Pairing: Tarsem x Sully!reader, Jake Sully and oldest daughter!reader
Description: Jake Sully uses his skills as Olo'eyktan to play matchmaker for his eldest daughter.
Based on this request and these suggestions.
Content Warnings: None? Jake is maybe just a hair out of character. I think he would probably be more protective realistically.
Author's note: This takes place in a AU where the humans never came back to Pandora and the Sully's stayed with the Omatikaya. I have been wanting to write for Tarsem for a minute, so this was so exciting for me!! (Why are there no pictures of him at all!! Like nothing! I know he had only a few scenes, but I need more).
Playlist:
Man I Need by Olivia Dean
“Come on, grab your gear, we're going fishing,” Your dad said, clasping his hand on your shoulder as he passed by you. Your mom and Neteyam’s heads shot up at the words, as did yours.
“Fishing?” you asked, “We already have dinner.” He grabbed his spear and waited at the door as you lagged behind, confused.
“Just get your stuff, babygirl,” he sighed, but a slight smile still played on his lips.
“Can I come?” Neteyam asked, forehead wrinkled in question and Jake’s smile wavered at disappointing his son.
“There’s something we need to discuss. Sorry ‘Teyam. Next time,” he answered.
“Uh oh… you are in trouble big sis,” Neteyam teased, turning to you. Externally, you rolled your eyes, but internally your stomach dropped. Even at 18 years old, you still felt like a child being scolded whenever your parents asked to talk to you.
You grabbed your spear and a basket and followed your father outside.
“What is it?” you asked, anxiety gnawing on your gut as he led the way to the river, passing the other families as you walked through the village.
“You’ll find out when we get there,” he replied, shaking his head at your impatience.
Your gut dropped even further when you saw him. Tarsem. Your father’s protege and your nearly life long crush.
He was sitting outside his kelku (home) with his elbows resting on his knees as he braided delicate beads onto his songchord. His little sister played at his feet and made little ikran sounds as she flew a wooden toy around. His mind looked preoccupied as he reached for more beads on the bench beside him.
“Kaltxì Tarsem (Hello Tarsem),” your dad’s voice broke Tarsem’s trance and made you avert your eyes as he looked up. Your dad’s back stopped in front of you to talk to the young warrior.
“Olo’eyktan,” Tarsem said respectfully, standing up and putting his songchord down hastily on the bench. “Oel ngati kameie (I see you),” he greeted your father, signaling the traditional hand gesture to match.
“Oel ngati kameie,” Jake responded.“Kaltxì, little Se’val,” Jake added, saying hello to Tarsem’s little sister. The second his attention was diverted, Tarsem’s gaze slid to yours and you smiled bashfully, feeling like the little girl who first realized Tarsem was growing up to be kinda cute all those years ago.
“Oel ngati kameie, y/n,” Tarsem greeted you as well, his tail snaking around his knee. His eyes locked to yours so intensely it almost made you want to scream.
“Tarsem, Oel ngati kameie” you nodded, meaning the words with all of your heart. He smiled slightly, the corners of his lips curling up a fraction and it made your heart jump.
“How did the hunting party do?” your dad asked Tarsem and he tore his eyes away from you. It felt like a sudden influx of air hit your lungs.
“Good, sir. Three talioang from the East and several yerik from the North as well,” Tarsem explained, recounting the previous day’s spoils as you turned your attention to the little girl still playing on the ground. You crouched beside her, already familiar with her quirky attitude and kind heart.
“Hello Se’val, what is Yipip up to today?” you asked, referring to the purple ikran in her hands.
“He is flying to his home up in the mountains. He has been out hunting all day like Tarsem,” she said, weaving the toy through the air and making it do a loop. You tamped down a laugh as she squawked like an ikran.
“Wow, he must be tired then, that is a lot of work,” you pointed out and she nodded.
“He is very sleepy, he needs to go to bed,” she affirmed.
“Tarsem,” you heard your dad bark. You looked up to catch the young man already staring at you as you spoke with his little sister. His face flamed purple as his head shot to Jake. “Sorry sir, what did you say?”
Your dad’s eyebrows and ears were lowered as he scoffed. “Where’s your head at? I said I need your help with the ritual tomorrow night. Kalu is doing her dreamhunt,” Jake repeated and you stood up, Se’val was in her own world anyway.
“Right, I will be there,” he nodded, avoiding eye contact with you now as if it would burn him.
“Okay…” your dad sighed, “We better be off then. You two have a good night, get some sleep.”
“Tsìltsan txon (good night),” Tarsem said, eyes finally glancing over to you and there went all the air again.
“Tsìltsan txon, Tarsem, Se’val.” you repeated, gut twisting as you tore your gaze away from his and turned your back on the two.
“Bye!” Se’val called, hand waving as her eyes still stayed locked on her game.
Your dad waved back and you turned around to wave as well only to see Tarsem’s eyes on you again. You were like a magnet drawn to him, you could not escape his eyes. Your body whirled back around to follow your dad and you tried to ignore the embarrassment and hope rising in you.
-
“So, what was that?” Your dad asked, his gaze stuck on the water in front of him, but his words were directed at you. You stood side to side in the stream, water up to your knees as you watched carefully for any fish.
Your stomach dropped, “What was what?” you asked, feigning confusion. You were a bad liar, your voice was far too pitchy for someone supposedly innocent and Jake didn't believe it for a second.
“Come on, that back there with Tarsem,” Jake prodded further.
“I don't know what you mean,” you lied. Sirens went off in your head, this was a conversation you did not want to have with your dad.
“You think I don't know my babygirl? I see the way you look at him,” He said and your cheeks flamed.
“Sempu! Is it that obvious?” you asked, hand coming up to put pressure on your temple. This was giving you a stress induced headache.
“Only because he’s looking right back,” he snorted and you closed your eyes in embarrassment. Your ears flattened at the threatened feeling taking over your senses.
“Do you like him?” he asked, finally turning to level his eyes at you, wanting to read your reaction.
You sighed, “This is not something a girl wants to talk about with her dad,” you ground out, shooting him a glare.
“Well I’m not just any dad, I’m Olo’eyktan, so you have to tell me. Do you like him?” he teased and you huffed out a laugh at his persistence.
“Yes, Sempu. I like him, I have liked him for many years.” you admitted, your hand gripping tightly to your spear.
Jake hummed, “Ah, now we get into it. He obviously likes you, why has no one made a move?” he asked, a soft smile gracing his lips.
“Because we are duty bound and shy,” you gritted out.
Jake barked out a laugh, somewhat surprised that you had an actual, honest answer. “Well, that will do it. You should talk to him, tell him how you feel,” he suggested.
It was your turn to scoff, “Yeah right, what if he does not like me back? No, I would rather not know,” you said, embarrassment already clouding your mind of just thinking about that.
“If he doesn't like you back then he’s an idiot and I’ll tan his hide into a new cumberbund,” your dad said stoically and you rolled your eyes at his dramatics.
“Be serious, Sempu,” you chided.
“I am, babygirl! Who wouldn't like you? It’s obvious he does,” your dad said softly, placing a hand on your shoulder.
“I guess I’m just scared. I don't want to have misread him,” you explained, shoulders slumping at the defeated feeling in your gut.
“You’ll never know until you talk to him about it,” he reminded you and you nodded.
“Yeah, I’ll think about it,” you agreed, but you and he both knew that when it came to matters of the heart, you’d never scrounge up the courage unless an opportunity forced you to.
“He’s a good man. No one deserves you and I wouldn’t go that far to say he does, but if someone was to come close, it would be him,” Jake said, looking at his little girl with adoring eyes.
“Thank you, sempu,” you smiled, despite the shame still plastered to your face.
“You know, I could always set up an arranged marriage between you. He'd have to like you then,” he shrugged and you could tell he was joking, or at least you hoped he was.
“That would be just perfect! Why did I not think of that?” You said sarcastically, rolling your eyes as Jake laughed.
“Good, I’ll make it happen,” he teased back.
You sighed looking back down at the water, “We were never gonna do any fishing were we?” you asked as a Pekavol fish finally swam past you and neither of you moved.
“Nope.”
“Figures.”
-
You sat in the grass the next day near the cliffs edge, picking apart blades of grass and staring out into the sky, watching as ikrans dipped and veered. You had been lost in thought all day, so much in fact, that your mother had sent you away after you dropped one too many items and Lo’ak lost it laughing at you.
Your mind was on your conversation with your dad yesterday. Well, that and Tarsem, always Tarsem. He had occupied every waking thought in your mind and it was driving you crazy.
“I’m so sorry!” the very subject of your thoughts exclaimed, bursting through the tree line and scaring half the wits out of you. “I’m so sorry I’m late. I didn't know,” The words rushed out of him like a river as you gaped at him with wide eyes.
You had shot up to your feet when he emerged. “What are you talking about?” you demanded in shock.
Tarsem’s eyes narrowed, “Your dad said you were waiting for me.”
“I wasn't waiting for you, I was just… Oh. Oh no.” you stopped suddenly, eyes widening.
“What?” he panicked, stepping closer to you.
Your shoulders slumped as realization hit you, “He set us up,” you confessed, and Tarsem’s face opened into one of confusion instead of worry.
“I don't understand, what do you mean?” He shook his head.
You sighed again, “He told you I was waiting for you here so we would be forced to talk.”
“Why would he do that? We talk nearly every day," he pointed out.
You decided to grasp the last thread of courage you had and hold tight to it. You were a Sully after all. Your dad had put you in a difficult position, but you might as well take advantage of it, “Because… he says I should tell you how I feel…” you stammered, the words not coming out how you wished.
“How you feel…” Tarsem stated, staring blankly back at you. “How do you feel? Tell me,” he urged.
“That I… like you.” you continued, covering your face with your hands to hide the deep purple it was turning.
You felt rough hands grasp yours, tugging them away from your face and holding them tightly between your bodies. “You like me?” he asked, bright eyes boring into yours.
You nodded, not possessing the will to speak any longer. You could have shriveled up in embarrassment right then if the Na’vi body was capable of it.
His lips broke out into a smile, “That is convenient.” he said and your heart lept, in fear or hope, you were not sure.
“Yeah?” you asked softly.
He nodded, “Yes, because I like you too.” He smiled softly and you returned it.
“Oh!” You exclaimed brightly, “Yeah, that is fairly convenient, since you know, you will be Olo’eyktan, I am in line to be Tsahik. You like me, I like you. It is all very… convenient,” You rambled uselessly as Tarsem grinned wider.
“You are very beautiful when you blush,” he said, reaching up to trace a finger over your cheek and your breath hitched.
“Thank you,” you stuttered.
“You are welcome. May I kiss you?” he asked with more confidence than you imagined him to possess.
“Please,” you sighed as he smiled wider and hooked your chin between his finger and thumb.
He lowered his face to yours, pressing his lips against your mouth softly, barely a whisper of touch before you both relaxed, meshing together. Tarsem brought his other hand to your waist as you rested your hands on his chest, coming closer before finally separating for air.
“You’re good at that,” you chimed, a laugh running through your words.
“Thank you, yawnetu (beloved),” he smiled smuggly.
“My dad is gonna freak,” you muttered.
“We will never hear the end of it now,” he agreed.
“He will probably even threaten to kill you if you hurt me. I might take it seriously if I were you, he has done crazier things,” you explained with a worried grimace.
Tarsem nodded once grimly, “He already did, last week.”
“Oh… and you still like me? That is so sweet,” you cooed.
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prompt: how will the sully family react when they find out that the eldest is pregnant with her mate, tarsem?
pairings: Tarsem x fem!omatikaya!reader, Tarsem x eldest sully daughter!reader
wc: 3.0k
warnings: fluff, touchy feely tarsem, jake being a girl dad, sorta protective dad!jake, kinda suggestive, pregnant reader, family feels.
notes: this has been in the drafts for a while, i love tarsem he needs more fanfics okay bai
You are awakened by something you’ve never felt in your life. An unwanted, thick quest that arrives before you even open your eyes.
In the first blurred moment of waking, before the village has even shaped itself for the morning, there is a hollow weight in your chest.
You feel starved and full at the same time, then you double over and spew all over the floor. Tears fall, almost at once and your hand flies back to clutch Tarsem’s, anchoring yourself.
His heart jumps and he sits up immediately, assessing, watching. Your tail is still, stiff and lifeless, shoulders weak and tense at the same time.
He has never seen you like this.
He straightens, one hand moving around your waist and the other still holding your hand, his fingers curl in yours now, rubbing your knuckles softly.
“Stay upright, slow breaths.. you hear me?” He says calmly.
You sob quietly, the large hammock sways as you rock back and forth in slow motions. Tarsem is there, rubbing your back, massaging your shoulders—because he doesn’t know what else to do, and nothing feels worse.
“I will get Mo’at.”
“Please,” you gasp, head falling onto the hammock, body curling when his warmth is gone.
Tarsem moves straight to Mo’at’s kelku, not stopping to greet any villagers who may still be awake, his focus is entirely on you and getting you the treatment that you need.
He returns minutes later with your grandmother, Mo’at’s eyes narrow slightly when she sees the emesis just beneath your hammock.
“Tarsem, place her on the mats.” She says.
He doesn’t hesitate, he slips one arm beneath your knees and the other behind your back, lifting you from the hammock as if you might shatter in his hands.
Your body feels too heavy and too light all at once and you groan softly, fingers curling in his chest.
“I’ve got you, yawne.” he murmurs, unsure if he’s trying to steady you, or himself.
He lowers you onto the woven mats, one hand covering your shoulder as if afraid to let go completely.
Your breathing is uneven, shallow, and your eyes squeeze shut against another wave of nausea that twists through you.
Your grandmother kneels beside you immediately, her presence is different from Tarsem’s, where his is warmth and urgency, she is stillness.
Her hand hovers near your abdomen first, not touching, just feeling, reading.
Your grandmothers eyes close, calculating, listening to something deeper than what is seen. “Breathe, my grandchild.” She says quietly, though it is not a suggestion—just a command rooted in calm.
You try and your chest stutters for just a second, then slowly obeys.
Mo’at finally places her palm against your stomach. It’s warm, steady in a way that cuts through the dizziness just slightly.
“This is not sickness of the body alone,”
Tarsem’s jaw tightens. “Then what is it?”
Mo’at’s gaze shifts to your face, studying the tears that haven’t stopped, the way your body curls inward instinctively—as if protecting something you don’t yet understand.
“This is change.”
Tarsem glances at you, then back at her. Confusion flickering across his face. “Change?”
Mo’at does not answer him immediately. Instead, she presses a little more firmly against your abdomen, and something in your body reacts, subtle, but unmistakable.
Her ears tilt back slightly, and she smiles. “You are not empty,”
Even through the nausea, the weakness, and the strange fullness, you feel it. Something shifts in your chest that has nothing to do with pain.
Tarsem freezes. “Tsahik, what do you mean?”
Mo’at finally looks at him completely. “She carries life.”
Tarsem’s hand finds yours again, this time it is different, he his holding you. “Are you certain of this?”
“Yes.” Her hand never leaves your abdomen, she places a soft kiss to your temple. “You will see me again when I call for you.”
“Yes, grandmother. Don’t tell dad yet, or mom.”
She smiles mischievously. “I will not.”
You nod softly, then your eyes drift to Tarsem, low and tired. Your fingers tighten slightly around his.
“How do you feel?” He asks quietly, leaning to kiss your temple. His eyes search yours like the answer might change everything.
Tarsem doesn’t rush you.
He doesn’t move his hand away, even as the moment stretches, even as the weight of what was said settles deeper into both of you. His palm stays warm against your stomach.
Your body still aches, still feels unfamiliar, but something inside you has shifted. The nausea, the weakness.. they’re still there, but no longer frightening in the same way, just overwhelming.
Your eyes drift half-shut, lashes damp, and your voice comes out softer than you expect. “I feel strange.”
“We will figure this out, my love.”
“I don’t know how my father will react..”
Tarsem freezes for a second, offering you a side glance. “He won’t react before we are ready for him to.”
“No. he won’t.” You smile.
Later, you and Tarsem sit surrounded by your family in their kelku. Jake passes around tiny bowls of teylu, Neytiri organizes portions of meat and paskalin.
Neteyam displays portions of drinks, and Kiri helps with the roasting. Lo’ak and Tuk laugh about something stupid in their corner of the hut and you…
You and Tarsem remain seated in complete silence. Tense and unmoving.
The fire crackles between you and your family, Jake hands you the food, your mother plates it for Tuk—it’s a happy mess.
You eat a bunch, Tarsem occasionally wipes your mouth with a cloth and makes sure to remind you that you should slow down.
Of course, your family notices the silence—but they don’t comment on it. Dinner drags on for what feels like hours until the food is gone, the only sound left being the fire, and your family’s conversation.
You stand to assist your parents in cleaning bowls and utensils. “Papa,” you say, “can you pass me that bowl there?”
Your father passes you the bowl immediately, kissing your head as he passes. Jake pauses suddenly, turning to look at you.
“What’s that smell?” He says.
“Hm?” You ask without looking at him.
“You smell like your mother when she was- you pregnant?”
You turn sharply, the bowl almost slips from your fingers. “Dad!”
“What?! I’m just asking! I mean it’s, it’s normal- it’s okay to be pregnant.”
“I am not pregnant!” You almost hiss, brushing past Tarsem and shoving the bowl in his chest a little too hard.
He catches it instinctively, glancing at you over his shoulder. He turns slowly to face everyone, they’re all staring at the entrance where you left.
Tuk and Lo’ak are no longer laughing, just staring—eyes wide in confusion. Your mother shoots your father a pointed glare, he shrugs.
“What did I say?”
You and Tarsem continue to visit Mo’at secretly, she determines that you are seven weeks along—a likely result of your mood swings and morning sickness.
You are in the training grounds when your mother comes by—Tarsem, pressure flaking a newly crafted bow, straightens when he sees her.
Neytiri watches you train for a moment, the way you intake more breath than usual, and the way you very often glance down at your belly before releasing an arrow.
What she watches the most is your chest, your breathing pattern, and the way your breasts have curved into something larger.
She steps closer, her hands smooth through your hair—it is moist, moist with sweat. “ma’ite,” she sighs. “You are breathing heavier than usual, are you hurt?.. or tired?”
“No.” You say, shifting again.
Tarsem moves closer, very subtly. Neytiri smiles then, “you are carrying new life.” She says not a question, just a truth.
Your eyes skim over her expression for a second before moving back to the target. “Yes.” You whisper.
Her smile grows, a hand moving down to your belly. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Tarsem and I have only just mated… it felt too soon. We were careful, I promise.”
“It does not matter. You are my eldest. The life you carry is a blessing, not something to hide. You are not standing apart from this family, you are growing it.” She reassures, one hand cupping your cheek. “You are loved, always. Did you think your father and I did not face the same fears when we first had you?”
You smile softly, wiping tears you hadn’t realized were falling. “Don’t tell dad yet.” You laugh.
“You wanna repeat that?” His voice cuts through the space, not loud, but sharp enough to still everything.
“Yes,” Jake nods once, jaw tight. “I did, just makin’ sure I didn’t imagine it.”
Your eyes finally lift to him, “dad-“
“I was right,” he interrupts. “How long?” There is no anger in his words.
“Seven weeks..” you admit quietly.
Jake runs a hand over his face, pacing once, and then another time—like he needs to move or he might explode. “Seven weeks,” he repeats under his breath.
His eyes flick to Tarsem. “And you didn’t say anything?”
Tarsem straightens, shoulders squared despite the tension. “It was a mutual decision, sir.”
Jake studies him for a long moment, measuring. “Nobody thought to tell me?” His eyes go back to you.
You swallow. “I was going to.. I just needed time.”
Jake huffs a breath, shaking his head slightly. “Baby girl, you don’t get seven weeks of ‘time’ on something like this.”
“I only found out two weeks ago.”
Neytiri finally turns fully toward him. “Jake. She does if she needs it.”
Jake glances at her, something unspoken passing between them, before his shoulders drop, just a fraction.
Silence stretches, then he looks at you again. At the way you’re standing, the slight tension in your body. The way your hand hovers—without realizing—near your stomach.
Something in him shifts. His voice, when he speaks again, is different. Softer. “C’mere, you okay?”
You edge nearer and he pulls you in, your forehead against his chest.
Your lips part, and for a second, you can’t answer. “I’ve been sick,” you admit. “Tired.. everything feels strange.”
Jake nods slowly, “Yeah,” he murmurs. “That sounds right. Your mom was the same, knocked her flat some mornings.”
That seems to calm something in him.
“I love you, we’re here for you.” he mutters into your hair.
You let out a shaky breath, gripping his arm. “I know.”
He pulls back just enough to look at you again, hands still on your shoulders. “You’re gonna be a mom, my baby’s having a baby” he says, like he’s still processing it himself.
A small, disbelieving huff of a laugh escapes him. “Damn.”
His gaze shifts to Tarsem again, lingering a second longer this time. “You and I are gonna talk later,” he adds, not unkindly, but definitely meaning it “just focus on takin’ care of yourselves.”
His hand squeezes your shoulder once more, steady and sure. “Let’s get you home, you need rest.”
Jake guides you gently, Tarsem holding your arm at the opposite side.
You can barely make it inside without everybody noticing, not because anyone says anything, but because of your father’s protective gestures; a hand on your arm, one on your back.
Tarsem being around longer than usual, holding you, helping you with everything, barely going on hunts any more.
Lo’ak is the first to speak. “What’s going on?” He asks, glancing between all of you.
Kiri looks up from where she’s sitting, head tilting slightly. Tuk pauses mid-sentence, eyes bouncing between faces.
Neteyam doesn’t say anything but he’s watching.
“You wanna tell ‘em?” Jake asks exhaling through his nose, squeezing your shoulders briefly.
You hesitate, kinda, then.. “I am with child.”
Silence falls, absolute. Lo’ak blinks, when his eyes open, they are wide. “What? You’re what?”
Tuk gasps, loud and dramatic, hands flying to her mouth.
“You’re joking? Nah.” Lo’ak says.
“I’m not.”
“Oh..”
Kiri goes still, eyes softening almost instantly. Neteyam straightens slightly, processing, eyebrows raised.
“There’s a baby here?!” Tuk pokes your stomach.
“Yes-“ you laugh weakly.
“Let me touch!”
Jake’s lifts a hand. “Easy.”
“It’s okay.” you murmur.
Lo’ak drags a hand down his face. “No way. no way.” Slowly, his head turns to Tarsem. “You?”
Neytiri’s ears flick. “Lo’ak.”
The next day, you’re sitting near the fire, picking slowly at food while Jake watches as if you’ll fly away if he doesn’t.
“Eat a little more, babygirl.” He says, nudging the bowl back toward you.
“I am,” you mumble.
Tarsem sits close behind you, arms locked around your waist, head resting against your shoulder—almost asleep, tired from the long morning hunt.
Neteyam is across from you, sharpening something, Kiri is nearby, half listening, half somewhere else entirely.
Lo’ak is lounging, which is bad in itself. He glances at you and Tarsem, a grin slowly forming like he’s been holding onto something all morning.
Neteyam notices and nudges his shoulder subtly, but he doesn’t care. “So, I've been thinking, right?”
Jake doesn’t even look up. “That’s new..”
Lo’ak smirks, “about how fast this all happened.”
You freeze, listening. Tarsem pauses behind you.
“You are talking about my mate.” Tarsem says, muffled against your shoulder.
“Lo’ak,” Neteyam follows, but he doesn’t stop, just saying things without thinking.
“I mean, what? I’m just saying, seven weeks is-“
“Lo’ak.” Jake warns
Like a complete idiot, Lo’ak keeps going. “they’ve been mated for two months, they had to be busy..”
His eyes widened as if he wasn’t the one saying it, a hand slapping against his mouth.
Tarsem fails at holding you back, despite the small giggles escaping your lips, you launch yourself at Lo’ak, pinning him down and punching his chest.
“Off!” he yells, pushing you away, laughing.
“Stop teasing him.”
“Fine!”
Your family doesn’t stay away, you sit inside, weaving with Kiri. “How do you feel, ma tsmuke?”
“About the baby?”
“Yes,” she sets down her equipment, taking your hand.
“Nervous. Tarsem is ready, I can feel that he is.. I’m more nervous about myself.”
“You will be the greatest mother. My only tip is to never leave your child with Lo’ak.”
“Yeah.. that was never really an option.”
“Good..”
Neteyam comes in, hands clapping your shoulders. “You feel okay?”
“Yes, just tired.”
“We’re going on a hunt. Kiri, come.”
“I am not hunting.” She says.
You crawl closer to her. “Then go roll in the riches of the forest like you love to do.”
She giggles when you ruffle her hair.
The rustle of the doorway catches your attention, it is Tarsem.. “My love, I am staying here with you.” He breathes, crouching beside you.
“Good.” You murmur, half teasing, half appreciating.
Your siblings leave and relief floods your body, you immediately turn to face your mate.
“We have not had any alone time in so long. My family is glued to me because of this baby.” You take his hands, guiding them to a comfortable place on your thighs.
“I agree, but I like to see them happy.”
“Me too, I just miss you so much, sometimes it feels like I’m forgetting to ask how you are feeling about all of this.”
“I could not be happier,” he says, hands riding up and down your thighs now.
Your cheeks flush, hands moving up to rest against his shoulders.
He pulls you in, fingers squeezing the bottoms of your thighs, guiding you onto his lap. “Tarsem-“ you try, but his lips catch your words.
“mm,” you hum, one hand curling in his braids.
You’re completely lost in him when he deepens the kiss, fingers tightening in his braids, body moving slowly against his.
“Be careful,” he murmurs, but his own actions betray his words.
He moves slow, and you lean into it without thinking, your breath catches, a soft, involuntary sound escapes from your lips. “Tarsem-“
It’s quiet, barely more than a whisper—sounds that he’s obviously heard before. But that always does it for him.
His hands cup your breasts, kneading gently. Another, unplanned, small sound pulls straight from your chest.
Tarsem pauses mid kiss, panting heavily, head cocking back. You don’t notice the sound of the hut’s flaps moving, or the stillness around you until you hear a sharp inhale from the doorway.
Your eyes snap open too late, Neteyam, Kiri, Tuk, and Lo’ak stand there frozen for one second and then Lo’ak breaks. A wheeze escapes him, and his shoulders tremble violently. “No way I just heard that.”
You jerk back from Tarsem so fast you nearly fall off of his lap. “Lo’ak—“ you start, horrified.
“Ohh my eywa…” he gasps, straightening just enough to look at you. “Tarsem-“ he repeats in a painfully accurate, breathy imitation.
“Stop!”
Kiri turns away immediately, biting her lip to keep from laughing. Shoulders trembling.
Tuk just stares. “What noise was that?”
“Nothing!” you snap, face burning
Lo’ak clutches his chest like he’s been personally attacked. “don’t lie. that was not nothing!”
Tarsem is still behind you, watching your tail flick. “Lo’ak. You will stop speaking now.”
Lo’ak points at him immediately. “Bro she said your name.”
“Lo’ak!” You scream, “stop! I am trying to have some alone time with my mate and that I cannot even do!”
Tarsem is suddenly more alarmed than he was before, standing and pulling you against him.
Lo’ak’s eyes widen and Kiri just rubs your arm. “She is hormonal.” She says.
“Oh yeah, we can tell.” Lo’ak is still teasing and Neteyam slaps the back of his head.
“Get out!” You yell, pushing him away, guiding Neteyam and Kiri away after him.
They leave in a couple of hurried steps, Tarsem pulls you into him within seconds. “It’s okay,” he murmurs.
“I am so embarrassed.”
“I know.” He laughs. “You said my name.”
“Tarsem,”
“yes?”
“be quiet.” You warn, but you stay calm against his chest.
“They will love this child,” he murmurs.
“I know,” you reply, your voice steadier now. “I feel that they already do.”
For a moment, neither of you speak.
The fire crackles low. The forest hums beyond the walls, your family’s chaos carries on just outside. but in here, wrapped in his arms, with his hand over yours and both over something new.. something growing, everything feels exactly where it should be.
Description: After learning that your family needs to leave the forest, you and Tarsem make a last-minute decision.
Warnings: Slight mentions of violence. Angst with a happy ending.
Word count: 1.2k
A/n: I know I haven't posted in a bit. Here's something short I've been working on! It can be read as a standalone or as part two of this post. I am hoping to get part four of Hidden Feelings out this week!
Courting Tarsem was the best decision you ever made. Every day better than the last, you often found yourselves running through the forest, sharing brief, stolen kisses. Kisses that took your breath away every time. It still felt as if the courtship was fresh. Your father had eventually come around to the idea. Tarsem was one of his finest warriors; along with being strong, he had a good heart. He had proved himself to your father, the Olo'eyktan.
Your courtship was coming to an end. This was a good thing; you are to be mated soon. Your head filled with nervous excitement as the weeks drew closer. Tarsem was just as bad for you. All he could think of was how soon you would be mates.
However, this became a problem when Jake started to notice him slacking off during training.
“Tarsem, where is your head at? You’re slacking off,” Jake said to him, a stern expression on his face.
“I- I’m sorry, sir, I’ve been distracted.”
Jake scoffed at this, looking up as he ran his hand down his face. “Look, I get it, you're going to be mated soon. I need you to get your head in the game before you get yourself killed, and I have to be the one to tell my daughter.”
Tarsem nodded his head quickly, letting the weight of Jake's words lie heavy on his shoulders. He was right, of course. Now was the worst time to slack off, and you needed him.
So, from that moment forward, Tarsem focused harder on training. He needed to be the best warrior he could be, for the clan, for you.
You often spent nights together after training, gazing up at the stars, or lying comfortably by a river's edge. It was always perfect, something that could go undisturbed, peaceful. Tonight, it seemed Eywa had different plans.
The moment between you and Tarsem was cut short by the familiar voice of your father breaking through the comms.
“I need you to come home now,” He said roughly, like there was no room to argue; it was final.
Begrudgingly, you moved to stand, not before catching Tarsem's lips in a kiss goodbye.
“I promise we will spend more time together tomorrow.”
With that, you were off, off to see what was so important that it needed to be discussed right this instant.
It definitely was important. As you approached your family's kelku, you saw your siblings kneeling on the ground, ears pinned forward, straining to hear what your parents were discussing privately. Quickly, you kneeled to join them. You could not make out much, but you did hear enough.
Your mother's words sliced through you like a blade just sharpened. “You cannot ask this, I can not leave my home.”
Your body went cold, your mind filling with thoughts. You turned to your siblings for answers, to which they answered with the truth. Quaritch had returned; he was hunting us, hunting our father. Not able to listen any further and not speak up, you stormed into the kelku. Your parents looked up at you in surprise. Before they had the chance to speak, you did.
“We cannot leave,” your words came out as a painful, broken whisper.
“Babygirl, we have to; it is not safe for us here. The people's lives are in danger the longer they harbour us.” Your father was right, but you would not hear his reasoning.
“I will not leave. Tarsem and I are to be mated soon.” You could not believe this was happening. How could he suggest such a thing?
“I know, I know, but we must do this. Tarsem will be Olo’eyktan, and when we return, you can be mated to him. It will just have to take more time.” With wet, hot tears flowing down your face, you turned and ran out of the kelku. You needed to find Tarsem. You would not allow this to be the end.
After some searching, which did not take very long, as Tarsem had been lingering nearby, you found him.
“Tarsem! It is just awful, they cannot do this!” You cried out, falling into his arms, weeping into his chest.
He grasped the back of your head, shushing you softly. Your body felt as if it were filled with lead, the weight of what is to come bearing down on you, like an unstoppable force.
“Yawne, breathe for me, tell me what is wrong.” His voice was much calmer, grounding you, bringing you out of your despair.
“My father says we have to leave, that it is not safe for us here. He says you will be Olo’eyktan.”
Tarsem's ears pinned back at this, clearly taken by surprise. Out of all the things he expected you to say, this was far from any of them.
“We- we are to be mated soon. Surely he does not expect you to leave with them?”
You shook your head sorrowfully at his words. “He says that we are to wait for our return before we make the bond.”
His face drained of all color at this. He gripped you tighter as he held back tears. This could not be the end. You were so close, so close to becoming mates. It could not possibly be ripped from you now.
“We must do something, Tarsem. We cannot let this happen.” You looked up into his eyes, searching for any answers he may have.
“What are we to do? You and I both know your father will not back down from this.”
Suddenly, an idea bloomed in your mind. It seemed stupid, reckless, but it did not seem as if there was any other way.
“What if we make the bond tonight. If we are mated, my father cannot separate us then. I would stay here with you.”
Tarsem's face held no doubt, no uncertainty, only unwavering devotion. He nodded, reaching for your hands to hold in his own.
“Are you certain? Your family would leave without you.”
“I choose you, Tarsem.”
With that, it was final. You made your way to the tree of souls, kneeling on the moss below, facing one another. With shaky hands and pounding hearts, you both reached for your kurus. You locked eyes with Tarsem, looking for one last sign that he wanted this. You found no doubt. When you made tsaheylu, you gasped and fell forward into him. You both clung to one another as you felt each other through the bond. You felt his devotion, his love, his bravery towards the impending role as Olo’eyktan. He felt your fear, your unwavering love for him, for your family.
You spent a long time like this. Feeling each other, body, mind, and soul.
“We are mated for life now,” You whispered to him as you lay in his arms. He pressed his lips to your hair in response, tightening his grip on you.
Now, nothing could separate you, not war, not fear, and not your father.
You and Tarsem are a week away from your mating ceremony. You go about your day, the excitement difficult to contain when all you can do is think about your Tarsem.
Part 1 | Masterlist
You wake to the sound of the forest coming alive—the distant calls of ikran, the rustle of leaves in the morning breeze, the soft murmur of voices as the clan begins to stir. For a moment, you lie still in your hammock, watching the early light filter through the woven walls of your family's kelku, painting everything in shades of gold and green.
One more week.
One more week until you and Tarsem stand before the clan and Eywa, until you make your bond permanent and sacred. One more week until you're no longer just courting, but mated—bound together in a way that goes beyond words or promises.
One more week until you can finally stop sleeping in separate kelku.
The thought makes you smile, even as a flutter of nervous anticipation moves through your chest. Tarsem has been asking—well, not asking exactly, more like suggesting with increasing frequency—that you move into his kelku now, before the ceremony. "We're going to be mated anyway," he'd said just two nights ago, his voice low and persuasive as you'd lingered outside your doorway, reluctant to say goodnight. "Why wait? Why keep pretending we need this distance between us?"
You'd kissed him to stop the words, then pulled back with a smile. "Because I have some self-control, even if you don't."
"I have plenty of self-control," he'd protested, even as his hands had tightened on your waist, pulling you closer. "I just don't see the point of using it when we're already—"
"One week," you'd interrupted firmly, pressing a finger to his lips. "We can wait one week. It'll make the ceremony that much sweeter."
He'd groaned, dropping his forehead to yours. "You're going to be the death of me, you know that?"
"Probably," you'd agreed cheerfully. "But what a way to go."
The memory makes you grin as you swing out of your hammock, your feet finding the smooth wood of the kelku floor. You can hear your mother moving around in the main area, preparing the morning meal, and the familiar sounds of home settle around you like a comfortable blanket.
But even as you go through the motions of washing your face and braiding back your hair, your mind is elsewhere. Today is a raid day. Jake Sully is leading a strike against one of the sky people's trains—those metal beasts that tear through the forest, carrying supplies and weapons and destruction. It's dangerous work, the kind that makes your stomach clench with worry even though you know Tarsem is one of the clan's finest warriors.
He'll be fine, you tell yourself as you dress, fastening your top and adjusting your belt. He's always fine. He's careful and skilled and he has too much to live for to be reckless.
But the worry doesn't quite go away.
You're just finishing when you hear a familiar pattern of footsteps on the branch outside—steady and purposeful, the gait you'd recognize anywhere. Your heart does a little flip, the same way it has every time you've heard him approach for the past few months, and you can't help the smile that spreads across your face.
Before he can knock, you pull aside the entrance covering and step out to meet him.
Tarsem is standing there, one hand raised as if he was about to announce himself, and the sight of him makes your breath catch the way it always does. He's beautiful in the morning light—all lean muscle and azure skin, his braids neat and his expression soft in a way he only ever is with you. He's wearing his everyday gear, not yet dressed for the raid, and there's something endearing about seeing him like this, casual and unguarded.
"Good morning," he says, and his voice is warm, intimate in a way that makes you very aware that you're alone on this section of branch, hidden from view by the curve of the trunk.
"Good morning," you reply, stepping closer. "You're early."
"I wanted to see you before things get busy." His eyes travel over you, taking in every detail, and there's appreciation in his gaze that makes heat rise in your cheeks. "You look beautiful."
"I look the same as I always do," you say, but you're pleased anyway.
"Exactly." He reaches out, his fingers brushing against the necklace at your throat—the one he made for you, the one you've worn every day since he gave it to you. "Did you sleep well?"
"Well enough. You?"
"I would have slept better if you'd been there," he says, and there's that suggestion again, subtle but unmistakable.
You raise an eyebrow at him. "Tarsem."
"I am just saying." He grins, unrepentant. "My kelku is bigger than yours. More comfortable. Better view. And you would not have to wake up alone."
"I don't wake up alone. My family is right there." You gesture back toward the kelku, where you can hear your mother humming as she works.
"You know what I mean." His hand slides from the necklace to your waist, pulling you closer. "One week feels like a very long time."
"It will pass quickly," you assure him, even as you lean into his touch. "And then you'll be stuck with me every morning for the rest of your life. You might get tired of it."
"Never," he says with such conviction that it makes your heart squeeze. "I could never become tired of you."
You reach up to cup his face, running your thumb along his cheekbone. "Sweet talker."
"Only with you." He turns his head to press a kiss to your palm, and the gesture is so tender it makes you ache. "Come on. Let's get breakfast before all the good food is gone."
You let him take your hand, lacing your fingers through his, and together you make your way along the branch-paths toward the communal eating area. The village is waking up around you—children running past with shrieks of laughter, hunters checking their weapons, weavers already settling into their work. Several people call out greetings as you pass, and you notice the knowing smiles, the way eyes linger on your joined hands and the necklace at your throat.
Everyone knows. The whole clan has been watching your courtship unfold, and now they're all eagerly anticipating the mating ceremony. You've lost count of how many people have offered congratulations or asked if you need help with preparations.
"I heard Takuk asking about you yesterday," Tarsem says casually, but there's an edge to his voice that makes you glance at him.
"Oh?" You keep your tone light, amused. "What did he want?"
"He wanted to know if you were really going through with the mating ceremony, or if you might reconsider." Tarsem's jaw tightens slightly. "I told him you were very much going through with it."
"Did you now?" You can't help but grin at the possessive note in his voice. "And what did he say to that?"
"He said he'd wait and see." Tarsem's tail lashes once, betraying his irritation. "I told him he'd be waiting a very long time."
You laugh, squeezing his hand. "You know I only have eyes for you, right? Takuk could offer me all the yovo fruit in the forest and I wouldn't be interested."
"I know." He relaxes slightly, glancing at you with a sheepish expression. "I just... I don't like the idea of anyone else thinking they have a chance."
"They don't," you say firmly. "I chose you. I'm choosing you. One week from now, I'll be bound to you in front of Eywa and everyone. There's no reconsidering, no changing my mind. You're stuck with me."
"Good," he says, and the satisfaction in his voice makes you smile. "That is exactly how I want it."
The communal eating area is already bustling with activity when you arrive. Long woven mats are spread across the platforms, laden with food—fresh fruit, roasted meat from yesterday's hunt, grain cakes still warm from the fire. The clan gathers in clusters, families and friends sharing the morning meal, and the air is filled with conversation and laughter.
But there's an undercurrent of tension too. You can see it in the way the warriors sit together, their expressions serious as they talk in low voices. In the way Jake Sully stands at the edge of the platform, his arms crossed as he surveys the group, already mentally preparing for the raid ahead.
Neytiri is beside him, her armor already strapped in place, her weapons close at hand. She's checking something on her bow with the focused intensity of a warrior preparing for battle. Even from a distance, you can see the determination in her eyes—the same fierce readiness that comes before a dangerous mission. She's fought the sky people countless times, and she'll do it again today, alongside her mate.
You've never fought in a raid yourself, but you know that feeling—the weight of watching someone you love prepare to walk into danger. It settles in your chest like a stone.
Tarsem guides you to a spot near the edge of the platform, and you settle down together, your shoulders touching as you reach for food. He hands you a piece of fruit before taking one for himself, and the simple domesticity of the gesture makes you smile.
This is what you want. This easy companionship, this comfortable silence, this sense of being exactly where you're supposed to be.
"There you are!" A familiar voice breaks through your thoughts, and you look up to see Neteyam bounding over, his face bright with excitement. He's grown so much in the past few months—taller, stronger, more confident—but he's still got that youthful energy that makes him endearing.
"Good morning, Neteyam," you greet him warmly. "Ready for a busy day?"
"So ready!" He drops down beside Tarsem, already reaching for food. "Dad's letting me help with all the prep work. I get to check the weapons, make sure the ikran are ready, everything!"
"That is a big responsibility," Tarsem says, and there is pride in his voice. He's been training Neteyam for over a year now, and the bond between them is strong. "Are you up for it?"
"Of course I am!" Neteyam puffs up slightly. "I've been practicing everything you taught me. I won't let you down."
"I know you won't." Tarsem reaches over to ruffle the boy's braids affectionately. "Just remember—"
"Check everything twice, trust my instincts, and don't rush," Neteyam recites dutifully. "I know, I know. You've told me a hundred times."
"And I will tell you a hundred more," Tarsem says with a grin. "That is what teachers do."
You watch them together, warmth spreading through your chest. Tarsem is so good with Neteyam—patient and encouraging, pushing him to be better while never making him feel inadequate. It's one of the things you love most about him, this gentle strength, this ability to guide without dominating.
He's going to be an amazing father someday.
The thought catches you off guard, and you feel heat rise in your cheeks. You're not mated yet—you shouldn't be thinking about children—but the image is there anyway, clear and vivid. Tarsem with a child in his arms, teaching them to shoot a bow or track a hexapede, looking at them with that same pride and affection he shows Neteyam.
You want that. You want it so much it makes your chest ache.
"You okay?" Tarsem's voice is soft, concerned, and you realize you've been staring at him.
"Fine," you say quickly, looking away. "Just thinking."
"About what?"
"Nothing important." You take a bite of fruit to avoid answering, and he gives you a look that says he knows you're deflecting, but he doesn't push.
"Hey!" Another voice joins the group, and you look up to see Lo'ak sliding into the space beside you, his grin wide and mischievous. "What's everyone talking about?"
"The raid," Neteyam says importantly. "I'm helping with prep."
"Lucky," Lo'ak grumbles. "I wanted to help too, but Dad said I'm too young."
"You are too young," Neteyam points out. "You're younger than me."
"Only by a year!" Lo'ak protests. "That's not that much."
"It's enough." Neteyam's tone is superior in the way only an older brother can manage, and Lo'ak makes a face at him.
You can't help but laugh at their bickering. You've always had a soft spot for Lo'ak—he's wild and reckless and sometimes too clever for his own good, but there's something endearing about his determination to prove himself. He reminds you a bit of yourself at that age, always pushing boundaries, always wanting to be included.
"Don't worry, Lo'ak," you say, reaching over to nudge his shoulder. "Your time will come. And when it does, you'll be ready."
He looks at you with such gratitude that it makes your heart squeeze. "You really think so?"
"I know so. You're smart and quick and brave. You just need a little more time to grow into it."
"See?" Lo'ak turns to his brother triumphantly. "She thinks I'm ready."
"That's not what she said," Neteyam argues, but he's grinning.
Tarsem catches your eye, and there's amusement in his expression, mixed with something softer. He likes that you're good with the boys, you realize. Likes that they trust you, come to you for reassurance and guidance.
The thought makes you feel warm all over.
The meal continues, conversation flowing easily around you. Jake eventually makes his way over, clasping Tarsem's shoulder in greeting and nodding to you with a smile. "Morning. Everyone ready for today?"
"Ready," Tarsem confirms, his voice steady and sure.
Jake's eyes flick to you, and there's understanding in them. "Don't worry. I'll bring him back in one piece."
"You better," you say, trying to keep your tone light even though your stomach is clenching with anxiety. "We have a ceremony in a week. I'd hate to have to postpone it because he got himself hurt."
"I'll do my best," Jake says with a grin, then turns back to Tarsem. "Prep starts in an hour. Warrior platform."
"I'll be there," Tarsem promises.
Jake nods and moves on, stopping to talk to other warriors, and you feel Tarsem's hand find yours under the cover of the mat, his fingers lacing through yours and squeezing gently.
"It'll be fine," he murmurs, low enough that only you can hear. "I promise."
"I know," you say, squeezing back. "I just... I always worry."
"I know you do." He lifts your joined hands, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "But I'm always careful. And I always come back to you."
"You better," you say, echoing your earlier words. "Because if you don't, I'll drag you back from the other side myself."
He laughs, the sound warm and genuine. "I believe you would."
The rest of breakfast passes too quickly. Before you know it, the warriors are standing, gathering their things, preparing to head to the warrior platform for the real preparations. Tarsem stands with them, reluctant to let go of your hand, and you rise with him, not ready to say goodbye yet.
"I'll walk with you," you say, and he nods, grateful.
Together you make your way through the village, following the flow of warriors toward the preparation area. Neteyam trails along, chattering excitedly about his tasks for the day, while Lo'ak has already run off to find his friends, his disappointment at being left behind temporarily forgotten.
The warrior platform is a wide, open space high in the trees, with racks for weapons and armor, areas for applying paint and checking gear. It's already busy with activity—warriors stripping down to loincloths, others mixing paint, still others sharpening blades and checking bowstrings.
The air is thick with focus and determination, the kind of energy that comes before a dangerous mission.
Tarsem leads you to a quieter corner of the platform, where his gear is already laid out—his bow, his knife, his riding harness, and several small pots of paint in different colors. He starts checking his weapons with practiced efficiency, running his hands along the bowstring, testing the balance of his knife.
You watch him work, your heart in your throat. He looks so capable, so confident, and yet you can't shake the fear that something might go wrong. That he might not come back. That you might lose him before you ever really get to have him.
"Stop," he says softly, not looking up from his bow.
"Stop what?"
"Worrying. I can feel it from here." He sets down the bow and turns to you, his expression gentle. "I am going to be fine. This is not my first raid."
"I know. I just..." You trail off, not sure how to put the feeling into words.
He steps closer, his hands coming up to cup your face. "I know," he says quietly. "I worry about you too, every time I leave. But I have too much to come back to. I am not going to take unnecessary risks."
"Promise?"
"Promise." He leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. "One week from now, we are going to stand before the clan and make our bond. Nothing is going to stop that from happening."
You nod, trying to believe him, and he smiles before turning back to his gear.
That's when you notice the paint pots, and an idea forms in your mind. War paint is usually applied by the warrior themselves, or sometimes by close family. But mates—mates often paint each other, a final intimate gesture before battle, a way of saying I see you, I'm with you, come back to me.
You and Tarsem aren't mated yet. Not officially. But you're close enough that maybe...
"Tarsem," you say, your voice coming out softer than you intended.
He looks up, and something in your expression makes him go still. "Yes?"
"Can I..." You gesture to the paint pots. "Can I apply your war paint?"
His eyes widen, and for a moment he just stares at you, his lips parted in surprise. "You want to paint me?"
"If you'll let me." You step closer, your heart pounding. "I know it's usually only done by mates, but we're so close to the ceremony, and I just... I want to. If that's okay."
He's quiet for a long moment, and you start to worry that you've overstepped, that it's too intimate a gesture for where you are in your relationship. But then his expression softens into something so tender it makes your breath catch.
"I would be honored," he says quietly. "I was going to ask you, actually, but I was not sure if you would want to. If you would think it was too soon."
Relief floods through you. "Not too soon. Just right."
He nods, then starts removing his chest piece and arm guards, stripping down until he's wearing only his loincloth. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him—all lean muscle and golden skin, the evidence of years of training and fighting written across his body in scars and strength.
He's beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. And in one week, he's going to be yours.
"Where do you want me?" he asks, and there's a slight tremor in his voice that tells you he's not as calm as he's pretending to be.
"Sit," you say, gesturing to a low bench. "And try to stay still."
He sits, and you kneel in front of him, reaching for the first pot of paint—a deep blue-black that will form the base of the design. You dip your fingers into the cool paste, feeling the texture of it, and then you reach out to touch his chest.
He inhales sharply at the contact, his muscles tensing under your hand.
"Relax," you murmur, spreading the paint across his collarbone in a smooth line. "I can't paint you if you're all tense."
"Sorry," he says, but his voice is strained. "It's just... your hands on me..."
"I know." You smile, understanding completely. Every touch feels electric, charged with the awareness of what's coming, of how close you are to being bound together. "But you asked me to do this, so you're going to have to deal with it."
He huffs out a laugh, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "Fair enough."
You work slowly, carefully, your fingers tracing patterns across his skin. The traditional warrior designs—lines that follow the curve of his muscles, symbols of strength and protection, marks that identify him as Omaticaya. You've seen these patterns a hundred times, but applying them yourself is different. Intimate. Each stroke of your fingers is a prayer, a plea for him to come back safe.
"You're very good at this," Tarsem says after a while, his voice low and warm.
"I am just following the traditional patterns," you reply, dipping your fingers into a lighter blue for the accent lines.
"No, I mean... you have a steady hand. An artist's touch." He's watching you work, his eyes tracking the movement of your fingers across his skin. "It's beautiful."
"You're beautiful," you say without thinking, then feel heat rise in your cheeks. "I mean—the paint is beautiful. On you. Because you're—" You stop, flustered, and he grins.
"Because I'm what?"
"You know what," you mutter, focusing intently on the line you're drawing across his ribs.
"I want to hear you say it."
You look up at him, meeting his eyes, and the playfulness there gives you courage. "Because you're gorgeous. Strong. Perfect." You let your hand rest flat against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. "Look at you. Look at these muscles."
His ears twitch, a faint flush darkening his cheeks. "I'm just... I train. That's all."
"You're being modest." You run your hand down his arm, feeling the hard curve of his bicep, the strength in his forearm. "You're one of the finest warriors in the clan, Tarsem. Strong enough to protect, skilled enough to provide. Any woman would be lucky to have you."
"I only want one woman," he says quietly, his hand coming up to cover yours where it rests on his chest. "And somehow, impossibly, she wants me too."
"Not somehow," you correct gently. "I want you because of who you are. Because you're kind and patient and brave. Because you make me laugh and you challenge me and you see me—really see me—in a way no one else does."
His eyes are intense on yours, dark and full of emotion. "Yawne," he breathes, and the endearment makes your heart flutter. "You're going to make it very hard for me to focus on this raid if you keep talking like that."
"Then I'll stop talking," you say, but you're smiling as you return to your work.
You paint in comfortable silence for a while, adding layers and details, building up the design until it covers his chest, his shoulders, his arms. Your fingers trace the scars on his skin—a long one across his ribs from a thanator's claw, a smaller one on his shoulder from a training accident, countless tiny marks from years of living in the forest.
Each one is a story, a moment in his life, and you want to know all of them.
"This one," you say, touching the scar on his ribs. "Tell me about this one."
"Thanator," he says simply. "About six months ago. It got too close to the village, and Jake asked for volunteers to drive it off. I was the closest when it charged."
Your hand stills on his skin. "You could have been killed."
"But I wasn't." He covers your hand with his, pressing it against the scar. "I'm here. I'm fine. And I'm going to stay fine, because I have you to come back to."
You nod, swallowing hard, and return to painting. The design is nearly complete now—just a few more accent lines, a few more symbols. You add them carefully, making sure every line is perfect, every curve precise.
When you finally sit back to admire your work, your breath catches.
He looks magnificent. The paint transforms him from the gentle, careful man you know into something fierce and powerful—a warrior in truth, ready for battle. The designs emphasize the breadth of his shoulders, the strength in his arms, the lean power of his body. He looks dangerous. Deadly.
And completely, utterly yours.
"How do I look?" he asks, and there's a hint of nervousness in his voice, like he actually cares about your opinion.
"Like a warrior," you say, your voice coming out husky. "Like someone who could take on the world and win."
He stands, moving to a polished piece of metal that serves as a mirror, and studies his reflection. You watch his expression shift from curiosity to surprise to something like awe.
"You did this?" he asks, turning back to you.
"I did."
"It's..." He trails off, seeming at a loss for words. "It's perfect. You're perfect."
Before you can respond, he's crossing the distance between you, his hands cupping your face, and then he's kissing you. It's not gentle or tentative—it's fierce and claiming, full of all the emotion he can't put into words.
You kiss him back just as fiercely, your hands sliding up his painted chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath the cool paste. He makes a low sound in his throat, pulling you closer, and you can feel the rapid beat of his heart, the tension in his muscles.
When you finally break apart, both breathing hard, his forehead rests against yours.
"I need to go soon," he says, but he doesn't move.
"I know."
"But I don't want to."
"I know that too." You pull back slightly to look at him, taking in the paint on his skin, the intensity in his eyes. "But you have to. Jake is counting on you. The clan is counting on you."
"What about what you're counting on?" he asks quietly.
"I'm counting on you to come back," you say firmly. "That's all. Just come back to me."
"Always," he promises, and then he's kissing you again, urgent and desperate, like he's trying to memorize the taste of you.
You lose yourself in it, in the feel of his hands on your waist, his lips on yours, the solid warmth of him against you. Around you, the warrior platform continues its preparations, but you're barely aware of it. All that matters is this moment, this man, this feeling of rightness that settles in your chest whenever he's near.
But eventually, inevitably, you hear Jake's voice calling out, "Warriors! Time to move!"
Tarsem pulls back with a groan, his hands tightening on your waist for just a moment before he releases you. "I have to go."
"I know." You smooth your hands over his chest one more time, checking the paint. "Be careful. Be smart. Come back to me."
"I will." He catches your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. "Wait for me?"
"Always."
He starts to turn away, then stops, looking back at you with something vulnerable in his expression. "I love you," he says quietly. "I know we've said it before, but I need you to hear it again. I love you. You're everything to me."
Your throat tightens with emotion. "I love you too. So much. That's why you need to come back—because I can't do this without you."
"You won't have to," he promises, and then he's moving away, joining the other warriors as they gather their weapons and prepare to mount their ikran.
You watch him go, your hand pressed against your chest where your heart is racing, and you can still feel the ghost of his touch on your skin, the taste of him on your lips.
Säla'ite appears at your side, slipping her arm through yours. "He'll be fine," she says softly. "He always is."
"I know," you say, but your voice wavers slightly.
"Come on. Let's go find something to do. The waiting is always the hardest part."
She's right. The waiting is torture.
You spend the morning helping with various tasks around the village—weaving baskets, preparing food, checking supplies. Säla'ite stays close, chattering about the upcoming mating ceremony, asking about your plans, trying to distract you from the worry that sits heavy in your stomach.
"Have you decided what you're going to wear?" she asks as you work on repairing a fishing net, your fingers moving automatically through the familiar motions.
"Not yet," you admit. "I've been so focused on everything else, I haven't really thought about it."
"Well, you should think about it. You want to look beautiful for him." She grins. "Not that you need to try very hard. He already looks at you like you hung the stars."
You can't help but smile at that. "He does, doesn't he?"
"Absolutely. It's almost disgusting how in love you two are." But her tone is affectionate, teasing. "I'm happy for you, you know. Tarsem is a good man. He'll take care of you."
"I know he will." You pause in your work, looking out toward the forest where the warriors disappeared hours ago. "I just wish he was here now."
"He will be soon," Säla'ite assures you. "And then you can fuss over him and make sure he's okay, and he'll probably love every second of it."
You laugh despite yourself. "Probably."
The day drags on. You help Mo'at organize medicinal supplies, assist with preparing the evening meal, play with some of the younger children to keep them entertained. But through it all, your mind is elsewhere, tracking the position of the sun, calculating how long the raid should take, wondering if everything is going according to plan.
Every time you hear a sound in the distance, your heart jumps, hoping it's the warriors returning. But it's always just the forest, just the normal sounds of life in the trees.
By late afternoon, you're wound so tight with anxiety that you can barely sit still. You've positioned yourself near the edge of the village, where you'll have a clear view of the sky, and you're pretending to work on a weaving project while actually just staring at the horizon.
Säla'ite has given up trying to distract you and is sitting beside you in companionable silence, her own work forgotten in her lap.
"They'll be back soon," she says for the hundredth time.
"I know," you reply for the hundredth time.
And then—finally, blessedly—you hear it.
The sound of horns in the distance, the victory call that means the raid was successful, the warriors are returning. Your heart leaps into your throat, and you're on your feet before you even realize you're moving, the weaving falling forgotten to the platform.
"They're back!" someone shouts, and suddenly the whole village is in motion, people rushing toward the ikran landing area, eager to see their loved ones return.
You run, your feet flying over the branch-paths, your heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst from your chest. You can see the ikran now, dark shapes against the sky, growing larger as they approach. You count them frantically, trying to make sure they're all there, that no one was lost.
Neteyam appears beside you, running just as fast, his face bright with excitement. "They're back! They're all back!"
Lo'ak is on your other side, whooping with joy, and together the three of you race toward the landing area.
The ikran touch down one by one, their riders dismounting with practiced ease. You scan the group frantically, looking for Tarsem, your eyes passing over Jake, over other warriors you recognize—
And then you see him.
He's climbing down from his ikran, his movements a little slower than usual, like he's tired or sore, but he's whole. He's safe. He's here.
Relief crashes over you so powerfully that your knees nearly buckle, but you don't stop running. You push through the crowd of people, dodging around families reuniting, warriors being welcomed home, and you don't stop until you reach him.
"Tarsem!"
He turns at the sound of your voice, and his face lights up in a way that makes your heart soar. He barely has time to brace himself before you're throwing yourself at him, your arms wrapping around his neck, and he catches you easily, lifting you off your feet as he holds you close.
"Hey," he says, his voice rough and warm in your ear. "I'm here. I'm okay."
"I was so worried," you say into his shoulder, breathing in the scent of him—sweat and forest and the faint metallic tang of the paint that's still on his skin. "I know you said you'd be fine, but I couldn't help it."
"I know." His arms tighten around you. "But I told you I'd come back. I always come back to you."
You pull back just enough to look at him, your hands coming up to frame his face, checking for injuries. There's a small cut on his cheek, a bruise forming on his shoulder, but otherwise he seems unharmed. "Are you hurt?"
"Just a few scratches. Nothing serious." He's smiling at you, his eyes soft and full of affection. "You should see the other guy."
You want to scold him for making jokes, but you're too relieved to care. Instead, you pull him down and kiss him, right there in front of everyone, pouring all your worry and relief and love into the contact.
He makes a surprised sound, then melts into the kiss, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head. Around you, you can hear people laughing, making teasing comments, but you don't care. All that matters is that he's here, he's safe, he's yours.
When you finally pull back, he's looking at you with something like wonder in his eyes. "I missed you too," he says softly.
"You were only gone for a day," you point out, but your voice is shaky.
"Felt like longer." He sets you down gently, but keeps his arms around you, like he's not quite ready to let go. "Every time I'm away from you, it feels too long."
"Then stop going away," you say, only half-joking.
"Can't. Duty calls." But he's smiling as he says it, and you know he's as happy to be back as you are to have him here.
"Tarsem!" Jake's voice cuts through the moment, and you both turn to see the Olo'eyktan approaching, a grin on his face. "Good work out there. That was some impressive flying."
"Thank you, sir." Tarsem straightens slightly, falling into the formal posture of a warrior addressing his leader, but his arm stays around your waist.
Jake's eyes flick to you, and his grin widens. "I see you've got a welcoming committee."
"The best kind," Tarsem agrees, and you feel heat rise in your cheeks.
"Well, don't let me keep you. Go get cleaned up, get some food. You've earned it." Jake claps Tarsem on the shoulder, then moves on to greet the other returning warriors.
Tarsem turns back to you, and there's a question in his eyes. "I need to help put away the gear, make sure the ikran are settled. It'll take maybe an hour. Will you wait for me?"
"Of course," you say immediately. "I'll be at the evening meal. Take your time."
He nods, then leans down to press one more quick kiss to your lips. "I'll find you as soon as I'm done."
"You better."
He grins, then reluctantly releases you and heads off to join the other warriors in their post-raid tasks. You watch him go, your heart still racing, and you can't stop smiling.
He's back. He's safe. Everything is okay.
Säla'ite appears at your side, grinning widely. "Well, that was quite the reunion."
"Shut up," you say, but you're laughing.
"I'm just saying, you two are adorable. Disgustingly, sickeningly adorable." She links her arm through yours. "Come on. Let's go help set up for the evening meal. He'll be hungry when he gets back."
The next hour passes in a blur of activity. You help arrange the food, set out the mats, make sure everything is ready for the clan's evening gathering. But your eyes keep drifting toward the area where the warriors are working, looking for glimpses of Tarsem.
Finally, as the sun is beginning to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, you see him emerge from the direction of the bathing pools. He's cleaned up, the war paint washed away, his braids damp and neat. He's changed into a fresh loincloth, and he looks relaxed in a way he didn't this morning, the tension of the raid finally leaving his shoulders.
He scans the gathering crowd, and when his eyes find you, his whole face lights up.
You can't help the smile that spreads across your face as he makes his way over to you, weaving through the crowd with single-minded purpose. When he reaches you, he doesn't hesitate—just pulls you into his arms and holds you close, like he needs the contact as much as you do.
"Hi," he says softly, his lips brushing against your temple.
"Hi yourself." You pull back to look at him, taking in the clean lines of his face, the warmth in his eyes. "Feel better?"
"Much better. Especially now that I'm with you." He takes your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. "Come on. Let's eat. I'm starving."
You settle together on one of the mats, and Tarsem immediately starts loading a leaf plate with food—roasted meat, vegetables, fruit, grain cakes. He hands it to you first, making sure you have plenty, before filling his own plate.
It's such a simple gesture, but it makes your heart warm. He always does this—makes sure you're taken care of before he worries about himself. It's one of the many things you love about him.
"So," you say as you both start eating, "how did it go? Was the raid successful?"
"Very successful." He takes a bite of meat, chewing thoughtfully. "We hit three supply trains, destroyed a lot of their equipment. Jake says it'll set them back weeks, maybe months."
"And everyone made it back okay?"
"A few minor injuries, but nothing serious. We were lucky." He glances at you, his expression softening. "I was careful, like I promised."
"I know you were." You lean against his shoulder, and he shifts to accommodate you, his arm coming around your waist. "I still worried though."
"I know. I'm sorry." He presses a kiss to the top of your head. "But I'm here now. Safe and sound."
"And you're not going anywhere for a while, right?"
"Not if I can help it." He grins. "Although knowing Jake, there'll probably be another mission in a few days."
You groan, and he laughs, the sound warm and genuine. "I'm kidding. Mostly. But even if there is, I'll come back. I always do."
"You better," you say, echoing the words from this morning. "Because in one week, you're going to be stuck with me permanently. No more going off on dangerous missions without me worrying."
"You'll worry anyway," he points out.
"True. But at least I'll have the right to worry as your mate, not just your... whatever we are now."
"My everything," he says simply, and the sincerity in his voice makes your breath catch. "That's what you are. My everything."
You look up at him, and the expression on his face—open and vulnerable and full of love—makes your eyes sting with tears. "Tarsem..."
"I mean it." He sets down his food, turning to face you fully. "I know we're not mated yet, not officially, but you're already my mate in every way that matters. You're the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I think about before I sleep. You're the reason I'm careful on raids, the reason I always come back. You're my home, paskalin. My heart."
Your throat is tight with emotion, and you have to blink back tears. "You can't just say things like that," you manage. "Not when we're surrounded by people."
"Why not?" He reaches up to cup your face, his thumb brushing away a tear that's escaped. "I want everyone to know how I feel about you. I want the whole world to know."
"The whole world already knows," you say with a watery laugh. "You're not exactly subtle."
"Good." He leans down to kiss you, soft and sweet, and you can feel him smiling against your lips. "I don't want to be subtle. I want to shout it from the top of the canopy."
"Please don't," you say, but you're smiling too. "That would be embarrassing."
"For you, maybe. I'd be proud."
You shake your head, but you can't stop smiling. This man—this wonderful, ridiculous, perfect man—is going to be yours. In one week, you'll stand before Eywa and the clan and bind yourselves together, and then nothing will ever separate you.
The thought fills you with such joy that you feel like you might burst with it.
The evening meal continues around you, the clan gathering in clusters, sharing food and stories and laughter. You and Tarsem stay close together, your shoulders touching, your hands intertwined. He tells you more about the raid—the strategy they used, the close calls they had, the moment when Jake pulled off an impossible maneuver that had everyone cheering.
You listen, asking questions, laughing at the right moments, but mostly you just enjoy being near him. Feeling the warmth of his body, hearing the rumble of his voice, knowing that he's safe and whole and here.
At one point, Neteyam and Lo'ak join you, both boys talking excitedly about the raid preparations, about what they did while the warriors were gone. Tarsem listens patiently, praising Neteyam's work and reassuring Lo'ak that his time will come.
You watch him with the boys, and that image from this morning returns—Tarsem with a child of his own, patient and kind and loving. Your child.
The thought makes your cheeks heat, and you quickly look away before anyone can notice.
As the evening wears on, people begin to drift away, heading to their kelku for the night. The fires are banked to embers, the platforms cleared of food, and the village settles into the quiet rhythm of night.
You notice Tarsem trying to stifle a yawn, and you realize how tired he must be. He's been up since before dawn, spent the whole day on a dangerous raid, and now he's been sitting here with you, refusing to show any sign of exhaustion.
"Come on," you say softly, standing and offering him your hand. "Let's get you to bed."
He looks up at you, and there's something hopeful in his expression. "Your kelku or mine?"
You give him a look. "Nice try. Yours. Alone."
He groans, but he's smiling as he takes your hand and lets you pull him to his feet. "Can't blame a man for trying."
"I can and I will." You start walking, leading him through the quiet village toward his kelku. "One week, remember? We agreed."
"I know, I know." He falls into step beside you, his hand warm in yours. "But you can't blame me for wanting you close. Especially after a day like today."
"I want you close too," you admit. "But we've waited this long. We can wait a little longer."
"I suppose." He's quiet for a moment, then adds, "But once we're mated, you're not leaving my side. Ever."
"I wouldn't dream of it."
His kelku is on the far side of the village, tucked into a quiet corner with a good view of the forest. It's larger than yours, as he'd pointed out this morning, with more space and better ventilation. You've been here a few times over the past months, but never overnight. Never in a way that would be improper.
Soon, though. Soon this will be your home too.
At the entrance, you both pause, reluctant to say goodnight. Tarsem turns to face you, his hands coming up to rest on your waist, and you step closer, your arms sliding around his neck.
"Thank you," he says softly. "For today. For the paint, for waiting for me, for being here when I got back. For everything."
"You don't have to thank me," you say. "I wanted to do all of it. I'll always want to."
"I know. But I'm thanking you anyway." He leans down, resting his forehead against yours. "I love you. So much. Sometimes I can't believe you're real, that you chose me."
"I'm real," you assure him, your fingers playing with the braids at the nape of his neck. "And I chose you because you're wonderful. Because you're kind and brave and you make me happier than I ever thought possible."
He makes a soft sound, something between a laugh and a sigh, and then he's kissing you. It's slow and deep, full of all the emotion of the day—the fear and relief and love and anticipation. You kiss him back with everything you have, trying to pour all your feelings into the contact.
When you finally pull apart, you're both breathing hard, and his eyes are dark with desire.
"One week," he says, his voice rough.
"One week," you agree.
"It's going to be the longest week of my life."
"Mine too." You smile, reaching up to cup his face. "But it'll be worth it. I promise."
"I know it will." He turns his head to press a kiss to your palm, then reluctantly releases you. "I should let you go. Before I lose what little self-control I have left."
"Probably a good idea." But you don't move, not yet. You're not quite ready to leave him.
He seems to feel the same way, because he pulls you back in for another kiss, this one quick but no less intense. And then another. And another.
"Okay," you say, laughing against his lips. "Now I really need to go."
"Just one more," he pleads, and you can't resist.
One more turns into three more, and by the time you finally manage to pull away, you're both grinning like fools.
"Goodnight, Tarsem," you say, backing away slowly.
"Goodnight, yawne." He leans against the entrance to his kelku, watching you with such open affection that it makes your heart ache. "I'll see you in the morning?"
"First thing," you promise. "I'll come find you as soon as I wake up."
"I'll be waiting."
You force yourself to turn and walk away, even though every instinct is screaming at you to stay. You can feel his eyes on you as you go, and when you glance back, he's still standing there, watching you with that soft smile on his face.
You wave, and he waves back, and then you're turning the corner and he's out of sight.
The walk back to your own kelku feels longer than usual, and when you finally slip inside, your mother looks up from where she's preparing for bed.
"He made it back safe?" she asks, even though she already knows the answer.
"He did." You can't keep the smile off your face. "He's fine. Everything's fine."
"Good." She studies you for a moment, then smiles. "One more week, and then you'll be with him every night. Are you ready for that?"
"More than ready," you say honestly. "I've been ready for months."
She laughs softly. "I can tell. You've been walking around with your head in the clouds ever since he started courting you."
"Can you blame me?" You settle into your hammock, staring up at the woven ceiling. "He's... he's everything, Mom. Everything I ever wanted."
"I know, sweetheart. I can see it." She moves to her own hammock, settling in with a contented sigh. "Your father and I are very happy for you. Tarsem is a good man. He'll take care of you."
"I know he will." You touch the necklace at your throat, the one he made for you all those months ago. "I can't wait to be his mate. To start our life together."
"Soon," your mother says gently. "Very soon. Now get some sleep. You'll want to be well-rested for tomorrow."
"Why? What's tomorrow?"
"Another day with Tarsem," she says simply. "Isn't that reason enough?"
You smile, warmth spreading through your chest. "Yeah. It is."
You close your eyes, and even though you're in your own kelku, alone in your hammock, you can still feel the ghost of Tarsem's touch on your skin, the taste of his kisses on your lips. You can still hear his voice saying I love you, still see the way he looked at you when you ran to him after the raid.
One more week.
One more week, and then you'll never have to say goodnight and walk away. One more week, and then you'll fall asleep in his arms every night and wake up beside him every morning.
pairing: tarsem x female omaticaya reader [ her name insert is solay :) ]
summary: it had always been tarsem's plan to court you, but when he became olo'eyktan, his plans had to change. now, he must fulfill his duties as the clan's leader and endure as he's forced to love you from a distance.
genre: fluff (best friends to lovers), a lil angst
word count: 710
notes: WHAT TIME IS IT? IT'S YEARN O'CLOCK. clan, i am giving you guys a classic love trope with some jealous bits of course
Night had fallen long ago, but still you remained where you were, waiting.
Your hands were drawn up toward your chest as you held them with your arms and you looked out ahead, the glow of the Great Mother's creation consoling you in the unfamiliar loneliness you hadn't expected to feel.
Tarsem had told you to meet him there.
Hours ago.
He was never late.
He was always early.
You weren't sure why you had even waited. In your usual impatience, you would have just went looking for him after the first hour.
Truthfully, you didn't want to admit that you had hoped, felt stupid for expecting something out of him, for the question to be asked that always hung in the air when you were with him, wholly unspoken in the midst of the intimacy that made its home between your souls.
It was the first time that he had told you he had planned something for the both of you, a gesture unlike him given your odd dynamic.
You and Tarsem were the most unlikely of friends.
While he was quiet, obedient and reserved, you were the exact opposite.
As children, you were inseparable, always roping him in with your antics and shenanigans. Even the elders around you could not grasp in their minds how someone could find such kinship with someone as boisterous and mischievous as you.
"Solay, here you are again telling poor Tarsem what to do!"
That was usually what would come out of their mouths when they would find you in your usual stance, dragging him by the hand doing things he otherwise would never do by himself.
Yet still, he followed you everywhere you went, hung on your every word, and honored your every command.
And one day, when he was waiting patiently for you outside of HomeTree, it was Mo'at who had asked him, "Are you too shy to tell Solay no?"
But he merely shook his head at her, smiling, "If I do not go with her, who will make sure she is safe?"
It was then that Mo'at and the other elders understood how he regarded you, how such a gentle, kind soul could be even gentler and even kinder to someone.
You even had to remind him, on many occasions, that you were not as delicate as he treated you to be, that you didn't need to be handled like a baby before her first communion with Eywa.
Yet, that was never how he saw you.
He knew you were strong. If anything, you were stronger than him in many ways.
It was because for Tarsem, you were the most precious thing in the world and although he was that gentle and kind soul, he would sooner burn it all to the ground than let the worst of existence ever touch you.
Everyone in the clan knew that when the day came for him to choose a mate, he had no desire picking any woman who wasn't you. He had wanted nothing more than to enjoy the simplest of happiness with you, to spend the rest of his days being yours, being the one by your side.
When that day had finally come, he had planned your courting gifts, gathering your favorite flowers and even making your favorite dish, he told you to meet him atop the waterfall you frequented not too far from HomeTree.
It was there that you both had made your own camp, crafting a makeshift shelter between two adjoining trees, overlooking the lush green of the Forest.
But those courting gifts never reached your hands and that question Tarsem wanted to ask you, a question you already had an answer for remained unspoken.
It was on that day that Jake had told Tarsem he would have to be the new Olo'eyktan.
It was a duty, an honor that he could not refuse.
He was proud to be a warrior, serving his clan, and helping ensure the safety of the Omaticaya people. It was the reason why Jake did not doubt that the People would be taken care of when he left the Forest.
But suddenly becoming Olo'eyktan had taken him away from fulfilling the duty he wanted for the person he cherished the most.
You.
.
Author's Note:
oel ngati kameie,
posting the preview for you all who need the tarsem crumbs now!!
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watch i t- this is literly just straight fluff bc i love him and he is a cuti. childhood friends to lovers. navi courting
there needs to be more tarsem love he is so cute and tender, and a gentleman. given the role of olo'eyktan so young, yet so wise. AHG my man
childhood friends to lovers with him would be so easy, growing up side by side, getting into trouble, climbing up the tallest tree, running home before eclipse with wide smiles. he was always the more rational of the two of you
two peas in a pod while your mothers watched on with fond eyes
"if they do not grow to love one another then i do not know who they could love." your mother had declared all those years ago
its easy for her to say. she is not the one with the heavy feeling in your chest when he walks. yearning for him so fiercely you think one day it may very well tear you apart. but tarsem would never allow harm to come to you
confessions are nerve racking, and he makes it so easy, so simple. his duties as olo'eyktan have drawn him away from you, pushing you to opposite ends of life. but he can not live a life without you, he can not love another remember?
he tells you its a routine patrol, only needs you, as a trusted hunter how can you say no to your olo'eyktan?
he takes you to a quiet edge of the forst, where the trees hum, animals chirping softy, landing on a soft canopy of trees.
"i have made this for you." he hands you a bead, carved with sloping swirls and stars. it almost glows under the sun. it hangs on a single leather thread, thick and strong. he means it for your songcord.
"tarsem." you voice catches in your throat, hands on fire where they meet his as you take it into your hands. the making of a bead is so intimate. he has chosen one of your favorite color.
"from the nesting grounds." he hums. and from your favorite place non the less.
"thank you." your face blooms, unable to hide from your own feelings.
"i have another." his ears fold, shy. was this too much? he reaches to grasp around his ikrans saddle, bringing forward what looks like tied cloth.
he opens it up to reveal a top, hand woven to fit every part of you, delicate threads to hand over your shoulders, down to your back. it would catch the wind so beautifully as you ride, beads at the end clicking together softly.
"this is too much tarsem. " you bite back a smile, opening your pals as he genlty places the fabric into them.
"it is not enough, only the beginning. if you so choose."
a courting gift, all of it. you realize. he has brought you away from prying eyes, where it can truly be the two of you under the sun. here he is letting you choose him, freely without judgement and the watching gazes of everyone else at camp
"i have chosen you in my heart many times over." your heart beats so hard you can hear it in your ears, thumping with each gaze he gives you.
"as have I." he smiles back as you, so easy and sure and pure.
"i have something for you as well." you laugh, setting down yoru gifts and calling for your ikran. you reach inside a pouch that hangs at her belly, inside a small sheath, and matching dagger.
you ment to save it for a better time, weave the sheath better, but oh so knowing tarsem has made this the perfect time.
"a dagger." he breaths out, gently running a hand over the blade.
"yes, you had lost yours in the last ride out."
he looks at the sheath, smoothing over each ridge and raised edge. "ever so perceptive. thank you."
you play with your hands in your lap, before he gently places them in his. slowing moving up up up till he cups your face with both hands, thumbs moving over your cheeks. placing a kiss gently on your lips
it feels like a star has exploded inside of you, covering you in molten hot fire. every moment has amounted to this. and you can not be happier.
when you part, a bit breathless and both laughing, you add the bead to your song cord. and he places the dagger to the missing spot in his chest.
he helps you tie your new top, gently secrung each rope around you.
"you look so beautiful, he mumbles, placing a soft kiss on yoru cheek.
"you make me so." looping an arm around his neck to bring him down to kiss again properly.
when you arrive home once more, no one is surpised.
"about time." mo'at grumbles, no bite to her words and a small smile
your mother can now sleep soundly knowing you two have in fact loved each other the whole time
"we must plan now for a celebration!" she beams.
"of course." tarsem nods, laughing as you roll your eyes.
Description: You find out that your entire family is abandoning you just as you are about to give birth.
Based on this request and this request. Thank you @lumilily for Beta reading!!
Content Warnings/tags: pregnant!reader, Sullys are leaving without reader, angst, not a happy ending, but a bittersweet one.
Author's note: This is a fic that I have a feeling some people might not read just because it's Tarsem (he deserves people lining up at his door) and because it is pregnant reader, BUT I also know that this is going to be exactly up other people's alley, so I don't care. Enjoy the read!
“They what?!” you asked your mate, eyes wide as he told you the news about your siblings.
“Yawnetu (loved one)-” he started but you pushed past him, stomping to your family's kelku with a hand cradling your pregnant belly. Tarsem hurried after you, a hand coming to support you at your elbow.
“They are fine! Your dad was not even going to tell you. It is not a big deal,” he explained in vain, but it did not slow your roll.
He knew the pregnancy hormones coursing through you would more than likely send you on a rampage when you found out your siblings had been momentarily kidnapped by the RDA. But he also knew that those same hormones would likely lead you to behead him if he kept it a secret and you found out through other means.
“Do not patronize me!” you ordered, “I am pregnant, not incompetent. I am going to see them for myself.” Tarsem winced at his headstrong mate but followed after you.
You stalked up to your parents kelku (home), stopping outside when you saw your siblings huddled by the gape in the woven material. “What did you skxawngs (idiots) do?” You demanded quietly.
You loved them well enough to not ruin their spying, especially since you were the one who taught them how to do it in the first place. Tarsem stopped behind you, hand coming to rest on your back as your siblings flinched at being caught.
Four sets of eyes slowly turned to you and you saw varying looks of horror on their faces.
“Sister!” Tuk smiled, running up to you and wrapping an arm around your hips, you hugged her back, smoothing her hair down as your other siblings started squabbling.
“It was Lo’ak’s fault,” Kiri exclaimed quietly, pointing her finger at your youngest brother.
“I was not even there until we saved them,” Neteyam defended himself, raising two hands
“Why does it always have to be my fault?” Lo’ak complained, and Kiri rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest.
“Because it IS always your fault,” she replied.
“I was following them,” Tuk said softly up at you as the other three continued to fight.
“Enough,” Tarsem demanded firmly but still gently, making your eyebrows raise at his command over the situation.
All your siblings shut up and turned to their brother in law. “What matters is that you are safe. Do not stress your sister out,” he instructed and your siblings deflated.
Tuk stepped back as Neteyam approached. “Sorry, y/n,” he mumbled, walking up to you and wrapping his arms around your shoulders, coming in for an embrace. He had to avoid your protruding belly, but you pulled him close.
“Yeah, sorry,” Lo’ak agreed, following Neteyam’s lead and joining the hug on the other side.
“Do not apologize, just be careful next time,” you muttered, hugging your brothers tightly and boxing their ears when they pulled away from you.
“Now, are we going to spy on them or not?” Kiri asked with a sigh, not being one for big shows of emotion.
“Right,” Lo’ak agreed, crouching back on the floor to hear better and your other siblings followed.
“I cannot get down there, I will have to do it the old fashioned way,” you grunted, letting go of Tuk to walk up right next to the opening of the kelku. Your parents were still arguing, so they were too involved in the fight to notice that your and your siblings were up to no good.
“I cannot. You cannot ask this. I cannot leave my people. I will not,” your mother cried.
Another voice cut through, “He's hunting us. He's targeting our family.” Your dad’s voice was angry and scared, something you had been hearing more of lately.
“You cannot ask this!” your mother exclaimed and your heart sank. What could your father possibly be asking her to do that would require her to leave? “The children. Everything they've ever known. The forest. We would miss the birth of our grandchild, our oldest cannot leave with us. This is our home!” she screamed, voice breaking.
“He had our children. He had 'em under his knife!” your dad shot back, voice now strong but still emotional.
Your mother paused, “My father gave me this bow as he lay dying. And he said protect the People. You're Toruk Makto!” Neytiri reminded him and you could mentally picture the wince he wore whenever that name was mentioned.
“This will protect the People! Quaritch has Spider and that kid knows everything. He knows our whole operation, and he can lead them right in here,” you sucked in a breath at the new information. You had wondered where the little human was, figuring he was just with the scientists, but the news that they captured the boy you considered another brother made you feel sick.
“If the People harbor us, they will die. Do you understand?” your dad pleaded. “Look, I got nothing. I got no plan… But I can protect this family. That I can do.”
You stepped forward then, making yourself known and both of your parents turned to you.
“You are leaving?” you asked numbly, a hand on your belly. Two shocked faces turned to look at you and the air left the room.
“Babygirl,” your dad started, stepping forward, but you stopped him by raising a hand.
“Are you leaving?” you repeated, looking at your mom knowing she would bite the bullet to tell you easier than your dad would.
“Yes,” she admitted, voice breaking as a tear fell down her face.
Your face screwed up at the confirmation. “You are just gonna leave us here?” you asked, turning to your dad, “Run and hide? Let us fight the battle you started?”
“No, we're taking the fight away from you. If I’m gone, then they won’t hit half as hard,” your dad promised.
You shook your head, “That’s not how this works. What happened to Sullys stick together, huh?” you asked as he stopped in front of you, arms reaching to hug you but you knocked them away. “I am a Sully. That does not sound like sticking together to me.”
“Babygirl, please.” he begged as you shook your head. “Tarsem will be Olo’eyktan, you will have your baby here, where it’s safe. It's gonna be safe, because they’ll be looking for us everywhere else, okay? They won't find any Sullys here, because you can blend in. They don’t know about you like they do the other kids.”
“How does that make any of this better, dad? You’re still leaving me,” you blubbered, tears falling down your face as emotion and pregnancy hormones took hold of you.
You heard the entrance shift as Tarsem stepped through, beating your dad out to wrap his arms around you and hold you close. “Shhhh,” he muttered in your ear. “I’m here.”
“Did you know?” you asked your mate through your tears.
“No,” he assured you, “I would not keep this from you.” he promised and it eased your mind some at the words.
“Tarsem, you know this has to be done,” your dad pleaded with his son in law, but Tarsem did not respond directly to him like he hoped.
“She needs rest,” he simply said, not meeting either of your parent’s gazes.
Your dad paused, backing up a step. “Of course,” he said, swallowed in regret as his babygirl was ushered out. It still felt so strange to him that another man took care of you now. That you were Tarsem’s responsibility to care for and not his.
-
Later that evening, you and Tarsem operated in grieved silence. He did not want to crack your barely held composure, and you did not know how to express the well of hormonal emotions inside you.
You had finished crying only a few minutes ago, and you had both decided not to join the others eating in the communal space. Tarsem had gone to collect Teylu for dinner only to find you crying again when he returned.
You had sniffled back your tears, and sat on the floor with effort as he handed you your food and sat across from you. You thanked him quietly and ate, if only for the baby’s sake.
He did the same, eating as he watched you carefully. Then he set down his leaf of Teylu, moving to sit beside you. “Talk to me, Yawnetu, what can I do to make this less painful,” he asked, not able to handle the quiet anymore.
You shook your head, lowering your hands. “Convince my dad to let them all stay?” you said, knowing it was impossible, but answering truthfully. That was the only thing that would have changed the emotions in your heart now.
He smiled sadly, “You ask too much of me. Eywa herself would have to stop him when he has his mind set to something.” he said, smoothing the hair from your face and watching with pity as you wallowed in melancholy.
“I know, but it was worth a shot,” you sighed.
You tossed and turned that night on the cushiony floor of your kelku, feeling more uncomfortable than usual. Tarsem’s arm was your pillow and he stirred every time you moved.
A strong shot of pain moved up your abdomen and out through your body every few minutes and when you involuntarily clutched his chest in pain, Tarsem shot up. “What is it?” he asked, eyes searching yours for any sign that something was visually wrong. “Is it the baby?” he asked, hands moving to your stomach as the pain finally subsided and you heaved in air.
“I think so,” You muttered, sweat forming on your brow. “I think it’s contractions. I’m in labor.” Water flowed down your legs and onto the floor and you both stared down at the puddle.
"Yes, I am definietly in labor," you gasped as he gripped your hands.
“Tsahey (ah hell),” he muttered, “I will get the Tsahìk, do not move,” he ordered.
“I couldn't move very far even if I wanted to,” you grumbled, and he hesitated as if he did not want to just leave you there, but you both knew it was better to have help.
“Go, hurry!” you demanded, waving your hand, “I’m fine.”
He gave you one last wary glance before he ran off into the night, footsteps hitting high camps’ rock ground as he ran faster than he ever had before.
You breathed deeply, trying to manage your pain before another set of contractions hit you. You glanced to the side, spotting what you wanted, a braided, thin strap of leather hanging on your wall. You rolled over, moving as well as you were able and stumbling to your feet, your balance off kilter as your swollen belly threw your weight.
You made your way to the wall, pressing a hand against it for support and grabbed the piece of leather, slowly balancing as you hastily tied your hair up and out of your face. You slowly walked around, still using the wall as support, being on your feet felt a lot better than lying down. You slowly steeled your nerves in the brief reprieve.
Footsteps approached your home. “‘Itetsyìp!” Your mother called, scrambling into the kelku with grace as she flew to your side. Mo’at and Tarsem were on her trail, all three gathering around you.
“Take this,” your grandmother instructed, handing you some herbs which you put in your mouth without question. Another round of contractions tore through you and Tarsem positioned himself behind you, pulling your head down onto his shoulder as you groaned in pain.
-
It was hours before you would give birth. A little girl with her mother’s stripes, her father’s eyes, her grandfather's nose, and her grandmother’s smile. A little girl you named Tsyaya (pronounced similarly to Zahya).
Your father had stood watch outside the kelku throughout the night, keeping an eye out for nosy neighbors and an ear out in case something was wrong. He paced in front of the door, back and forth, back and forth, until he finally heard a little cry.
He stilled, pausing as his grandchild took her first breaths. A smile spread across his face as she wailed inside. A mighty sounding roar.
Neytiri stepped out a moment later, watching his face with mixed emotions. She knew this would be all the time they would get to spend with their little Tsyaya before they had to leave. Such precious little time. They barely got to even say hello.
“Your granddaughter is ready to meet you,” she said lowly.
He looked intently at his mate, mouth pressing together in a line. “Is she…” he hesitated, not sure how to phrase his next words.
“Your daughter is fine, she just wants to see her Sempu (daddy),” Neytiri answered, knowing her husband’s meaning without him having to voice it.
“Yeah, okay,” Jake nodded, steeling his nerves similarly to the way you had and walking up beside his wife to face the inside of the kelku.
His son-in-law sat on the floor holding a tiny blue body with one arm. Jake's eyes moved to you, laying on the floor beside Tarsem and holding his other hand. Both proud, new parents watched their baby with wonder. Mo’at moved about on her feet, praying to Ewya and blessing her great grandchild.
Your eyes moved to the door, “Dad?” you muttered the English word he had taught you all those years ago.
“Hey, babygirl,” he choked out, entering the home and taking a seat on the other side of your body.
“I just made a whole person,” you croaked, tears dripping down your eyes with emotion as you looked at your baby.
“I helped,” Tarsem muttered, not looking over, eyes unable to be torn from his daughter.
Jake smiled at your words, ignoring Tarsem. “I know, I’m so proud of you. You did so good,” he praised, taking your hand and clasping it between his.
“Don’t leave me, daddy,” you cried harder, squeezing his hand.
He shook his head, unable to find words for a second. “I’m so sorry, we don’t have a choice," he croaked.
“Okay…” you said, reigning in your tears and looking at him with pleading eyes. “Then before you go, we want you to do one last thing as Olo’eyktan,” you said sniffling.
In your eyes he suddenly saw the same little girl who had once sat on his knee and cried in his arms. The little girl he was leaving behind.
“Anything,” he agreed.
-
Jake walked through the crowd holding little Tsyaya as you and Tarsem followed behind him.
Today would be his grandchild’s introduction to the clan as well as the day he passed his mantle to Tarsem. His chest was tight, full of emotions he was desperately trying to repress.
Mo’at waited in the middle of the clearing as her family approached, the village stood circled around her holding hands. Already wearing their traveling clothes, Neteyam, Kiri, Lo’ak, and Tuk clasped joined hands at the front of the circle. You started crying as you saw your siblings, knowing it could be a while before you saw them again.
You and Tarsem stopped, joining hands with the people as Neytiri wrapped her arm around you, holding you close. This was a celebration as much as it was a goodbye.
“It is with happy hearts that Tarsem te Kumon Arun'itan and his mate, Y/N te Suli Neytiri’ite, announce the birth of their daughter to the people,” Jake announced, propping the cooing baby on his forearm before he held her up to the Pandoran sky.
“Tsyaya!” he called out, and the people repeated it, breaking into a prayer led by Mo’at for the baby's health and happiness.
You gripped Tarsem’s hand, looking at him with eyes mixed with both joy and sorrow. Today would change everything. When he became Olo’eyktan, his responsibilities would change and as a father, nothing was the same. His whole life was getting upheaved in one swift movement.
And you, your family would be gone by tonight. You would have to raise your baby without your mother’s steady hand and without your father’s laughter. Your siblings would not get to play the role of uncles and aunts until they returned, if they returned.
“It will be okay,” Tarsem murmured as chants rose around you and tears fell. He always had the ability to read your mind.
“I know, just… don’t ever leave me, okay?” you asked.
His eyes softened, pulling you in so that your head rested on his shoulder. “Never. I couldn't if I tried.”
Pandora in Bloom Prompts: 6. "I will always protect you" and 37. Baby Pa’li/Ikran
Word count: 990
Pairing: Tarsem x fem!reader
Description: Tarsem wakes you up to share some exciting news.
Content Warnings: reader has hair long enough to tie up, talk of potential pregnancy/a baby, FLUFF
Author's note: Based on this request. Also, fun fact, Va'ru was Tarsem's original name from the Awow script, but I liked it so I named his ikran that!
Na’vi Words used:
Yawne - beloved
Paskalin - sweet berry, term of affection
“Yawne,” Tarsem murmured, waking you from your slumber as he gently rocked the hammock you shared with him so that you would be stirred.
You groaned, rolling over and trying your best to stay in the soft embrace of sleep. “You will want to see this,” he told you with a gentle grin. He caressed your face, knowing his mate did not wake easily, even when you did get a full night of rest.
You blinked and rubbed at your eyes as you tried to jostle your subconscious into motion. “What- What is it?” you asked blearily. "Is something wrong?"
“No, it is good. Zetey, she has had her baby,” he explained.
At the mention of your ikran, you sat up, looking at him in question. When he chuckled and nodded that you had indeed heard him correctly, you sucked in a breath. Your legs swung over the hammock with little grace as you hurried to get ready to see her.
“How is the baby? Is it a girl or a boy?” you asked, hurrying to throw your wild hair up into a knot that could be tied off with a leather strip.
He smiled, the flash of it igniting something smug and happy in your chest that he was your mate. “A healthy boy,” he assured you and your shoulders relaxed a little at the word healthy. He grabbed a woven traveling cloak and wrapped it around your shoulders, making sure you would be warm on the way up to the Ikran Rookery where all ikrans nested before and after birth.
“What hour is it?” you asked, glancing outside to see that it was dark.
“It is early morning, the village still has several hours of sleep left,” he answered.
He reached his arm out, guiding you to the door as you grabbed the ends of the cloak, pulling it tighter as you both hurried to Tarsem’s ikran who was perched on the ground below the tree canopy.
“Hello, Va’ru,” you cooed to the yellow and blue creature that bumped your hand affectionately as you passed.
Tarsem mounted and held out a hand to you, helping you throw your leg over the ikran’s back and making sure you were secure behind him. One of his hands gripped the leather handle between Va’ru’s kurus, and the other reached behind him to grip your thigh, anchoring you to his side.
You took off into the early morning sky. The world was still dark and glittering stars winked above you as Va’ru carried you through the air. The forest slept down below as Tarsem steered you towards the rookery, up high into the thundering mountains.
“How did you find out that she had her baby?” you asked, yelling into the wind as you neared your destination.
He glanced over his shoulder at you, before facing forward again and saying, “I went to check on her on my way home from patrol. I knew her time was close, so I thought I would keep an eye out. I flew above earlier and I noticed the newcomer.”
“Thank you, Tarsem,” you said, grateful for all he did for you. You pressed a kiss to his shoulder, resting your chin on the same spot as the rookery came into view.
“Of course, she is family,” he said and you smiled at the sentiment, knowing he meant it.
Tarsem veered to the side and pointed Va’ru towards a nest high on a floating mountain where sticks, plants, and other natural debris now cushioned the bodies of 2 ikran. You beamed when you saw Zetey’s beautiful colors were now shared with a small baby at her side.
You immediately dismounted when Va’ru landed, running up to your ikran and reaching out to smooth a hand over her neck as she chirped in greeting.
“Hey, mama,” you said, “you did so well. He is a very handsome boy,” you beamed, staring down at his thin wings and miniscule legs in awe. Zetey nuzzled into your hip as Tarsem approached the nest, stopping behind you and watching with so much love as you kneeled down beside Zetey to cautiously ghost a hand over the baby’s soft skin.
You gasped as the tiny, leathery ikran uncurled from its mother's side, lifting its head and looking up at you.
“Welcome to our family, little one,” you murmured as the infant yawned and sniffed your hand that drifted over its head and neck. “We will always protect you, you will always be loved,” you added with a smile before the baby reared his head back and sneezed cutely.
“Bless you,” Tarsem noted politely as he crouched down beside you and placed a hand on your shoulder.
“Is he not adorable?” you asked, smiling over at him.
“Very cute. He will make a strong hunter and a fearsome predator one day,” he agreed. A pause permeated the air between you before he asked, “Do you ever want one?” and your forehead creased in confusion.
“A baby ikran?” you asked and he shook his head and smiled goodnaturedly.
“A baby Na’vi,” he clarified and you let out a giggle over your misunderstanding. The disrupted sleep was evidently messing with your processing skills.
“Right! Yes, one day,” you answered. Zetey’s baby made a sound of discontent when you removed your hand, so you quickly resumed petting him.
“Interesting,” he nodded, fighting back a small smile.
“Do you?” you asked in return, looking back at him curiously.
“Yes, one day,” he replied. “You will be a good mother,” he remarked fondly.
Your cheeks turned purple at the compliment, “Thank you, Paskalin. You will be a good father,” you replied.
“Then perhaps we will not mess our children up too terribly,” he said, grinning when the baby moved to nuzzle his hand as it stretched its wings.
“Only moderately,” you teased and he laughed, a sweet sound that echoed over the distant horizon and right into your rapidly beating heart.
