Simon Fell In Love Years Ago, Engaged To Be Married To An Old Colleague Until She Went MIA, Assumed KIA.

Ralak te Sepawn ieyk’itan: Chapter Three

An Illustrated Collaboration with @zestys-stuff

Masterlist ; Rut/Heat/Knotting Info

🔞 minors, do not interact 🔞

Hyperlinks are attached to specific paragraphs that when clicked on will lead you to its illustration by Ralak's creator @zestys-stuff.

Characters: Metkayina!Ralak (24) x Sully!Omaticaya!Reader (19)

Warnings: nsfw, smut, fluff, angst, ptsd/ flashbacks, profanity, age gap, sexual tension, size difference/kink, praise kink, jealousy, scenting, fingering, recollection of non-con trauma (for the plot), alcohol consumption/drunk character, let me know if i forgot anything?

Word Count: 6.3k

Requested: Yes || No

Author’s Note: Sorry this one took a while, been a hell of a week. It's got a lot of angst, so prep yourselves guysss. Ends with smut, ofc. I hope you guys enjoy 🤍

Synopsis: Your family seeks uturu with the Metkayina in the village of Awa’atlu. You have a difficult time adjusting, and are assigned your own special teacher, Ralak.

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“Y/n. For the love of Christ, you better tell me that the storm held ya up last night.” Jakes voice rings in your ear, waking you up.

Oh shit.

You look to your left to see the first rays of sunlight shining on Ralak’s sleeping, naked body, chest heaving slowly from his unfaltering breaths. Perched on his side, his face sits in his palm, as if he’s fallen asleep partially sitting up. Two fingers still nestled inside you, his facial muscles are slightly tensed, like he’s ready wake up any minute and tend to your every need, just like he’s been doing all night long. 

“Get your ass home. Now.” Jakes irate voice brings you back to reality.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

What were you going to tell Jake? That the storm did keep you up? He’d never believe that. Not for a second. Either way, if you didn’t go now, this man would skin the love of your life. Unmated, in his bed, all before your second iknimaya? He’d try, at least.

“Sst-ah.” you let out a shaky breath, grimacing as you pull his fingers out of you. They’re covered in your cum, so much so that a thick string of slick connects you to his fingers when you pull your pelvis away. You scramble to your feet, wiping yourself up with the already damp cloth next to his bed.

I’ll be back, my love. You think, looking over at him one last time before rushing out of his marui.

On your way to the cave, you try to assess your state. It’s hard to tell, given the fact that your heart is pounding at a speed only an ikran could attain. Anxiety streams through your veins, but otherwise, you feel fairly normal. Maybe a little bit like you did after your first iknimaya, when you passed your dream hunt and had one too many glow worms. But nothing unmanageable.

Guess it’s over.

Finally arriving at the cave, frantic eyes search the body of water for your loincloth. It’s floating at the far end of the lake, so you dive in. As you’re swimming, you catch a whiff of your own scent, mixed with Ralak’s. You bring your arm to your nose and take a deep breath. “Fuck.” you curse under your breath, submerging your entire body in the water, trying to bathe his scent off you.

You knew you scented each other, but you didn’t know that it would linger this long. You scrub your body, paying extra attention to your chest and neck. Time is going faster than you can move. But it’s like the more you scrub, the more you rub it into your skin – into your essence.

“Forget this.” you huff, grabbing your loincloth and swimming back to sand. You wring it out, slip inside and tie the knot hastily. One last look back on his marui pod, and you’re gone like the wind – quick and silent.

The trek back home is nerve-wracking, you feel so uneasy that you could feel something in your throat. A lump. You swallow repeatedly, trying to get rid of it, but it grows a little bigger for every step you take. By the time you’re at your marui door, you feel like you can’t breathe.

Neteyam smells you first, wreaking of a male na’vi, nose scrunching at the odour. He huffs a harsh breath through his nostrils, attempting to rid the lingering scent from of his lungs. He examines your condition – clammy skin with little colour left in it. Eyes trailing up to your face, he could see the fear written all over it, along with something else. Something like –

“Jesus, what the hell were you thinking?!” Jake hisses through clenched teeth.

“D-dad. I-I can explain.” you stutter, throat so tight you can barely speak.

Jake pulls his head back, eyelids blinking furiously. It’s as if the scent quite literally hit him, square in the jaw. With his suspicions confirmed, his lips stretch into a thin line, his go to expression of disapproval. The type that makes your ears lay flat against your skull, and bottom lip jut out.

“I can smell him on you.” Jake brushes past you. “Stay with your brother.”

“Dad, please.” your voice is strained, fighting against the lump in your throat. “Where are you going?”

He stops dead in his tracks, back still turned to you, a hand flying up to his face to pinch the bridge of his nose. “To Tonowari, kid. Tsireya will teach you from now on.” He heaves a heavy sigh and walks away.

The anxiety quickly morphs into anger, bubbling in your veins and sizzling your skin. Your short fuse blows. How could he take this away from you? You weren’t a ‘kid’ anymore. You had passed your iknimaya back home, and you’re on the brink of passing it here, too. Despite that, he always treats you like this, like the late bloomer you are. He didn’t even care to know what really happened.

“Not a fucking kid!” you shout after him, only for him to shake his head and continue walking.

“Sis.” Neteyam mutters, gently guiding you into the marui pod by your arm.

You shrug him off, storming past him to dive into your bed, burying your face into your pillow – damp from last night’s tears. It only becomes wetter as your fresh tears stream down your face. You couldn’t help it, you cried whenever you felt overwhelmed with anything. Sadness. Happiness. Anger. Frustration.

The sound of your privacy curtain being drawn back snaps your head up from your pillow. It’s Neteyam, standing over you with a face of concern, a bowl of steamed fish in one hand and a cup of water in the other. He sighs quietly, crouching down to come eye to eye with you. “You were in heat, weren’t you?” He states, already knowing the answer. “You should eat and drink something.” He places the bowl and cup on the floor next to you.

You sit up, supporting your torso with your arms behind your back. Neteyam. The older, caring bother, always looking out for everyone but himself. Of course, he would be the one to care enough to find out what you’ve been through the past day. “Yup. Late bloomer finally got her heat.” you speak of yourself harshly, taking the cup of water and chugging it.

“You smell gross.” he chuckles breathily, nudging the bowl of fish closer to you.

“Thanks, big brother. Appreciate it.” you giggle between cries, nudging it back to him. “Not hungry.”

His arms rest on his knees, braids swaying in his face as he looks behind him before dropping his head. “Agh.” he lifts his head, staring at you for a few seconds, as if he were contemplating something. “You should not have done that. Not before your iknimaya.”

“I didn’t! Nothing... like that happened, Tey. Ralak isn’t like that.” your head hangs low as you utter the words. “He’s... a gentle giant.”

Neteyam scoffs, straightening his spine. “Gentle giant? He looks like he eats na’vi for breakfast.”

“Hey –” you sniffle, glaring up at him, “I like him, Tey. A lot. He’s good for me.”

Neteyam’s features soften. As if hearing your words plucked a string of sympathy in his heart. As much as he wants to help you, he can’t. Not with a direct order from his father. He shakes his head, eyes closed, and brows furrowed.

That’s his way of saying, ‘Sorry. Can’t’.

You sigh, bringing your knees to your chest to hide your face. You can smell Ralak’s scent now that your nose is near your thighs. It fills your lungs with every breath you take. His pheromones. His aphrodisiac. His arousal. He left it all on you, rubbed into your skin so deep it seems to have altered your own scent.

Is this what scenting does?  

Soon you’re breathing heavily, trying to savour what left you have of him – of last night. It makes you heavy in the head, like all the strength has left your body. You feel your face warm up, the heat spreading to the tips of your ears. You’re tired. Defeated.

“Neteyam! Neteyam!” Lo’ak’s faint voice sounds frantic.

You hear Neteyam shuffling to his feet to go and check what his brother is on about. “Stay here, got it?”

“Mhm.” you hum, too tired to even lift your head.

The sound of Lo’ak yanking back your privacy curtain makes you jump out of your skin, nearly knocking over the bowl of steamed fish. You stare up at him wide eyed, to see him motioning over to the door of your marui. Your brows kiss in confusion, unsure of what’s going on.

“Heard you were in... hea-a situation. Just gonna borrow big bro for a second, cool?” he raises his brows, nudging his head towards the door in an emphasized manner.

A smile pulls at your lips once you realize what he’s doing for you. You wipe your puffy eyes with the back of your hand and shuffle to your feet. “I owe you, Lo’.”

Ralak’s POV

Ralak rouses to an empty bed. He sits up quickly, scanning his marui for any sign of you. Nothing. The only thing that remains is your potent scent flooding the room. The only proof that you were ever here. “Oh, y/n.” he groans, head slumping into his hands.

You were gone. Gone like you were never here to begin with. Taking a moment to gather his thoughts, he tried not to assume the worst. But what if – what if it was the worst? To be used and discarded like an object. All over again. Surely, there’s no way that you would do this to him, not after opening-up to you like that. Not after last night. Not after the words you uttered to one another before going to sleep –

‘I love you’.

But why does it feel the same? The same as that day. The day he was in a marui pod like this one, young, bare skinned and short haired, kneeling before his own karyu. His chest tightens, the walls of his throat closing in on one another. He can feel it creeping up his spine. The flashbacks. The tremors. The nausea. Rushing to his feet, he makes his way over to the shelf well-stocked with bottles of ‘fermented fruit’ – pxir [beer; alcohol].

A poison to many, but an antidote to him.

Dust had settled on the bottles since the last day he reached for them. The day you became his tanhì. That’s why he had never brought you up here, he never wanted you to see the truth. The way he copes with his emotions – bottling them up and then chugging it down when they became just too much.

The bottle opens with a pop, strong, bitter scent wafting up his nose, replacing the scent of you in his lungs. He takes a quick swig, baring his teeth from the sting of it trickling down his throat. “Ahh.” He sighs a breath of relief, feeling the alcohol already taking effect, loosening his chest, and clearing his throat.  

Yet he can still feel the shiver of his spine, and the churn of his stomach.

“Shit.” he curses, taking another swig. Cursing himself for trusting another after he made the vow to never trust again. Another swig. For facing the part of him that he’s denied since he came into adulthood. Another swig. For letting someone in. Another swig. For allowing himself to love you.

Alas, a clear mind and body – rid of the memories of his past.

He readies himself for his bath, something he often did to relax. Just like he did last time you left him.

----

Time is of the essence. With no idea of when Jake will be back, you move quickly. You weave through the webbing of the mangrove roots, ducking and dodging those that jut out. You take a short cut, bouncing over the netting of a cluster of marui pods on the way to Ralak’s.

Eyes guardedly stuck to your feet, you bump into Ka’ani, the man who replaced Ralak’s role as fisherman – faceplanting into his bare chest. Arms instinctively wrapping around you, he holds you close until you regain your balance. Admittedly, he’s a little too close for comfort, his face nestled in the crown of your head. You hear quick, nasally breaths, muffled by your hair.

Is he... sniffing me right now?

You shove him off you, probably a little too rough to be considered friendly, and take a few steps back. “Sorry, Ka’ani.” you mutter, gingerly walking around him.

“No problem, at all.” he smirks, raising his hands and making space for you to leave.   

With a quick shake of your head, you continue making your way to Ralak. The closer you get, the more a giddy smile spreads across your face. Though you were the bearer of bad news, you can’t ignore the flutters in your stomach. The same flutters you had when you first laid eyes on him – the day Eywa herself told you he’s the one.

Your mate.

Your legs move faster, as fast as they can go, until the sand slackens your steps. Silky, fine sand – always the first thing to let you know that you’ve arrived. You can’t help the excitement bubbling from your tummy and up your throat. “Ralak!” you blurt out, eager to find your love.

A tall figure in the distance catches your eye, it looks as if he were going into the cave. You wave your hands above your head, shouting his name as you lope towards him. “Ralak!”

The figure stops, turning around to acknowledge your calls. He stands still for a minute, before walking towards you with a stagger in his step. Tail perking up instantaneously, your hand flies to your bare hip, searching for your medicine pouch. You’re running on the tips of your toes again, concern and worry replacing the flutters low in your belly.

“Wha-t is it?” you shout, voice wavering as you close the distance between your bodies.

You crash into him with a smack, making the typically sturdy giant wobble. Now your ears art alert, perturbed by his odd behaviour. Gently pushing you away, his large hands grip your upper arms, fingertips touching once another. Blue, hazed orbs peer down at you, extra glossy and lidded.

“Are you sick? Wounded?” you question, resisting his gentle pushes to search his body. 

Nostrils flickering above his pursed lips, he leans into your neck. He pulls back with a huff, blowing hot air through his nose, onto your face. Your eyelashes flutter, face of concern quickly morphing into one of confusion.

Everyone is sniffing me today.

Head snapping to the left, his eyes search the webs of the mangrove roots off in the distance. A guttural growl rumbles deep in Ralak’s chest, thinned lips curling over his canines, flashing them before your eyes. You watch in awe as his brows lower, knotting together to turn his eyes beady. Ears flat against his skull, the scent of another na’vi scrunches his nose.

That’s a new look.

“Ralak.” your voice is breathy and small – laced with fright.

His growl grows louder, coming from the pit of his stomach, deep and powerful. Lengthy fingers tightening around your arms, he spins you around and tucks you behind him in one swift move. His name slips off your tongue once more, quick, and unsure. He has one hand perched on the dip of your waist, holding you close behind this towering frame.

“Come out.” he growls gruffly, straightening his spine to present at his full height.

The two words double-knot your stomach, sending you wiggling into the sink of his back, face peeking through the crack of his arm and side. Your eyes flicker from side to side, looking for whatever – whoever he’s talking to. Meanwhile, your fingers grip the band on his loincloth, the only thing available on his body to hold.

Silence.

“Or I make you.” He rasps the warning through his four, pointed fangs.

Perhaps if Ralak wasn’t here the knots in your belly would have tightened by now, to the point where you would feel queasy. But the hiss fizzling from the back of his throat puts your nerves at ease – your body sensing its safety in his presence.

Out comes a brawny, wide na’vi, from behind the large, thick roots of the mangroves. His hands are splayed out, representing something of caution. No – surrender. He approaches Ralak slowly. Warily.

“Sorry, brother. I did not know she was yours.” Ka’ani says impishly.

Jaw snapping open, his hiss comes out full force. It’s loud and thick, almost grating. Much like a roar. Though you knew it wasn’t for you, it shook you up, tugging at the string in your grip as your body jolts forward into his.

“She belongs to no one.” His top lip twitches as he spits the vile words, stinging your heart in the process. Am I not his? What about last night? You think, tightening your grip on the band of his loincloth.

“It looks as if she belongs to you, Tak.” Ka’ani leans to the left, chin jutting out as he tries to catch a glimpse of you. “Look at her, holding on to your –”

“Lewng! [shame]. Tracking her scent.” Ralak hisses, turning his body to hide you from his predatory eyes. “Leave.”

“Ah. Come on now, brot-” He spreads his arms wide, walking around Ralak towards you.

Ralak takes a step forward on his last word, nearly coming chest to chest with the shorter na’vi. A moment of silence passes between the two, as Ralak stares him down with vengeance in his eyes. A hand flies up to his hip, gripping the knife sheathed in its casing. “Now.”

Ka’ani straightens his back, eyes flickering between Ralak and yours that peek from behind him. His hands retract, hovering either side of his head as he retreats. Ralak maintains his position, with a hand keeping you tucked away whilst the other rests on his hip. Once Ka’ani’s figure is no longer visible, Ralak sighs, and turns his heel to make his way back to his much-needed bath.

“Thanks...” you huff, walking close behind him.

“You women and your heats.” he mutters as he walks faster, ripping his loincloth out of your grip.

“Ex-cuse me?” your words bounce as you try to keep up with him. “You have no –”

“Do you understand what would have happened had I not been here? Do not be so reckless.” He tsks, as his feet come to a halt, balling his hands into fists.

“Reckless? All I did was walk here!” you shout, almost bumping into him again.

“Because you left to begin with.” he whispers through clenched teeth.

“What?” the question is breathy, hands perching on your knees to rest.

He turns around quickly, prompting you to stand at full height. Breathing heavily, he presses his warm body against yours, chin tucked into his chest to peer down at you. Instinctively, you perch on the tips of your toes, eyes lidded in anticipation of a kiss. Instead, he brings your wrists up to his nose, heated lips pressing against your supple skin.

“He scented you.” he mumbles quickly, lips pulling into a thin line before letting go and backing away.  

“Why? How? I only bumped into him.” you walk towards him, watching him turn his heel again. “Hey –” you reach out for his arm to pull him back around.

First you leave him this morning, then come back scented by another na’vi. He shrugs you off, hands now fiddling with the knot above the base of his tail as he nears the entrance of the cave. The knot of his loincloth comes undone, heavy, sheathed hunting knife silently making impact with the sand.

“Because he wants everything that’s mine.”

So, I am his. You think, one corner of your mouth curling upwards into a smirk.

“Oh, Ralak.” You stand at the cave’s opening, waiting in silence for a response.

He continues to keep his back turned to you, dips of his clenched glutes on full display. Despite last night, seeing him naked still makes you shy, cheeks turning red and hot from the blood that rushes to them. You watch him hastily put his hair in a sloppy bun as he submerges himself in the water.

“I need to speak with you about this morning” you mumble, eyes locked onto the ripple of his back muscles.

“No need. I understand.” he answers lowly, shimmying over to the bottle of fermented fruit propped on a rock in the cave.

“Understand what? It’s about –”

“You made a mistake. It was your heat. It is fine.” he mutters quickly, taking a swig at the last word.

A mistake? My heat?

The realization hits you, hard. You’d been so out of it, so delirious from your heat you hadn’t given a second thought about his confession. His trauma that he confided in you, in this very cave. It’s like stones in your heart – no, boulders. Weighing it down so heavily that it feels like there’s a pulse in your stomach.

How could you be so cruel? So thoughtless? So insensitive? To not even wake him and utter the words to his face. To allow him to wake up to an empty bed after letting down his walls and being so vulnerable to you. To be so caught up in your own head you couldn’t even bat an eye at the man who helped you through your first heat.

“Oh. Oh, Lak. No. No, it’s nothing like that.” you sputter out a trembling voice, sliding into the water to rush over to him. You rest your hand on his upper back, taking in the warmth of his skin. He feels feverish – hot to the touch.

What is he drinking?

You rub his back gently, bioluminescent freckles dancing from your caresses. Yet, he’s rigid. Cold. Distant. He’s not the Ralak you know, swaying side to side as he brings the lip of the bottle to his mouth.

“Stop, my love.” you coo, sliding your hand up his raised arm as you walk around him.  Pulling the bottle away from his lips, you cautiously place the pxir on a nearby ledge. “Ralak.” you whisper, staring up at him with worried eyes.

The sound of his name falling from your lips tilts his head back ever so slightly, like it pained him to even look at you. Curly, loose stands of hair frame his face, accentuating his angular features. He attempts to fix his mask of indifference to his face, but you can see through it. You see the anguish glossed over his lidded, inebriated eyes.

Ocean blue eyes.  

tw: flashback

His mind is elsewhere, dissociating back to the day of the incident. The night of his iknimaya celebration, where his own karyu cornered him in his family marui, engulfing him with her pheromones. Manipulating him with her heat to take care of her. To touch her.

He can hear the waves crashing into the shore, the pitter-patter of the rain on the roof of the marui, the roll of the thunder – her whispers in his ear, ‘I’ve been waiting too long for this. You are officially a man now. Make your karyu feel better, right here...’.

The smell of her pheromones is suffocating, more potent than any fermented fruit he’s ever had. It frightened him, feeling like he had no self-control. No way to stop his movements, no matter how much he screamed at his body to move, run – anything.

It is what made him vow to never lose control of himself. His composure.

He can feel the heaviness of his body. The lethargy. The way his lungs refused to fill, no matter how hard he tried to breathe. When he woke, he was alone, sitting in the corner in a pool of his own sweat, curled in on himself. His karyu left, to never return. Leaving nothing but the lingering smell of her heated scent behind. 

tw: end of flashback

“My karyu” you hum softly, placing his hand on your chest.

When you first called him that, he almost grimaced. But as time passed, you made the word bearable. You gave it a new meaning, a new feeling. Eventually filling him with eagerness to hear it fall from your flushed lips. In tones of excitement, frustration... pleasure.

You hold his thumb, and give it a squeeze, trying to bring him back from wherever he is. Your heart weighed even heavier, seeing him drift away and detach when he’s right in front of you. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here. Feel me. Feel my heartbeat. Focus on it and come back to me.”

The words echo in his skull, reverberating between the thick bone. He can hear you, feel you. With each thump of your heart, the heaviness of his body lifts, the scent of her fades, the pitter-patter of the storm subdues until nothing, but that thump can be heard. His eyes finally flicker down to yours, ears and brows twitching at the pulse of your heart.

Only a bottle could do that for him. Bring him back. Yet, you did it with the mere sound of your heart.

“I’m sorry, Lak. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I was so thoughtless. I’m sorry... that happened to you.” the words are shaky, flowing over your quivering bottom lip. “I would never. Ever. Ever. Ever –” you blubber, shaking your head, “Ever, do that to you. I-I had to leave because of my father. He’s punishing me. Forbidding me from seeing you. Having Tsireya teach me instead. I should have woken you.”

Another arm snakes around his waist, bringing him in closer to you. You slump your head into his chest, letting the tears flow and stain his skin. “I don’t regret a thing. I meant everything I said. I-I see you, Ralak” you sputter, breath hitching from the crying.

“Tanhì” he croaks, kissing the crown of your head as he wraps his arms around you to hold you closer.   

“I love you” The three words are said in unison as you cling onto one another.

Alcohol still coursing through his veins, Ralak’s heavy body slumps into you, slowly shifting you both against the cave wall. He presses your back against the rocky surface, unwrapping his arms from your waist to support his body weight with a hand on the wall. He leans in, brushing his cheek against yours.

“I will miss you.” he whispers huskily next to the shell of your ear.

“I’ll miss you, too.” you whisper back, head pulling back to meet his gaze.

Your eyes lock for a moment, an undeniable tension now budding in the air and making your breaths quicken. He inches even closer, lips brushing against yours as you exchange the same hot breath until you’re light in the head.

He kisses you roughly – sloppily.

Tongue slipping into your mouth, you get a taste of what he’s been drinking all day. It’s a little sweet, with undertones of various fruits native to the reef people. But once the sweetness wears off, the bitter aftertaste makes your brows gather. He pulls away, revealing heavy-lidded eyes with thin blue rings for irises, flickering side to side as they stare into yours.

Chests heaving in synchrony, you both struggle to catch your breath. Hands cupping each other’s face, your lips crash into one another again, body language hungry and desperate for each other’s touch. Ralak shoves his knee between your legs, providing you with the friction your body has been begging for. Your body moves on its own, humping at his thigh as best you can in the water.

“I-I want... you.” The desperate words part your bruised, flushed lips, hand sliding up his back to caress his kuru [queue].

He shakes his head, brows gathering tightly. “Not now. Not here. We do it the right way.”

“Then...” you pant, voice laced with desperation as your hands make their way to his hips, dainty fingers wrapping around his hardened girth, “...give me something else.”

Breath turning raggedy, he struggles to maintain his composure. The influence of the alcohol surging through his body proves it to be an even more difficult task. He takes a deep breath, withdrawing his knee from your legs to spin you around in one quick motion. Ralak tries his best to be gentle with you, shoving you into the wall to press his aching cock against you.

A soft moan parts your lips; thin, fuzzy tail wrapping around his thigh in attempts to bring you closer. Eywa, did that push him closer to the edge. Your tail had been one of his favourite things about you from the day you first locked eyes, so slender and delicate. Nothing like his. It not only fascinated him. It aroused him.

It makes him push into you even harder, tip of his cock throbbing against your lower back. He craves to be even closer to you – to be inside you. To rut into you until your voice becomes so hoarse from screaming his name. Over and over. Again, and again. Fingers hurriedly fiddling with the knot of your loincloth, he pants a few greedy, rough kisses along your upper back.

“Oh! Ralak, I-I think –” you moan lowly, his touches throwing you into a daze.

“What?” he huffs, fingers coming to a halt in fear that he’s being too rough with you.

“I think I’m still in heat.” you lie, or maybe it wasn’t a lie. You feel so woozy in the head that you’re not even sure what’s going on anymore. All that sits at the forefront of your mind is him claiming you as his.

“Is that so?” he lets out a breath of relief, a chuckle if you will.

“Yes. Can you help me?” you pant, trembling voice feigned with innocence.

“Ah. Let me check, little one.” He buries his face into the nape of your neck, pulling back with a loud sigh through his nose. A growl rumbles in his chest and up his throat. “I can still smell him.” The scent of another so deep into your skin makes him want to mark you. To sink his lengthy canines into your neck for the smell to seep out, only to be replaced by his.

“Then fix it.” you breathe, head dipping forward to open yourself up to him.

“Oh?” he smiles open mouthed, brushing his pointed fangs against your silken skin, making your back arch on instinct. Submitting to him and his touch. Open mouth lingering over your neck, his jaw closes to graze his teeth against you. He sucks lightly on your skin, puckered lips pulling off with a pop.

Of course, he’d make you wait for that too. He was only ‘helping’ you, right now.  

He kicks your feet apart, spreading your legs for him to settle in closer behind you. A string of your slick connects your thighs together, breaking apart when he rubs his cock against your bare cunt. He begins rubbing his face into the back of your neck, scenting you as his.

“Mine. Yes?” he growls, thrusting himself against your slippery slit.   

“Yes.” You spread your legs further apart, standing on the tips of your toes to provide him with better access. “Please.” You let out a pathetic mewl.

He grunts in frustration. He wants nothing more than to thrust himself inside you, stretching your pussy out with his huge cock. And with those little, sweet pleas, it’s almost too hard to resist. But he does. He pulls away, gaze snapping down to the rope of wetness connecting your most intimate parts together.

Cocking a brow, his hand comes between your sticky pelvises, fingers coiling around the string of slick before they glide over your pussy and spread your folds. Your wetness drips down his digits, pooling in the palm of his hand. “So wet. Maybe you are in heat.” he mumbles, pressing his lips against your back, peppering kisses down the curve of your shoulder.  

Ralak fondles with your puffy clit, rubbing tight circles into it with his slickened fingertips. Your hips squirm around from the white-hot pleasure tightening your core. It’s just not enough. Perhaps it’s just residual heat, but you feel so, so empty. A yearning deep in your womb, to be filled and stretched. Your hips buck forward, slipping his fingertips to prod at your entrance, before pushing back on him to try and sink them inside you.

Needy body language riling up the giant behind you, his harsh kisses move their way up to your ear. “Say it, tanhì.” he groans lowly, positioning his finger at your tight hole.

“I n-need you inside of me!” you cry desperately, shoving yourself back into him.

“You listen so well, paysyul.” he exhales a hot breath into the shell of your ear, sinking his thick finger inside you, twisting his wrist so that he can curl it right into your sweet spot.

“Oh, shit.” you moan breathily, cheek pressed firmly against the rocky wall.

“That is why you learn so quickly.” He fingers you roughly, expertly working out a squelch with each curl of his digit.

The feeling is like heat, shooting down your spine and pooling in your pelvis. It makes your hips spasm, chasing the fiery sensation in hopes to put it out. His finger brings relieve, satiating the itch as your sweet spot swells from pure bliss. He knows exactly where to touch, and how to touch.

Yet, it still isn’t enough.

“More! ‘ts not enough!” you cry, writhing underneath him.

He finds your little cries amusing, letting a chuckle evade his lips. How could something so small act so mighty? He slides another digit in, feeling your tight pussy walls stretch to accommodate him. He hears the little whimper bubbling up your throat, letting him know you need a moment to adjust.

“Taking my fingers so well, hm?” he praises you with a shaky voice, planting a gentle kiss behind your ear.

“Mmmn! Please!” Another plea falls from your lips, a plea for him to move – to make you cum. He sets a relentless pace, stimulating the sensitive spot in your gummy, hot walls, working lengthy moans and mewls from you.

With the way he’s fingerfucking you, it feels as if your nerves are on fire. The coil tightly wound in your core ready to snap any second now. Your brows pinch together in fervour, mouth falling open to allow heavy, hot breaths to escape.

“Close! So close! Gonna! Gonna –” Your words catch in your throat, leaving you breathless and tense around his fingers.

“Make yourself cum.” he orders gruffly, stopping all movement once he feels you tighten around his digits.

You gasp, hips moving on their own to chase the orgasm he just took away from you. “No, no. You know I can’t. Please.” you sputter, pushing against the wall to ride his fingers.

“You can. And you will.” he growls, bending his fingers as encouragement.

You quickly accept your fate, holding on tightly to whatever pleasurable feeling remains and running with it. You push back on him, squirming around as you try to make yourself cum. Closing your eyes, you tune into your body, feeling what feels good and where. But the position that you’re in makes it even harder to do it yourself.

“Just fuck me!” you cry desperately, frustration so pent up you couldn’t help the outburst.

“Language.” he hisses, shoving his fingers so deep inside you that your slick coats his knuckles.

“Fuck! Please.” you beg, reaching behind you to grab his wrist.

“No.” he smirks, looking down at how your cunt sucks in his digits, listening to your pleading and begging.

He just wants to hear a little more. To hear how badly you want him. He loves the way you squirm around, sputtering nonsense from being so fucked out by just his fingers. He loves the little noises your pussy makes for him and can’t wait to hear how they’ll sound once his cock is stuffed inside you.

“Ralak. Please. Please make me cum!” you cry, using his wrist as leverage to fuck back into him.

He slides his hand down your stomach, fingers playing with your swollen, neglected clit. He’s pumping his digits in and out of your dripping cunt, feeling your slick dribble down his hand. It doesn’t take long for you to near your climax, pussy walls clamping down around his fingers.

“Let go. Cum for me.” he groans, swollen tip of his cock oozing beads of precum onto your lower back.

“Oh, fuckfuckfuck!” you let out a hoarse cry, entire body shuddering underneath him “Cumming! Cumming!”

“That’s my girl.” he hums proudly, scissoring his fingers open to stretch you out.  

You let out a high-pitched whimper, hint of pain making your eyes water. Then a wave of ecstasy ripples through you, leaving your legs trembling beneath you. He snakes his arm around your waist, holding you up while you ride out of your high, sprinkling your shoulder with kisses.

Once you come down from your high, you lean back into him, resting your head against his chest. Huffing and puffing, you try to catch your breath as you turn around to cup his swollen balls. “My turn to make you feel good.”

To your surprise, he rests a hand on your arm, pulling it away from him. He looks down at you through blown pupils, arousal plastered all over his face. Beads of sweat trickle down his temples, wet strands of curled hair stuck to his cheeks, he sighs the words. “Not today, tanhi. I must get you back, now.”

The real barbie is Y/n.

Y/n’s a doctor, a cop, a scientist, an agent, vet, hero, villain, astronaut, lawyer, spy, criminal, artist, chef, engineer, psychologist, architect, journalist, firefighter, event planner, mechanic, photographer, musician, actor, interior designer, bartender, fashion designer, barista, florist, forensic scientist, flight attendant, profiler, tour guide, translator, etc.

GAHDAMNNNN THIS WAS SO GOOD 😭😭🙌🙌🙌🙌

Cupid’s Chokehold (Part 7)

Azriel x Reader

Summary: You are a Cupid, a nearly extinct creature of Prythian. When you get caught trying to shoot Elain with your arrow, well, it’s a little hard to explain what you’re trying to do.

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 2,811

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6]

Notes: The finale 😭 Please enjoy 💙

_________________________________________

It’s that revelation that makes him rethink everything.

Had he really been do dumb as to not notice what was happening between the two of you? The cheeky banter between the two of you, you getting on his nerves and him getting on yours. The almost kiss you’d shared when he had been cleaning your wound. The wound he had a hand in giving you. The heightened emotions he felt when it had anything to do with you, Eris’ threats or Rhys’ scolding, he didn’t care about any of that as long as you were okay.

Or had you just made another general assumption about love?

Azriel could admit that your words were convincing, even if he didn’t fully believe in the entirety of what your species was doing. And seeing Eris agree, having a sour experience with your kind, had made the shadowsinger rethink everything you had said, for he would never admit that the Autumn Lordling was right in any way, shape, or form.

Keep reading

I LOVE THEM SM

I sketched my 2 OCs

So my light skinned OC Ayluna is a hybrid, like an Avatar, but she is more Human than the normal avatars. (That's also why she has lighter skin)

The problem is, because she has more Human DNA bred into her, she lost some abilities. For example her Kuru is shorter, also her tail and her body in general is smaller.

Because of this, she has problems to perform tsaheylu. She can totally do it, but it feels different than what Na'vi experiences. Often this causes animals to not bond with her, coz they can't truly connect.

The Na'vi on the right he did Tsaheylu with her to see where the problem is and felt like it's hard to truly connect to her in mind. But because they truly trust each other, they learned to bond.

You can see it as Aylunas Kuru has a disability. The other Na'vis don't trust her. They think it's not good she is with the tribe, she can't even fully connect with her surroundings.

She has a hard time finding her way on Pandora.

kicking screaming and sobbing rn I LOVED THIS

First Love/ Late Spring

A/N: I had no right to listen to Mitski and write for Neteyam but here I am. I’ve been working on this on and off since December but finally decided to get serious and post it. Hope you guys like it!

Word Count: 5k+

Warnings: Masturbation(F receiving). Breeding Kink if ya really dig. Angst. Talks of self doubt and insecurity. All Characters are aged up 18+.

You are responsible for cultivating your own online experience, please do not interact if any of these tags are triggering to you. Minors DNI.

Summary: Neteyam has passed his Metkayinan Iknimaya, and is now free to choose a woman. Why did you ever think he would choose you? Neteyam X Na'vi Reader.

One word from you and I would jump off of this ledge I’m on, baby.

Tell me don’t so I can crawl back in- Mitski, First Love/Late Spring

As the beloved niece of the reigning Olo’eyktan, in your life you had wanted for nothing.

Had spent the last nineteen years in isolated bliss. The island of Awa’atlu and your tribes familiar inhabitants were all you knew. Your life moved to a steady beat, as sure as the morning eclipse. As rhythmic as the tides.

And you had been content, really you had. Too busy to be bored. Too beloved to truly dwell on the gap. On the absence of a mate no matter how much your Uncle; Tonowari urged you to accept one of the many offerings of courtship. Lonely maybe, but happy.

Useful. Focused.

Ever since the Sully’s arrival, you have felt anything but.

Descending from the skies on ikran back, they left plumes of sand in their wake. Shook up everything you had ever known as they stood there on the beach, adrift. Out of place, different then anything you had ever seen with their dark skin and thin tales. That morning had been a whirlwind of harsh words and brief but tense negotiations.

So much change had happened in such a small amount of time that it was hard to wrap your head around-

The leader of the Sully Tribe, Jake, had begged Uturu for his family. And ever benevolent, your Uncle Tonowari had granted it to them.

Overwhelmed by crowds, you don't recall much more of that day except for the desire to run away. To escape the strained aura’s of the hesitant clans people and the exhausted newcomers. You’d gone to away, eager to get back to your herbs and tinctures. To the safety of familiarity to digest the entire situation.

You’d been stopped in your tracks, rooted in place, by a pair of striking golden orbs.

A stare like none you’d ever known. His eyes resonated with you. Plucking a cord n your chest that echoed throughout the rest of your body. You’d never felt anything like it. Never been so affected by a stranger.

Never been so affected by anyone.

Even now, months later, thinking of Neteyam that look he’d given you on his first day here makes you hot. You dream about it, about him often. He plagues you, has taken up permanent space in your subconscious.

You wake most mornings to phantom touches. To his voice ringing in your ears and an empty bed mat that feels too cold.

This morning is no different. Your eyes flutter open with a gasp and your heart is beating madly in your chest.

It's early. You have only moments before you will be expected to wake and start your daily routine. Really, you should’ve been up by now-

Instead you lie in your corner of the family mauri, the privacy curtains pulled around your bed as you shoulder into the woven blankets. Your hands slip down- lower on your belly and into the dip of your tweng.

Between your legs you’re hot, soaked and pulsing as you always seem to be these days. Your clit swollen almost painfully as you press your fingers to it, rubbing firm little circles as you search for some kind of relief. Humping harshly into your small hand, cupping your sex desperately as you recall Dream Neteyam.

He’d pinned you to a tall palm, your belly pressing against the rough bark as buried his nose in your hair. All panting breaths and wandering hands.

“You’re so beautiful”

“I’m right here”

“Let me have you, I have to have you”

Dream Neteyam says all the things you want to hear as he ravages you. He’s sure footed, cocky in that way that you knew he could be. He’s pushy and needy and you’d give him anything if he asked for it, Eywa all he had to do is hint that he wanted it-

“Spread your legs for me, sevin ”

You bite your lips bloody, your fangs digging into them as your thick thighs clamp shut around your hands and your pussy spasms. You want to cry out as you come. Fight the urge to whine because it’s not enough, you’re still so empty.

Neteyam’s name is always on your tongue as you come down from your self induced high.

“Y/N? My Child, are you awake?”

There’s no time to bask in the afterglow, you wrench your hands away. Wiping the mess on your blankets as you shoot up straight-

“Yes? Yes. I’m coming, i’ll be out a minute” You try to keep your voice from breaking and just barley succeed.

Ronal who had peeked a head into the empty mauri isn't convinced, but accepts it anyway “Hurry now, we have to get going. The tide pools will be filling and we need to restock the sea-tsam(kelp like herbs), you haven't even eaten breakfast yet. Up!”

You only release the breath stuck in your chest when she’s scurrying back out of the home- one of these days you’re going to get caught.

Your people are free with their sexuality, there’s no shame in pleasure whether it be self inflicted or given by another. But it would make those pesky questions arise- if you’re so needy, Y/N- why do you refuse every eligible bachelor that comes your way?

You huff, thinking about that very thing as you get ready for the day. Bruising through your long hair almost violently as you chew it over.

If you need to be fucked so badly, why are you three years into adulthood without a mate? You don’t even have a possible suitor- your friends are having babies, building lives, and you’re still living with your family.

It used to be that you we’re hyper focused on your role in the clan. On your training as part of the Tsakarem. On preparing Tsireya for the day she reaches adulthood and takes over her mother’s title.

You had always been family oriented, and the clan had accepted it-

But now there were whispers. Inquiries, never spoken to you but always about you. It’s an oddity that such a pretty young woman with such high standing is choosing to be alone.

Is there something wrong with you?

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The only thing that’s wrong with you is your inability to focus on the most mundane of tasks as of late.

After a quick breakfast, you’d taken off. Determined to knock the long list of chores down.

You’d collected herbs until your fingers hurt and the satchel slung across your chest was full to the brim. You’d tended to the Elders, and checked in on the mother with newborns, still so fresh to the world that they’re connected to their Sa’nok kuru, constant Tsaheylu necessary at such a young age.

Healing isn't always glamorous, and while you’d much rather be mixing potions and sketching in your journals- you check fevers. Change chamber pots. Kiss the scraped knee’s of young ones.

You’re supposed to be heading back to the Healer’s Mauri, the large hut where Ronal waits for you-

But instead you get sidetracked.

It’s all you seem to do these days.

Lounging in the soft warm sand is so much easier then running around the village.

You’d come across your cousins who were circled by Roxto and the elder Sully’s, and it hadn't taken much convincing for you to tag along on whatever little adventure they had planned for the afternoon. It had led you to one of the smaller isles, a tiny thing that was mostly white sand beaches and deep rocky cove tunnels.

Lo’ak and Ao’nung practicing their breath holds, taking turns weaving through the underwater caves. The two had went from going for each others throat’s to thick as thieves, and your glad. Lo’ak’s troubled, but he’s not trouble. Not the way that your cousin's other asshole friends are.

Roxto and Neteyam wade through the crystal clear shallows, hunting for clams that are abundant at this time of year.

You’re sat with Kiri and Tsireya, the three of you staying in the beach and giggling about current clan gossip. Chattering endlessly.

Neteyam’s shoulders are broad and glisten in the bright afternoon sun. You can barely tear your gaze away from him. Hungrily, needing to glance back every few seconds-

“The celebration is in less then a month's time” Tsireya states, a small grin playing on her lips as she takes in the scene.

She knows about your feelings for the eldest Sully son, you’d confessed them to her in a fit one night. Unable to keep them caged in your chest anymore. She can understand the appeal- her own eyes had been glued to the family since the arrival.

What she can't understand is why you wont tell him- or at the very least why you’re being so damn shy about it. You had never been this demure before.

“I know, the preparations have been a real pain in my ass” You reply, turning on your side to face her. Arm bent at the elbow, chin propped in your hand. “Tonowari has me assisting with getting the ceremonial mats woven. It’s not fair”

“I think he just wants you to be…a more active participant this year” Tsireya chooses her words wisely, ignoring your side eye “It’s sweet”

“It’s annoying” you hiss, eyes rolling harshly. Your tail swishes behind you, a firm pat on the sand.

“This is the celebration that’s held for the hunters. The ones that pass their Iknimaya’s?” Kiri asks, intrigued. She’s inquisitive and you’d assured her early on that she could ask you anything, that you’d help her understand the customs of your people.

“Yes and it’s so much fun. You’ll see, the Hunters come back from Motnaui(ritualistic hunt) and we spend the day roasting their catch, thanking Eywa for her abundance. There’s dancing and singing- “ Tsireya’s eyes sparkle as she talks about it, glazed with nostalgia.

You let her rant a bit more before cutting her off, “And mating. Most of the hunters will stake their claim on any courtships that have been started”

Because yes, it is a celebration for the newly joined adults of the clan, but goes hand in hand with the fact that it is their first chance to choose a mate.

“We have something like this back in the forest, it's the start of Fertility Season right?” Kiri verifies and you nod. “Does it coincide with the rains here, too?”

“Mhmm, most newly mated pairs will spend the week or so tucked away…-” Tsireya’s cheeks get red and you roll your eyes.

“Coupling” You interject and she shoots you a look that has you tittering. Awe, your sweet young cousin, still a year away from her own Iknimaya. Innocent and shy when it comes to such topics.

Kiri doesn't look scandalized- she’d come to adulthood back in the forest. Though she hasn't chosen a mate she had partaken in many of the festivities.

“Yes, coupling” Tsireya continues. “Its all beautiful really, its my favorite time of year. Right after the return of the Tulkun of course”

Its nice listening to your cousin's version of the celebration. You think that yeah, your own view of it all used to be mostly the same. That was until you’d reached adulthood, and had spent the last cycles without a mate of your own. This week that Tsireya found so beautiful had just been wet for you. Yourself and other unmated , able bodied Na’vi took on the duties of the disposed clan members.

It was an honor to take care of your people while they were vulnerable.

It was embarrassing to have not found a mate of your own yet.

You wonder if this year you’d spend the week in the rain again.

“You don't seem excited” Kiri whispers and you force a smile onto your face almost instantly, not wanting to come off so extremely transparent.

“It’s not that I’m not-”

“Y/N hasn't mated yet”

“Obviously Tsireya, thank you for pointing that out” you deadpan at the girl but she continues on, not phased in the least by your attitude-

“But I do think that will change this year”

Kiri perks up, big eyes interested, a brow arched “Really? Has someone caught your eye? Every time any one even tries to start courting you, you give them the cold shoulder”

“That’s not true, I’m nice about it” you defend your actions “I just haven't been interested in any of their offers”

“‘Their’ being half of the unmated men in this clan” Kiri’s sarcasm rivals your own, you flick a small shell at her forehead.

“It hasn't felt right and Eywa wouldn't want me to settle. '' The words taste condescending as they roll off your tongue, you don't blame them for scoffing at you but it's true.

If you had accepted an offer in the past, you wouldn't be free to follow your hearts desire now…your eyes flick back to the shore. Back to the broad shoulders.

“I’m sure whoever you choose will be honored,” Kiri chuckles. “Surprised though, probably. I overheard a couple of Elder’s making bets that you’d make another suitor cry this year”

The peel of laughter that Tsireya lets out is shrill and loud,

Roxto and Neteyam’s heads turn, far out enough now that the surely cant hear the conversation but can hear the shrieks of joy. Roxto grins and signs something that you can't quite make out and Neteyam gives a small wave.

You can feel the big stupid smile on your face, it’s no surprise that Kiri acknowledges it.

“You didn't answer my question. Is there anyone in particular that you have your eye on?”

You gnaw on your bottom lip. You’d been wanting to run it past her for weeks. Desperate for her insight but too embarrassed to muster up the courage and ask for it.

“Tell her, tsmuk’tu” Tsireya urges gently.

“I have been hoping that…Neteyam might choose to court me. After his Iknimaya” You admit it, carefully watching her for her reaction. Your own ears are pressed to your head, your fingers winding around each other nervously.

“I was wondering why that idiot was going through his rites again” Kiri nods, like she’d found the missing piece of a puzzle.

One that she wasn't willing to share with the group.

“What’do you mean? If he wants to be a hunter, he has to” You point out the facts, the law of the village.

“Well yeah, but I mean look at how our dad did it. He didn't jump through all of the hoops, he just tamed his Skimwing on his own time. My brother has been adamant about wanting to be apart of ceremony”

You ingest Kiri’s words greedily, letting them expand in your chest. It’s hope, the fragile kind, the scariest kind.

“Maybe he just wants to prove himself as a hunter. We’ve heard his skill is legendary to the Omiticaya” you suggest and Tsireya pushes at your shoulder, shaking her head.

“Maybe” Kiri shrugs her shoulders “But mating is important to Neteyam. He’s always wanted a big family, I think he really idolized our parents' marriage. Mom said he must’ve taken an interest in a mate if he’s making such a big deal out of being a recognized adult here”

A big family. Neteyam wants to be a father.

The thought is heady. The seed has been planted in your head and you know there is no way that you will ever be able to dig it out.

“Do you think that-”

You're cut off by booming laughter, by clatter and chaos. Who else could it be but Ao’nung and Lo’ak coming back from the caves, they had the worst possible timing. You shoot daggers at your cousins fat head.

“What are you girls whispering about over here?” 'Nung teases as he drops next to you in the sand,

“That would be none of your business” You snipe, “Skxawng ass”

“Why so hostile, cuz?” Ao’nung starts “I was the one who invited you out here? You don't want to spend time with little ol’ me?”

“I spend too much time with you as is. I was hoping you had drowned down in those caves so I could get a break- NUNG!” you squeal as your cousin shakes his head, wringing out his wet hair all over you. The water is shockingly cold against your sun soaked skin.

Soon enough, Neteyam and Roxto come in from the waves, baskets full of multicolored shells. More than happy to share as they join the small circle.

“You had such a bountiful catch!” Tsireya applauds, happily accepting the oysters that Roxto offers.

You’re awkward around Neteyam on a good day- there's something so intimidating about his beauty. So tall and angular. But today? After the admittance you’d made to his sister? You can barely look at him.

You feel heavy and clunky and ugh, why does he make you so nervous? You’re playing with your hair, twisting the thick tendrils around your fingers idly when Neteyam turns to you.

“Do you want some?” He asks, already prying the tough shell open with his knife.

“Oh, yes please. They’re actually my favorite” You grin, and at least your voice doesn't project all the nerves you feel.

“I know” He hands you the oyster once he opens it and you try not to pay too much mind to how his fingers brush yours.

“How would you know that?” you slurp at the rich juice, grateful.

“Roxto was telling me about it” He says simply, already working open another shell to hand out.

“Oh yeah! Y/N remember when you ate so many of these that you got sick at dinner! I’ve never seen someone puke that much, it was never ending” Roxto chuckles, igniting laughter from the group.

You wince, the memory is not a particularly good one and you don't enjoy reliving it. Especially not in current company. You can feel your cheeks heat intensely.

“It was so bad! You got it all over dad’s lap and he didn't know what to do” Ao’nung adds hysterically “He just started panicking- picked you up by your tail and tossed your ass outside”

Tsireya breaks, giggling behind her hand and Kiri all but chokes. Lo’aks shaking his head good naturedly as Ao’nung and Roxto are in stitches- the only one who doesn't laugh is Neteyam. No, instead he gives you a gentle kind of smile, before going back to his task of shucking.

You’re only the butt of the joke for moments more before it ping-pongs to Lo’ak, who has almost cut one of his odd five fingers off in the process of prying open an ornery shell.

“Oh! Look brother, how pretty” Kiri points out the large blush colored pearl that Neteyam had almost swallowed.

“That’s good luck!” You grin “They don't usually get that big”

Huh. Good luck you say?” Neteyam picks it out of the shell, holding it between his thumb and pointer as he examines how it shines in the sun. Beautiful…

You’re frozen when he reaches out, the pearl in the palm of his hand.

“Here” he offers it to you.

The purple flush that completely takes over your face crawls down your neck too. You're completely flustered by the simple gesture of good will.

You should tell him that you can’t take it- that he should give it to Tuk, his little sister that loves making jewelry. Instead you’re hungry for anything, will accept any scraps of himself that Neteyam will give to you.

“Irayo” you beam as you accept the pear, tucking it away in your satchel for safe keeping. “I love it!”

He just gives you another one of those ever soft boyish grins, his eyes pools of liquid amber.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

As the weeks go by, there’s a certain light to you. A bounce in your step,

“Your aura has changed” Ronal informs you of the fact as the two of you sit in the Healers Mauri, plumes of heavy incense filling the space with fragrant smoke.

She’s far into her pregnancy now, but that has never stopped her from completing her duties. The salves she mixes with an expertise that comes from years of trial and error are potent and coveted.

Your lips quirk into a private smile as your fingers continue their threading. Working on a personal project in between your chores. “Has it really?”

She assesses you, her turquoise eyes all knowing as she takes you in. You’re a woman grown now far from the small child she had taken in with her husband all those years ago. In theses last few months you have blossomed, like a flower unfurling. She had an inkling of why-

“You are thinking of accepting courtship this cycle, yes?” It’s not a question, but a statement. One she already knows the answer to.

“I am” you whisper. “If he decides to pursue me, that is”

The comfortable quiet is back, both of you focusing on your respective tasks. You’d always been content just to bask in your Aunt’s presence.

“The Sully boy would be a fool not to court you” Ronal breaks the silence bluntly and you really should've had expected that she already knew.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Where dread usually lives in your heart at this time of year, lies only excitement. Joy, that fragile hope as you prepare for the festival. Anyone who knows you can see the change, you throw yourself head first into ceremony prep. Spend hours sitting with Tsireya eagerly sowing together new pieces of clothing for the festivities.

You sing as you tend to your house work, sweet little tunes that your family is surprised to hear.

Tonowari is beaming, endlessly happy that you are going to give a member of the clan a chance. He’d been questioning your self induced isolation for years, and was eager to see which of his warriors had stolen your heart. Ronal refuses to tell him even though he knows she knows,

“It is not mine to share” his wife rebuff’s every time he questions.

As the day of the Iknimaya draws closer you try to make sure that Neteyam knows that you are open to courtship. You spend a decent amount of time with his family anyway, Tsireya and Lo’ak always connected at the hip and Kiri growing into a close friend.

You ask him about his training, tend to any wounds he may aquire diligently. Laugh at his bad jokes, and listen to his stories of home. He misses the forest, you can tell. You selfishly hope that there isn't a pretty Omaticayan girl waiting for him.

At dinner, in the largest communal mauri, filled to the brim with clans members who are all but vibrating with excitement for the close looming festivities, you navigate the people.

In your hands, a large plate made from a recycled shell piled is high. Fish roasted over the fire, steamed rice and root vegetables that you had harvested yourself.

You’d watched Neteyam along with a handful of other training warriors limp into dinner late. They look tired and worn down.

He’d plopped down next to his family without getting himself food, and that just wouldn't do.

“Jake, Neytiri- I see you” You greet his parents as you approach. The sit close together, always intertwined in one way or another.

‘He idolizes our parents marriage’

You understand Kiri’s words as you watch Toruk Makto and his mate, as you appraise their close bond.

Jake grins, Tuk in his lap. Greeting you right back, easy to conversate with. Neytiri is quieter, hard to read. Intimidating, just like Neteyam who favors her so much in looks. Still the older woman signs the greeting back to you.

“You look really rough” is not what you meant to say to their son. Neteyams brow bones rise and you could kick yourself. Definitely would later.

“Thanks, I feel it” Neteyam responds with a tired chuckle.

Instead you laugh too, albeit awkwardly, trying to remedy the situation “What I mean is, you didn't get yourself food- and I know how exhausting training can be. Here, please eat. I’d hate for you to lose strength this close to your rite”

He accepts the plate of food graciously and you try to ignore the heavy feeling of eyes on you. His families, the clans. People have noticed you, have noticed this act of service. There’s only one thing it can mean.

“Irayo Y/N, I appreciate you” he thanks, making room for you on the log that he’s sat atop “Would you like to sit with us?”

“Very much so- but I promised Elder Raou’wal that I would help him back to his mauri. His legs don't work like they used to, and I don't want him to fall again-” you curse your nature, the fact that you offer your help so freely.

All you want to do is take that seat, so close to Neteyam that your thighs would press against one and others.

“That is very kind” Neteyam soothes “It’s okay, another time”

“Yes, another time” You know you sound like an idiot. You feel like an idiot. Standing before him and his family uninvited.

You need to make a quick escape, overwhelmed by all of the attention. “Please, get some rest before tomorrow. I’ve had to tend to over worked warriors all week”

Neteyam’s grin…is something else. Something not so sweet. Something that makes you flustered, that he’s looking at you like that in front of his parents, in front of the tribe. “Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. Will you be there, tomorrow?”

“Of course I will” your response is quick, eager and it just makes that look on his face more intense.

“Good. Then I know everything will go well” his words make your heart beat so loudly your ears ring.

You don’t even know what to say, can barley keep your cool as you utter goodbye to his family, all of them quite obviously amused as you begin to scurry away.

You know the blush is burning up your whole face, that everyone can see your feelings as clear as day.

But-

You can’t leave him like that. Not with him facing is Iknimaya in the morning, with all of its promises of danger.

“May Eywa be with you, tomorrow and always” you give him the quiet blessing, truly hoping that the great mother looks over him.

He softens, physically. All of him slumping, as though you had put a balm on a jagged cut.

You don't wait for a reply.

Tonowari watches the exchange from his place at the head of the room,

Oh.

That is who had caught your eye, the warrior that had broken your resolve.

He shares a look with Ronal, his eyes comically wide and she laughs lowly at him.

“Ah my love, you have always been so slow”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The Iknimaya rituals go as they always go, a long day full of young, strong hearted Na’vi eager to prove themselves. Most of them don’t succeed, at least half of them will need to wait until the next cycle to attempt it again.

Your family is at the center, you stand proudly behind Olo’eyktan Tonowari and Tsahik Ronal as they guide the young clan members through the rite of passage. Tsireya beside you, knowing that next cycle it will be her and Lo’ak attempting their own rites. Ao’nung cheering on young hunters that he had trained himself.

You love all of your people, the Metkayina one beating heart under Eywa’s watchful eye- yet you can't tear your focus away from Neteyam.

Your eyes are glued to him, and him only. The entire time. You watch, anxious and in awe. He’s so strong, all lean muscle and sharp mind. He mounts his Skimwing on the first try, much to the surprise of his peers. The people cheer him on, whopping loudly.

He’s beautiful, capable and skilled. He’s…stolen something from you. Abducted your soul, enthralled your thoughts in a way that almost felt intrusive.

You watch as the son of the first becomes a son of the sea, a man in both the Metkayina and Omiticaya tribes. A feat that almost none have accomplished.

The Motnaui is tradition, the freshly rited hunters will join the seasoned on a days long hunt. The time in the open ocean solidifies their bond to the tribe, their place that they have earned. Their chief will join them. Tonowari is eager, ecstatic for the time he gets to spend with his new hunters. With his ever growing tribe.

Everyone gathers to see the hunters off, so much love filling the crowded beach. Your people a buzz, tearful. Joyous.

You trail your fingers over the colorful Lei that lies around your neck. It matches the floral wreath nestled atop your head; the orchids are vibrant shades of fuchsia pinks and sunset yellows to represent your family.

They come in all shades, neon greens and baby blues, lilac purples and vibrant reds.

They are traded between your people at this time of year. Elders give them to children, sisters to their brothers. Tonowari wears many around his neck, the visual representation of how beloved he is to his clan.

To give a Lei can be friendly and platonic, sure. Especially if it is one of the dozens that are made just to be handed out- if a person wears multiple for clear decoration and celebration purposes only.

It can also be a very clear invitation for courtship- or at the very least consensual coupling. If a woman takes her lei off her own neck and presents it to a man, it is a sign of ownership. Marking that the specific male is taken for the duration of the fertility season.

You need to give Neteyam yours before he leaves, you want him to know that he has you. That you are his- and that you want him to be yours. That you will wait for him as he hunts and when he returns, he can have all of you.

You’re trying to find him in the crowd, your eyes scanning for the familiar dark blue skin that stands out so shockingly amongst your people-

Neteyam is with his family, all of them exuding proud energy. His mother cups his face in her lithe hands, his sisters hold onto his arms. His father pats his shoulder and his brother stares at him like he’s hung the stars.

You don't want to intrude on the moment, but you have to catch him before he leaves-

It’s like watching a horrible accident, like being witness to carnage that you just can't stop.

Seychelle, a clans member two years your junior, is beautiful. She’s a skilled singer and the daughter of a high ranking fisherman. She’s tall and shapely with pretty eyes, and its her first cycle as an eligible adult. As a woman grown who is available to mate.

She walks right up to Neteyam and his family boldly. Unafraid or ridden by anxiety like you always seem to be. All flirty smiles and fluttering lashes.

You’re too far away, can't hear what she says but you wouldn't want to anyway. Your chest is caving in and you feel like you can't breathe, your ears ring with the lack of oxygen.

You could challenge her. You have a high standing in the clan. You have first choice when it comes to mates,

But instead you just stand there. Bare witness to her taking off her bright orange Lei and slip it around Neteyams neck. He accepts it without a fuss, grinning and you can see his mouth form the words “thank you”.

Your nose burns and tears prick threateningly at your eyes but you know you can not let them fall. Not here.

You do what you do best;

You run away.

Not bothering to explain your exit to anyone, you probably couldn't form words around the lump in your throat anyway, you run as fast as you can. The world feels very far away, like it exists without you in it.

Your family mauri is empty, everyone's still at the beach and you don't even bother making it to your bed. You collapse right inside the entrance as the tears finally over take you and your eyes flood over.

What were you thinking?

How had you read this whole thing so wrong?

Your mind is dangerous, cruel in its confused, hurt state. It assaults you and you sob into your hands. You feel stupid now, in the special clothes you'd donned. Your hair twisted meticulously-

He had never been interested in you, you’d taken his innate kindness and skewed it. Neteyam had just been nice to you and you being the simple minded girl you were- had tried to force it into something more.

You curse yourself, curse your heart. Curse that fragile hope that you had clung to so desperately.

You cry until you feel sick, your eyes swollen and back tight from sobbing. You’re dizzy and tired by the time you crawl over to your bed. You don't even get under the covers, just stare blankly at the wall of the mauri as tears roll down your cheeks.

Who knew one person could produce so many tears? You wonder when your body will run out. You don't know how much time passes, only aware that darkness starts to fill the space as the evening eclipse arises.

“Oh, YN” the silence is broken by your cousin's soft voice.

Tsireya had wondered where you had gone, had been confused about your departure until she clocked Neteyam with a Lei around his neck that was quite obviously not yours.

“I’m sorry” Is all she whispers as she slips into the bed next to you, her arm winding around your middle.

It starts a whole nother round of tears. Of crying, mourning what you thought you could have.

“I-I-I’m so s-stupid” you stutter, snotty and muffled. She shakes her head, tears of her own starting to form as she holds you tighter.

“No, don't say that cousin. You’re not stupid” Tsireya soothes as she pets your hair. It hurts to see you in such a state. This had to be a mistake, she had been so sure of Neteyams feelings for you. Everyone had.

You shake your head, because you know you are. You knew you had little chance and still you’d paraded yourself in front of him like an idiot.

Never again, you vow to yourself.

To your shattered heart.

Wow, okay I didnt expect this to be so big, but I got so caught up in Metkayina Lore building that I kind of got sidetracked. Safe to say 90% of this story is going to be canon divergent. All of this Lore is my own creation and not Mr. Cameron's.

I have to give a shout out to two authors in the Avatar fandom that have inspired me the most as I write this.

@tiredmamaissy has really carved out a niche when it comes to the sexual nature of Pandora. I love the way she portrays Na'vi relationships and if this story leans a bit A/B/O its because I cant see the Na've not going to Heat's/Ruts now. She's just so good.

@loaksky when I tell you that reading her work makes me want to hone my craft, I mean that shit. She is a wordsmith in a way that you don't see much anymore. I am obsessed with how she long hand story tells and I def feel inspired everytime I read one of her fics. Queen of will they wont they/ slow burn.

One of my favs

LOW COUNTRY | HIGH NOON

johnny mactavish x reader

[PREV] [NEXT] [AO3] [MLIST]

yearning—they're both so dumb.

Two weeks fly by and Johnny proves himself in ways you weren’t prepared for.

The first two days after he arrived, you’d spent hours showing him the ropes, expecting some level of difficulty, some struggle once he got down to actually doing the dirty work. Sure, he could listen and memorize to his heart's content, but if he couldn’t do the work, he wasn’t useful to you. 

But goddamn, could he do the work. 

The day after he arrived, you had him shadow you as you worked. You narrated everything you did for the livestock and important things to remember. Shimmer was on a diet and needed a little less hay in her stall. The water in every barn had to stay cool to keep the animals from overheating. The sheep’s bedding came from cornstalks harvested straight from the fields, and the barn doors had to stay open during the day for ventilation. Dixie had to be fed alongside the sheep—otherwise, she'd get jealous. The cows ate soybeans, and their barn fans had to run non-stop to keep the heat at bay.

On the second day, you let him take the reins. He remembered everything, every miniscule detail, down to a T. You were there if he needed help, but he never did. He fed the animals—hell, he did it all like he's been doing it his whole life, like he could do it blindfolded. 

It was almost jealousy-inducing how easy it comes to him. You’ve spent years building up the strength needed to handle farm work. You’ve got muscle, no doubt about that. Every long day under the sun has carved power into your body, earned through a lot of sweat and double the tears.

It’s unfair. It’s painfully distracting. He’s painfully distracting.

Regardless, you shove your pride to the side. This is what he’s here for, after all.

The division of labor falls into place easier than you expect.  He takes over livestock care and you handle the crops and the house. But together, everyday, you both fix the fences, riding out in the afternoons with supplies in tow, patching up the weak spots before they become real problems.

You don’t speak to Johnny much during the day—mainly during meal times. He spends most of his day to the left of the house at the livestock pastures and barns. The main pastures are all sprawled out, home to about fifteen cows and sheep, respectively. You spend most of your time at the crop fields, which stretch to the right of the house, along with the old barn your family stopped using years ago. Too much upkeep for what it was worth. The cornfields are there too, easy to reach on horseback. 

The stables sit in between both, a ways behind the house. The whole farm isn’t a big operation, not by most standards, but it definitely needs more than one person to run it. With Johnny proving himself capable, you both fell into an easy routine rather quickly.

Johnny's up at 7 a.m., like clockwork. He takes the biggest horse, Scout, and makes his rounds, feeding the animals breakfast, checking the water troughs and filling them up when needed. He lets the livestock graze before the sun gets too high. 

By 9, Johnny finally gets a moment to breathe while you’re awake and already in the kitchen cooking breakfast. You found that if you time it right, you can get an eyeful of Johnny from the kitchen window. You’ve unintentionally made it part of your morning, standing by the window, mug of coffee in hand, watching him. You repeatedly tell yourself it's to make sure he’s getting the job done, but the more you watch, the more you find yourself thinking about him in ways that grow exceedingly inappropriate for a boss-employer relationship. 

You should stop watching. If he were to ever catch you, he’d probably think you were some kind of freak. Maybe you should focus on the eggs in the pan, the bread in the toaster, but it’s hard to follow your better judgement with Johnny around. Pa’s been on your ass for how much toast you’re burning these days. 

Breakfast is never fancy, but it’s solid. Eggs, grits, fried potatoes, sausage, bacon. Sometimes fresh fruit if you’ve got it, a pitcher of orange juice on the table alongside the coffee. Variations of the same spread every morning, something hearty and filling to start the day.

Johnny’s damn near worshipful over your cooking. It brings a flush to your cheeks each time he comments on it, considering Pa’s never had too much to say about it. The way Johnny reacts, closing his eyes when he takes the first bite, letting out a quiet “Christ, that’s good”- or he groans under his breath, making it hard not to feel at least a little smug.

You’re used to running the cooking and cleaning on your own: the dishes, wiping down the counters, making sure everything’s in order. Pa never offered much help in that regard. He’s traditional in the sense that ‘it’s a woman’s job’ to take care of the home, with all of its chores and domesticities. He’s stuck in his ways but he’s got a kind soul.

But Johnny does it all with you. Doesn’t even ask.

He waits till everyone’s finished eating, then rolls up his sleeves and helps clear the table like it’s second nature, like it’s part of the job description. He stands beside you at the sink, drying dishes as you wash, putting them away without needing to be told where anything goes. He just remembers.

Most times, you both wash in silence. The only sounds are the clink of dishes, the rush of water, the occasional scrape of a sponge against a pan. But you can feel his eyes on you, watching as you scrub a pot or rinse off a pan. He never says anything—just waits for you patiently.

But it does something to you. Makes you feel small in a way you can’t quite explain. Not insignificant, but exposed. Like he sees too much, like he notices things you don’t even realize you’re giving away. It sets your nerves on edge, tightens something low in your stomach, makes your hands move a little quicker even though you don’t want to give yourself away. It’s ridiculous, really. It’s just dishes. Just a quiet kitchen. But under the weight of his gaze, it feels like something else entirely.

His arm brushes yours sometimes—subtle and fleeting but often enough that it doesn’t feel like an accident. Like maybe he’s finding excuses to touch you, even if it’s barely there. And it’s nothing, really. Just the briefest press of skin, the softest graze. But it burns and it lingers. It sinks into your skin like a brand, like something your body wants more of, wants to memorize. You keep your face neutral in the moment, your hands steady. Inside? Your pulse stutters, your breath feels too shallow, and your mind won’t stop spinning in circles. It’s ridiculous, how something so small can unravel you like this. But god help you, it does.

You try to brush it off. He’s just being kind, just paying attention. That’s all. Nothing more.

You remind yourself to be grateful for the extra set of hands, for the way his quiet presence makes the work easier. It’s a small thing, really—his help. But somehow, it takes the edge off the mornings, makes them feel a little lighter.

Johnny’s makes everything feel lighter, now that you really think about it.

Mornings used to be a race against the rising temperatures outside—shoveling down breakfast just to sprint outside and make sure the livestock were moved to the shaded pastures before the sun got too brutal. But with Johnny around, you don’t have to worry about that anymore. He’s got it covered. 

After breakfast, usually around 11, Johnny heads back out to do just that, while you get ready for your day’s work. You throw on something you don’t mind getting dirty—some overalls and a tank top, old boots, maybe one of Pa’s loose flannels if there’s a breeze.

You head to the stables and grab Shimmer, heading out to the crop fields. You pass the time, watering, weeding, checking for pests, making sure everything is growing the way it should. It’s tedious work, but at least now, you can actually focus on it. In a way, it’s calmer than dealing with the animals. 

By 3 p.m., you've made your final rounds around the fields, harvesting some cucumbers and tomatoes if they’re ready, checking on the other plants to make sure everything’s in place. The heat nears oppressive, and you’re already looking forward to heading inside.

As you ride back toward the stalls to put Shimmer away, your eyes find Johnny by the sheep pen. He’s herding them inside, guiding them with an easy patience, keeping them out of the harsh afternoon sun. Even from a distance, you can tell he’s got a good handle on them.

Your gaze drifts past him to Scout, tied to a fence post nearby. Shimmer must notice him too, judging by the way she whinnies, ears pricking forward with interest. They’ve been sticking close lately, choosing to graze together in the mornings and evenings, grooming each other like they’ve suddenly decided they’re inseparable. It’s odd, considering they’ve never paid each other much mind before—at least, not until two weeks ago.

It’s still August. Scout’s still in heat. You make a mental note to keep an eye on him.

Your gaze flickers back to Johnny—jeans slung low on his hips, a plain wife-beater stretched across his broad chest—and as always, you try not to stare.

But Johnny has a habit and it’s downright cruel. When the sun reaches its peak and the heat settles thick over the land, he peels off his shirt without a second thought. Like it’s nothing. Like he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing.

And maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he’s just trying to keep cool. But sometimes—when he catches you looking, when the corner of his mouth quirks up just slightly—it feels like he’s doing it on purpose. Like he enjoys watching you struggle not to let your eyes linger on him too long, not to let your thoughts wander somewhere they shouldn’t.

You’ve never been so thankful for the relentless southern sun.

It clings to him, highlighting every sharp line and defined edge. His skin glistens with sweat, the golden light catching on the broad curve of his shoulders, the sinew of his arms as they flex with every movement. Thick and strong. 

The first time you saw him shirtless, you stared. You couldn’t help it.

And of course, Johnny caught you.

His gaze locked onto yours, sharp and amused, and in that split second of distraction, you didn’t even realize you were sliding right off Shimmer’s back—not until you hit the ground with a graceless thud, landing in a fresh patch of mud.

His laugh had boomed across the fields, full and unrestrained, carrying all the way to your burning ears. You barely had time to process the sheer humiliation of it before you wordlessly climbed right back onto Shimmer like nothing happened, like you weren’t covered in mud, like you hadn’t just been caught drooling over him.

Played it cool. At least, you had tried to.

You shake your head, forcing your thoughts away from Johnny, and focus on putting Shimmer away. It’s easier said than done, but you manage, leading her into her stall and giving her a quick brush-down before heading back toward the house.

Lunch won’t make itself, and you figure you might as well get a head start—assuming you’re not completely covered in dirt from standing around, too busy staring at him to notice the dust clinging to your clothes. Which, if you’re being honest, happens more often than you’d like to admit these days.

At least he has the decency to put a shirt on before stepping inside. Small mercies.

You always whip up something light—sandwiches and a salad, maybe. You’re never in the mood to make anything too heavy. Pa skips out on lunch as usual, though. He always does, opting to head out to visit your Ma. She’s buried alongside a 200-year-old willow tree at the far edge of the property, the place that was always her favorite. Lunch used to be between you and a farm catalogue. Now, it’s between you and Johnny.

He never comments on how Pa slips away; he’s gotten used to the routine of it by now. It didn’t take long for him to piece it all together—Ma’s absence, the way Pa goes to kneel by the tree each day. He notices something in your eyes, too. He’s seen it in his own—loss. Grief.

When the aching sound of silence settles over the house—when the scrape of forks against plates is the only thing filling the empty space, when Pa’s vacant seat feels heavier than it should, Johnny’s hand inches toward yours.

It’s subtle, barely there. His fingertips just skim against your own, light and careful, like he’s offering something without asking. Like he’s reminding you, in the quietest way possible, that he’s here.

The first time he does it, you flinch and pull away before the warmth can settle, before the weight of it can mean something. But the next day, and the one after that, he does it again. Always the same way, always patient.

Day after day, you stop avoiding it.

It’s unspoken, something steady. A silent offering. He never asks for more, never demands, just open to  let you take what you need.

Today, your hand creeps to meet his. Your fingers slide to hold his own so easily—so naturally. Your fingertips graze over his knuckles before slipping between his fingers, not gripping, just resting. His other hand stills mid-stab of a piece of fruit, the fork hovering in place before a slow, knowing smile tugs at his lips—soft, easy, like he’s careful not to startle you. He doesn't tighten his hold, doesn't rush, just lets his thumb brush along your skin, as if memorizing the feel of it. His consistency is comforting. 

And day after day, without meaning to, you realize just how much you’ve come to rely on it.

Today, Johnny checks on the livestock one last time after lunch, but not before pitching in to help clean up. He’s quick about it, helping you get everything in order before heading out to make his rounds. He moves through the pastures, checking the water troughs, topping them off, and making sure the animals get their feed. It’s a rhythm by now—one that’s almost as natural to him as breathing.

You, on the other hand, head upstairs. The heat of the day still lingers in the air as you peel off your dirt-smeared clothes and step into the shower. The water hits your skin, hot and soothing, washing away the sweat, the dust, the weight of everything. For a few minutes, it’s just you and the steam, curling around you like a fog that keeps the world at bay. Thanks to Johnny, you can take more time for yourself, allowing for a few moments of peace.

Once you're clean, you retreat to your room for a bit, letting the quiet settle around you. The heat from the shower still clings to your skin, steam curling lazily in the air, and for a little while, you allow yourself the luxury of doing nothing. Just breathing. Just being.

But duty calls, as it always does. 

With a sigh, you pull on something comfortable—old jeans, soft and faded in all the right places, a loose tank top that drapes over your shoulders, and a pair of boots worn supple from years of hard use. You leave your hair down, still damp, cool against the nape of your neck as you step into the hallway. The air meets you in a soft contrast, brushing against your skin as you shake off the last remnants of stillness and head downstairs.

Pa’s sitting in his armchair, the low hum of the 5 o’clock news filling the first floor. His eyes are glued to the screen, but you don’t disturb him, slipping into the kitchen to prep dinner. The knives feel familiar in your hands as you chop the vegetables you harvested earlier, the scent of fresh tomatoes, onions, and herbs filling the air. You sprinkle salt over the meat, massaging it in gently, knowing it’ll make the roast tender for tonight.

The clock ticks past 5:30, and at 6, the last task of the day is waiting. Fence checks.

You and Johnny do it together every day. At first, it was purely for convenience—two hands are always better than one. But now, you look forward to it—to seeing him again.

You grab your jacket from the hook by the door, the familiar weight of it settling over your shoulders, and step outside. The evening air is cool against your skin, the sky beginning to soften into a wash of purples, pinks, and golds, the colors mixing together like paint on a canvas. The breeze picks up, gentle at first, but carrying with it the earthy scent of grass and soil. 

You make your way toward the stables, the gravel crunching under your boots in a steady rhythm. The evening air is cooler now, carrying the scent of hay and earth.

As you near the stables, you spot Johnny already there. He’s inside, leaning against Scout’s stall door, his back to you, speaking in a low murmur meant only for the horse. His fingers move through Scout’s mane with an absentminded gentleness.

There’s something different about him in moments like these—when he thinks no one’s watching. He softens. It’s endearing in a way you don’t quite have words for. And for a moment, you hesitate, just watching, before finally stepping forward.

You hum a soft, "Hey," and Johnny turns from Scout, a small smile tugging at his lips like he can’t help it, and he steps toward you with his hands tucked into his pockets.

For a moment, neither of you speak. You just stand there, caught in some strange pause, like you’re both waiting for something. His head tilts slightly, eyes scanning your face with quiet curiosity, and the longer the silence stretches, the more unbearable it gets.

“You talk to the sheep like that too, or just Scout?” you ask, blurting out the first thing that comes to mind.

He stills, processing your outburst before he huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “Only th’ ones that listen.”

Before he can say anything else, you turn away—too quickly, probably—and busy yourself with Shimmer, running a hand through her mane like she suddenly requires all of your attention. Anything to ignore the way your chest feels too tight, your pulse too loud in your ears.

Johnny doesn’t move right away. You can feel him still standing there, watching, like he knows exactly why you turned so fast but isn’t going to call you on it. 

“She givin’ ye trouble?”  he finally asks, nodding toward Shimmer as you stroke her mane.

“Always,”  you mutter, scratching behind her ears and she whinnies. “She thinks she owns the place.”

“Cannae blame ‘er. She’s got ye wrapped ‘round her hoof.”

You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch despite yourself. He’s not wrong. Shimmer huffs softly, nudging at your shoulder like she knows you’re talking about her. You softly push her nose away, shaking your head.

Johnny steps next to you, leaning his arms over the stall door, softly scratching the base of her neck. “That why ye bolted over here, hmm? Needed an excuse tae hide?" His voice is light, teasing—but there’s something underneath it. Something careful.

Your hand stills for just a second before you scoff, shaking your head. “Please.”  You turn, meeting his blue eyes with a practiced ease you’re not sure you actually feel. “If I wanted to hide from you, I’d pick a better spot.” You’re almost teasing when you say it, but you do know the property better than him, afterall.

“Dinnae have tae hide from me, hen,” he hums, the corner of his mouth quirks..

You hate that it makes your stomach flip. Hate that you have to force yourself to look away, to pretend the warmth crawling up your neck is from the evening heat and not from him.

Johnny lets the silence stretch, like he’s giving you a chance to say something—anything. His gaze lingers, drifting over you. Taking in the curve of your shoulders, the way your hair catches the fading light, the way you hold yourself like you’re thinking too much but refusing to say why.

When you don’t speak, he exhales a quiet chuckle, shaking his head before pushing off the stall door. Letting it go, for now.

 He nods toward the fields, “C’mon. Fence line’s no’ gonna check itself.”

You follow without a word, slipping out of the stables with him. Long shadows stretch across the fields, swaying with the wind-blown grass, and somewhere in the distance, a few cattle call out, their distant sounds blending with the steady hum of crickets.

Neither of you rush. There’s no need. The fence line is long, stretching across acres of land, and it’s a quiet sort of work—just walking, looking, making note of any broken slats or weak posts that’ll need fixing. He walks alongside you, the toolbox rattles lightly in his grip as he carries it at his side, the sound punctuating the steady crunch of boots against dry earth.

For a while, neither of you speak.

It’s not exactly uncomfortable, but it isn’t easy either. You’re aware of him in a way that feels impossible to ignore—the way his steps fall in rhythm with yours, the occasional brush of his arm when the path narrows, the way he glances at you when he thinks you’re not looking.

“Ye always this quiet?” Johnny asks, his voice low, barely disturbing the quiet, as if it’s a part of the gentle breeze.

You snort softly, eyes fixed on the fence as you mindlessly trail your fingers along the wooden slats. “Only when there’s nothing to say.”

“That so?” His voice carries easily with a sprinkle of amusement.

“Mhm.”

You keep walking. So does he.

Every so often, you test the fence with a firm press of your palm, checking for weak spots. He does the same. Occasionally, he stops to inspect a loose post, tapping it with the toe of his boot before moving on. It’s a simple rhythm—walk, check, walk again—but the silence between you is anything but simple.

It’s thick, growing heavier as the minutes tick by.

You can feel his presence beside you like a current, something you could fall into and get swept under if you weren’t careful. And maybe he feels it too, because every now and then, his hands twitch at his side, like he wants to reach for something, but can’t. Won’t.

“Ye ever get tired o’ all this?” His voice is quieter this time, almost like he’s asking himself more than you.

Your brows pull together slightly. “Of what?”

He gestures vaguely around you with the hand that isn’t carrying the toolbox. “Th’ same land, same routine. Mornings start early, work’s never really done. That ever get to ye?”

You consider that for a moment, kicking at a stray rock with the toe of your boot. “Maybe. Some days.” You glance at him. “You?”

His mouth tugs into something like a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Nah. Never.”

You don’t know what to make of that.

The two of you keep walking, keep checking the fence. The breeze picks up, stirring loose strands of your hair. Johnny exhales a slow breath, his shoulders shifting as he rolls them back, working out a stiffness from the long day. The movement draws your attention, and for a brief second, you let yourself look. Really look.

The sharp cut of his jaw, the way the light catches on his cheekbones, the way his shirt clings to the broad stretch of his shoulders, still slightly damp from the sweat of the day. The gold cross dangling from his neck and the dark, miniscule birthmark that sits just below his ear. His hair has grown a bit since he first came. Maybe you could cut it for him, like you do for Pa.

You swallow hard and snap your gaze forward before you get caught. Again.

Another long stretch of silence. Another step. Another brush of his arm against yours—so light it could be accidental.

Could be.

Johnny stops when he catches sight of a sagging section of barbed wire, his steps slowing before he finally comes to a halt. Without a word, he sets down the toolbox and crouches, running a hand over the worn wood of the post before reaching for the wire. Testing its give. Seeing how bad it really is.

You watch as he exhales through his nose, shaking his head slightly before grabbing the wire stretcher and a handful of staples. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even complain about the extra work—just gets right to it, like it’s second nature.

Rather than hover over him, you hoist yourself up onto a sturdier section of the fence beside him, perching on the top rail with ease. The wood is solid beneath you, not like the weakened stretch he’s working on now.

The sun is nearly gone, but there’s still enough light to bathe the fields in a golden glow, the last remnants of warmth brushing against your face. You tilt your head toward it, letting the heat sink into your skin, letting the evening breeze lift strands of your hair. It’s the kind of peace that settles deep in your bones, the kind you don’t appreciate until it’s gone.

Johnny breaks the silence first.

“If I’d’ve grown up somewhere like this…” He pauses, twisting the wire tight before driving a staple into the post. “I think things would’ve turned ou’ different for me.”

The way he says it—flat, almost absentminded—makes you hesitate. You’re not sure if he’s inviting the conversation or just thinking out loud. You don’t want to pry, but something about the way his voice lingers in the air makes you ask anyway.

“Different how?”

Johnny keeps his eyes on his work as he answers, pulling the wire taut. “Would’ve been normal, I guess. Wouldn’t have joined up. Would no’ have spent years runnin’ toward shit other people run from.” He exhales softly, a ghost of a chuckle. “Think I’d have been calmer. More settled.”

You watch him work for a moment, the way his hands move with ease, deft yet steady. He doesn’t look unsettled, per se. If anything, he seems at ease out here, like he belongs in the quiet.

“You don’t seem unsettled,” you say finally, tilting your head to him.

Johnny huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he pulls the wire one last time, before giving it a final staple to secure it. “Then ’m doin’ a great job at pretending.” His voice is light, but there’s something underneath it, something that makes you press your lips together.

You watch as he finishes up, hammering in the last staple before brushing the dirt off his hands. “If you aren’t happy here, you can always leave, y’know,” The words slip out before you can really think them through. “There’s plenty of families that need help.” It’s not a challenge, just a simple fact.

That stops him.

He straightens up, turning to you with something between bewilderment and confusion, like the idea hadn’t even crossed his mind. Like he can’t quite believe you’d think that, let alone say that. 

“Ye think I’m no’ happy here?”

You shrug, glancing out toward the fields. “I mean…” you pause, exhaling as you look toward your boots, drawing shapes in the dirt with the pointed toe. “I wouldn’t be surprised. It’s isolating.”

Johnny sets the tools down in the grass beside him, his jaw tightening as he mulls over what you just said. It sticks in his head, gnaws at something deep in his chest. He hadn’t considered that you might think that—hadn’t realized he might’ve spoken in a way that’d made you assume he wanted out.

But when he looks at you now, perched on the fence, swathed in the gold, pink, and purple swirls of  light from the sun, he understands why you would.

You’ve been here your whole life. You know the weight of isolation, watching things in your life pass by and disappear before your eyes. You probably expect people to leave.

And maybe that should be the case. Maybe he should leave—move on to bigger and better things. But when he looks at you—really looks at you—it doesn’t feel that simple. It can’t be. It’s not. 

Your very presence buzzes with life, from your hair to the ever-present flush in your cheeks—from the heat or him, he doesn’t know. You’re sat on the fence like you belong here, like the land itself was carved around you. And maybe it was. Maybe that’s why he’s so goddamn unsettled. You’re everywhere; you’re in every breeze that brushes his skin, in each rooster crow that signals the wake of a new day. 

He’s spent his whole life moving, chasing something—war, adrenaline, a sense of purpose that’s always been just out of reach. He knows the weight of isolation just as well as you do. 

His throat feels tight as he finally speaks, his voice dipping lower, rougher. “I’m no’ unsettled because o’ the job. Or the farm.”

His gaze is locked onto you, unrelenting. Waiting. Willing you to understand—like he’s been holding this in for too long, and if you don’t get it now, he’s not sure what he’ll do.

And then it all clicks.

It’s not about the farm. Not about the work, the isolation, the long days under the southern sun.

“Oh.”

The word breathes out of you before you can censor it, before you can even feel it. 

You’re the reason he carries tension in his shoulders, the reason he looks at you like he’s already lost whatever battle he’s been fighting with himself. 

All at once you can feel the sharp pull in the air between you, the way his jaw tics, his breath slows, his fingers flex like he’s stopping himself from reaching for you.

And the worst part?

You wish he wouldn’t.

DAMNN slow burn fr but im excited asl

THE GREAT WAR I: bruised like violets — tsu’tey

— when accompanying dr. augustine, norm spellman, and jake sully to explore the pandoran forest, you and sully become separated from the group. you barely survive the night before a na’vi woman rescues you.

INCLUDES fem!reader, dreamwalker!reader. mentions of tom’s (jake’s twin) medical history and death + his (purely platonic! brotherly!) relationship with reader, near death experiences. 3.7k words.

NOTE my knuckles were WHAT? 🎤 for the sake of this fic and my sanity, let us pretend time dilation is not a thing because that complicates all sense of logic in this fic’s timeline.

SERIES MASTERLIST | part ii

The familiar darkness of the link unit’s space shrouds you as you open your eyes, mind still reeling despite your countless ventures in your Avatar. Pushing the link’s cover open, you slowly sit up, wiping the sweat lining your forehead.

Dr. Max Patel greets you with a clipboard in hand.

“Grace is waiting for you.”

Your eyebrows jump. “Did she see me and Txur’ii shoot Sari seeds at the other kids again?”

Dr. Patel steps back, gasping, pointing an accusatory finger at you. “You said you’d stop doing that!”

“They started picking on him again!”

Txuri’ii is the Na’vi kid you almost plowed into the first time you tested your Avatar. He’s smaller compared to other Na’vi boys his age; a little thinner than usual too. It’s the reason you didn’t immediately see him that first time. He’s grown to be the source of entertainment for the other Na’vi kids, picking on him and bullying him.

When you learned of this, you dragged the kid and gathered all uncollected Sari seeds you could find. Borrowing two straws from the lab, you then hid behind the bushes as you preyed on Txur’ii’s tormentors.

You showed him as you stuffed the Sari seeds in your mouth and brought the straw to your lips. As the tallest of the bullies turns his back in your direction, you blow a seed through the straw, hitting the kid on his nape.

Txur’ii’s delighted squeak almost gave away your hiding spot.

One time, Dr. Augustine caught you and Txur’ii, and she berated you like a little kid when you got back in the lab.

You jump down the link unit, fixing your rumpled up shirt. You bid Dr. Patel goodbye, squashing down your smile with a finger to your lips and an obnoxious “shh.”

There’s a familiar face in Dr. Augustine’s vicinity. You stop short in your tracks, squinting your eyes as if that will help you understand the situation better.

You glide your palms over the edges of tables as you wade closer to where he’s talking with Dr. Augustine and Spellman in a wheelchair.

Last you heard, he’d been caught in a mugging incident. No one wanted to talk to you about it and the rumors you’ve heard said he was in a coma.

You suppose those were that — rumors, since he’s here, in the flesh, right in front of you. But what the hell happened?

“Tommy?”

You seem to have interrupted Dr. Augustine’s litany. All three of them turn their heads toward you and you get a perfect view of his face. He looks so different; definitely a lot more mature with the scruff. With your eyes trained on Tommy, you don’t see Spellman’s forlorn gaze as the realization dawns upon him.

“It’s — Jake, actually,” Tommy says. He offers a hand to you. “Jake Sully.”

Jake Sully.

Your eyes flit back to the head scientist, noting the way her eyes are quite softer than usual. Her cigarette hangs forgotten between her fingers.

“Another Sully?” you murmur. You recall Tommy mentioning a twin brother back when you were still on Earth but never meeting him in person.

He has exactly the same features as him but he doesn’t have Tommy’s calm and friendly aura. You don’t know if that’s the reason he kind of irks you suddenly or it’s something else.

You prop your hands to your waist, looking around. “Where’s Tommy? Has he recovered?” He hasn’t returned your video calls. Just last week, you tried contacting him again, hoping he’s woken up. All you received was an automated response, which made sense if he was traveling halfway through the solar system in cryo, though you would have preferred if he sent you a little heads up.

Jake Sully’s eyebrows reconnect, quizzically looking at the two scientists before saying, “Tommy’s dead.”

A sigh is caught in your throat. You want to ask him to repeat that but if you once again hear what you thought you just heard, you don’t know how you’ll be able to take it.

“Right.” You clear your throat, swallowing the lump that’s making your eyes burn. “Yeah, of course, I knew that.”

The sarcasm makes the dents in his forehead deeper, tilting his head to the side as he watches you.

“How do you—?”

“I gotta get back,” you suddenly announce, already walking away. You don’t bother sparing them another glance as you walk out of the laboratory, a lone tear trailing down your cheek. You’re quick to put your exopack on, a humorless chuckle escaping your lips at the betrayal choking you the way not even the Pandoran air could.

You’re evasive of the other scientists for the past week. Even in your Avatar form, you avoid any interaction with Dr. Augustine and other Avatar drivers.

Their silence about Tommy’s death makes something ugly curl in your stomach. You haven’t seen him since you were 14. Your stubborn mind refuses to accept what Jake Sully said about Tommy because that is just impossible. If anyone deserves to live the longest life they could on this godforsaken moon, or even back there on Earth, it would have been Tommy.

Tommy, who you basically grew up with. Despite being under the Colonel’s wing, there still wasn’t much to life. It was only then that Tommy started hanging out with you did you come out of your shell.

“Y/N!”

Dr. Patel’s familiar voice cuts through your peace. He jogs over to you, worn clipboard in hand. You don’t think he has ever put that thing down. It looks three seconds away from disintegrating.

“Grace is looking for you.”

You say nothing but follow the scientist back to the lab. Inside, you see Jake Sully, Dr. Augustine, and Spellman huddled together.

Dr. Augustine greets you before gesturing towards Sully. “Marine’s coming with us.”

You raise your eyebrows, making an effort to not look at any of them.

“For the research,” she adds. “Norm’s coming too.”

You say nothing as you move and get ready, settling in your own unit. You see Spellman give Dr. Augustine a withering look and you roll your eyes.

To your left is the other Sully’s link unit. You watch as he methodically hauls himself up the machine, lifting his upper body first before hooking his arms under his knees to position his legs.

As you settle and close your eyes, you wonder how he ended up like that.

Spellman’s excited chatter grates at your ears. Tommy used to be like that. It was what you bonded over in the first place. And usually, you’d be more than happy to be out here with Dr. Augustine but you’ve been off-kilter ever since Jake Sully ceremoniously dropped the news.

The forest of Pandora is still a wonder to you despite residing here for the past six years. Though Dr. Augustine had been here much longer than you have, her stacks of files are endless about the Pandoran flora and fauna. It seems like the moon spits out new species every single day.

You huff as the two scientists crouch over a braid of roots, injecting a needle to see the synapses transmit on the small screen Spellman holds. You turn around and realize Sully is nowhere to be found.

Your company is too preoccupied with their discovery so you leave them be, following the ruffles of footsteps against fallen leaves. Pulling back a giant leaf, it reveals Jake Sully tapping away on a bunch of Helicoradian plants.

You don’t make yourself known, watching from the sidelines as a smile spreads across the man’s face. Sully is more… tolerable, you’d say, in his Avatar form. Though the aura you cannot place is still emanating off him, he also has that air of innocence.

You startle as the walls of Helicoradian vanish from his ministrations and instead reveal a crash of Hammerhead Titanotheres, one of which notices your acquaintance and releases a loud cry. They’re like giant rhinoceros, a spattering of blue and purple with thick armor.

You curse under your breath, stepping forward to get closer to him but still hidden from the animal.

“Don’t shoot!” you bark when you notice him grip his gun, finger on the trigger. “Don’t you dare shoot, Sully! That’s got armor thicker than your skull.”

The Titanotheres rakes its foot on the forest floor before charging, letting out another cry, leaving a flurry of dust in its wake. You’re helpless and frozen on your spot as Jake Sully stands his ground, leveling the giant’s cry with a shout of his own.

This seems to deter the animal, skidding to a stop. You think it whimpers. Sully is as surprised as you.

“You son of a bitch!” he spits. He huffs out a laugh and you grimace at the air of arrogance surrounding him. He spews out some more nonsense as the Titanotheres cowers and scurries away… until you hear something worse than a Titanotheres.

Behind Jake Sully stands a Thanator. Its cry pierces the air, sending shivers down your spine.

“Okay, now, what do I do?” The marine asks, gauging the animal. “What do I do?”

Oh, you’d beg Eywa to bring that Titanotheres back.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you grit out. “Run!”

Jake Sully runs, abandoning all sense of dignity as he sprints — toward you. The Thanator charges and chases Sully and you have no choice but to run too, unless you want to be a predator’s lunch. You hear a distant, “what the hell is going on?” from Dr. Augustine as you run past her and a wide-eyed Spellman.

In your head, you’re cursing Sully in the darkest pits of hell. You are not fit for running. Your lungs strain as you fight to breathe, legs already aching and you pray to all the gods you know that your ankles will not give out on you this time.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” Sully chants. The Thanator growls and you think you can feel it breathing just behind your neck.

“There!” Sully points to an uprooted tree. You don’t question his decision, partly because you don’t have a choice. The two of you burrow under the thick roots, dirt on your hands and knees as you try to crawl further down the shallow hole.

The animal roars, sending a giant claw in your direction. You try not to scream as the roots practically disintegrate on its assault, a shower of wood falling over your heads. Jake Sully tugs on your hand, moving out of your hiding spot and taking off again.

“This is your fault,” you wheeze out, greens and blues flying by your peripheral. “Stupid shit.”

He doesn’t hear you or maybe chooses to ignore you. You don’t care. If you weren’t on the brink of death, you’d kill Jake Sully with your bare hands.

“We gotta jump!” He shouts over his shoulder.

Though there is a giant deadly animal chasing your asses, you skid to a stop, making the marine stumble.

“No.”

He ignores you again, pulling on your wrist hard enough to pop it. The Thanator unleashes another cry, sounding closer than ever.

“We jump on three!”

It’s then you hear the wild splashes of water. You’re running head on on the edge of a cliff. You’re going to die and Jake Sully is the last person you’ll see. It’s enough to make you want to cry.

“One!”

“No!” You try to pull your wrist free from his hold but his grip only tightens.

“Two!”

“I said no!”

“Three!”

“I can’t swim!”

You don’t jump.

Jake Sully does.

But he hasn’t let go of you. His momentum drags you along and you’re free falling to your death first and sinking beneath the waters next. During your fall, Sully’s hold on you disappeared. Your chest tightens in more ways than one.

The panic creeps in and your lungs constrict as you take a deep breath, choking on water and going blind in hysteria. You thrash, mind reeling and trying to open your eyes but between the choking and the drowning and the dying, you can’t find it in you to think.

Something wraps beneath your arms and pulls. You break out of the surface, sputtering and blinking away the water, to find Jake Sully in front of you.

“Hey, hey,” he shakes your arms. Stray strands from his braids are clinging to his face. “Are you okay?”

You hear a faint cry from above, the Thanator peering down at you.

“Can we—?” you cough, eyes stinging and nose burning. “Can we get out of the water first?”

Sully hauls you off the river and into land. You fall to your knees and heave, getting water out of your system. Your clothes are drenched and you assume he lost his gun along the way. There might be no Thanators here but the forest still isn’t safe.

You shudder, running a palm over your face to get rid of the rivulets. It’s no use since your palms are wet.

“This is your fault,” you say again, glaring at the man shaking his arms as if it will dry his clothes faster. Whatever vulnerability you showed when he pulled you out was already gone. “If your stupid little ass didn’t wander off, we won’t be here right now.”

“Hey,” he protests, walking over to where you are, boots leaving behind a damp trail. “I just saved your ass back there.”

“Okay, and?”

Sully blows out a breath. You can see the frustration seeping through his façade.

“Get up, we need to find our way back.”

You roll your eyes but don’t protest, knowing he’s right. He doesn’t bother to help you up as he walks away and you don’t bother calling his name as you stagger behind, sniffling and coughing still.

Trekking the forest is much harder with your clothes sticking to you uncomfortably. You’ve never explored this part so it was much harder to navigate, though Jake Sully doesn’t seem as worried as you are. Your legs are tired and your nose still has not recovered from the water you inhaled. You’d love nothing more than to be back in your human form and actually breathe.

It’s nearing eclipse and the two of you are still deep in the forest. Your clothes have not fully dried but not as damp as before but as night creeps closer, the temperature slowly drops and you shiver every now and then.

“We won’t make it back to camp in time,” you say, pushing back leaves in your way. Sully, ever the gentleman, doesn’t so much as help you jump over rocks, letting you clamber your way up like a soaked baby koala.

“No shit.”

“You are so fucking annoying.”

Sully huffs, turning around to look at you. “So are you.”

You jab a finger in his direction, growing more aggravated each passing second. “Shut the fuck up. If it wasn’t for your sorry, stupid as fuck fucking ass, we won’t be here, okay? We could be back in the lab right now — I could be back in the lab right now and resting on that very stupid and inconvenient bunk but no! I am stuck here with you of all people!”

“Hey—”

“I could have died and it would have been your fault.”

Jake Sully stops and you try to swallow the emotions, try to stop the burning sensation behind your eyelids. You are far more collected than that, far more articulate and definitely far more level-headed if it were a better day but you nearly died. Every breath still hurts your lungs and your body aches in places you never thought it could hurt.

He holds up a hand between you, as if conjuring up some healthy boundaries. You think he looks a little conflicted and it’s a fresh look on him.

“Listen kid.” Oh, you hate that condescending tone. “You and I, we need to work together, alright? If you wanna survive, you follow what I say. You don’t want to? Okay—” he makes a grand gesture of spreading his arm, as if giving you liberty, “—I’ll leave you out here to really die. Your choice.”

You scowl at him, fighting the urge to just reach up and grab at his face and squeeze so hard his eyeballs would pop out. But between the two of you, it’s the marine who knows more about survival skills than you ever could so you comply, grumbling after him in the darkness.

“This better not include more cliff jumping,” you remark, kicking pebbles along the way.

“We need to make a fire,” he announces. You stare at his back, wondering if he hit his head when you jumped off.

“How the fuck are we going to do that?”

“Do you have matches?”

You mutter some more nasty comments as you tap on your clothes, checking the pockets. You find a box of it on a pouch on your chest, pulling it out to find it dripping.

“Well,” you hold it between your fingers, watching as water drips, drips, drips on the dirt, “isn’t that lovely.”

Jake Sully curses, searching his pockets. He stills when a growl comes from behind the bushes, and the sound glues you to your spot. You unconsciously take a step toward him, listening intently as he mutters a silent victory, fishing out a lighter.

“Quick, rip a seam off your shirt.” He’s already plucking dry branches off a plant to his left.

“What?”

“We need to make a fire.”

You tug uselessly on the flap of your shirt. “How is this going to help?”

Sully stares at you with wide eyes, his jaw clenched. “Fucking Christ,” he shoves a branch on your hands and grips your clothes. You gasp as he rips a good portion of your polo, leaving you in tattered cargo and an undershirt. “You won’t survive a day out here.”

You push the stupid branch back on his palms. “I wasn’t made to survive here, I’m a scientist. If I asked you what a Loreyu is, you wouldn’t know a single shit about it too.”

He ignores you. You watch as he ties the fabric on the end of the stick, dipping it on a curved leaf that has collected sap. He hands it to you before doing the same thing to his own piece of clothing and stick.

He flicks the lighter on and brings it to the saturated fabric. It catches fire immediately and you see a lot better now.

Another growl resonates, closer this time. Sully says nothing else as he grabs your wrist, torches in hand, and runs.

It seems all you’re meant to do this day is run and to be frank, you don’t think you have it in you to do so. Your legs give out as you reach a clearing, a pond shimmering in the night. It is a pain to admit but you’re thankful for Sully’s grip on you or else you would have dug your face on the forest floor.

“Shit, kid—”

“I’m alright,” you heave, dragging your feet so you’re kneeling. “I’m alright.”

Your reprieve is short-lived when something pounces behind you. You choke back a scream, ignoring the twitching pain on your ankle and scrambling to stand up. There’s a blur of black dancing in your peripheral and soon, there’s a whole pack of them surrounding you.

Jake Sully snarls, swishing his torch in a wide arc. You do the same, your back glued to his, your heart beating an erratic rhythm in your chest.

“Viperwolves,” you say.

“How do we kill it?”

“I don’t know!” You thrust your weapon forward as another one of them attempts to jump on you. “With a gun?”

“We don’t have a gun,” he grunts.

“As if I don—”

You scream as a Viperwolf pounces on you, sending you skittering away from your partner. Your torch is nowhere in sight and you’re far too panicked to think straight. Its large mouth is right at your face, sharp teeth inches away from your face.

This is it. Six years on this moon and you meet your fate like this. What a gruesome, sad ending. You don’t bother fighting, closing your eyes and flinching as it lets out a snarl before attacking you.

The pain never came.

You think you hear something, hear it whimper and the others scuttle off, but Jake Sully is already dragging you away.

There’s a ringing in your ears and his voice sounds so far away but your eyes are clear. You see him so vividly. Tommy.

“Hey, hey.” He makes a show of snapping his fingers to your left, to your right. “Talk to me, come on.”

It was the same thing he said when you almost drowned in a pool back on Earth. You were eight and stupid, taking a dip unsupervised, feeling like such an adult as you tried to imitate the others who were learning to swim as a part of their Avatar Training Program.

Tommy had found you nearly unconscious, calling and shouting for anyone as he rubbed and slapped at your back, throwing up water.

“Hey,” he had said, wiping away water on your face, “talk to me, come on.”

You had burst into tears right then, clinging to him and never letting go until you fell asleep. For a long time, he had been the only safe place you ever knew and seeing him in Jake Sully in the same situation makes your throat close up.

“M’fine,” you warble. You don’t see the woman who saved you speaking softly as she holds a palm to the Viperwolf that nearly bit your head off.

When you hear faint footsteps retreating, you think Jake Sully has left you out here, but he’s crouched over your form, looking over his shoulder.

He pushes you up despite your protests, shy of dragging you on the dirt by your arms. He’s got a hold on your wrist again, dragging you through the forest again. It is disorienting, all of it. From being chased by a Thanator, jumping off a cliff and nearly drowning, to being attacked by a Viperwolf — paired with your fatigued body, your knees rattle as you blindly follow Sully.

You hear him talking, a string of slurred words. The forest is melting, a spiral of blues and greens, until your vision vignettes and there’s nothing at all.

MORE NOTES when i said this was a slow burn, i wasn’t planning on this slow. but! our boy tsu’tey will finally show up in the next chapter. i’m just happy how we’ve slowly opened reader’s relationships with other characters, and here’s to unraveling them while building up new ones!

TAGLIST @cullenswife @hannibalelijah @neytemsgf @syviiss @katsukiswrld @lovekeeho

oh shittt ITS SO GOOD IM DDAFHDHFHAHSFH

“What will you do, run after me John?”

“If I have to.”

“You don’t have legs.”

“I’ll crawl.”

“The rocks are sharp.”

“Then I’ll bleed.”

(Fan art of the amazing fic from @halcyone-of-the-sea ✨✨💫

She’s a 10 but is in love with fictional military pilots.

She = me 💯

Slow Like Honey Masterpost (Complete)

Summary:  The gossip that buzzes around in the teacher’s lounge is that sweet, sensitive, divorcé Steve Rogers is hot-for-teacher. His daughter’s first-grade teacher, to be exact. Steve Rogers x Petite Reader –

(*) denotes NSFW

Part I: Teacher Appreciation Week

Part II: Slow Like Honey

Part III: Heavy With Mood

Part IV: The First Taste*

Part V: Twenty Years and a Month*

Part VI: Three Conversations

Part VII: Try Again

Part VIII: Never is a Promise*

lovely graphic made by @jurassicbarnes​