He says he is a warrior, come to learn our ways.”

Norm’s jaw clenched, this was one of the last things he wanted to talk about with you, but of course, he was overlooked again. His hands started tracing the lines on the wood of the log, “Uh yeah, he’s an ex-marine soldier. There was three of us, me, Grace and him. He ventured out and got chased by a Palulukan which led him deeper into the forest where Neytiri rescued him from a pack of Nantangs. Eywa must have sent her to him.”

Your eyes were wide as you listened intently, you hadn’t known this before but it made sense. Neytiri was a strong fighter and her prejudice towards the sky people was strong albeit justified. It hadn’t made much sense for her to just pick up strays as Tsu’tey had phrased it. You shuffled closer, “I hear a tone in your voice. Are you jealous of Jake Sully? Norm?” Said man’s mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for water. He couldn’t think of an excuse, not while you were staring at him with your big round eyes, thick eyelashes fluttering at him. He was silent for a moment before sighing, “I..I am.” He lowered his head, embarrassed by his confession.

Your lips twisted down into a frown at his slumped shoulders and lowered head. You couldn’t bring him to the clan, not without great cause, you would get into big trouble. There was plenty you could show him out here though, it would help cure the boredom you’d been experiencing ever since you met him. You’d also been stuck with thoughts of Norm in your time apart. He’d been a big distraction to you already so you were sure this wouldn’t be a big deal.

You placed your hand under his chin, gently lifting his head to look at you. “I can be a patient teacher for the right student.” You hoped the smile you gave him was enough to drive your words home. Norm felt like his heart stopped. Your brow furrowed in confusion as you watched him pinch his own arm. He laughed, “Sorry, I had to make sure I wasn’t dreaming again.”

You grinned, leaning forward, “Do you often dream about me?” Amusement tickled through you as you watched him blush and get all flustered once again. You turned your head to the left, you could hear a woman’s voice faintly in the distance. “Your first lesson shall be tomorrow. Find a way to meet me here.” Norm could only nod, not trusting his voice as you got up off the log to head back to Hometree. You paused then turned around to face Norm. You leaned down, “I almost forgot, close your eyes.”

Norm’s breath caught in his throat at your words. He swallowed, his tongue swiping over his lips that felt instantly too dry before closing his eyes. You smiled even though he could not see you, leaning down to press your full lips against his own. Your hands cradled his jaw as you kissed him, but you pulled away before he could touch you himself. With a giggle, you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek then turned to run out of sight, leaping through the dense trees. Norm waited a few moments before opening his eyes, and again he was disappointed with the empty view.

But he didn’t have to be for long, he would have the pleasure of seeing you tomorrow. He got up with a newfound enthusiasm, heading back to where Grace and the others were to catch up with them. Grace chewed him out for leaving again, all the while giving him a strange look. He thought he’d managed to play off his behaviour but when they’d put the avatars away for the night and come out of the link pods, he’d found himself cornered. He’d gotten up and stretched, a content smile on his face. Grace had grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him into her private office. “Who is it?”

Norm stammered, holding his hands up and scoffed, “I-I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about!”

“Cut the crap rookie. You’ve ditched the group twice in the same place for over an hour, you tell me what you’re doing or you’re off the team.” Grace folded her arms over her chest and pierced him with her firm glare. Norm sighed, rubbing his hand over his forehead as he told her everything. Well, almost everything, he kept the kisses to himself.

Grace groaned, holding her head in her hands, “For God’s sake Norm, what the hell am I supposed to do with you. You’re supposed to be the smart one but you’re following in that Jarhead’s footsteps.” It had been easy to convince Grace to allow him the time to see you, promising her intel and samples and he’d even said he could try to convince you to convince the others to grant her permission to visit. And with that, he’d escaped to his room, eager to await the following morning when he could see you again.