Tsu'Teyur (to experience Tsu'Tey)

by smolsmokey

Chapter 17: The Spring of 2155

Summary:

"I had a dream/I got everything I wanted"

Notes:

(tw: lil smut scene; non-graphic but it is noted in story as well)

It was late morning, and the air in the nursery clearing was thick with sunshine and soft giggles. Sylwanin sat beneath a broad fern, gently bouncing a youngling on her hip while Mo’at checked herbs in a woven satchel.

Tsu’Tey—barely thirteen, all sharp angles and hunched shoulders—hovered just outside the circle. He wished Neytiri were here—not that he did not like Sylwanin’s company, or her—that was precisely the problem. Neytiri knew how to navigate him out of such a problem, so he did not just stare in place, because he was doing that now. Staring. Watching.

He always watched.

The way the babies grasped fingers without thinking. 

The way their ears twitched toward sound. 

The way Sylwanin laughed when one burped against her chest. 

The way Sylwanin’s dimples popped out.

The way the sun hit her dark orange beads.

The way her eyes sparkled in the sunlight.

“You can hold Nekawn, Tsu’Tey,” Sylwanin said gently, eyes kind—eyes on him. “She will not die.”

“What—” He froze. “...What if I drop her?”

“Then you catch her,” Mo’at said, standing, as Sylwanin pressed the tiny girl into his arms. “Or her sa’nok will catch you.”

Tsu’Tey looked at the baby—Nekawn. Eywa knew he did not want Kìfu or Mopul chastising him. He shakily reached his arms out, and Nekawn leaned in. He did not drop her—Nekawn did not squirm or scream. She curled around him—instinctively, a soft chirr on her lips. The cub’s tail lashed, and he patted her back, unsure but gentle. “She is...very small.”

“Nekawn is fourteen months,” Sylwanin smiled. “But yes, they all are. But they grow—especially because they are loved.”

Tsu’Tey looked down at Nekawn, who was gazing up at him with wide, lime-colored eyes.

He purred. Soft. Without meaning to.

✦

The sun was setting low over the high trees, the shadows long and golden, the air thick with the smell of rain and pollen. The nursery had finally gone quiet—most of the cubs taken home for evening meals, the rest curled up on the woven cots in the mossy hollow. A few still dozed, tails twitching, little fingers tucked into their mouths.

Some of the female alpha warriors left their babies here to be watched by elders, midwives, or omegas—duty was a stressful thing, and on occasion, you could not go into a hunt with a cub latched at your teat or weave with sticky fingers trying to as well.

It was not all the time that he was here, but during some breaks or days when the weather was too wet to trek to Grace’s schoolhouse, Tsu’Tey found himself here.

Sylwanin sat cross-legged at the edge of the mat, brushing out a tiny girl's hair with slow, practiced hands. She wore one of her simpler wraps, still damp at the hem from fishing duty and Tsahik training. A single strand of orange beadwork lay tangled in her braid. She had not noticed it. Tsu’Tey did.

He sat beside her, knees drawn up, arms looped around them. Quiet. He was still trying to get the smell of spit-up off his wrap from earlier.

“Käkìt likes you,” Sylwanin said after a while, nodding toward the sleepy toddler he had held earlier. “He only sleeps on people he truly likes.”

Tsu’Tey huffed softly. “He drooled on my beads.”

Sylwanin smiled. “That means you are his favorite.”

“And spit on my tweng.”

“Wow, he is claiming ownership.”

“He has a mother.”

“And now he has a TeyTey.” Sylwanin smiled. “A pretty TeyTey.”

That made him go a little warm at the tips of his ears. He turned his head to hide the twitch, pretending to watch the wind swaying the branches and leaves.

“Do you…” She paused, brushing out the last bit of hair and tying it gently. “Do you ever think about having your own?”

Tsu’Tey blinked. His heart did something stupid. “My own?”

She rolled her eyes. “Children, Tsu’Tey.”

“Oh.” He swallowed. He had not—children were not something that crossed his mind; duty was—to his mother, to his father, to the People—Eywa. He looked at Sylwanin, whose eyes were suddenly soft and…“Maybe? Sometimes.” 

A hum. “Would you raise them like you were raised?” Sylwanin turned her body slightly toward him, eyes soft. “I would take away the threats of knotting my child’s tail. Sa’nok used them so frequently I had nightterrors.”

He went quiet. That question was too big to answer all at once. “Not…not everything,” he said finally. His parents were not bad per se—just dedicated…very strong in their ways of life. “I would teach them honor. Discipline. I would also let them laugh. I think…I think a child should feel safe being foolish sometimes. Not every day is a training day.”

She smiled. “I like that.”

He dared to look at her. Her face was still warm. More Open.

“What about you?” he asked. “What kind of parent would you be?”

She hummed, thinking. “One who listens. One who knows how to say sorry, and one who does not…let the pressure turn their children into stone. If my child wanted to follow in my footsteps, I would encourage them; if they do not, then they do not.”

He nodded slowly. “You would be good at that.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, the sounds of evening creeping in.

Then Sylwanin whispered, almost too softly to hear—“Do you ever think…that we might raise children together?”

Tsu’Tey froze.

“I meant—together, as in close...not—not…our duties are not done—we have not—”

His mouth opened. Then closed. Sylwanin’s tail flicked and then curled in toward her thigh.

He could not look at her. Not right away. He knew her face was the shade of a yovofruit right now.

“I…We can wait,” he said finally. His voice was rough. He felt hot suddenly.“Childr—children are a lot—Käkìt is a lot…” We have not even presented, went unsaid.

She smiled gently, tail curling, as she nodded frantically, her ears high and twitching. “Wait—yes, I…would, you would, like to wait. Wait. I like waiting.”

Another beat of silence. Then—boldly, quietly—Tsu’Tey reached out and brushed his pinky against hers. Just that.

---

The forest breathed differently at night—slow and deep, like a great animal sleeping with one eye open. A month and a half after the war, the Omaticaya still kept ay’awlo—night patrols—circling the Hometree and the roosts beyond. They were practical: listen for metal where there should be birds, watch for sawtute from poking at old wreckage, steer palulukan and nantang away from the little ones’ sleeping hollows, and read the forest’s mood the way elders read a face. 

This was also a commitment. After fire and machines and grief, the people would not be surprised again.

Jake came along because Olo’eyktan ought to. That’s what he told anyone who asked. Truth was, he didn’t sleep much. The old habits—watch rotations, taking point, leading by example—were welded into his bones. If he asked others to pace the dark with bows strung and ears high, then his blue feet could do the same. Besides, he liked the hush, the easy company of it, and the way the world went luminous: mushrooms blinking like constellations at his toes, vines sketching pale halos along the bark, and wind sifting a silver skin over the night.

Tsu’Tey sat sentry on a high limb, back straight and eyes bright, stillness so complete he seemed carved from the trunk itself. He was warhead now—primary warhead—and he arranged the watches the way a weaver pulls a pattern tight: routes, overlaps, sign calls, and fallback whistles. The People had half-expected him to chafe at the shift in roles, to push against Jake’s olo’eyktan mantle or claim a blood rite in the aftermath of his return, but he hadn’t. If anything, he wore the warhead’s mantle with an ease that unsettled a lot—majority Elders.  When Jake padded along the branch and settled beside him, the only sign he’d noticed was a slight cant of one ear.

“Quiet tonight,” Jake murmured.

“A good thing,” Tsu’Tey said, not looking over. “The forest prefers to sing, not shout.”

They let the silence sprawl a while. A flock of fan-lizards shivered open and shut on a lower branch, blinking neon. Below, a ring of glow-beetles drifted like a lazy Milky Way. Somewhere far off, an ikran answered its mate—two notes, then a third, and then night again.

Jake eased onto his elbows, sprawling shamelessly near Tsu’Tey’s knee. Little by little, he’d been testing the edges of the other man’s space, like pressing on a bruise to learn its shape. Tsu’Tey allowed it. He didn’t lean in, not yet, but he didn’t edge away either.

“My ma was a homebody,” Jake said after a time, voice low so it wouldn’t bounce. “Mary. Small hands, strong. She could turn flour and fruit into church on a Tuesday.” He chuckled. “My old man—Thomas—ran on schedules. Former military. ‘Up at five. Run before the heat.’ He never stopped being a sergeant, even in the kitchen.”

One ear of Tsu’Tey’s twitched; otherwise, he was a statue.

“Tommy went the other way,” Jake went on. “Science brain from birth. Took apart the holovid remote once just to see if it had a heart.” He smiled to himself, the memory warming him from inside. “One summer we tried to launch a model rocket off the stoop. He taped a firecracker to it—said the thrust ratio was ‘ideal,’ which meant ‘we’re gonna blow Ma’s flowerpots sky-high.’ Thing shoots up, tips sideways, and lands in the peach bucket Ma just picked from Mrs. Martinez’s.” He laughed quietly. “Exploded nectar and peach everywhere.”

Tsu’Tey’s mouth moved like he was fighting a smile, then flattened. “You cleaned it?”

“Oh yeah. With military precision. Dad timed us.”

“Strict,” Tsu’Tey said, thoughtful. It wasn’t a question.

Jake nodded. “Yeah. The kind that sharpens you.” It was quiet for a minute. “I heard about your parents from Grace. And… after.” The word hung heavy—funeral . He couldn’t say it; hell, he couldn’t even admit that the man beside him once died in front of him or had no heartbeat—that he had been the one to toss the first dirt in his grave, or—Sully, cool it. He watched the side of Tsu’Tey’s face, the unreadable calm. “Strict feels familiar.”

“It made me strong,” Tsu’Tey’s shoulders rose and fell, a lazy version of a shrug. “I come from a line of warheads and warriors, my grandsempul, as you should have heard, was Olo'eykte, so yes—strict is familiar.”

No self-pity. No invitation. Just a rock where other people had a wound.

Jake didn’t prod. He’d learned how Tsu’Tey bent: not to pushing, but to patience. He let his voice slip softer, a drawl like warm syrup, not gunning for anything but closeness.

Jake’s voice drifted lower, dragged toward the softer pieces. “Ma made peach cobbler in the summers—if we had money. Big as a fist, fuzzy and pink.”

“Va’dungas,"  Tsu’Tey suddenly interjected. "Sorry, they sound similar. We do not get them over here, they grow in very hot places—we get them with trade.”

“Gotta see them, then—va’dungas.” Jake smiled. “But Ma would slice ’em and toss ’em with sugar till they wept, then drop dough on top—real buttery, little clouds—and sprinkle cinnamon all over. Baked till the top went crisp and the peaches went soft. The whole house smelled like you could eat the air.”

Tsu’Tey’s head turned a fraction, as if following a scent.

“And at Christmas,” Jake continued, “Mrs. Martinez and Mrs. Yzaguirre would bring over buñuelos—thin dough fried in oil, shattery, and dusted with sugar and cinnamon. You’d bite and it’d explode sweet and warm. Tommy always had sugar on his nose like an idiot.” He laughed, soft and helpless. “I can still hear Mom fussing, ‘Don’t you dare eat over my clean floor.’”

Now Tsu’Tey tilted toward him, just enough for their shoulders to share heat. His voice, when it came, was casual in the way he was attempting not to be curious. “Say it again.”

“Buñuelos,” Jake murmured. “You’d burn your fingers sneakin’ them off the paper, and it was worth every blister.”

Tsu’Tey hummed, almost to himself. His ears were high; that tiny tell Jake had begun collecting. “Your mother made…cob-ler. Like a thick kxa mikyun?” A thick, sticky food?

“Cobbler. Like eatin’ pure sugar,” Jake said, grinning.

“Wow.” Tsu’Tey pretended he needed the better angle to hear, leaning a breath closer. His tail, resting idle along the branch, curled once and went still.

Jake bit his tongue on the urge to tease him for it—on the other man’s small awkwardnesses that showed when he was listening, the way his hands stayed too still or his gaze held too long. He only kept talking, giving him safe things to lean toward.

“Dad let me follow him,” Jake said. “Enlisted as soon as they’d take me. Thought soldiering was the straightest line between boy and man. Tommy…” He shook his head fondly. “Tommy was gonna heal planets. He almost did.” Almost.

They breathed together. Below, the glow-beetle galaxy drifted, and the forest sang its quiet song.

Silence again. Not unfriendly. 

“Your food sounds like a hunt reward.”

Jake’s teeth flashed. “One day I’ll try to make ’em. Actually, I’d probably burn down Hometree.”

“You will burn it,” Tsu’Tey agreed solemnly, which only made Jake snort.

They settled again. A pa’li herd whispered below in silver feet, turning the grass into a river. Tsu’Tey lifted two fingers; a hunter across the way mirrored the sign—seen, not threat—and vanished back into green.

“What do you eat for sweet?” Jake asked.

“Yovo fruit with fwengi syrup,” Tsu’Tey said. “Roasted roots with seasoned crushed seed.” A beat. “That is not truly only sweet, but I enjoy." Another pause, Tsu'Tey looked into the sky and the moons. "Anyunki nectar—the weavers bring when the flowers are heavy. We make sweetbuns. Sticky. Very good.”

Jake closed his eyes, picturing it. “Maybe we trade,” he murmured. “Your sticky, my sticky.”

“That is a thing you can say,” Tsu’Tey deadpanned, and Jake choked on a laugh, hand over his mouth to keep it from bouncing.

The patrol clock turned. A cool thread of wind came off the valley; the leaves answered. Tsu’Tey rose first to sweep the next arc of their route, all clean lines and control. Jake stood with him, and for a breath their shoulders touched. Neither moved away.

“Why patrol?” Tsu’Tey asked at last, and Jake knew he wasn’t asking why the clan—he meant you. “Olo’eyktan should sleep.”

“Can’t ask others to do what I won’t,” Jake said. Then, more honestly: “I like being where the edges are. Feels like I can hear the world think out here.” He flicked his gaze up, meeting the hue of Tsu’Tey’s eyes. “And I like the company.”

Tsu’Tey let his look linger, then looked away as quickly as he could. A faint sound—almost a chuff—escaped him, as if he’d tripped on surprise.

“You talk much.”

“I do,” Jake smiled, shaking his head. “But you listened.”

Tsu’Tey didn’t gift him a smile. He gave him something else: “Your mother was wise,” he said. “Your father clear. Your brother…very bright.” He paused, then added, soft and almost surprised at himself, “I like your stories.”

Jake’s chest went loose. “I like tellin’ them to you.”

They fell quiet again, but it wasn’t empty. Jake’s hand, resting near Tsu’Tey’s knee, shifted just enough that his knuckles brushed warm skin. Tsu’Tey didn’t move. The branch swayed minutely with their breath.

After a time, Tsu’Tey said, as if picking one thread from everything Jake had offered, “You will make this…sticky va’dunga pastry one day.” The words were matter-of-fact and not a promise slipped into an order.

Jake’s chest went hot, then soft. He smiled at the dark. “Yeah,” he said. “I will.”

Then Jake glanced sidelong, thoughtful. “You should also talk to Neytiri,” he said finally. His voice was low, almost apprehensive. “She seems…I dunno. Defeated. Like you two lost somethin’. That night she danced with you—hell, I thought it lit her up like a spark.”

“I have been waiting for her.” Tsu’Tey hummed, gaze still on the trees. “She has been busy with Peyral. I wanted to give her space.”

Jake blinked. “…Wait. You—you’re not mad? At her?”

“No?” Tsu’Tey tilted his head, as if the question itself were strange. His feelings might be all over the place, but mad? “Am I supposed to be?”

It clicked. Jake almost laughed out loud. Of course. Two of the most socially uncomfortable people he’d ever met had managed to misread each other into silence. Neytiri probably thought he’d been brooding all these weeks, when in truth Tsu’Tey had just been giving her space to flutter around Peyral.

Eywa knew Peyral needed the chance to flutter.

Jake let out a sigh. “Talk to her. She thinks you’re upset.”

Tsu’Tey made a noise deep in his throat—half sigh, half reluctance. Jake shook his head, amused. Put them in a war council and they were sharp as blades. Put them in a conversation about feelings, and they tied themselves into knots.

---

By late afternoon, the practice clearing smelled of sweat, churned earth, and the faint tang of mingled scents. Tsu’Tey had been drilling since sunrise, wrists aching from the steady pull of the bowstring, voice even as he corrected Awetx’s stance for the third time.

“Sorry, Karyu,” Awetx murmured, hands trembling as Tsu’Tey adjusted his bicep, chin, and shoulder before pushing them all back down again.

“You are fine,” Tsu’Tey hummed. Returning to routine after days of disruption felt almost like a blessing. “Now—shoot.”

The arrow flew, splitting the boy’s earlier try down the middle. Not perfect, not steady, but progress. “You do well. Have confidence. In yourself, and in your bow.”

Awetx nodded, scurrying off with a little more spring in his step. Tsu’Tey stretched his back until it popped, savoring the ache. That was the last of his one-on-one lessons for the day. Neytiri was meant to share instruction today—second-in-command, after all—but she had slipped away to go flying with Peyral. He smiled. They grew close—finally. He got frustrated with Peyral’s sad little huffs when Neytiri walked by.

He nocked another arrow anyway, squinting against the light, and let go.

He himself was a hypocrite.

A whistle. The shuffle of feet, heavy but trying too hard to mask it. Tsu’Tey did not have to look. The ground told him: Jake Sully, hovering at the edge of the circle like a ghost refusing to pass on. Not in, not out—just there. His presence alone a declaration.

Tsu’Tey did not acknowledge him. His heart did, and so did his palms when they felt a little hotter than usual. Because every time Jake appeared, it was harder to keep his face neutral, harder to keep his ears from betraying the twitch of interest. He could not afford that—not here, not now.  He let the last arrow fly, let the chatter of dispersing returning hunters fill the air, and kept his head down as he unbound his wrist and checked the bowstring for fray.

When he straightened, Jake was already there. Too close. His breath brushed Tsu’Tey’s shoulder.
“You’re a busy man.”

Busy. Purposefully so. It was easier to drown himself in drills and war plans than face the man who made his tail lash. Easier than letting Jake see the way his chest betrayed him—tight, restless, wanting.

“Y’told me to let my actions speak, didn’t ya?” Jake’s voice was quiet; the lazy drawl stretched thin. “Well… hopefully they’re speakin’ right.”

Aya, Tsu’Tey felt his face flush—he did say that; he said it after days of Jake just chasing him—because one dance under the fire and smoke and night was not enough. Before Tsu’Tey could move away, something solid was set into his palms. A spear shaft. Straight, sanded smooth, and bound tight with sinew. Balanced. Honest. Work born from big, clumsy hands trying very hard to do something small and careful.

Heat pricked Tsu’Tey’s ears. His mouth betrayed him first. “Your hands are better for hunts than for crafting.” Sharp, when his chest felt soft. He turned the shaft and tested the weight. “But this is…acceptable. Big enough for big game.”

Jake’s grin tugged crookedly. “High praise.”

Tsu’Tey clicked his tongue, turning aside as senior warriors passed, signing to the Olo’eyktan, then to him. Their glances lingered like burrs. He ignored that. He turned to Jake, even though the warmth of the shaft lingered in his hands. Jake, wisely, did not gloat—only lifted his palms, signing a brief greeting to the others as they moved past.

“Tsu’Tey!” Neytiri’s voice cut in, bright as birdsong. She swept into the circle, beads flashing, hair smelling of wind. Her glance flicked from spear to Jake, then lingered, a smile tugging wide. “I apologize for being late.”

“You can apologize by replacing the targets.”

“Wiya,” Neytiri grumbled, but obeyed. “I will just tell you later, skxawng.”

Tsu’Tey exhaled, pride caught on something softer. The shaft sat warm and right in his grip, and when he slid a spearhead from his pouch into the socket, the fit was clean. His tail betrayed him with a single lash.

Jake’s voice dipped quieter. “Take it. Use it. Or toss it in the fire if it’s junk. Just…do—” don’t throw it out.... “—doo as you please.” It ended with a smile—soft, sheepish.

Tsu’Tey’s gaze found him then, heavy, searching. He rotated the shaft once more, set the heel into the dirt, and leaned on it—not much, just enough to let it bear a sliver of his weight. Claim, without ceremony.

“Come to tomorrow’s drills,” he said at last. As close to a thank you as his throat would allow. “If—” he swallowed, “if you are not too busy…Olo’eyktan.”

Jake’s grin loosened, relief spilling into his face. “Yes, sir.”

“Do not call me—” Tsu’Tey’s ears flicked in irritation, but Jake was already retreating, palms raised in mock surrender, leaving the final word behind like a gift.

The sun was not fully over the trees yet, mist still curling low around the roots, when Jake showed up at the practice clearing. He was early—earlier than he needed to be. Bow slung, locs still damp from a quick rinse, ears twitching in restless little jerks.

He wished Neytiri were here. Neytiri smoothed things out, translating the silences Tsu’Tey left behind. Neytiri made the weight of all those staring eyes feel less like scrutiny, but Neytiri was with Peyral again. That left him…alone.

He had to get used to that—being alone and facing Tsu’Tey.

Being alone with Tsu’Tey.

Because that was the master plan—to be alone with Tsu’Tey. In the end. (He groaned—oh, when did he become this awkward?)

Tsu’Tey already was there, there with—

“Hi Olo’eyktan!” O’ame screeched, “Look, it is Jakesully!” And the line-up started chirping happily. Kids. Happily bubbly kids. Tsu’Tey hummed and only corrected a stance with a press of his palm, his tone clipped and authoritative. The children realigned like the ducklings they were, but still jumped and smiled all happily. When Tsu’Tey turned and saw Jake at the edge of the circle, his ears flicked—and he smiled. 

“So you arrive.”

Jake raised a hand anyway. “Mornin’, karyu.”

It did not last long. Nothing did with these kids. The kids always noticed.

O’ame bounced over, clutching a handful of crooked little arrows. “TeyTey! Are you going to help me with these later? My fletching keeps coming off.”

“Srane,” Tsu’Tey said firmly, nudging her back toward the line. “Eyes forward.”

Käkìt glanced sideways at Jake. “You helping Jakesully?”

Tsu’Tey’s ears twitched. “Olo’eyktan.”

Käkìt blinked innocently. “That is what I said, Tey! I say that!”

A snort went through the line. Jake tried—tried—not to laugh, biting the inside of his cheek until it hurt.

Another boy—Tsire, Jake believed (how could he forget the kid that constantly had to be pulled away by his mother from practically crawling into his hammock his first few weeks)—piped up, pointing openly at Jake: “Are you going to find a Tsahik? My mommy says the Olo’eyktan needs one! Or two!”

Tikan gasped. “He can not have two, dummy!”

Tsire hissed—high and all childish. “I am not a ‘dummy’ and neither is my mommy, so yes, he can!”

Jake froze, ears flushing dark. “Uh—well, I mean—”

“Silence,” Tsu’Tey snapped, cutting it off before Jake could even stammer through an answer. His tail lashed once, sharp. “You are here to train; our Olo’eyktan is here to help—do not be disrespectful.”

“Sorry, Tsu’Tey.” The chatter only muted to whispers, not gone. 

“He likes him,” one of the girls giggled under her breath, tugging her friend’s braid. “See? Funny.”

—

The village had gone quiet by the time Jake found him. Smoke from the cooking fires drifted low, glowing with the last embers of the day, and the hum of insects filled the gaps left by chatter.

Tsu’Tey was alone, perched on a root above the river, sharpening his knife. The steady scrape of stone against metal echoed in the dark. His tail twitched behind him—lazy, but restless.

Jake approached slowly, not wanting to spook him. “Evenin’.”

“Evening.” Tsu’Tey corrected. No snap, no glare. Just a hum. He did not look up, though his ears tipped back to mark Jake’s presence.

“Correctin’ my English too? Aren’t you somethin’,” Jake eased himself down beside him, letting his legs dangle over the river. Tsu’Tey hummed, and Jake did not say anything at first. Just let the sound of the water do the talking. Then, after a long beat: “Kids were somethin’ today, huh?”

That earned him the smallest hitch of Tsu’Tey’s mouth. Not quite a smile. Almost.

“They are nosy,” Tsu’Tey said at last. “Unfocused. I apologize.”

Jake grinned. “Nah, it’s funny. They’re cute—kinda like bugs, persistent but cute.”

This time, Tsu’Tey’s chest shook. A short, sudden laugh burst out before he could stop it, his head ducking like he could hide it from the night. His tail lashed once, sharp, betraying him.

Jake froze, staring. His heart climbed into his throat. Because Eywa, he was beautiful like this. Ears tilted forward, teeth showing just barely, tail cutting the air. Actually beautiful didn’t even cover it.

Tsu’Tey clicked his tongue, recovering fast, though the warmth lingered in his eyes. “You are ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but you were laughing.” Jake’s grin was crooked and shameless. He pushed his face into tsu'Tey's face.

Tsu’Tey shook his head, but he did not move away. Did not chase Jake off. The river carried the silence between them, easy now instead of sharp.

Jake pushed himself to his feet and away, reluctantly, brushing dirt from his hands. Eytukan wanted him up early; they had talks with Olo’eykte Ikeyni and High Priestess of the Tawkami in the morning. “See you tomorrow?”

Tsu’Tey’s ears perked before he could stop them. His voice came out quieter than he meant it to. “...Tomorrow.”

---

Night poured through the Home Tree in blue-green slivers. The firepit hummed with low conversation, the sweet, sharp smoke of roasting roots curling in the air.

Tsu’Tey sat with his knees drawn up, a length of cord sliding between his fingers, braiding and unbraiding. Better to keep his hands busy than let them betray the urge to reach for the man across the flames.

It had been days since Jake had last appeared in the training circle, days since the spear was in his palms (it now rested near his bow’s holder, in his basket). In those few days, Tsu’Tey had turned away other offerings since then: the carved beads from a hopeful omega, the feather pendant from a young alpha, and the flask of fermented root another clan’s warrior pressed into his hand. All politely, all firmly refused. He had no space for them, no desire for anyone else’s scent to linger. His mind was already occupied. Too occupied.

Jake, Jake, Jake.

His fingers trembled. Eywa, was he a child?

A shadow crossed the firelight. The scent reached him first—smoke, wet earth, salt not of the sea.

“I, uh…Sorry, I missed drills.” Jake rubbed the back of his neck, pulling something small from a leather pouch. His voice was low and careful, not at all diplomatic like it was earlier when he talked to Olo’eyktan Akwey.

"You need not apologize; you are a 'busy man', as you once said."

Jake's ears twitched and he smiled. “Made you somethin’.”

Tsu’Tey’s ears wanted to flatten and perk all at once. He tamped both down. “Your last something was good,” he answered with a smile.

Jake opened his palm. A bracelet lay there, rough-edged but polished, gleaming like stones from the river. Of oranges and browns and wood. The carved lines tried for Omaticaya swirls and made it halfway—uneven, earnest.

“For you. So we can match.”

Match? Tsu’Tey blinked. Then he remembered—the bracelet he had once meant to give, before the fall, before everything. His gaze dropped to Jake’s wrist. There it was: smooth stones and dangling gems in red, emerald green, translucent yellow. Stolen from Ninat’s bowls and whittled. He had stayed up late in the night to make sure it was right. Something that could bridge him and Jake closer outside of training and their idle chatter.

“Neytiri gave it to me. After…” Jake swallowed.

Tsu’Tey closed his eyes, nodding once.

“You can have it back, if—”

“Keep. I made this for you—gift,” His voice came quiet, final. “I am glad you received it.”

Silence settled, threaded with firecracking and the murmur of the People.

“Wear this,” Jake said, then softly added: “if you want.”

The beads were warm from Jake’s skin when Tsu’Tey took them. Ridiculous, to be moved by carved wood. More ridiculous to feel the thrum in his chest, picturing it snug around his wrist, pressed against the pulse where only those close enough to breathe him in would notice.

“It is crude,” he pointed out, because someone had to keep the world upright, “but not without effort.”

Jake huffed a laugh. “Story of my life.”

Across the fire, Neytiri watched. Knowing. Her smile tugged wide, and when Peyral’s elbow brushed hers, she did not move away—she leaned in. The curve of her mouth said a thousand wordless things.

Tsu’Tey fingered the beads, but he did not lift his braids. Did not show Jake the sight of it sliding onto his wrist or how his face burned hot and violet. Instead, he pressed a bowl into Jake’s hands. “Eat. You burn too fast.” Then he looked up, truly to the side, hoping his face was not as hot as it felt. “I know you sometimes forget.”

Jake took it, a bewildered smile loosening into something softer.

Later, when Neytiri came to Tsu’Tey two hours later, she said nothing at all. Just smoothed his hair with a hand and smiled. Tsu’Tey breathed easier. The bracelet clicked softly at his wrist.

---

Rain had cooled the day into a pleasant ache. The clan gathered in loose circles around the central meeting pit, smoke curling up as bowls passed hand to hand, laughter rising and falling like the hum of night insects—voices of the Omaticaya mingled with those of Tayrangi and Olangi scouts and the clipped tones of the remaining scientists who had been permitted to stay. Tsu’Tey chose a place at the edge—near enough to listen, far enough to breathe.

He had spent the morning with Mo’at. Later, in what Arvok called “babying him,” as he drifted among his brother, Akeylong, Kiratx, and their newborn—Tarsem, squalling and bright. He had not seen much of Jake. The man had been in and out of the village, talking to other figureheads, and Tsu’Tey tried not to think too much of it. 

They had spent the afternoon locked in council, discussing raids, training rotations, and how to distribute supplies brought in by hunting bands; territories blurred after war and more than once did Neytiri and him have to travel to sisterclans to hash lines and reorganize discord. Tsu’Tey had sat across from Jake the whole time, eyes fixed on maps and reports, never once letting his gaze linger. Never once letting slip that he had noticed when Jake shifted too much in his seat or when his ears tipped at the cadence of Na’vi words.

It had been days since they had spoken properly. Days filled with duties and travels.

There was a grunt—a body that did not ask permission as it slotted itself in at Tsu’Tey’s side like a bone finding its joint, thigh to thigh, heat a quiet insistence. The bench of woven roots dipped under their combined weight; Tsu’Tey’s balance shifted, and his body went still as a hunted yerik.

“You are too close,” he murmured, not moving.

“Mmh.” Jake tore a strip of roasted meat with his teeth, swallowed, and offered the choicest cut over without looking. “Ain’t this what you do when you’re tryna get to know someone?”

A ripple of amusement moved through the circle, not unkind. Children’s laughter flared two fires away, braided with Arvok’s low voice. Neytiri grumbled to Olo’eykte Ikeyni about being left to teach alone; Ninat’s bright laugh followed. Eytukan leaned on his mate, and Mo’at’s gaze swept the circle, lingered on them, and passed on—his scowl lessening.

“Miss me?”

Tsu’Tey took the meat—a mistake. The first bite was always the admission. His ears burned. “Your mouth is a river that has forgotten its banks,” he muttered.

“And I knew you did.” Jake leaned closer, shoulder warm against his. His voice dropped for Tsu’Tey alone. “Besides, you keep standin’ next to it.”

Tsu’Tey kept chewing. The meat was good—smoky and tender. He hated that Jake knew his preferences well enough to choose well-seasoned over sweet, marrow over lean. Hated more that the heat under his skin was not wholly irritation.

The circle carried on. A hunter told a story of a misfired arrow, and an elder sang a crude fragment and was promptly scolded. Tsu’Tey corrected a boastful child’s grammar, then corrected Jake’s struggle to read the Na’vi phrasing, murmuring a correction back in. Tsu’Tey let the noise wash over him while the man beside him radiated warmth through beads, words, and skin.

Jake’s thigh pressed, not by accident. Not a challenge, either—a claim without grab. I am here. I will be here. Tsu’Tey’s tail twitched, then stilled, the omega in him choosing to tolerate this presence in his space. Perhaps “tolerate” was too thin a word for the way his muscles loosened and the way his heart picked up.

“You breathe too loud,” Tsu’Tey said at last, which in another language might have meant do not move.

Jake’s mouth curved against the rim of his bowl as he sipped the both in his bowl. “I’ll try to breathe quieter, baby.”

Baby—The word should have raked him raw. Instead, it caught and lodged beneath his breastbone like a bead sewn into cloth—something you did not realize was there until it brushed your skin. It made his heart run.

He did not shift away. He ate. He listened. When Jake’s knee bumped his again, he let it. The bench held them both without complaint. The insects sang.

---

The light at dusk in the high platforms did a strange thing to skin—made it luminous where the leaves broke it, made edges soft. Tsu’Tey sat balanced on a crossbeam, one foot hooked under the other, cleaning the last of the day’s grit from his bow. His hair fell loose. He pretended it had always been that way, though the truth was Neytiri had threatened to tie his hands together if he tried to cut it again, and Ninat—with half the singers—had sided with her.

“Found ya.”

Tsu’Tey’s ears twitched. Jake’s voice came from below before he hauled himself up, reckless as ever, with a grunt. He swung onto the beam beside him with ease that made Tsu’Tey’s pulse lurch and his tail flick once, betraying him. One day, the fool would slip, and Tsu’Tey knew he would leap after him.

“Couldn’t find you on the ground,” Jake groaned, leaning back on his palms. “Figured you were hidin’ up here. Hope you don’t mind.”

“I do not hide,” Tsu’Tey muttered, bristling at the accuracy. And no, he did not mind.

“No hide,” Jake conceded, his mouth quirking, “you just…perch.”

The silence between them was not awkward anymore. Not after weeks of slipping into each other’s company after duties. It had become a quiet ritual—Jake seeking him out, Tsu’Tey allowing it. Wanting it. Or the other way around. Neither of them saying as much.

Jake’s thigh brushed against his, subtle and steady. A touch that could be explained away by balance, by narrow space. Tsu’Tey’s tail twitched again, this time striking once against Jake’s leg, then tickling. Both went still at the contact—heat prickling under skin.

Tsu’Tey bent over his bow to hide it, scraping at a fleck of sap—sticky children with sticky hands. The world narrowed to the scrape of knife on wood, the low clink of beads, and the tide of Jake’s breathing beside him.

When loose braids slipped across his cheek, Jake’s hand was there. Warm, callous, careful. He swept them back behind Tsu’Tey’s ear, fingers brushing the curve in a motion that was unhurried and reverent. Others had touched his hair before. Never like this. This was a palm turned upward—empty, waiting.

“Couldn’t see your face,” Jake said, voice low, almost apologetic.

Tsu’Tey went still, every line of him pausing—even his tail, which curled traitorously until it pattered again on Jake’s thigh. The instinct to bare fangs at encroachment flared for half a breath…and faltered. Instead, he leaned—just enough to catch the warmth of Jake’s fingers still ghosting near his cheek and temple. Like a plant tilting toward the sun.

“You are…touchy,” he murmured at last. The words were meant to cut, but the bite had drained away. Especially when he noticed Jake’s own tail pinging behind him, restless as an insect’s wingbeat.

Jake’s hand slipped back to the beam, knuckles brushing against it, almost losing his balance. His laugh was quiet and nervous in a way that softened him. “Mm. You’d’ve stopped me if you didn’t want me to.”

The words pressed close, heavier than they should have. Tsu’Tey’s chest pulled tight. Because, truthfully, he could have if he wanted to. He set his knife aside with deliberate care and turned, facing Jake fully. Hair neat, beads clicking, face unhidden—definitely tinted indigo. The nightbeams caught along his cheekbones.

“Do not fall,” he spoke with a voice softer than he meant it, which was as close to tender as he dared with his throat closing.

Jake’s grin spread slowly as he drummed lightly on the beam. “Kinda hard not to.”

---

If there was one thing Tsu’Tey hated about duties, it was how seasoned you were aligned with how long you would have to stay for meetings. As Olo’kram, he had been present for every council. As Tsakarem, he had sat through long hours of rituals beside Mo’at. As Leading Warhead? Meeting nights were the worst. Too many eyes. At least Neytiri, as the secondary, need not show up. 

Too many voices tugging at him: the Olo'eyktan’s questions about patrols and rotations, the elders’ endless worries about boundary markers explained seasons ago, and hunters’ complaints dressed as petitions. By the time the last fire dimmed, his head felt like a drum.

The walkway between roots breathed cool night air over him like water poured on fever. The path dipped and then rose in an easy slope toward the upper nests.  

He moved with his shoulders loose for the first time that day, his breath easing—alone.

Footsteps joined his, half a beat behind his own. He did not need to look.

“I can walk without escort,” he said. “The path is not dangerous.”

“Not an escort,” Jake’s drawl came easy. “Just wanna walk with you.”

Tsu’Tey wanted to say ‘go away’ and mean it without a smile. He knew Jake had things to go over with others—Mo’at, whose tail had been lashing sharply all evening, and the other leaders awaiting with questions. Jake should have been spending his planning time and leisure elsewhere, not wasting it trailing after him. For him.

Tsu’Tey said nothing. The leaves whispered for him.

Jake’s hand moved without thought, catching the tip of Tsu’Tey’s tail as it brushed past, then more of the body. He gave the gentlest tug—absentminded, like second nature—and Tsu’Tey startled, chuckling under his breath as he batted at Jake’s arm. But he did not pull away. Did not reclaim the space. Instead, his body shifted with the motion, falling back into Jake’s side as if that was where balance belonged.

The silence stretched between them—not sharp, but weighted. Familiar. By now it was not unusual to see Jake beside Tsu’Tey or Tsu’Tey beside Jake. Even the scientists had started giving them a quiet, intrigued look. The gifts from others had not stopped; they slowed, still tucked into his hands or left at his hammock. He returned them all.

A moth the size of a broad hand flitted into his face. Tsu’Tey slapped it away and, from the corner of his eye, caught Jake’s grin. Fond, not mocking.

“You handled half a day’s worth of complaints without biting anybody,” Jake said at last, voice pitched low as if this were private. “I’m proud of you.”

A sound rose deep in Tsu’Tey’s throat, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “I am not a child to be praised for not biting, and half of those were not complaints—just elders seeking excuses to be sour.”

Jake chuckled. “Pretty sure half the hunters only behave ’cause they think you might. Keeps ’em sharp, baby.”

The endearment slipped out soft as breath. Tsu’Tey froze, tail twitching once where it still brushed against Jake’s arm. His ears tipped back, heat blooming under his skin, but he did not pull away. He stayed, close enough to feel the steady rhythm of Jake’s breath against him.

They passed a gap in the bark where the sky showed itself. Thin moons. Bright stars. Tsu’Tey brushed a hanging vine, and it chimed like a child’s toy rattle. It made him think, against his will, of futures he had not allowed himself to envision, and for the first time that day, the weight of it all felt easier to bear.

They reached the mouth of his bedding hollow. The woven hammock swayed gently with the small winds drifting through the roots, stirred by the breathing of sleepers beyond—families curled together, couples sharing warmth. Tsu’Tey could have chosen the family nesting with Mo’at, Eytukan, and Neytiri, could have let their closeness press the noise from his mind but tonight he wanted only quiet.

Jake stopped at the edge, careful not to lean on the frame, as if he already knew where the invisible boundary lay. He stood steady, hands loose at his sides, and only waited, as if he knew the threshold as well as Tsu’Tey did—where to pause, where not to intrude.

“Thanks for lettin’ me be annoyin’,” Jake said. “Tomorrow I’ll try for slightly less annoyin’.”

“That would be a first,” Tsu’Tey said. The words were soft, shaped around a smile he did not show.

Jake tilted his head toward the dark inside. “Get some sleep. I’ll see you in the mornin’.”

“Yes.” Tsu’Tey’s tail curled once, uncurled—his body betraying him. Before thought could catch up, he reached out. Two fingers brushed the inside of Jake’s wrist, just under the bracelet, pressing where he could feel the steady thrum of Jake’s heart. Not a clasp. A mark: I see you.

Jake froze, breath hitching. The nightlight caught in his eyes as he slowly turned his hand, meeting Tsu’Tey’s touch palm to palm. His thumb lingered, brushing along Tsu’Tey’s fingers, barely there. Their faces were close—too close for the moment to feel casual.

For a breath, it felt inevitable. A lean forward, a tilt of the head, and their mouths would have met. The air between them was alive with it, fragile as spun glass.

Jake’s voice broke the spell, low and rough. “'Night, sweetheart.”

Jake slipped away into the walkway before he could see what the word did to the meat of Tsu’Tey’s soul before Tsu’Tey could answer.

---

Jake’s Na’vi was good now. Better than good, some days. He still tripped over verb clusters when he got too excited, still flattened vowels with Texas drawl bleeding in, still turned forest syllables into plains sounds. Tsu’Tey had made a sport of correcting him—clean as a knife, quick as a lash. Duty, yes, but also habit; if he were honest, a way to put his hands on Jake without saying why. A trick his mother taught him—something she did with his sempul.

They stood knee-deep in the shallows where the river tossed light up in coins. Jake had caught three fish to Tsu’Tey’s four and was pretending it did not irritate him. He gestured with his spear, muttering about current, angle, and the way shadows made prey hi’i. He meant hì’i—small. He said hi’i—a nonsense syllable that turned his mouth into a smile, Tsu’Tey wanted to hoard forever.

The correction rose, slick and easy: It is hì’i, not hi’i. The mark mattered. He could have said it without turning his head. He had said it a hundred times.

He did not say it.

He let the wrong vowel hang in the sunny space between them and watched Jake’s hands instead. They were sure. The angle was right. The strike was clean. The fish arced bright through the air and slapped the bank, outraged. Jake whooped.

“Ha! Look at that. Told you I could read the…the—” He fumbled for a word, then surrendered. “—the wiggle.”

Tsu’Tey snorted, helpless. “Yes. The wiggle. ”

Jake grinned, light pouring out of him like something that did not have to be rationed. “Don’t you got a proper word for it?”

“We do,” Tsu’Tey said. He set his spear again. He did not offer it.

Jake’s eyes narrowed, not in frustration but in thought. “You ain’t corrected me in a whole minute,” he said slowly, and if he really wanted to make a point, he would have pointed out Tsu’Tey had not corrected him ever since the night he walked him to his hammock. “You feelin’ alright?”

Tsu’Tey kept his focus on the water. A shadow moved; he moved with it—clean, quick, alive. The fish broke the surface into a hundred fragments. “I have accepted that your mouth is…your mouth.”

Jake laughed so brightly he nearly lost his footing. “That the nicest thing you ever said to me?”

“Do not make me take it back,” Tsu’Tey warned, though his ears, traitors, tipped forward.

They splashed in the water a while, spears flicking, fish darting. The kind of silence that was not silence—river running, insects singing, Jake occasionally muttering curses when his spear targeted too late or wrong. It was comfortable—casual.

Then Jake cleared his throat. Too nonchalant.  “I heard you turned away some of the Tipani. Well—Omaticaya now.”

Tsu’Tey caught another fish cleanly, with no pause in the movement. He laid it on the bank without answering.

Jake did not press on that if knew he also rejected the Olangi and a couple of Rey’tanu, maybe a Hulanta or two—three. 

“That’s a lot of admirers. You got standards higher’n mine?”

“I do,” Tsu’Tey said simply, resetting his spear—Jake stared at it for a moment—it was the spear he gave him. "How do you think I have gotten so far."

Jake chuckled, but it did not quite cover the edge in his tone. As if he wasn’t currently getting bitched to hell and back because he was a mateless Olo’eyktan and the person he wanted the most was just existing in front of him. Looking handsome and pretty, while just...existing. He exhaled; Eywa help him.

Tsu’Tey’s tail twitched once behind him. His eyes stayed on the water.

“Y’know…” Jake's voice softened, losing some of his grin. “You’re allowed to be happy. To…pick someone. Ain’t gotta keep sayin’ no.”

The words sat heavy between them. More than he meant to show. He wanted to tack on a joke, but his throat closed around it.

“I know.” Tsu’Tey’s spear trembled a fraction above the water. He turned his head, just enough to glance at Jake. The riverlight caught the sharp line of his cheek, his unreadable eyes. “I…know.”

Jake swallowed, heart beating like a drum but before, if he asked outright—before Tsu’Tey could speak, a shriek of laughter split the river’s hush.

Peyral barreled into the shallows, hair flying, water arcing off her steps. Behind her, Neytiri gave chase, brandishing a spear with a fish skewered on the end like a weapon of war.

Jake startled, then barked a laugh, relief punching out of him too fast. Tsu’Tey exhaled through his nose, a long, controlled breath, and reset his spear as if nothing had been said.

—

The forest was loud that night: pond frogs croaking, water rushing fast over smooth stone, and the leaves whispering above him. Neytiri and Peyral had run across, and Tsu’Tey had gone down to the river’s edge to watch the water ripples, quiet, spear across his knees, shoulders eased for the first time all day. As if he expected solitude.

Jake followed anyway.

He crouched nearby, hands trailing in the current, watching light shiver against the water. Tsu’Tey didn’t send him away. He’d stopped doing that weeks ago.

“You know,” Jake said finally, voice rough in the night air—he'd just have to do it; fuck it all. “I keep thinkin’ you’re just waitin’ me out. Like if you glare long enough, I’ll give up.” His smile tilted wryly. “But then I realize…you’re just shy.”

Tsu’Tey’s ears angled back, tail flicking once, but he didn’t snap. Didn’t move away.

Jake leaned closer, his eyes steady, serious now. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere. Not unless you tell me to.” The unspoken hung between them: Not unless you choose someone else. Not unless you don’t want me, and I know you do. Disregarding it all—Jake knew what he wanted and it was right in front of him. 

The river filled the pause, carrying the words downstream.

Tsu’Tey turned, slow and deliberate, and looked at him—really looked. For once, no guarded mask, no sharp edge. Just gold eyes, soft in the moonlight, the wall truly falling—in what Jake hoped was forever for him.

“Is that what you want?” His voice was low, cautious, and quite tender. “Me? Truly? ”

“More than anything,” Jake said. His throat worked around the truth like it was too big to swallow. You must also choose me.

Tsu’Tey’s mouth curved, as slow as dawn when it broke over a canopy. Not a sneer, not mockery. A smile—small, real, meant for Jake alone. “Very persistent.”

On the walk home, Jake tried out three Na’vi phrases he had mangled the week before.

Two he got right. The third slipped clumsily off his tongue.

Tsu’Tey corrected him with gentle precision, his tone steady but not sharp. “The vowel is…how you say—rounder. Again.”

Jake grinned, rolling the sound closer this time. “Better?”

A hum. Approval. “It is...good.”

“Good?” Jake laughed, bumping his shoulder against Tsu’Tey’s in faux-pride—and this time, Tsu’Tey did not just let it stay. His tail flicked once, curling lightly around Jake’s calf before sliding up and away. Jake nearly missed a step, heat rushing into his ears.

“Hey now,” Jake said low, teasing to mask the way his heart kicked. “You keep doin’ that, I’m liable to trip.”

“Then pay attention to where you walk,” Tsu’Tey murmured, but the edge had long gone soft.

The silence stretched between them, charged, thick with what neither dared name. Jake brushed his knuckles against the back of Tsu’Tey’s hand—testing—and Tsu’Tey did not withdraw. Instead, he tilted his palm just enough for their fingers to catch, to hold for a single heartbeat.

Jake exhaled hard, breaking the contact before he lost his nerve completely. He should have let it end there. Should’ve.

When Tsu’Tey shifted a step ahead, Jake’s hand moved without thought, catching him by the waist and tugging him back flush to his side. He buried his face into the warm slope of Tsu’Tey’s neck, breathing deep.

“Jake—” Tsu’Tey’s voice faltered, caught between warning and something more dulcet. He could feel the man’s breath against his skin, hot and unsteady. His ears twitched along with his tail.

Jake’s laugh was muffled in his throat. “Sorry. Just—you smell good. And—y’know you’re taller than me? Never noticed ‘til right now. Makes this really unfair.”

“You are ridiculous.” Tsu’Tey’s ears burned violet. 

“Maybe,” Jake said, grinning against his neck, “but I’m ridiculous for you.”

Tsu’Tey did not shove him off. Did not even step away. He only muttered, softer, “Skxawng,” and let Jake’s hand stay warm against his waist all the way back to the hollow.

✦

Jake sat cross-legged in Peyral’s space, watching her work with steady, reverent hands as she bent the soft gold wire around an iridescent opal.

“You do not have to be so nervous,” Neytiri said, lounging beside him with her chin in her palm, eyes full of amusement. “You act like he is going to throw the gift in your face and then feed you to Mitnal.” There was a pause. “Mitnal is a very picky eater.”

“Y’know you ain’t funny.” Jake scowled, pushing Neytiri, who hissed. “He might. He’s thrown spears at me before.”

Peyral snorted softly under her breath. “That was before he wanted to be around you. He has let you in his space—we call that “Eylanpay”— share walking, or what you sawtutes call ‘dating.’ Usually it is done earlier than this, but you are different, and so is he.” 

“Thanks, Peyral.” Jake’s ears burned. Because it was true. He had cornered Tsu’Tey and pleaded—truly—for a chance, for a moment to prove he was willing to do anything—anything—to just prove he could be someone he could come back home to, and Tsu’Tey hadn’t said no—but he wasn’t saying ‘yes’ to others’ courting gifts, so that had to be a sign.

Peyral offered him a half-smile, brushing an opal against a smoothed stone to clean the edges. “I only speak the truth.”

Neytiri reached out to swat Jake’s tail. “And still you doubt. Eywa has truly blessed this.”

Jake ran a hand through his dreads, his shoulders tight. “I just don’t want to mess this up. I’m Olo’eyktan now. He knows I’ve got a clan to think about. I don’t want him thinkin’ I’d—” he hesitated, looking between them— “entertain anyone else.”

At that, Neytiri’s face softened. She leaned forward, resting her hand on his knee.

“He would never think that, Jake. Tsu’Tey trusts. He does not play games. He does not flirt. If he has accepted even the idea of courting, he is already yours. You just have to show him—in front of the People—he is yours too. It is the way.”

Jake let out a slow breath, looking down at the array of pieces Peyral had laid out: beads, thread, gold-bent wire, and a set of pale blue opals that shimmered in the torchlight.

“You’re sure he’ll like this?”

Peyral paused, then grinned—shy, a little awkward—and set down her tools. “Tsu’Tey loves shiny things—opals are Tsu’Tey’s favorite. Sylwanin said he used to steal stones from Artsut’s collection when he was a kid and hide them in his satchel.”

“Eywa! He also used to collect the shiny stones from the rivers!” 

Jake laughed. Of course he did. A little magpie.

“And,” Peyral added, biting her lip, “he will like that you did not make the carvings. He gets annoyed when people do shoddy work out of pride. He respects humility.”

Jake blanched; so there is a good chance Tsu'Tey didn't actually like his bracelet. (Hint: Tsu'Tey genuinely liked it) “Callin' me humble?”

“I’m calling you smart enough to ask for help in regard to this,” she pointed. “You thought of the the weaving—you give me the design details, so it is your brain and my hands.”

“Peyral is very talented. Her mother taught her all these designs; you are in gifted hands.” From across the tent, Neytiri hummed, grabbing the golden weavings, not aware of the way Peyral flushed slightly.

“You know,” Jake murmured, “you’ve been at it for two weeks now. Maybe you should try a courting gift.”

Peyral dropped the bead she was holding.

Neytiri turned to look between them and blinked, suspicious. “What are you whispering? I want to whisper, too.”

“Nothing!” Peyral squeaked, then cleared her throat. “Nothing important.”

Jake, ever the instigator, chuckled as he leaned back. “Just tryin’ to help people get their happy endings.”

Neytiri squinted.

Jake reached for the box on the mat—opal necklace, earrings neatly tucked, a little soft pouch of bead rings Neytiri had made just because.

“Wish me luck,” Jake muttered. “Pray he doesn’t roundhouse kick me.”

Neytiri did not even look up from where she was mending her tweng. “Do you have the kxumpay?”

His eyes went wide. “Shit. Toss it to me?”

Neytiri rolled her eyes and reached into her satchel, then lobbed the small clay jar underhand toward him. “Horrible memory.”

Jake fumbled it—nearly dropped the damn thing—then clutched it like it was a newborn. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he muttered. “Lifesaver.”

Peyral snorted, handing Neytiri a bead. “You look like you are going into battle—it is only Tsu’Tey.”

Jake shot her a grin. “This could end badly, so yes.”

“Eywa,” Neytiri said, standing and dusting her hands. “Maybe that means you will not say something stupid.”

“I ain’t made any promises.”

“Ain’t—that is not a word.” Neytiri crossed her arms, her expression amused but fond. “Besides, he already said yes, Jake. He just has not said it out loud yet. Mawey. Eywa will guide you.”

Jake sobered at that. He looked down at the box in his hands—opal and kxumpay and effort—and then looked back up at the two women who had helped him build it. His comrades. His family. His witnesses. “Wish me luck?”

Peyral gave a smile, while Neytiri stepped forward to place a hand on his chest. “Go make a fool of yourself.”

—

Jake Sully had always prided himself on being unflappable, a trait he attributed to years of military duty. He was as sure of himself as the rain was wet. On Earth, he'd been a notorious ladies' man, cocky as hell, a heartbreaker with a grin. He was nice about it—kind and courteous because that was how he was raised. But this? This moment was different.

Jake hiked the final level of the Kelutral, a faint grunt leaving his throat as he hoisted himself up the last branch. The higher he climbed, the more nervous he got. His fingers were clammy, his shoulders tight. He clutched the gift box close to his chest, wrapped with hand-twined fibers and sealed with a carved clasp.

He paused when he spotted Tsu’Tey, alone. The rest of the treetop resting spots were empty—most of the clan were at midday duties. Tsu’Tey? He lay sprawled in his leafy-green hammock, the bindings hugging his long limbs, chest rising and falling in a slow, even breath.

Jake had to steady himself. His heart was beating too fast—dammit.

"Staring issue, Sully?" came a voice, low and lazy.

Jake startled. Tsu'Tey hadn't even opened his eyes. Though his nose twitched.

"If you were anyone else, I might have actually stabbed you. I do not like being stared at."

Jake chuckled nervously. "I don't doubt you would have."

Tsu'Tey slowly sat up, his eyes finally cracking open, gleaming with quiet amusement. "Come sit."

Jake eased into the hammock beside him, tucking his thighs against the omega's as naturally as he could manage. His tail betrayed him, flicking anxiously.

"I must be special," Jake offered with a grin that tried too hard.

"You might be," Tsu’Tey said, unbothered. His usual warrior attire—leather chestpiece, dark brown loincloth—looked like a second skin.

Jake swallowed. He leaned in just a little. "Might?"

Their bodies bumped gently, and the silence between them filled with the buzz of insects and far-off birdsong. Tsu’Tey’s hand slipped over Jake’s, brushing the gift box.

"I suppose you did not just come here to see me?"

Jake floundered. "Yes! I mean—no. Well...shit." His accent got thicker when he got flustered, vowels slowing like honey and consonants softening like melted butter. "I got somethin' for ya."

Tsu’Tey's mouth twitched. He was enjoying this.

Jake cleared his throat. "I, uh…I got a gift for y-you."

His fingers slid the box forward, their hands brushing. Tsu’Tey stilled.

"Jake?"

"I'm doin' this proper. Said I would court ya right. I'm a man of my word."

Tsu’Tey looked at him, long and deep, before finally accepting the box. He tugged the twine open. Inside: a carefully crafted chestpiece of bent golden wire, nestled welo opals gleaming like frozen starlight.

"Sevin," Tsu’Tey murmured. "Pretty...so very pretty."

Jake held his breath, then dug out the earrings and the jar. "Neytiri helped me find the opals; Peyral with the weldin'. I didn’t know where t’start. Oh, this—uh, I made this. Lotion. Smell nice, I hope."

"You made this?" Tsu’Tey twisted the jar open. The scent hit him—rich, sugary. His eyes widened.

Jake nodded. "Yeah. Just for you. 'Cause someone said you liked...y'know. Creams."

Tsu’Tey purred. A real purr. Deep, warm, vibrating. Jake nearly melted on the spot. Such a cat.

"Unyor. Smells good. Irayo,  Jake."

“Oel ngati kameie,” Jake whispered, serious now, soft and hoarse. "I don’t want anyone else. You’re mine—I want you to be mine." Please, choose me.

Tsu’Tey stared at him, his cheeks purpled at the edges. He held up the necklace. "Put this on me."

Jake fumbled with the clasp, suddenly reverent. He touched the back of Tsu’Tey's neck and his collarbone, and he could feel the strong beat of the omega's heart. He paused—he was so warm, and pretty…

"If you still want me," Tsu’Tey whispered.

Jake looked up. "If I still want you? For fuck's sake."

He traced the necklace, pressing it down into place. "Pretty thing you are."

Tsu’Tey traced the earrings and then put them on. A final touch. His purr didn’t stop. He doubt he could make it.

Jake leaned in and pulled him closer, hands gentle on his waist.

Their breaths mingled.

"Your tail dances like an ikran in mating season," Tsu’Tey murmured, ears flicking.

Jake smirked, lips inches away. "Does it now?"

Then he kissed him.

Soft at first. Jake’s lips barely brushed against Tsu’Tey’s. He was testing the air between them, letting the moment stretch—slow and tentative. Tsu’Tey pressed in more and tilted his chin, just a little. Their noses met, nuzzling. Jake’s nose brushed over Tsu’Tey’s cheek. They hovered before Jake pressed their lips together again. Firmer.

Tsu’Tey’s hand came up to clutch Jake’s forearm. A throaty gasp. The hammock shifted. Their mouths moved together—hunger deepening. Jake poured everything into it—all that tension, all that yearning, the way he’d been dreaming of Tsu’Tey’s mouth since the moment he saw him. Alive. Breathing. Warm.

He wanted this for life.

When they pulled back, Jake's breathing was shallow, his chest heaving. Tsu’Tey’s voice was breathless. 

Jake grinned, dazed. "That a yes?”

---

Taking the pastures where the pa’lis roamed was supposed to be a shortcut—Jake’s idea of leading Tsu’Tey “the scenic way” to the river so they could “patrol” and not call it a date (even if they had held hands and were entwined in each other like two lovestruck teenagers). 

There were no fences, no human lines or markers—just rolling swells of earth that opened into more terrain, rich grass cropped low from grazing, and the stomping of hooves. Thickets at the edges where the mares kept their foals hidden until they were strong enough to run. 

The air carried the musk of leather hide and sweet hay, and dust motes turned lazy in the gold light—and Jake inhaled it without meaning to.

It hit him deep. Reminded him of ranch mornings in Montana. Horses blowing steam in the frost. The iron tang of Texas dust after a ride. He shut his eyes for a second, exhaling through his nose like he could drink it down.

“God, I missed this,” he muttered, more to himself than to Tsu’Tey. Then, with a crooked grin, “Weird, huh? Likin’ the smell.”

He braced for a crack—you are strange— or a roll of those sharp golden eyes, but Tsu’Tey only walked on, quiet. His ears twitched, catching the honesty in Jake’s voice. He did not tease, did not mock.

Before Jake could make another joke about it, Tsu’Tey stopped dead.

The foals were out.

Spindly legs. Silly, serious eyes. Ears that kept trying to stand tall and then folded like tiny sails. One bold little thing wobbled forward—sniffling at Tsu’Tey’s thigh before springing back, then darting close again, prancing in an excited circle. A game. Tsu’Tey went down into a crouch so smoothly it made Jake’s breath catch—warrior quiet turned to tender, coaxing motion. His voice slipped lower, a soft croon in Na’vi that Jake didn’t need translated: hey there, little one; strong legs, brave heart.

The foal jumped into its space and ran closer, huffed into his palm, then shoved its soft muzzle into his cheek with a comical little snort. Tsu’Tey’s whole face changed—the warrior lines ironed smooth, his eyes blown wide and shining. He laughed once, startled by the joy, then again as the foal backed away only to prance back and nosedive into his braid, tugging it like a toy.

The sound of his laughter went straight through Jake’s ribs, like someone had strummed them with fingers.

“Didn’t know I was competin’ with baby horses,” Jake drawled, sinking onto a sun-warmed rock to watch. “Shoulda brought flowers.”

“Pa’li,” Tsu’Tey corrected softly, without glancing up. “Not your horses. And you are not competing. You are…observing.”

“That what we’re callin’ it?” Jake slid closer until their shoulders touched. He could feel the heat off Tsu’Tey’s skin and the calm of his breathing. “You’re beautiful when you smile like that, baby.”

Tsu’Tey’s ears flicked violet. “Do not call me—” He broke off as the foal shoved between them and pranced in another dizzy loop before stuffing its nose deep into his braids with a neigh. The joy on his face was unguarded, ridiculous—pure. He steadied the tiny skull between his palms, his thumb smoothing the soft ridge above its eyes. “Strong already,” he whispered. “See the stance? A good one. Very strong sire. Usually, they do not move this much after being born.”

Jake tilted his head, grinning. “How the hell do you know that, huh? You been out here takin’ notes on baby…pa’li?”

Tsu’Tey gave him a look that was half dignity, half secret softness. “I watch. ” He rubbed the foal’s jaw as it huffed against his chest. “They are born weak, with legs like reeds but the stronger foals—they stand sooner, they test their gait, and they play earlier. This one…” His eyes went wide again, almost boyish. “This one will be fast. He will challenge the herd leader when he is grown. I have seen it before.”

Jake’s grin softened as he leaned back on his palms, watching the warrior evolve into something starry and wild-eyed over a foal. “Eywa help me,” he drawled, “you’re a nerd about these things.”

Tsu’Tey blinked, frowning faintly. “A…nerd?”

“Means you love it. Means you care too much, and it’s cute. Cute as hell. Don’t worry, it’s a good thing.”

Tsu’Tey narrowed his eyes, but the color on his ears betrayed him. He ducked back down, stroking the foal’s thin mane with reverent fingers.

Jake watched the foal, but he was really watching Tsu’Tey—watching the way his tail went still in deep contentment, the way his shoulders dropped as if a weight had slid off. “I see it,” he said. “And I see you. Kinda wish I’d known you are a big softy for these guys. I’d have routed us by here every night this week.”

“You have been routing us by here,” Tsu’Tey said dryly, but there was no bite in it. “And pretending it is a coincidence.”

“Guilty,” Jake said cheerfully. “I like seein’ them and you get all soft-eyed made me feel like I did somethin’ right.”

“You brought me where there is life,” Tsu’Tey stated simply. “That is right.” He glanced sideways, and the look landed like a hand on Jake’s cheek. “You notice more than you speak.”

“Now that’s a lie,” Jake said, laughing. “I speak plenty.”

“You do.” The foal staggered sideways on too-long legs, and Tsu’Tey’s palm steadied it, broad and sure. The mother mare, watching from a distance, snorted but didn’t move—her ears flicked forward, unconcerned. Tsu’Tey’s scent was familiar here. Safe. (If Jake thought back, he could remember glimpses—Tsu’Tey slipping away after duties to sit among the herds, quiet as shadow, whole in a way that made sense only now.)

Jake shrugged, pleased and a little proud. “Figured we could stand around together and pretend it’s work.”

“It is work,” Tsu’Tey said primly, though his mouth curved. “We are ensuring the well-being of future mounts.”

“Uh-huh.” Jake let his knuckles brush Tsu’Tey’s knee—testing, tiny. Tsu’Tey didn’t flinch. He leaned into it, just barely, and Jake felt the softness like a door unlatching. Eywa, he was lucky he was so damn good-looking.

They lingered until the foal collapsed into a twitching heap, legs tangled, belly rising slowly. The mare neighed at the edge of the forest before stepping fully in, nudged her little one to its feet, and led them (plus a couple more foals) into the brush, shadows swallowing them.

When Tsu’Tey stood, Jake stood too. Their shoulders found each other like magnets.

“Thank you,” Tsu’Tey said, so modestly and quietly that Jake almost missed it.

“For what, sweetheart?”

“For bringing me.” A pause. His eyes were stuck on the fading memory—of the rush of happiness. “And for seeing me.”

Jake’s throat closed a little. His smile went crooked, too full to hide. “Anytime. Every time.”

---

Wind sang in Jake’s bones the way it probably sang to a bird—freeing, natural. He and Tsu’Tey launched off the high eastern ledge in near-perfect sync, Mitnal exploding into the clean blue sky while Bob—bless his idiot soul—screeched like a banshee and tucked into a sleek dive. Below them, the canopy yawed open, a living sea. They cut the currents side by side, trading leads with a look, Jake stealing glances and getting them stolen back.

This wasn’t patrol. Wasn’t training. Just fun. Just the two of them flying because they could—because it was one of many places Jake could see Tsu’Tey’s shoulders loosen, his face alight in a way fire or night never allowed. They had gone flying as soon as Tsu’Tey was done with Mo’at and Jake had time to kill; what was a better way if not with each other?

“Keep your right shoulder,” Tsu’Tey called over the wind, and Jake trimmed just so. The correction pressed neatly into his muscles—learned, loved.

“Say it again,” Jake shouted, grinning. “Sounds nice when you boss me.”

Tsu’Tey’s laugh tore free, bright as sunlight through clouds. He wheeled Mitnal under Bob and then up, a ribboned spiral that Bob attempted to copy with naked, obnoxious enthusiasm. Jake and Bob overshot and had to bank hard; Tsu’Tey’s high-pitched chirps said he’d planned it.

They chased cloud edges until the light went dusky, honey poured over sky. When they finally angled for a canyon shelf, both ikran were humming that post-flight hum, wingbeats loose and content. They landed on a broad saddle of rock, riders sliding down—Jake with the athletic thump of someone still surprised by his own weight, Tsu’Tey like water poured into form.

Jake flopped back on the warm stone, arms spread. “C’mere,” he drawled, patting his chest. “Lay with me.”

Tsu’Tey raised a brow. “You are lazy.”

“You,” Jake countered, “are tired. Humor me, baby.”

With a long-suffering sigh that fooled no one, Tsu’Tey stretched out beside him. Jake tugged until the weight of him draped across his side, Mitnal and Bob curling down not far off—if they needed, they could just jump down; no biggie. Jake felt Tsu’Tey’s breath even out. “I am not tired.”

Rest, Jake thought fiercely, brushing his nose against the braid at Tsu’Tey’s temple. You deserve it.

“Just humor me, then, yeah?”

Jake knew the signs better than Tsu’Tey liked to admit. He ran himself ragged, pushing until his eyes went dull and sunken before ever conceding to weakness. Jake wasn’t gonna let it get that far. Not when he could feel the faint tremor still running through Tsu’Tey’s ribs, not when his blinks dragged longer than they should.

“Close your eyes, I've got you. Ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

For a heartbeat, Tsu’Tey resisted, lids fluttering open again, too proud. Then his eyes flickered once, twice—and softened shut. His breath steadied, warm against Jake’s chest, heavy in a way that meant trust more than fatigue.

Jake lay still, one arm wrapped around his waist, hand splayed over the flat plane of his stomach. 

The sun dipped lower, and the air cooled; Jake stirred. He brushed his hand along Tsu’Tey’s ribs until golden eyes blinked open, drowsy. “C’mon. Time to head back, sweetheart.”

They walked together toward the ridge, quiet in the cooling dark. Jake knew—without needing to be told—that when they returned to the kelutral, Tsu’Tey would pile his bowl too full, muttering something about warriors needing strength. It was his way of answering Jake’s stolen nap.

Turning the curve, that’s when they saw it: Bob puffing, wings flared in a gaudy half-dance, Mitnal tolerating it with regal disdain.

“Buddy,” Jake said, horrified-delighted, “not now—oh my God.”

Bob flared every membrane he had, pupils huge, head bobbing (no pun) in an absurd rhythm. He fanned his wingclaws like a dancer and crooned a throaty note that made two nearby ikran flying screech and shuffle away (Jake truly hoped this didn’t attract the Toruk; he’d probably think Bob was an easy target). Mitnal, unimpressed thing that he was, lowered his head to sniff Bob like he was an odd fungus and then looked to Tsu’Tey for opinions.

“For Eywa’s sake,” Tsu’Tey yawned, smoothing Mitnal’s crest with a practiced hand. “Your beast is shameless.”

Jake bent double, laughing. “Like rider, like mount?”

Tsu’Tey’s tail lashed, but his mouth curved. “It is common,” he admitted. “Ikran bond as their riders do. When one pair grows close…sometimes their mounts reflect it.”

Jake sobered, his grin gentling. “Like…Sylwanin’s and you?”

Tsu’Tey blinked, then shook his head.  “I bonded with Mitnal after she passed. We were not a bonded pair.” His voice held no drama, just the even weight of truth. “Pamon. Her mount. Passed not long after her—Aykäo, Peyral's mother, found her lifeless during a fly. It was not hard to miss, Pamon was the only ikran born pink and yellow at the time.” 

Guilt speared Jake’s chest. “Tey, I didn’t mean to—”

“It is fine,” Tsu’Tey cut in, quiet but firm. He stroked Mitnal’s nose, gaze steady. “Bond is life. Life ends, the bond follows. No shame. No pity. It is the way of life.”

Jake swallowed, throat tight, then laid a hand over Tsu’Tey’s where it pressed to Mitnal’s scales. “Then I’m glad,” he said roughly, “that you and Mitnal still got the sky; that I get to share it.” Maybe it was selfish of him to think that way but fuck it; he had come so far.

Tsu’Tey’s tail lashed—a danger signal—but his mouth betrayed a toothy smile. “If Mitnal humors your…Bob, it is pity, not preference.” He then turned to the offender: “Did you not forget who nearly nipped you out of the sky?”

Bob, undeterred, did an extra flourish that was definitely in some ancient handbook titled Courtship for Skxawngs. He tucked his wings to half-mast, sidled, trilled, and presented the good side of his crest.

Jake wiped tears. “I—He’s really goin’ for it.”

“Mitnal,” Tsu’Tey said gravely, addressing his ikran, who tilted his head and cooed. “He is being…earnest.”

Bob crooned, as if thanking his future in-law.

Mitnal blinked slowly and gave a cranky chirr, head turned so the sunset caught on his jeweled eyes. He stepped close enough to bump Bob’s chest once—gentle, not encouraging, not dismissing. A you are seen if there ever was one. Bob shuddered with joy and promptly tried the head-bob again. Mitnal knocked his head into Bob’s; a stop , if it was anything.

“Double date,” Jake whispered, giving a stupidly, dumbly cute grin at Tsu’Tey.

“You will be buried under this rock if you say that out loud,” Tsu’Tey declared, but he didn’t move away. His fingers found Jake’s forearm without looking, resting there like they’d always belonged.

“Hey,” Jake said softly, the laughter folding into warmth. “You fly…you fly like nothin’ hurts. Are you sure it’s okay, after—”

“Flying is the one place where nothing does,” Tsu’Tey said, eyes on the horizon. Then, after a beat, as if granting him a prize, “I am okay. I promise.”

Jake nodded. “Noted.”

They uncinched their ikrans’ tack together, moving in the easy, wordless rhythm of two people who had done hard things shoulder to shoulder and found they preferred the shoulder part. Bob finally subsided into a pleased preen, Mitnal ignoring him with the regal focus of someone cataloging thermals for later. When Jake lifted the last strap from Bob, his hand brushed Tsu’Tey’s. Neither pulled back. Fingers hooked for a heartbeat—small, electric.

“Next time,” Jake said, low and earnest, “we go farther. Show me your favorite spot?”

Tsu’Tey considered him, considering that, considering them. “Tomorrow,” he said. Not a question.

“Tomorrow,” Jake echoed, and Bob trilled like a fool who thought he’d just gotten engaged.

By the time they wound back to the kelutral, the air was humming with evening chatter. Smoke drifted upward from the cooking fires, and hunters were already passing bowls piled with roasted root stew and thick strips of yerik. There were conversations everywhere, children peeping and chirping, and songs being passed around. It was home—comfort.

Jake had grabbed a bowl with a nod and reached automatically for a modest serving—a habit from too many years of ration packs and missions where you never took more than your share; Jake was sure he truly hadn’t eaten a decently sized meal since he was home. Tsu’Tey’s hand intercepted his, sharp and efficient.

“Kehe,” he said, and plucked the ladle himself.

Jake arched a brow. “Kehe?”

Tsu’Tey didn’t answer. He just started piling food into Jake’s bowl—first stew, then four meats, then even a sweetfruit wedge balanced precariously on top. The portions looked closer to two meals than one. Jake looked around.

“That’s—you’re feedin’ an army,” Jake muttered, trying not to laugh.

“I do not want you scrawny,” Tsu’Tey argued flatly. His tail flicked once, ears tipped forward with unshakable certainty. “When you first came, you looked half-starved. Thin. Fragile.” He paused. “Neytiri told me when she saw your ‘other’ body, you neglected it too; I do not want you neglected anymore—so eat. Now.”

Jake’s laugh broke free, crooked and warm. “Fragile, huh? That’s a new one.”

“You are not now,” Tsu’Tey added, as if it needed clarifying. “You will not be again, if I decide.”

Jake blinked down at the mountain of food, throat tight. “You know I do eat on my own, right?”

“You do not eat enough,” Tsu’Tey countered, eyes narrowing. He pressed the bowl into Jake’s hands with finality. “So you will eat this—all of it, and if I need to, I will wait here, all night.”

Jake took it, cradling the weight, a grin spreading helplessly.

Tsu’Tey gave a quiet hum—satisfied, but softer than usual. He reached for his own serving at last, but not before one corner of his mouth tilted in the faintest smile, like he knew exactly what Jake was doing when he let Tsu’Tey fuss.

Jake sat down beside him in the glow of the fire, deliberately close. He dug into the bowl with relish, making a show of it. “See? Eatin’ like a good boy.”

Tsu’Tey rolled his eyes, but his tail brushed Jake’s ankle. That was answer enough.

---

Afternoons in the shade had become their secret indulgence. Not a date, not officially . Just two individuals sprawled in hammocks, pelvis to hip, ankles tangled, the breeze combing through hanging fronds while village noise softened to a hush. Jake traced lazy shapes along Tsu’Tey’s forearm, counting faint scars and pretending he wasn’t memorizing them. Tsu’Tey answered with weight; he liked to drape it, all long limbs and trust, a nine-foot-three of pure cat doing a full-body loaf, face in Jake’s neck. Their tails crossed like question marks that had already found answers.

“Comfortable?” Jake murmured.

“No,” Tsu’Tey said, voice already halfway to sleep. “You are talking. I am resting.”

“Rude.” Jake kissed his shoulder, right where muscle met neck. “I’m as quiet as a mouse.”

“If this ‘mouse’ you mention is supposed to be quiet, then you are loud and the opposite. Like Tarsem.”

“Tarsem is a baby, Tey.”

“You are too,” Tsu’Tey murmured. His hand flexed absently against Jake’s hip, kneading like a restless cat before settling again. The weight of it was a claim—an unconscious tick Jake sometimes noticed Tsu’Tey doing. It was cute all the same.

Then the peace was shattered.

“Either it is me or Arvok,” Neytiri announced, hands on her hips, hair pinned into a high ponytail. “One of us must stay.”

Jake twitched like someone had poured water on him. “What?”

“You both have avoided having a watcher—every omega needs one.”

Because an unwatched Omega was like an untended fire—dangerous, tempting—and something about mating out of bondship made the Elders huff. Tsu’Tey only sighed, long-suffering. “Neytiri.”

“I am only following tradition,” she said primly. “Do not argue.”

Tsu’Tey pinched the bridge of his nose. “Where were your watchers? The nights you disappeared with Peyral? Where was your…chaperone?”

Neytiri’s eyes went sweetly innocent. “Busy.”

Jake squinted. “Busy how?”

“How is it your business? Me and Peyral are different—restrained,” Neytiri pressed, and then—like a knife slipped between ribs, smiling the whole time—“Listen. If you do not speak of catching Peyral and me at the waterfall, I will not tell the Elders about you and Jake’s makeout spot near Ayram Alusing.”

Jake choked, shooting upright so fast the mat slid. “How the hell do you know about—”

“Deal,” Tsu’Tey said instantly, tail thwacking Jake’s shin in warning. He sat up too, schooling his face into bored disdain like he had not just bartered secrets.

Neytiri smirked, victorious, and dropped to sit cross-legged beside them like a cat installing itself between sunbeams. “Good but I must still stay—I will watch you cuddle. Proceed.”

Jake put a hand over his face. “I get one damn afternoon with you, and now I’ve got a babysitter. Unbelievable. Neytiri, you’re killin’ me.”

“Do not be dramatic,” Tsu’Tey told him, but his mouth was curving traitorously. He blanketed Jake again with a palm to the chest—firm, claiming, unmistakable. Jake went happily with a put-upon groan.

Neytiri leaned her chin on her fist. “Jake, your hand should be under his braids. He likes the scalp scratches.”

“Does he now?” Jake said, eyes sparking. He obeyed, sliding fingers into the thick roots and rubbing slow circles. A rumble built in Tsu’Tey’s chest, more purr than word. He made a low sound that should not have been legal in front of witnesses.

“Stop narrating,” Tsu’Tey muttered at Neytiri, ears violet. “Go…watch someone else. We made a deal.”

“Either me for a few minutes longer or Arvok for as long as you two are alone,” she repeated, unbothered. “He is in a pissy mood, just so you know.”

“Absolutely not,” Jake and Tsu’Tey said in perfect unison.

Neytiri cackled, delighted. “Then behave.”

They tried. For exactly eleven seconds. Jake nuzzled behind Tsu’Tey’s ear; Tsu’Tey’s tail wrapped Jake’s calf and stayed there. Neytiri tsked like an elder and then hummed a tune that suspiciously sounded like nìhona'eylu.

“Listen,” she said at last, relenting. “I will be with Peyral and leave you in peace—on the condition you do not disappear to the waterfall today. Try not to make a scene—”

“Yes, yes,” Jake promised. He didn’t look at Tsu’Tey because looking would have made it a plan.

Tomorrow, Tsu’Tey mouthed in Jake’s neck, too soft for Neytiri to notice.

Jake’s grin went wicked and sweet.

Neytiri stood, satisfied, and stalked off with the righteous air of a general who had managed the unmanageable. Her smile lingered, but her eyes softened briefly; she had lost enough to know what a gift it was, seeing Tsu’Tey let someone touch him without shame. “Do not make me an aunt—yet.”

Tsu’Tey batted, and Neytiri’s steps faded. Jake and Tsu’Tey fell back into their tangle, laughter shaking out of them in quiet ripples until only the slow rhythm of breath remained.

“Watcher?” Jake teased.

“Menace,” Tsu’Tey corrected, but he guided Jake’s hand back to his scalp all the same. “Now do that again and be quiet.”

“Yessir,” Jake said, obedient for once, and let the afternoon cradle them like they’d earned it.

---

The high branches at dusk were a cathedral of green. Light braided itself through leaves and netted across their path as Jake and Tsu’Tey walked, hands not quite linked, close enough that a sway could make their fingers brush. Birdsong dwindled to soft chirps; the resinous tang of sap carried on the cooling air.

Earlier, the clan piercer’s platform had buzzed with gentle nerves: a young couple stood with palms pressed, gleaming studs winking in their newly pierced brows.

“Engagement,” Tsu’Tey said, nodding toward them when Jake had asked. “They chose eyebrow jewelry. Simple. Honorable.”

“What’re the options?” Jake asked, genuinely curious, heart hammering louder than was reasonable. “If a—if a guy were, y’know, thinkin’ about it.”

Tsu’Tey glanced sideways, the look warm enough to heat bark. “There is no limit to what is pierced—ears, back, nose, lips. Something you can wear every day and remember. Piercing leaves a mark. It says, ‘I chose, and was chosen.’” He paused. “Xelek is understanding—he holds no judgments.”

Jake swallowed. “Got a preference?”

“I had thought,” Tsu’Tey said, considering him frankly now, “of a nose stud. It suits you. It says, ‘I am spoken for’ without shouting.”

Jake’s heart stuttered. He assumed Tsu’Tey thought a lot about this moment, since he was engaged once but never went to Xelek. Sylwanin had wanted to wait until he presented, until all was settled. Then she died.

He looked at Tsu’Tey now—how steady he was, how sure—and wanted to say he was sorry all over again.

“Nose.” Jake tried to sound brave and absolutely failed. “So like—a needle through…the nose.”

Tsu’Tey’s mouth curved in deep, fond amusement. “Yes, Jake. Through the nose.”

“Sugar,” Jake whispered to the tree, “pray for me.”

“You are a warrior who has ridden the great Toruk and survived.” Tsu’Tey bumped his head on his shoulder. “You can survive a needle.”

“I don’t like needles,” Jake confessed in a rush, cheeks hot. “Never have. Got these piercings in school and nearly passed out in front of six army recruiters who never let me live it down.”

Tsu’Tey’s laughter came soft and filled with delight. “Then you will hold my hand and not pass out.”

Jake blinked, startled. “You…you’d be there?”

“For the engagement,” Tsu’Tey said simply. “Yes. It is done together. A pain that is shared. A promise we both wear.” He lifted his hand—just enough. Jake slotted his into it like it had always been meant.

“And the marriage?” Jake asked, voice a little husky. They hadn’t said bonding under Eywa out loud tonight, but it hung between them like a lantern. “What’s that one?”

“That,” Tsu’Tey said, eyes forward on the path ahead, voice going quieter, “you take alone. It is…bad luck for your beloved to see before the ceremony.”

Jake’s brow creased. “Like… not seein’ the bride before the wedding back home.”

“Bride?” Tsu’Tey’s head tilted, curious.

“Long story,” Jake murmured, thumb stroking over Tsu’Tey’s knuckles. “I get it. Sacred surprise.”

“Sacred surprise,” Tsu’Tey agreed. He stopped them at a break in the leaves where sunset spilled honey over their skin. “A promise to carry into the rest of your life.”

They stood there a while, listening to the forest breathe. Below, another young couple laughed in relief as Xelek fastened the last clamp; their friends ululated softly, a ribbon of sound that wove up to where Jake and Tsu’Tey stood. 

Jake licked his lips, pulse a drum. “So…nosestud,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant and missing by a mile. “We’d match?”

Tsu’Tey’s ears tipped forward, pleased. “Yes. Matching. Engagement.” He lifted his free hand and, with a reverence that turned Jake’s knees to sand, touched the side of Jake’s nose with two fingers. “Here. Handsome.”

Jake’s laugh went breathless. “You tryin’ to kill me, sweetheart?”

“Mm,” Tsu’Tey said, eyes shining. “Not before the needle.”

They started walking again. Their hands didn’t part. The path narrowed, and Jake shifted instinctively to the outside, body angling between Tsu’Tey and the edge as if he could hold the world steady. Tsu’Tey was aware. He always became aware. His tail brushed Jake’s arm—once, quick.

—

The hammocks swayed gently; Jake sprawled back with one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting comfortably on Tsu’Tey’s thigh. Tsu’Tey curled upright, deft fingers still weaving a bead into Jake’s hair, his expression fixed but thoughtful.

“Jake,” he said suddenly, his voice flat in that way that always meant he’d been thinking too long. “Your people’s names are…stupid.”

Jake barked out a laugh, tilting his head to peer up at him. “Yeah? Well, damn, don’t hold back; tell me how you really feel.”

“Well, you do not honor your line.” Tsu’Tey flicked his songcord for emphasis. “You have Suli. Good but then nothing. Just ‘Jake Sully.’ What of your sempu or sa’nok?”

It was a plain question: Why no Thomas? No Tomasì’itian. Why?

Jake scratched his jaw, his grin lopsided, though his eyes dimmed with memory. “It’s…a human thing. We keep it short, I guess. Well, it depends—I know some cultures can retrace all the way down. My old man was Thomas Sr. My brother was Thomas Jr. I was just Jake.” He huffed a breath, low. “My Ma didn’t expect me.”

Tsu’Tey’s ears flicked back. “Eywa. No thought. Only words.”

Jake snorted. “There it is. Callin’ me a blockhead again.”

Tsu’Tey ignored the jab. His hands kept moving, steady as river water, tying the bead tight. “I have given you a proper name. Tsyeyk te Suli Tomasì’itian. Son of Thomas. Of the line of Sully. This is who you are. You will carry it.”

Jake blinked, chest tightening. “So you just…made me a new name?”

“Kehe—not new,” Tsu’Tey said firmly. His amber eyes met Jake’s, unwavering. “I corrected your Na’vi name to make it proper. You are Na’vi, but you are also of your own family lineage. Now it is in your name.”

For a moment, Jake couldn’t speak. Heat prickled behind his eyes, and he pulled Tsu’Tey down into his chest, pressing a kiss against his temple.

“Goddamn,” he murmured thickly. “You can be really sweet sometimes.”

Tsu’Tey rolled his eyes.

Jake sat propped against the hammock’s edge, grinning like a fool as Tsu’Tey fixed another bead into his braid. The name still rang in his head—Tsyeyk te Suli Tomasì’itian.

He tried it once, slowly. “T’shh—sy…ek te…Soolie Tom…sigh–ittin’.”

Tsu’Tey winced, ears flattening. “Terrible. It is your own name.”

Jake laughed so hard the hammock swayed. “C’mon, baby, give me some credit. That’s a mouthful.”

Tsu’Tey’s eyes narrowed, crossing his arms. “Try to pronounce my name, then.”

Jake straightened, smirk wide. Without hesitation: “Tsu’Tey te Rongloa Atey’itian.”

It rolled out of him smooth and clean—like water over stone, the accent still there but the cadence perfect.

Tsu’Tey blinked, ears twitching. “…You speak mine easily.”

“Yours I’ve been practicin’,” Jake shrugged with mock innocence. Saying it in my head every night, baby.

Tsu’Tey’s tail flicked sharply, his cheeks heating, but he straightened his shoulders. “Then again. Your name. Tsyeyk te Suli Tomsai’itian.”

 Jake cleared his throat, exaggeratedly solemn. “Tsshh…Tsehh…Tsyeyk… te Sooly Tom-sah-ih-tee-an.”

Tsu’Tey narrowed his eyes, and his ears flicked sharply. He could tell—the gleam in Jake’s eyes gave it away. “You are doing this on purpose. Eywa, you are such a child.”

Jake’s grin widened, dimples flashing.  

The warrior hissed through his nose, exasperated, but the edge broke when Jake leaned in, laughter spilling out as he caught Tsu’Tey’s wrist and pulled him down into his chest. “Maybe I am. Maybe I just like watchin’ you get all huffy when I twist your words.”

Tsu’Tey huffed, but his lips curved anyway, the exasperation melting into a rare, wide smile. Jake looked at him then—really looked—and the words tumbled out unguarded: “I get to marry that? That smile? That’s cute as hell.”

Tsu’Tey startled, eyes dropping as heat flushed his cheeks. His tail coiled nervously, ears flicking high, but the smile stayed, soft and boyish despite himself.

Jake’s dimples were cutting deep, his own ears were high, and his tail lashing like he couldn’t hold in the joy.

—

Jake knew it was going to happen eventually—knew it in his bones, knew it in the same way a man knew when rain was about to break. He tried not to think too hard about it.

Not about the pain. Not about the permanence. Not about the way his stomach twisted whenever he remembered this wasn’t just a piece of bone going in his nose—it was a vow. 

Jake didn’t have commitment issues—no; it was just—this was real, wasn’t it?

A nose piercing. One for each of them. Small, symbolic, but louder than words: betrothed lovers, marked for all to see. At some point, they’d come back for their pre-mating piercings, alone, deeper and heavier but this—this was the start.

It was Tsu’Tey who suggested it. Early morning, voice quiet and firm after a long night spent tangled together in the hammock—his scent clinging to Jake’s skin like bark to a tree. They weren’t mated yet. Not nesting together yet, but the gift had been given, the kiss returned, and the feelings? They were as real as the branches under their feet.

The tent smelled of clean smoke and herbs. Xelek was waiting, his tent empty, hands steady as carved stone, and eyes sharp as obsidian. His head rose. “Olo’eyktan. Tsakarem.”

Tsu’Tey bowed, and Jake nodded.

According to Tsu’Tey, he had pierced generations—hunters, mothers, warriors, and betrothed. He had once marked Tsu’Tey’s first ear piercing as a child; his mother—the late Elder Zeynu—did the elders. His tools gleamed in the filtered light like teeth.

Jake paled a little.

Tsu’Tey noticed with a firm hand tug. "You are afraid?" 

Jake frowned. "Ain’t scared. I just—look, I had a piercin’ once—once. When I was human. Got drunk and woke up with it."

Tsu’Tey double blinked. “It was where?”

“Don’t ask, Angel.”

Tsu’Tey did not flinch when the needle went through his nose. Not once. He breathed through it, regal as if nothing had touched him, but Jake—Jake’s knuckles went white where he gripped Tsu’Tey’s hand. His chest was stiff as he held his breath, eyes watering when the sting made his nose twitch.

Tsu’Tey held him firm.

The sting made his nose twitch and made his eyes water—but he did not flinch. He was a grown man—Olo’eyktan, and he would not show weakness. Not in front of his fiancé, who took it like a champ. Not when this matters so much.

“May Eywa further bless this union.” Xelek stepped back with a nod. “It is finished.”

Jake exhaled hard, forehead dropping to Tsu’Tey’s temple. The words he whispered were too low for others, but the intent was clear in the way Tsu’Tey’s ears tilted to listen and the way his jaw softened.

Holy fuck—he was engaged; they were engaged.

All before morning duties.

The daylights seemed to be brighter and floated higher now—or maybe the world felt brighter to Jake, the golden-hour glow painting them in hues of honey and rose. They walked into the open, and before Jake could adjust, Tsu’Tey stopped him, turned him and kissed him. Right there, in front of everyone.

Gasps rippled through Hometree. Elders murmured among themselves—

“It is too early.” 

“They are bold.” 

“Perhaps Eywa has not blessed them with shame yet.”  

Younglings squealed and giggled, their eyes wide. Neytiri, standing apart, wore a small smile that was all approval, while Mo’at, watching from the shadows, did not so much as tilt her chin, her silence its own kind of benediction.

Tsu’Tey broke the kiss only to nuzzle his face into Jake’s neck, and then—just to be mean —he rubbed against him deliberately as they walked. “I will see you after duties, srane?”

Jake’s tail flicked so hard it nearly tripped him. 

“You’re killin’ me,” Jake muttered, voice thick with helpless laughter. “But yes.”

“I do nothing,” Tsu’Tey purred, victorious.

Jake got one more kiss. Longer. Slower. Tsu’Tey’s fingers tangled in his locs like binding cords.

The hammocks were unusually quiet that night—there was no shuffling of a watcher, or the having to say goodbye before saying hello again in the morning; an engaged couple had more leeaway. There were no younglings shouting below, no warriors clattering in the training ring, no hum of ritual songs. Just the hush of the forest, soft as a breath.

Tsu’Tey slept heavily on top of him, one leg thrown across Jake’s waist, his face pressed into Jake’s neck. Sometimes he slept this way, curled like a great cat, heavy and warm. Other times it was on Jake’s bicep until Jake woke up with a dead arm and a smile on his face. Tonight it was both—half in his neck, half pinning his arm.

Jake should’ve been asleep. He wasn’t.

He stared at him.

Stared at the braid slipping loose across Tsu’Tey’s cheek, the dark moles near his lips and under his eye, and the way his ears flicked even in sleep. His breath ghosted against Jake’s throat in little puffs that tickled, but Jake didn’t move. Didn’t dare.

Because every time he looked at him like this, it hit him again like a punch to the chest:

Holy fuck. This is my fiancé—yawnetu.

Not some dream he was gonna wake up from. Not some cruel twist of fate. Real. Breathing. Tangled in his arms. Wearing the same band of silver through his nose as Jake for everyone to see.

Jake swallowed hard, his throat tight. His hand slid up to rest against the small of Tsu’Tey’s back, careful not to wake him, just to reassure himself that yes—he was here. That yes—he belonged.

For a long while, Jake did nothing but stare, his heart hammering like he was still that idiot marine seeing the forest for the first time.

—

“JEKK! Daddy says stop kissing on Unca Tey or he’s gonna make sure it is the last thing you do!”

Both froze—a simple kiss beofre mroning duties.

Kiratx stood planted like a little warrior, fists on his hips, nose wrinkled in disapproval, and chest puffed like a baby warrior.

Jake sputtered, ears flattening then fluttering. “What?”

Tsu’Tey sighed, resigned. “Kira, do not listen to your sempu.”

Kiratx pouted. “But sa’nu always says listen to sempu.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jake muttered, rubbing his face. “Tell your daddy I ain’t scared.”

“I will,” Kiratx smiled triumphantly. “He said you would say, uhm, garbled trash like that.”

Akeylong did not even blink. He just grabbed Arvok by the back of his neck and dragged him halfway into their shared nest before the younger alpha could bark an insult across the village clearing. It was bad enough that he had their months-old strapped to him. /this was the second time in the span of days Kiratx was dropped of by Tsu'Tey. Tsu'Tey who was rushing to duties; duties that truly left him no free time to chat, let along be around his soon-to-be mate. Akeylong had never been a Tsahik, but he understood the strain. His big sister, Ameini, had been Tsahik alongside Olo'eyktan Saotun, and every day she came home tired and stressed—some nights pure tears of just exhaustion. Just thinking of her made his head hurt—he had not heard, nor seen any signs of life after the big war; Saotun barely made it out. 

Akeylong just breathed; he came from a proud clan—a clan knowed as the "grotto or dwelling people" who worked as hard as they praised; the culture and spirt never left, it just adapted. From His parents to him and Ameini to Kiratx to Tarsem. To the Omaticaya, but that was not the main subject, the main subject was this—the weight of cheiftian and high priest were heavy weights throughout any clan, and as Tsakarem, Tsu'Tey had no alone time, and Arvok being insufferable to his big brother was not helping.

“You want to embarrass yourself again?” Akeylong hissed, his voice low enough not to wake Tarsem but sharp enough to sting. “Because I swear to Eywa, if you say one more thing about the Olo’eyktan—you sent our child to harass his uncle and betrothed? Aya—have you lost the sense Eywa birthed you with?!”

Arvok yanked his arm free, seething. Tarsem chirped. “I must protect my brother—”

Akeylong’s brow twitched. “He was chosen by Eywa. Tsu’Tey chose him. Your mother does not even talk to you when you go on these rants—and that says a lot for Artsut. You want to end up sleeping with the fish again?!”

Arvok hissed and folded his arms, making Tarsem peep and lash his tail once before falling still. Across the way, Jake and Tsu’Tey were speaking with Mo’at, close and quiet. Jake bumped Tsu’Tey’s shoulder and grinned. Tsu’Tey’s ears swiveled—but he did not move away. He leaned in. They truly looked more and more like a true mated pair.

“He is not good for my brother.” Arvok murmured.

Akeylong could only muttered and drag him.

—

The pond near Ayram Alusìng still bore the scars of fire, but the water lilies hadn’t noticed.

They bloomed like they always did. White petals with soft pink mouths, bobbing lazily on the surface, cradled by thick pads that gleamed green under the dappled canopy. The light there always fell in fractured pieces—shimmering patches on Jake’s skin, crawling over Tsu’Tey’s bare shoulders.

This was their place. The spot they kept sacred for something quiet. No war talk. No clan duties. No mention of fallen friends.

Just…them.

Jake was reclining on the smooth root of a tree that had half-fallen into the pond, legs dangling in the water, and Tsu’Tey sat near, his leg over Jake’s thigh, tail curled lazily in the moss. He was fiddling with a piece of beaded woven string on his tweng—braiding, unbraiding, braiding again.

Jake was watching the little furrow between his brows. That pinched focus. Eywa, he loved it.

“I know this is a weird way of bringing it up, but do you ever wanna have kids?” Jake asked, voice soft and low like the water trickling over rocks.

Tsu’Tey blinked, then gave him a look. “As Olo’eyktan, I—”

“I am not asking as Tsahik or Olo’eyktan or as Primary Warhead—I am asking you—as Tsu’Tey.”

Tsu’Tey bit his lip. “What kind of question is that?”

“A real one,” Jake said with a shrug, his fingers tracing lazy lines on Tsu’Tey’s shin. “You strike me as the ‘train an army of little warriors’ type.”

Tsu’Tey hummed, then leaned back on one palm, head tilting to the side like he was considering it. “I want eight.”

Jake choked. Actually choked. “Eight?”

Tsu’Tey’s lips twitched. “Yes. At least. I will teach them to ride before they can speak. They will track yerik at two.”

“Eight,” Jake repeated again, slower this time, blinking at the side of his face. “You want eight babies.”

“Of course.” Tsu’Tey sounded thoughtful now, plucking another flower. “Enough to form a hunting party. Or a choir.”

“A choir?” Jake was laughing now. “What the hell would a bunch of mini-Tsu’Teys even sing?”

Tsu’Tey smiled faintly—gods, that smile always floored Jake—and said nothing. He just leaned back on one arm, tipping his head toward the evening warmth. His skin glowed. Petals drifted on the water like stars. Jake looked at him: “You’re serious.”

“Very.” Tsu’Tey nodded solemnly.

Jake’s whole brain short-circuited.

Eight kids. Eight.

Eight little demon toddlers with war paint and chirping tempers and climbing limbs, and because Tsu’Tey was a goddamn cat, they’d probably be climbing the walls and—there was a silence. Jake hesitated, then spoke again, quieter this time.

“I always wanted a big family, y’know. Thought about it a lot before all this. Before the legs went. Before the war. Three. Maybe four.” He shrugged. “Woulda been enough. Big dinners. Soccer games. Mud pies and scraped knees. But, hey, eight is—”

Tsu’Tey snorted and turned toward him at that. And there—there was the softness Jake didn’t always get to see and now got used to. The war hero, the warrior, the scowler…smiling like he was a cat with an extremely fat mouse. Jake squinted. Tsu’Tey’s tail lashed—another snort.

“You’re messing with me.”

“A little.”

Jake swatted his thigh, and Tsu’Tey laughed outright, full and rich, tilting his head back and falling into the grass. Jake could feel his own chest lighten with it—laughter filling spaces that had only ever held grief. He smiled and lay on Tsu’Tey, catching him by the waist—smiled above him. “Okay, mister ‘eight children.’ What’s your real number?”

“Three or four would be enough. Enough to fill the space between us. Not so many that they forget who we are.”

Jake blinked. “That’s…kinda beautiful.”

“Eight would kill me,” Tsu’Tey murmured. “I am not Elder Ìsä or Great Sa’nok Ay'ame—Eywa bless them, they had twins back-to-back.”

Jake barked out a laugh and shoved his shoulder lightly. “You ass. You had me halfway naming them in my head.”

“Oh?” Tsu’Tey asked, clearly enjoying himself now. “What would you name them?”

“You serious?”

“Serious.”

Jake leaned back, gazing up at the canopy. “Well…if we had a girl, I’d wanna name her after someone strong. Lämìk—stubborn one—”

“Loäì'k.” Tsu’Tey corrected.

“What? Neytiri taught me.”

“She never changes—taught you twisted truths. Lämìk means ‘one who is stupid,’ gullible, as your people say.” Tsu’Tey ran a hand over Jake’s shoulder. “Loäì'k means ‘trouble seeker,’ mischievous child.”

Jake sighed. “This language.”

“You are getting better, Jake.” 

A beat.

“What if we only had girls?” Tsu’Tey questioned, his pupil swallowing the hazel in his eyes.

Jake cracked a smile. “Then I’m gonna be fightin’ for my life every damn day.”

“You are pathetically sappy.”

“You make me pathetically sappy.”

“You make me tired,” Tsu’Tey muttered, but the smile on his face betrayed him. A real one. Jake felt it like sunshine. He rested his head on Jake’s shoulder anyway, both of them listening to the distant calls of ikran high above, the rustling of the brush, and the quiet lap of water against their ankles.

Jake wrapped an arm around him and rubbed a thumb along his back. “You’d make a good sa’nok, you know. The kids love you. I gotta fight little O’ame—” and Arvok “—just to get you alone.”

Tsu’Tey didn’t say anything at first. Then: “You would be an annoying sempu. Always talking. Loud. Our babies would never rest.”

“But they’d have fun.”

“Mmm. Debatable.”

And just like that, the joke stopped being a joke. They were quiet again, but not unspoken. The kind of silence that stretched warm and long, like the pond water lapping at their toes. A bird called somewhere in the trees. The wind shifted the petals. Jake touched Tsu’Tey’s hand, just lightly, just enough.

“You like me—don’t lie.”

“I tolerate you.”

“Love me.”

“Do I?”

Jake paused, glancing at him sidelong. “You are full of jokes today, aren't you?”

Tsu’Tey gave a slow blink. 

Jake grinned.

—

They weren’t used to the quiet yet.

The clan’s celebrations had sung them to sleep for three nights straight, voices lifted until the stars seemed to lean down and listen, and then—suddenly—the songs were outside their house and not inside it. Their hammock kept a softer music: leaf-breath through the thatch, the faint creak of woven roots when people walked; soft ‘congratulations’ or ‘may Eywa bless you with abundance’, beads tapping when one of them turned. The hush made room for new sounds—little involuntary ones that surprised them both. Tsu’Tey’s breath hitched when Jake’s shameless mouth found the place under his jaw that made him shiverm or when he mouthed his fresh biting mark. Jake’s low, disbelieving laugh whenever Tsu’Tey tugged him closer like a man rescuing himself from the edge of a river.

“Still real?” Jake would whisper into the night, his accent all butter and gravel.

Tsu’Tey would answer by dragging him in until their ribs learned each other again. “Sran,” he’d murmur into Jake’s hair. Yes. Very real.

They were only a few sunrises past their mating before Eywa—still sore with celebration, still drunk on relief—and already their bodies had settled on an answer to every question—closer. The bond had snapped into place with that sacred clarity that left no one in doubt. Now chemicals, instincts, whatever the scientists would have named it—alignment, Mo’at would define it as—buzzed in and around them like a hive.

For Tsu’Tey, it was disorienting in the way a new sky was disorienting—dizzying, too bright, too much, and yet he could not look away. Jake was his. His everything. The first and last person he would allow to learn the map of him with patience and hands. The first and last set of ears he would trust with the sounds he made when language fell apart. The final name that was embedded into his soul.

He tried to be dignified about it. He lasted half a day.

It showed. He could not stop reaching. Jake could not stop giving. A brush of fingers when they walked together turned into pressed-on-the-trees kisses. A kiss meant for a goodnight deepened, tumbled, left them tangled in Tsu’Tey’s hammock, or near a pond again, mouths and other parts swollen.

The hunger was constant. Insatiable.

It was also clumsy and sweet in the ways all firsts were. They learned the geography of each other like young hunters tracing a river—where to pause, where the current runs fast, where the water sounds different because something important was near. Jake’s laugh went soft when Tsu’Tey’s ears gave that involuntary little flick. Tsu’Tey learned the exact cadence of Jake’s breath right before he said something shameless (read: stupid), and how to ground him with a thumb along his jaw when he stared into space. 

They fell asleep more than once, half-wrapped around each other, beads pressing marks into skin, waking at dawn bemused and sore and with a crick in the neck.

It was dizzying, how quickly their bodies built new habits and fell into old ones. Tsu’Tey now poured water and realized he had poured a second cup without thinking because Jake always misjudged how thirsty he is—tries to go hours without water. Jake now reties straps on his harness and looks down to find Tsu’Tey’s hands already there, checking the knot like a reflex. They took to moving through the kelutral in a single organism—Tsu’Tey a breath ahead, Jake a breath behind, or the other way around, always orbiting the same center.

“Stay,” Tsu’Tey found himself saying, trying for command and landing squarely in want, and Jake would grin in a way that turned his bones liquid. 

They were careful at first, then less so. Careful not to wake the surrounding hammocks and nesting pads with their laughter; less careful to hide the way they drifted toward each other like magnets during the day. Careful to keep the ceremony tidy, less careful about the wildness that spilled between them when the council curtain was closed. Jake couldn’t pass Tsu'Tey without brushing him—palm to back, knuckles to ribs, mouth to temple. Tsu'Tey could not go a chore’s worth of minutes without reaching for him—catching a dreadloc, tugging an ear, tugging Jake himself.

Twice, Tsu'Tey stopped mid-task, pressing a hand to his head as a small wave of pain rolled through. He scowled at it like it had personally offended him and blamed it on the sweet drink Neytiri had made too strong. Jake offered water; he took it, embarrassed by nothing and everything. It passed. He forgot. He remembered only the way his mate’s palm stayed at his spine an extra beat, steadying.

Ten nights into their marriage, after Jake had left for routine patrol, Tsu’Tey found himself pacing. His body hummed like a struck string; he was flushed, restless, aching—touching each familiar thing, finding no relief. The nest looked suddenly narrow without his broad-shouldered mate sprawled in it. The brazier’s smoke smelled like his skin. The beads on the shelf were the exact shade of his eyes in the evening. Everything ached toward with.

When Jake returned, he knew he would end up under him again, and it was equal parts terrifying and pacifying. He tried to braid his hair and unbraided it twice. He sharpened his knife and nicked the edge by mistake because his mind was spinning back to Jake’s mouth, Jake’s hands, Jake’s voice gone softened by kisses on his chest. Jake.

He took the problem to Mo’at.

The Tsahik was sorting herbs with the ruthless efficiency of someone who did not need to glance to know which leaf lived in which bundle—packing. She did not look up when he hovered at the threshold, but the slant of her mouth said she felt him there.

“Speak, ma’itan,” she said. “You are wearing a path in my door.”

He meant to be dignified about it. He managed three words and dissolved into blunt truth.

“My body is—” He stalled. He could lead a war band through a storm; he could take down a palulukan—walk through Eywa’s Eye, yet he could not find the word for what his bones were doing. “Wrong,” he finished, and even to his own ears it sounded foolish—childish. “I think of Jake always. If I do not have him near, my ribs itch.”

Mo’at’s eyes lit with quiet mischief. “Your ribs.”

“And here.” He pressed his palm to his sternum, mortified and stubborn both. “And…lower. I cannot stop thinking of him,” he blurted, ears flattening in mortified sincerity. “I want him always—again and again.” His ears felt hot. “My body feels…wrong if I do not have him.” There was a pause. “Is—Is this normal?”

Mo’at’s mouth twitched the moment he finished—humorous—and the more she tried not to smile, the more the smile won. “Ah,” she hummed, pleased—and amused (mostly amused), “you are young, newly mated. Do not feel shame; it is not a sickness. It is not a weakness. It is Eywa’s gift.”

“Gift?”

She set a drying frame aside and finally looked at him. “You mated under Eywa just recently.”

He nodded.

“Your body is aligned to the person you offered your life to.”

Tsu’Tey set his jaw. “I am asking if it is normal to crave him like this. If I am not—broken.”

Mo’at’s mouth tried and failed not to smile. “Many mated couples cannot keep their hands off one another at the beginning. You are not broken; you are alive. Your body is wise. It knows where the medicine is now.” She tipped her head. “He is the only one who can answer what it asks. And you—only you—can answer his. Do not punish yourselves for being whole. If you did not crave him, I would be concerned.”

He felt himself go warm to the tips of his ears. “This—this—is not too much?”

She laughed outright. “If your mate complains, I will give him tea for his back.” Then she sobered, something like pride brightening the edges of her eyes. “Do not be ashamed, ma’itan. Eywa delights in pairs that are well matched. Go. Wear out the furs. Sleep when the moon is tired of hearing you.” Then a sudden movement of a tail. “The highnest will be cleaned soon, so your mate and you can move in—after Eytukan and I pass the mantle down.”

He exhaled, something caught in his chest loosening. The room smelled like crushed leaves and fila dalli. Outside, Eytukan drifted past the tent flap like he was not eavesdropping. Mo’at sobered enough to tilt her head, studying the set of his shoulders, the darkness in his skin.

“You run warm,” she remarked, more to herself than to him. “Your scent is…sweetening,” She let it pass without comment, only patting his forearm once, hard enough to be a blessing and a command both. “Drink more water and sleep well. We do our final rites in the morning—Tsakarem.”

He managed a bow that did not quite trip over itself and left with a heart that beat like a drumline.

Jake found him later by the threshold of his, well theirs, hammock, halfway between pacing and waiting, eyes already telling on him. “Hey, baby,” he smiled—gentle, because he could see the storm and knew it was not anger. “You good?”

Tsu'Tey reached without thinking, curling a hand in the leather that crossed Jake’s diaphragm, and tugged. The sound that came out of him was not language and was not not language. “Come,” he said. It came out rough. “To the pond.”

“Baby,” Jake’s laugh caught and turned into something tender. “Baby—”

Jake did not make it past lying down that night before Tsu’Tey was on him—kissing clumsily, eagerly, and uncharacteristically unguarded. Jake’s laugh turned to a sound that was almost a groan, his hands finding Tsu’Tey’s waist, steadying even as he gave in.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he murmured, the words softened at the edges by awe. “Fuck.”

“Do not die,” Tsu’Tey muttered against his mouth—sharp in voice but soft in eyes, those gold-flecked irises blown dark. Half in want, half in seriousness. “I want to pick spingyo gyuzna with you.”

Jake tipped his head back, and the world narrowed to the warmth between their ribs.

They fell into the flowers as if they had been waiting with the exact impression of their bodies already pressed into it. Jake moved the way he always did—with that paradox of him: reverent and greedy, methodical and besotted. He kissed Tsu'Tey like it was the first time and the fiftieth, like he was learning and remembering at once. Tsu'Tey answered like a man drowning and like a man who had already survived the sea—he wanted all of Jake. They found the old rhythm inside the new one: the way Tsu'Tey’s breath caught at the second brush of mouth to throat; the way Jake’s hands went soft when Tsu'Tey slotted a hand into his; the way laughter kept slipping in between everything—as inevitable as heat.

“Mo’at says we are normal,” Tsu'Tey muttered into the corner of Jake’s mouth, as if he needed to file the fact while he still had a brain.

Jake huffed, delighted. “Honeymoon phase. We can go forth and—”

“Do not use that word,” Tsu'Tey faux–gagged.

“Which one? ‘Go forth?’” Jake teased, and Tsu'Tey bit his lip for that.

—

Jake found Tsu’Tey sitting on the high walkway with his legs dangling over the side, looking pale and annoyed at himself. It was better than how Jake left him that morning—curled in on himself, and feverish. Jake crouched behind him, kissed the place where neck met shoulder, and let his palm settle on the center of Tsu’Tey’s chest—flicking to the scar tissue.

Tsu’Tey shifted against him and then went very still, his hand flattening over his stomach as a wave rolled through him. It was not sickness like when he had drunk too much of the sweet ferment—it was sharper, lower, a catch of pain that made his face flicker: resignation, enduring, relief. He had been expecting the usual rhythm of his body to begin a few days ago, the monthly bleed* he had tracked since he was young, but it had not come. Stress is what delayed it last time, and death was a stressor. He had told himself it was nothing, a small delay, yet he found himself worried. Normspellman had told him his body might never return to what it once was—he sighed.

Jake was already watching. “You okay, angel?”

“Yes.” The answer came too quickly, too calmly. Tsu’Tey corrected himself with a tiny wince at his own pride. “Sran. My stomach is…foolish still.” The word choice was pure Tsu’Tey: make a body part a moral failing, and perhaps it would correct itself. “It will pass.”

“You’re sensitive, and it’ll pass?” Jake’s mouth turned. “Y’sure?”

Tsu’Tey huffed, annoyed at both his cramps and Jake’s perceptiveness.

Jake’s thumb traced small circles over his chest, then kissed his shoulder. “Want tea?”

“Later.” A beat, then softer: “You came back early?”

“Ended early, missed you,” Jake said, like it was the simplest equation in the world.

Tsu’Tey’s ear flick betrayed him. He leaned back just enough to press his spine to Jake’s sternum and let Jake’s arms fold around him. The pain ebbed in the warmth.

---

It was the start of the next month when it happened.

The great tree canopy glowed gold with the soft light of the waning sun. Tsu’Tey sat cross-legged by the low-slung roots of the kelutral, back pressed to the warm bark, hair tied half up, half down, braids hanging loosely, and fingers busy weaving thin cords of flowering vines into a charm a child had begged for three days ago. No shame, these children; they had all come fluttering back to him like insects to nectar. 

It appeared that his title—Tsahik—did not deter wandering hands, legs, and sticky mouths from attempting to pester and climb him like a pa’li. Eywa—he used to not be ‘this’ soft.

Not that he cared.

He felt different—looked…different (according to Neytiri).

Lighter. Brighter.

Ever since the war. Ever since his death . Ever since Jake—stupid skxawng, very persistent and dedicated—prayed for him to return with shame, blood, and dirt under his nails, “Give him back. Take anything—I’ll give anything.”  Five days.

Five days of cold silence. Five days of prayers and sobs and stillness.

One guttural gasp of air from Tsu’Tey’s throat, a blink of blinded eyes, and a hand carving through Eywa’s soil—alive again.

Since Eywa had listened.

Eywa had cared.

The people called it a sign.

The kits, though? They just called him the best climbing post in the village.

"Tsu’Tey! Tsu’Tey, lift me!”

“No, me next!”

“Can I braid your hair again? I promise I will not knot it; Sempu said I have gotten better!”

“Are you going to show me how to hold a knife today? My sister says you beat the big thanator with your teeth!"

He should have been annoyed. (That last one was a lie—he would be talking to Ifäl’s sister.)

He had always had a…sternness to him. Warrior lines. Bladed posture, but for the cubs…he was nicer, always softer. Sylwanin used to joke and say he had more patience for children than for his students, which was true. If he told those cubs, ‘do not jump off the high branches of trees thinking you will fly like a riti,’ they would nod and say, ‘okay,’ while his nearly fourteen-season-old and older students would take that as a challenge. So yes, he most definitely treated his students as if they were two seconds away from getting swatted at.

But there was a softness behind his eyes now—according (again) to his very, very observant dear Neytiri. A center of glow. The kind of glow even his chest scar could not dull. 

He laughed when the children tackled him. Actually laughed, the sound light and scratchy and alive. His hands were careful but strong. He swung O’ame up onto his shoulders with practiced ease. She squealed and clung to his head.

"You will tear off my ears if you keep tugging like that," he warned dryly.

"But your ears are huge! " she giggled. “Like an elephant—Dumbo!”

"What do you know of elephants? Do not insult my ears as if your own are not as 'huge' as mine." She chirped happily and kept swinging like the syaksyuk she was.

He was surrounded. Swarmed. Legs, tails, and little blue fingers tugging at his beads and braids and cloth.

"You smell like Kaeli."

Tsu’Tey blinked and looked up. O’ame had leaned forward, nose scrunched, sniffing obnoxiously at his hairline, then at his face. “Wow, Suayk, you are actually right for once!” 

Suayk beamed.

Tsu’Tey did not. He swatted. “Excuse me?”

"Well, I mean—milky and sugary," O’ame clarified. "Just like Ayäyrì did before baby Fayey came! "

Tsu’Tey blinked again.

Another child, little Tikan, poked his arm. "You smell like my mommy, too! When he was making our baby sister! Are you making a baby? Is it the Olo’eyktan’s? Are you married, like Mo’at and Eytukan? I heard Jake say you were bonded and stuff!"

“I saw them kissing!” Tsire chirped. Suayk giggled. “And they have matching noserings! Mated big people have those! Like Eyham and Veuryi!”

“Duh! We went to the crowning ceremony—you know, Äke made us sit in place and threatened to hit us with a stick if we squirmed?!” All the kids ‘ohh’ed and O’ame sighed. “So Tsu’Tey is Tsahik, so he has to kiss Jake.” O’ame simplified it like it was the most common of sense. “Besides, they have been together for, like, a super long time.” Tsu’Tey snorted—he had known Jake for nearly six months, courted for three, and been bonded (or, as Jake called it, ‘married’) to him for almost a month—sure, a super long time.

Tikan hummed and nodded like it was the gospel. “And have babies too?”

"Tikan!" O’ame hissed. Tsu’Tey felt his heart flutter.

“I am not wrong!” Tikan huffed. “That is how it works! Bond and babies!”

The children howled with laughter. One rolled into Tsu’Tey’s lap. "No, really, a big kid told me! And you smell all sugary! Like sweets! You smell yummy—since weeks ago!"

Tsu’Tey’s eyes went wide, a hand going unconsciously to his neck.

“Is that so?”

The cubs nodded in agreement. Then one groaned, “All this makes me hungry for sweetbuns!”

---

It started again with another child.

As it always does now. (Intuitive little goblins)

O’ame, again—because of course it was—perched on Tsu’Tey’s thighs while he was meditating at dawn, completely ignoring his stern scowl.

"You smell like honey," she whispered.

"I smell like the river and sweat. Go away."

"Nope! You smell like the Olo’eyktan now, too. Well, way more now. Like when he comes back from kissing you!"

"He does not kiss—" Tsu’Tey sighed. “What do you know of kissing O’ame?”

The cub wriggled. “It is what the grown-ups do, and it is nasty. Blegh!”

That should have been the end of it.

It only got worse.

By the third day, four more children had joined the chorus. They had started giving him nicknames. Little Kiratx, his little nephew, called him “Tsah-sweet.” Another boy claimed Tsu’Tey’s neck smelled like tree sap. The same child tried to lick his cheek to “make sure.”

"Do not lick my uncle! " Kiratx hissed, mortified.

“—But it is Tsu’Tey!”

“So?”

"They say you are making a nest with Jake! Is that true?”

“That is what sa’noks do before a baby!"

Tsu’Tey went rigid.

"Nesting?" He repeated, hollowly. “Baby…?”

"Yeah! ‘Cause you and Uncle Jake finally made a home in the highest of the kelutral and you only eat soft fruit now.”

“My sa’nu said you looked sad because there were no more sourberries, but I told her, 'no way, Tsu’Tey would never,' she shrugged and said you looked like a very sad pond-frog."

A sad frog.

He looked like a sad pond-frog…?

He was—had been—very upset regarding the lack of fahew'epi a few nights ago (moreover, the fact that Neytiri had been stealing his flatbread with pxeprìl, Jake called it 'garlic', spices off his plate). He had not cried; Jake just caught him sniffling beside the cookpit over the full pot. He had not laughed—just kissed his cheek and found some leftover buttered 'epi that he could dip in his creamy and spiced mähel fa feyä instead. (Tsu’Tey ate it while pouting.)

Some days, if not all, his body felt...off.

Hot one moment. Cold the next. His hips ached. His nipples—goddess, why did they itch and hurt? His appetite was ravenous and strange. He hated roasted Sifoew, and suddenly he loved it? The smell of roasted fish? It made his eyes sting. And—worst of all—he felt things. Soft things. Silly things.

A songbird chirping made him cry. A broken necklace from a child made him cry.

Jake’s hand on his back during a session with Eywa had made him want to cling.

He was going to lose his mind.

✦

Mitnal always had a way of being dramatic. He liked to huff and headbutt, to flare his wings when it was not strictly necessary. Tsu’Tey usually ignored it.

That morning, when he came with dried meat and slipped his fingers into the familiar grooves of his ikran’s face, Mitnal paused. His slitted eyes went wide, and instead of snapping up the meat, he leaned forward, sniffing—hard.

Tsu’Tey frowned, bracing a hand against the ridge of his jaw. “Do not start. It is too early.”

Mitnal chirred low, a sound he usually reserved for freshly fledged ikran chicks. He pressed his face into Tsu’Tey’s middle—firm, deliberate. The pressure made Tsu’Tey grunt, startled, his free hand instinctively covering the spot.

“Oìsss! What is wrong with you?!”

Mitnal’s answer was a cascade of happy trills, his long tongue flicking before he chirped again, louder. His tail lashed, wings shivering in agitation.

Jake, adjusting Bob’s tack nearby, blinked at the racket. “Uh…what’s he singin’ about?”

Tsu’Tey rolled his eyes, feeding Mitnal the dried meat at last. “He is being dramatic. He does this.”

Jake’s ears twitched. Bob had gone rigid—then chirruped back at Mitnal, high and insistent, as if trying to answer. He tilted his head at Jake, then back at Tsu’Tey, like a nosy child tattling on a sibling.

“Aw hell,” Jake muttered, squinting at his own spiritbrother.

Mitnal pushed his snout into Tsu’Tey’s stomach again, nearly knocking him back. This time, he chirruped so loudly it rattled in Jake’s bones.

Jake’s brows drew together. “Baby…?” He trailed off, blinking, ears high.

Tsu’Tey hissed softly through his teeth, climbing up onto Mitnal’s back with practiced ease. “He is only excitable.” His tone was clipped, twitching in agitation. “Last time he did something like this, he attacked another ikran. Do not take his childishness seriously.”

Jake looked between them—Bob chirped again, softer now.

“Jesus Christ,” Jake muttered, running a hand down his face. “You sure you’re okay?”

Tsu’Tey clicked his tongue in exasperation. “I am—I promise. He has moments like this,” he grumbled, settling into place. “Do not feed into it.”

Jake swung into his own saddle. 

✦

The next month came with nausea.

Tsu’Tey had blamed it on the heat. On the overripe fruits. On fasting while training. On Eywa’s tugging presence as mating season roused every scent and sound and breath in the forest as it neared its end.

However, when he retched after Jake left during morning prayers, during meditation, and now in front of Mo’at, it was becoming a troubling pattern. She opened her eyes and quickly narrowed them.

“You are sick?”

He gagged as the smell of smoked talioang wafted through the groves. “I—sorry. My appetite and sense of smell have been sensitive lately.” 

“How long,” she asked, her voice sharp as flint, “have you been experiencing this…sensitivity?” 

Tsu’Tey wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist, his cheeks burning. “A few days. Perhaps…a week.” He averted his eyes. “It comes and goes.” 

“And you come in sick? Ma Eywa— ” Mo’at stared at him, long and hard. “Come. I must treat you—a sick Tsahik who does not know his limits, Eywa rivä’ ayoer ngayas.”

She gave him herbs to chew, bitter and sticky with sap. Then she pricked his finger with a needle and licked the bead of blood. This was the way to read the body—to read the soul and fortune. No one else was watching—this was a moment between them and Eywa.

“Your blood is sweet. Your scent has changed; your stripes have become more flushed and darker,” she murmured. “Your chest is swollen, and your hips have widened. Have you bled this month?”

“No,” Tsu’Tey replied, stiffening as his hands curled into fists on his knees. “I am late by nearly eight weeks...counting last month's as well.”

Mo’at tilted her head and clicked her tongue, already certain of what the ‘sickness’ was the moment he vomited into the offering bowl. “Well, congratulations, you are carrying.”

A breath caught in Tsu’Tey’s throat—sharp, wet, unsteady. He blinked in disbelief. 

“What?” 

Mo’at set her herbs aside and crawled closer. She tucked a braid behind his ear and cupped his cheek. “Calm yourself,” Mo’at whispered, as if she walked the path of his thoughts. She had watched this boy grow. Had seen what pain, duty, sorrow—and now, true peace and love—had done to him. She smiled softly. “The Great Mother has blessed you.”

Tsu’Tey blinked fast. His eyes burned. His throat threatened to close.

Nearly three months—in a couple of days—mated. Barely enough time to even settle.

They had not been careful; they had been wild with each other. Tsu’Tey had been unable to resist—nor had he wanted to. When he told Jake to take his ‘Onglown, he meant it. Jake was his first and last, and he wanted to give all he could during those moments before, during, and after their kurus, lips, and hips connected. He had not taken any contraceptive herbs to prevent it—he did not think he needed to; he initially did not think they would participate in Zìskrrmipaw, that it would be a traditional year-long courting, but Jake knew what he wanted—he knew what he wanted. 

Tsu’Tey bit his bottom lip.

Mo’at did not press. She simply hummed and offered him a bowl of steaming roots with clove leaves. It was something for the queasiness, something to help the body remain strong. “But if you are not ready, you have options, remember.”

Tsu’Tey nodded but pressed at his stomach. Still flat. Still unmarred. But inside—?

He touched it. He does not even realize he was doing it. Does not know his tail had lashed, eager like a kitten’s would.

"A great joy inside you," Eywa had told him. 

✦

Jake was out by the river.

Tsu’Tey had asked him a few nights ago, curled to his chest, voice low and drowsy, if he remembered his story of Nämwey Wutsot Feyä, or spiced-cooked nämwey.

A soup his father had made when the rains came with the cooks. When he and Arvok were still small. A soup that you pair with spiced 'epi and tangy fruit. One he had not had in a long time and wanted to share with Jake. If Jake would like to taste it.

Tsu’Tey fell asleep after that, tail curling over Jake’s stomach as he nudged under Jake’s chin but Jake was awake, and Jake, of course, made a decision. He would’ve hunted the Toruk if Tsu’Tey had asked him with that soft, drowsy voice.

So Jake came out at dawn. For him.

Ankle-deep in the water with a woven net slung over one shoulder, his dreadlocs tied back, his chest bare aside from his hunting knife, in the heat of the afternoon. Neytiri was beside him with a spare quiver and her bow. And all around them, the banks teemed with very pregnant Omegas and Alphas—some of whom kept shooting him very pointed glances.

“We did not think we would see you out this morning, Olo’eyktan,” K’irin said softly, elbowing him gently as she knelt beside the stream to wash her hands. Her belly, six months along, shimmered under the waterlight.

“Without Tsu’Tey?” Ayne teased, rubbing her own still-small bump with a tilt. "I expected you two merged at the hips, more at the pelvis."

Jake grunted, hauling the net higher on his shoulder as he laughed.

“He had meditations this morning. I wanted to surprise him,” he said, letting the weight of the net fall onto the grass beside them. “He mentioned this soup—said he hasn’t had it in years.”

“Aya, all this sweetness, and still no babies?” K’irin smiled, flopping dramatically into the water to float on her back. “Eywa above, Neytiri, are you hearing this?”

Neytiri caught the tail of the net before it slipped into the current. She gave him a sidelong look, the corner of her mouth lifting. Everyone knew Jake was sweet on Tsu’Tey—they witnessed his puppy-eager-to-please nature heavily during Tsu’Tey and his courting—but there was a special softness now that they were bonded.

“You must not remember who Jake mated,” Neytiri deadpanned, not looking up as she strung her bow. “I will drop a hint. He is stubborn. Prickly. He would rather die than not train, and now he prays too much. If I did not say anything to Jake, they would have probably still been courting.”

Jake splashed water at her with his foot, grinning.

“I would have waited. Besides, we’ve been rebuilding the clan.”

“So was I,” Srei called from the shoreline. “And yet—look!” She turned so her small bump caught the sun. Several others laughed and chimed in.

“The clan waits to see our Tsahik carry,” Talik murmured from where he sat weaving garlands in the grass. His hands were busy, but his eyes were fond. He was glowing, blessed with twins. “It would be a good sign. A blessing.”

“Yes!” Ämuä clapped, her hands still wet with river silt and fish scales. “Eywa declares a strong clan when our leaders are balanced. When there is life from their bond. Of course, it is different when they are related—we do not expect it then.”

Talik rolled his eyes. “We would expect it from their bonds—separately.”

Jake shifted, chuckling low under his breath as he bent to gather another strand of net. He wasn’t offended, but he also wasn’t entirely unaffected.

He’d heard the whispers. He knew how many eyes watched their bond. Tsu’Tey wasn’t the youngest Tsahik, but he was the most accoladed, and Eywa blessed him back from the dead; there were expectations.

Jake was still the outsider in many eyes, especially for the Oldheads; even as Olo’eyktan, he still had a lot to prove.

He could feel their weight. The waiting. The unspoken question:

‘Will this sanctioned bond bring fruit?’

It wasn’t just pressure—it was hope. Faith. They believed that if their leaders were united, it meant the clan was safe. A sign that Eywa was blessing their clan with peace, prosperity, and Her warmth once again. It wasn’t every Zìskrrmipaw —thank Eywa—but it was big at the beginning of new leaders and hard times. This was one of those moments.

Neytiri lifted her bow, took aim, and loosed a clean shot, piercing a fat, golden fish mid-leap.

“They will have one,” she said calmly, retrieving the arrow. “Trust me. Arvok dreamt of fish—when I asked the color, he scurried off.” The group burst into laughter.

Jake blinked. “What does that have to do with—”

“Fish in a dream is a sign of fertility and good fortune.” Ämuä clapped with a smile. “Especially if it is golden or orange.”

Jake snorted and shook his head, shoulders rolling as he cast the net again. 

Back in the high nest, Tsu’Tey curled on his side, tired. 

He had helped students with bow alignment and arrow placement before he felt sick again and ended the session early.

He skipped lunch—his appetite was not there, and he did not want to risk it. Ninat visited him after lunch and forced him to at least drink water and left him a bowl of fruit: “Stay hydrated, you absolute skxawng; I do not want word of our Tsahik fainting because he has chosen the path of starvation and stubbornness. What will your mate think?”

He huffed but accepted it. He sucked on the fruits and took a soft bite, letting the tangy, bitter fruit go down his throat as he sat up. He exhaled and ate another, then another. It seemed the baby liked certain tart fruits. 

Baby…

He pressed his hand to his stomach, twirling his navel jewel before properly pressing into his abdomen. He tilted his head and sighed.

He thought back to when he and Jake were courting each other—when he was nervous and a tad shy about touches and about Jake’s hands and his kisses. The way he always kissed down his belly after kissing his lips and chest, like it was sacred—treasured. How Jake admitted one night after too many cups of wä'etxìk, “I dream of little ones with your eyes. So damn pretty—God, you’re so unreal.”

He blinked for a second and rubbed his palm low over his stomach, and let himself feel it. Think it. Live it.

It did not feel real, but it was.

He was carrying a child.

A child he made—a child he and Jake made.

He stilled. “Ma’ite. Ma’itan. Whichever you are.” His tail flipped. “Whichever child I saw with Eywa. Irayo—thank you.” He licked his lips. “I will try to be everything you deserve.”

✦

Jake came home grinning.

He smelled like the river—fish, pollen, and the faintest tang of musk on him. Bow slung over his shoulder, hair damp, shoulders loose. He had just dropped off the catch with the cooks and bribed Arvok to give them the recipe, and it was too easy. The kids along the path had waved. The huntresses and hunters joked. Neytiri smiled.

It was a good day.

He slid into the nest.

“Hey baby—you lyin’ down, didn’t think I’d see you this early. Thought you’d be off broodin’ on a cliff or intimidatin’ some poor apprentice into perfectin’ their bow grip.” He softly put the bow down. His ear twitched when Tsu’Tey didn’t move, just a tail flicker—he was listening. Usually, when Jake came in loud with some banner, he’d get a hiss or a slick roll of the tongue in return, but now—nothing.

Jake’s tail lashed, a quiet snap of concern. “I, uh—I got a surprise for you for dinner.” He gestured vaguely. “Worked my charm on Arvok. Gonna regret it later, but hey, we’re livin’ in the now.”

Still nothing. Tsu’Tey stared, eyes low-lit and unreadable.

Jake frowned, the warmth slipping just slightly from his face. “Baby—Tey, you good?”

Tsu’Tey blinked, then nodded. “Yes. I—I am fine. A little tired.”

Jake nodded back, slowly, trying not to push and prod, but his ears lifted—subtle, alert. He stepped closer, his voice softer now. “Tired like…‘tired and need a nap,’ or tired like you’re about to disappear into the spirit world without tellin’ anybody?”

Tsu’Tey tilted his head. “I am the first one ‘tired’—yawne, why would I leave when I have you?”

Jake blinked. His mouth opened just slightly, but no words made it out. Tsu’Tey pushed up into Jake’s space. He gave the smallest flick of a smile—barely there, but enough for Jake to exhale like pressure uncoiled in his chest.

His arms slid around Tsu’Tey’s middle as he pressed his forehead just under his husband’s jaw. Not tight, not desperate—just held. His hands splayed open, and he squeezed. Feeling.

Tsu’Tey didn’t move at first. Then his fingers found Jake’s hair and stayed. Jake stayed still, listening. Tsu’Tey’s heart, fast and solid, pulsing steadily just beneath skin and bone.

Jake’s voice was low, mouthed into skin. “You’d tell me if somethin’ was wrong, right?”

A faster thrum from under him, then a soft hum against his forehead.

“You would be the first to know.”

---

The fire crackled softly, and gold rose across the communal circle.

Children chirped and screamed. Elders nodded with bellies full. Fishbones littered woven leaves. Bellies round with a sauce of spicies and herbs, then 'epi—bread, and fruits. Voices chattered, some singing.

Jake sat beside Tsu’Tey—close, always close—but tonight his mate might as well have been on the other side of the moons.

“Got the spice recipe from Arvok,” Jake said, a smile in his voice as he pressed the bowl into Tsu’Tey’s hands. “Most passive-aggressive moment of my life.”

No reaction.

Tsu’Tey only hummed—low, barely a breath. A sound that could mean anything or nothing at all. He didn’t even meet Jake’s eyes. Just stared down at the bowl like it had personally offended him.

Jake blinked. Okay, maybe he didn’t say it right? Maybe he should’ve said, ‘I blackmailed your brother with a hunting favor to get your favorite blend of root spice and chili oil.’

Tsu’Tey did not say much when Jake returned earlier, AND from Jake’s unprompted investigation. Jake assumed he was tired from meditations and training, so he let him be, but now, Tsu’Tey was silent. More than usual.

He barely touched his food, picking at the fruits and avoiding the fish and sauce as if it had insulted his ancestors. Jake watched across the circle; everyone else was enjoying dinner—even Arvok (who went back for seconds), but Tsu’Tey? Jake tried not to fidget.

Was he sick? Did the stew mess with his stomach? He’d tasted everything, kept it fresh, and asked Neytiri for guidance (which she’d given: “Do not let Ezä season the sauce, 'epi or fish—he overdoes everything”).

But nothing.

Tsu’Tey sat stiff beside him and Eytukan, knees pulled in toward his chest. He wasn’t brooding exactly—his brow was smooth, his expression unreadable—but he was off. The head tilt. The biting of his inner cheek. The subtle side-eye watching from the corner of his braids. 

It wasn’t at Jake—or Arvok, or Eytukan, or Neytiri—or the space where Artsut and Ateyo usually sat.

It was toward the gathering of omegas, a few spaces down. K’irin, with her heavy belly, Talik wrapped around his mate, fat with twins, and Poa, who was offering another well-seasoned 'epi to her grabby daughter, while heavy with another child, belly painted with flower dye, beaming.

Tsu’Tey watched too long. Too quiet.

When Tsu’Tey finally took a bite (two bites) of the stew, dipped his 'epi, nothing happened. No tail flipping, ears perking up, or eyes growing wide. Nothing at all.

“...you don’t like it?”

Tsu’Tey blinked slowly, like he just realized Jake was there and where they were. “Hm?”

Jake scratched his jaw, suddenly unsure.

“The stew. I asked Kaifì to make it like how you described—well, asked Arvok if he could talk to her; waited until Ezä was not there, because he oversalts things, and—Arvok said you’re supposed to roast the mash root first before addin’ it to the spices…” He licked his lips; his accent got thicker when he was worried. “I thought it was good, but now yer not even—baby, if it was oversalted or the wrong fish it—just tell me; you ain’t gotta punish yourself.” Or me, with silence. “I’ll try again—”

“It is fine.”

Jake looked around and pressed closer to Tsu'Tey. “Baby...it ain’t fine; you’re doing that thing where you go real quiet and you tune things out. Talk to me.”

Tsu’Tey did not respond; he only took a slice of the the sourfruit and bit off half. “It is fine.”

Jake swallowed and sat back. Pressed the heel of his palm against his forehead.

“Shit.”

Eytukan nudged him gently, raising his brows. What’s wrong?

Jake shook his head, forcing a small smile.

“Nothing. It’s...It’s good stew.”

He took a bite to prove it. And it was. Spiced. Bright. A little heat in the throat. A perfect balance of sweet and savory. But it tasted like worry now.

His eyes flicked again to Tsu’Tey and Tsu’Tey’s to the omegas.

"Excuse me, I...I'll be back."

---

Jake wasn’t used to pacing like this. Not anymore.

He used to do it all the time when he was human—anxious leg twitching, fidgeting with dog tags, biting his nails, rubbing the back of his neck like it might wring out the tension. Since becoming Na’vi, he'd carried himself with certainty. He had to. As Olo’eyktan. As Tsu’Tey’s mate.

But right now? Right now, he was pacing like a man who had royally fucked up.

The lab lights were low, just the hum of the systems and the clink of Norm’s pen tapping against his tablet as Jake hovered.

“He was quiet,” Jake muttered, for the fourth time in under two minutes. “He never is just quiet—I don’t think I did somethin’; he would have told me. He always tells me. He doesn’t just…get all withdrawn.”

Norm sighed and looked up. “Jake…”

Jake looked like shit. His locs were a mess, and his brows were furrowed so deep Norm was sure they were going to stick that way—he had scared all the scientists and workers out with his tail lashing, and who wouldn’t be freaked out with a nearly ten-foot cat just pacing behind you and over you? “Do y’think—do y’think he’s gonna leave me?”

Norm froze. “What?”

Jake rubbed his face. “I mean, maybe I said some stupid shit. Maybe I sincerely fucked up the recipe—he got real quiet and just stared. Neytiri said to give him space—ain’t never a good sign when she’s sayin’ it.”

Norm blinked and shook his head. “Jake. You’ve been through war, death—you lead the clan, estrus season...and you think one inconvenience is going to unravel all that?”

Jake didn’t answer.

It was Max who finally cut in, still seated nearby with a microscope half-forgotten, his eyes behind glasses, tired but thoughtful. “He is chemically tied to you, Jake,” he said simply, not unkindly. “You’ve said it yourself. The bond between mates? It’s not something they undo. Na’vi…they mate for life.”

Jake exhaled sharply through his nose. “Yeah, well, you ain’t seen Tsu’Tey pissed.”

“Nope,” Max agreed softly. “But I’ve seen you when he was in recovery. You waited, and you got him. So why aren’t you talking to him right now instead of running circles around Norm’s desk?”

Jake stilled.

Norm gave a small, almost apologetic shrug. “Look, man. He chose you. You . He trusts you. Maybe it was something early that pissed him off—but I guarantee what would hurt worse is you standing here instead of going to him.”

Jake was already halfway to the door before they could say another word, grabbing his knife with one hand and swinging it over his shoulder into the holder.

“Thanks,” he muttered. “If I ain’t back by mornin’, assume he buried me.”

Max called after him, “Use your Sully Magic!”

Norm laughed. Jake didn’t respond. He was already gone.

---

Jake tried to brush his fingers against his mate’s when he got back to the nest, slow movements beneath the moonlight, but Tsu’Tey—without even seeming to notice—pulled ahead.

It wasn’t sharp. Not with the clipped tension of anger. Or frustration. Just…distantly. Like how the darkness crept.

Jake’s heart twisted.

He stared at Tsu’Tey’s back, the long, elegant line of striped blue muscle along his shoulders, and the soft sway of his tail—unreadable—and tried to swallow the rising panic in his throat.

Did I do something?

Forget something?

Was it the stew? The damn spice? Arvok’s grubby little face?

Jake didn’t say anything.

They were both quiet as they slipped into the shallow waters in the back of their home—the one that was three branches away and a jump from their nest. The water was warm, scented with oils—Tsu’Tey’s. Jake took his time scrubbing the sweat and grime from the day away, sneaking glances at his husband.

Tsu’Tey had his back to him, slowly massaging the sudsy soap on his body. His shoulders. His sides. His thighs.

Not talking.

Not leaning.

Not touching.

Jake’s heart finally cracked a little when they got into the nest—he nearly died on the walk home. Tsu’Tey sat on the edge of the nest, putting on the body butter Jake had made months ago, and then Tsu’Tey slipped into the nest without a word.

Jake watched him curl there, knees drawn up again. A posture he didn’t use unless he was shielding something. His arms wrapped around his middle—not protectively. Not consciously. But...he did it.

Jake sat on the edge of the nest and rubbed the back of his neck. Then, slowly, quietly, he spoke:

“Baby...is something wrong?”

No answer.

Jake didn’t push. Not yet.

“You’ve been quiet all day. Since before the meal. Since before the stew.” He paused. The silence between them thickened. “If it’s somethin’ I did…” he tried, his voice soft, his drawl thick and uneven. “Just tell me. Don’t leave me out here in the dark.”

Tsu’Tey exhaled, but it was more breath than a sigh.

Jake moved to the center of the nest and finally settled beside him, close but not touching. His warmth radiated, and his voice dropped lower, more intimate. “I thought maybe you were tired, or the herbs, or somethin’ Arvok said. Hell, I thought maybe I just forgot some ceremony or you needed space, but…that ain’t it, is it?”

Still nothing.

Jake sighed and pressed his hand on his husband's shoulder, then across the curve of his spine, watching the way his mate trembled— just barely.

“Sweetheart…what’s goin’ on in that head of yours?”

Tsu’Tey’s voice, when it finally came, was so quiet it felt like breath more than sound.

“It is not you.”

Jake stilled. He heard that line so many times—from so many people. The last person he expected to mumble this phrase was Tsu’Tey.

“Baby,” Jake said quietly. “Did I forget somethin’? Are—are you mad at me?”

“What?” Tsu’Tey turned, his ears flicking. “—Mad? ”

“You haven’t said a word to me in hours, and I’m trying to figure out which one of my many Jakeisms pissed you off today,” Jake blurted, half-laughing, half-begging for mercy. “Baby, please. Just yell at me already. I can handle that. It’s the silence I can’t take.”

Tsu’Tey looked at him, sharp and limón–like in the dim glow, his lips parted as if he wanted to say something. Then, he grabbed Jake’s hand, entwining Jake’s five-fingered hand within his four-fingered one. Soft. Firm.

“I am not mad.”

A breath.

A shake.

“Angel. I can’t fix what you don’t tell me. I ain’t a mind reader, and if I need to fight—”

“Oel lu prrku sì tsawlnì’ä meä oeyä.”

Silence.

“You…what? ”

“Oel lu prrku sì tsawlnì’ä meä oeyä,” Tsu’Tey repeated softly, his tone fierce, voice low. Rushed. Like he had to force it out before it killed him. He untwined Jake's hand and pressed it against his belly.  

Jake stared.

His hand didn’t move.

His brain did not know what to think.

Tsu’Tey’s ears fell back slightly, and his tail swayed anxiously. Was he upset?  He did not flinch. Just sat there, skin warm and taut beneath Jake’s palm, eyes still locked on his.

Finally, Jake broke through his stunned stupor.

“You are pregnant?”

Tsu’Tey tilted his head, eyes narrowed and ears high. “That is the tawtute word?” Jake nodded. “It means I carry a part of you?” Jake nodded again. “Then yes.” He gave a small smile. “I suppose I am, as you say, ‘pregnant.’”

Jake’s voice was barely a whisper.

“Like…baby. In there.”

“Yes.”

Jake’s jaw dropped. His hand twitched on reflex.

“But—how long—how did you know?”

“I threw up during meditation this morning.”

Jake’s mouth worked helplessly.

“You threw up during—”

Tsu’Tey sighed. “Mo’at knew immediately. She said it before I even wiped my mouth.”

“And the fish?”

“You did well; I loved the spices—my stomach did not like the fish smell,” Tsu’Tey grumbled, ashamed. “I am sorry, yawne.”

Jake’s eyes locked on the hand against Tsu’Tey’s belly, like it had suddenly become a sacred object. His hand curled protectively around his mate’s belly—not yet swollen, not yet visible, but he held it like it was the whole world. 

“Shit.” His voice cracked. “I—don’t apologize, baby. It is not you; it’s the baby. It’s the baby in your stomach that I put there and—” Jake groaned into his stomach. “Oh, fuck, I love you so much. We’re having a baby? Like a real—tiny baby?”

“I said yes many times.” Tsu’Tey huffed, but he was smiling. Quiet. Warm. 

Jake kissed his belly like it was holy. “You’re gonna be the best sa’nok. Baby—shit—you’re already the best. I’m—I’m gonna—I’m gonna cook every damn stew you want for the next—how long is it again? Twenty moons?!”

“Jake…”

“No, I’m serious—I’ll get up before dawn, I’ll rub your back, I’ll steal Arvok’s spice every day if I have to—I love you.”

Tsu’Tey blinked. Soft. “I love you, too.”

Jake’s head was still against his belly, and he looked up at him with wide, reverent eyes.

“You’re really pregnant?”

“Yes.”

“With our baby?”

“Jake, if I have to say ‘yes’ once more, I am kicking you.”

It took Jake hours to calm down, to let Tsu'Tey lie down, and to let himself accept the reality—he was going to be a father; he was going to have a family—he had a purpose, and Tsu'Tey had given that to him. Shit. Jake rests his forehead on Tsu’Tey’s middle, tears stinging his eyes. “I thought you were mad. I was ready to sleep outside.”

Tsu’Tey exhaled, palm carding through his mate’s hair. “I am sorry, yawne. I was just worried, not about you. Just…of telling you. We talked of babies, but I did not think so soon—”

Jake rose to meet Tsu’Tey’s eyes, cupping his face in both hands. “It’s okay, baby. It is so fucking okay.”

“Such a…colorful array of words, Jake.” Tsu’Tey snorted.

There was a pause, and Jake stared into his mate’s eyes, thumbing the moles under and squishing his face.

“You—you know I’m gonna be annoying about this, right?”

“You have a tendency to be regardless.”

Jake grinned.

“I’m gonna talk to your belly every night. Like full conversations.”

“You already do that in my neck.”

“I’m gonna cry when you show. Like a full-on ugly cry.”

“Dramatic.” Tsu’tey’s tail twitched.

Jake pressed up, and they kissed. Long and deep.

For the first time in hours, Tsu’Tey breathed like he could finally relax.

✦

The morning light had not yet crested over the canopy. The forest was still bathed in blue shadow, soft with mist, humming with the early rhythms of birds and ikran calls. Pa’li stirred far in the distance, neighing. The earth smelled like sweetroot oil and morning dew, while the fading trace of last night’s tea clung.

Tsu’Tey was asleep. Sprawled diagonally across the nest, one leg slung over the edge, an arm sprawled on Jake’s side. His hair was a beautiful mess, braids draped loosely around him, and beads clicked softly when he shifted. His breathing was deep. Easy.

For once, he looked completely relaxed. This was the goal—he was sleeping in today, not awake with Eywa’s creations. He would wake, but not to the sounds of birds, the whisper of the breeze, or the shifting of light through the canopy. He woke to breathing.

Hot, focused, intimate breathing.

On his stomach.

“Mornin’, bean.”

Tsu’Tey was startled; his knee hit the edge of a blanket, nearly causing him to tumble out of the nest. He would have fallen if not for the heaviness pressing down on him. The blanket slipped down to his thighs.

Beneath the folds of fabric, two glowing yellow eyes stared up at him.

Tsu’Tey let out a sharp gasp, ears flicking flat. His hand twitched with the temptation to swat—but held still, because… well, because it was Jake. His husband nestled beneath the covers like some feral, affectionate creature.

“Have you lost your mind?” He hissed. Jake did not move. Just grinned into his belly like a man completely at peace.

“A little,” he said, voice muffled by skin and adoration. “Don’t mind me. Just sayin’ hi to our baby. Gotta make sure they know Daddy’s here.”

“It can not even hear you.” Tsu’Tey stared down at the covers, tail flicking violently off to the side. “Besides, it is barely dawn.”

“They don’t know time yet,” Jake murmured, pressing the side of his face to Tsu’Tey’s stomach like he was listening for answers. “Gotta get in early. First voice they hear better be mine.”

Tsu’Tey made a low, incredulous noise in his throat. “You are insane. Besides, my voice is first—they are in me.”

“A guy can try,” Jake said, nuzzling lower, kissing the flat plane just beneath his navel with all the patience of prayer. “And I’m not insane. Just in love. In real deep.”

Of course, that's when the nonsense began.

Jake woke him every morning after that.

With soft murmurs. With hot kisses to his belly. With ridiculous whispered monologues.

“Good mornin’, little bean. It’s Daddy again. Your mama is very grumpy before tea and stretches, so we’re gonna talk real quiet right now.”

“I just wanted to say I love you already.”

Tsu’Tey groaned, eyes shut, tail curled over his leg like he was trying to block out the whole scene. It made his heart flutter, but it also gave him a headache to get up because once his body registered he was awake, it was time to vomit and dry-heave. “You are talking to my intestines.”

Jake kissed the spot just below his jewelry again.

“Nah. I can feel ’em. I’m tuned in, baby. Eywa gave me the direct line.”

“You do not have a direct line to anything,” Tsu’Tey rasped, threading a hand into Jake’s hair—not to push him away, but to hold him there. “Skxawng.”

“Gotta keep it up daily, angel. Keep that connection strong.” Jake looked up, grinning, his voice full of that teasing warmth he always carried. He kissed Tsu’Tey’s hand as his came to cup his cheek. “Skin-to-skin. Lips-to-belly. You know. Sacred stuff.”

---

One morning, Tsu’Tey finally sat up, yanking the blanket down with a huff that was more for show than anything.

There was Jake, sprawled between his thighs like a man who belonged there, arms folded under his chin, face pressed just above his hipbones. His hair was slightly curling in wild, untamed waves from last night’s bath (it would also need to be retwisted), and his eyes—gold-bright, tired, but lazy with affection—were so stupidly soft it made Tsu’Tey’s chest ache.

“You woke me up—again,” Tsu’Tey whined, his voice hoarse from sleep, rubbing one hand across his face. Jake nearly laughed at how petulant he sounded, blinking up slowly. “To flirt with my flesh.”

Jake grinned, rubbing slow, circular motions into the softest part of Tsu’Tey’s thighs with his thumbs. “That’s what good mates do.”

Tsu’Tey made a sound. A soft, reluctant purr—the kind he didn’t mean to let slip. A little flutter in his throat like a warning and a want at once. Jake definitely noticed. He didn’t say a word. Then, fingers traveled under Jake’s jaw, and Tsu’Tey tilted. A sharp little thing.

Jake could’ve resisted. He should’ve, maybe—just for fun, but then he heard it.

That clicking noise.

A sharp, soft sound, deep in Tsu’Tey’s throat—the one he made when the world refused to bend to his will.

Jake had heard it a hundred times.

When Tsu’Tey was denied the last piece of fruit.

When a young hunter didn’t listen during training.

When the rain ruined his perfectly laid hunt plan.

When Jake refused to roll over and let him have his way.

It was the exact same sound Tommy’s fat orange tabby used to make when denied a lap or roast chicken.

Jake only squinted, so Tsu’Tey only clicked louder.

With a snort, Jake let himself be pulled forward until their noses brushed. Their foreheads met, and their breaths mingled in the space between them, warm and close with the remnants of sleep.

Tsu’Tey’s arms slid around him—elegant and instinctive in their certainty. His tail curled behind Jake’s lower back in a lazy, unconscious tether, tickling Jake’s tail’s base. Like he could not bear the idea of Jake slipping away again. Like he never stopped anchoring him.

His voice came low, close to Jake’s lips. “I heard you moving last night.”

There was a pause. No judgment. Just that look—steady and searching.

Jake offered a tired smile. A good one, soft at the corners. “Just thinkin’. Y’know how I get. Sometimes I find myself in my head at night. Can’t sleep. Nothin’ much.”

Tsu’Tey’s brow twitched. The corners of his mouth lifted, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Nothin’ much,” he mimicked, dry as ash.

There was a small silence between them then, filled only with their breathing and the soft creak of woven fibers beneath them.

“You would say if there was something wrong…yes?”

Jake hesitated. Briefly. It was not too visible—not enough for Tsu’Tey to want to make something out of nothing .

“Yeah, baby. ’Course I would.” His voice was thick, hoarse with sleep and something else. “I promise. Promise. Don’t worry about me.”

Tsu’Tey didn’t press. He just looked at him for a long moment, then ran his fingers down the curve of Jake’s neck in one slow, grounding drag, then settled at the back of his head, warm and comforting.

“Come run with me this morning?” he asked softly. “It is warm. The mist will still be low. A good stretch.”

Jake huffed a laugh and buried his face briefly in the space between Tsu’Tey’s neck and shoulder. He didn’t say yes. Didn’t say no.

Tsu’Tey gave him a light shove, smug. Loving. “Get up, skxawng. Run with me.”

Jake grumbled as he stretched, limbs long and lazy, every joint popping like firewood in the hearth. His loincloth rode low, tail flicking with the faintest irritation as he padded toward the edge of the nest.

He glanced back over his shoulder, smirking. “Let me piss and we’ll run all over the forest.”

Tsu’Tey rose and stretched. Just chuffed, ears flicking, tail twitching with amusement.

---

At first, it was subtle.

The way Tsu’Tey rubbed his stomach when he thought no one was watching—just his fingertips, light and slow, tracing a spiral like he was trying to feel where Eywa tucked their baby inside him. The way his ears tilted down in confusion the first time the fruit he was so obsessed with—craving—started to taste a little funny.

Jake watched. Quietly. From across the room, or beside him in the hammock, pretending to doze when really he was memorizing every new shift in Tsu’Tey’s body, every little signal he gave.

The way Tsu’Tey’s glow changes. Literally. His skin takes on a deeper hue, his tanhì brighter. 

See, Jake’s not a prude.

He’d seen a lot. Done a lot. But nothing—and he means nothing—could have prepared him for this.

He was watching Tsu’Tey bathe in the river, golden light hitting every sleek, powerful line of his body, and normally, Jake would just be enjoying the view. They just hunted and took down a big kill; kissed and fooled around in the sun—no further responsibilities, but this time?

This time, his eyes snagged on Tsu’Tey’s chest.

On the subtle—but very present—swell there. Firmer. Fuller. A roundness to it that wasn’t there before. Yes, he felt it when they were touching each other, but he didn’t want to ruin the mood.

Listen, Jake was not dumb. He knew Tsu’Tey’s pregnant. He knew bodies changed.

Yet, his military-wired human brain was just silently blue-screening.

Barely noticeable, but it’s...yep, it's definitely there. A roundness at the top of each pectoral. Not muscle.

Jake stared.

Then looked away.

Then stared again.

Tsu’Tey’s chest. His back was broader now, waist still trim, thighs finally gained a little more definition. And—

Yeah. Yeah. Those were boobs.

Small, firm—and perfectly sculpted by Eywa herself—boobs on his husband.

Tsu’Tey turned around, eyes soft, mouth parted as he sat on the bank, glowing like a spirit from the Tree of Souls, and Jake—

He forgot what he was gonna say.

“What is it? Did I miss a spot?”

Jake cleared his throat. “Nothing. You, uh…look good.”

Tsu’Tey’s ears flattened. “You are a terrible liar.”

There’s a pause. “I ain’t lyin’...” Because he wasn't, but he still swallowed hard. Tsu’Tey still stared at him. He sighed—better now than later. “Are you growin’...tits?”

Tsu’Tey padded over, movements slower now with the added weight, little curved pierced belly leading, and ears twitching as he eyes Jake suspiciously. “What?” he said, even his tail coiled behind him in a lazy question mark.

Jake made a high-pitched wheeze. “I, uh, I just didn’t—uh. Y-you got…you got…”

Tsu’Tey double-blinked. Looked down.

“Ah,” he said flatly. “Yes. I developed breasts. It is normal. Do you not know I am carrying our child?”

“I know that,” Jake stammered. The swell was there, unavoidable—Tsu’Tey would be four months tomorrow. “But I just—I thought—I didn’t think you…they…would uhm… ” Jake gestured vaguely to the chest swell. “Grow…? Nothing wrong with them—or you; you look good, sweetheart.”

Tsu’Tey blinked again. He looked down at his own body, then back up with mild offense. “Did you not have Omegas on your home planet who fed their young?”

Jake rubs the back of his neck. “We had something similar! I mean, but…not no.” They never knew of secondary sexes until studying the Na'vis—it became a thing on Earth because of them, but no.

Tsu’Tey frowns. “Then how do your male Omegas nourish infants?”

Jake looks horrified. “They don’t—well, didn’t. They had formulas. Only human women—well, some men can, y’know, breastfeed. Skypeople are biologically different.”

Another beat.

Tsu’Tey looked genuinely concerned.

“That is very upsetting.”

“I mean, the baby still gets milk; it's just...from a bottle sometimes.”

“From what kind of bottle ?”

Jake paused. “...Plastic?”

“The stinky fake material?” Tsu’Tey muttered something in Na’vi that sounded like a curse against technology, skypeople, and possibly plastic.

Jake stepped forward like a man summoned by the dive. One hand hovering.

Tsu’Tey cocked a brow. “Jake.”

“I—can I? ”

Tsu’Tey sighed dramatically, but the purple spreading up his neck gave him away. “Yes, but only for a moment—be gentle.”

Jake reached out with both hands like he was about to touch sacred pearls and gently, gently cupped them.

They were warm. Soft. Weighty. Definitely new.

Jake just…melted. His thumbs ghosted over the peaks, and Tsu’Tey chirred.

“Shit,” Jake breathed. “These are real. They’re real.”

Tsu’Tey exhaled through his nose. “Of course they are real. What did you think was happening to my chest? Magic?”

Truly? Yes.

---

(tw: Jake is an eater—so if you want to skip, go to “the nest was soft and warm…”)

Tsu’Tey was in the nest when Jake found him—half-curled on his side, the plush belly of twenty weeks’ worth of baby soft and round beneath the glow of the woven skylight above. His back arched just slightly, tail flicking irritably, one arm flung across his eyes.

Jake knew that trill.

“Back again, huh?” He murmured, crouching beside him, one calloused hand brushing across his thigh.

Tsu’Tey grunted.

“My hips ache, my thighs feel too full. Everything…everything is too much. I cannot get comfortable.”

“Sounds like you need a little distraction, baby.” Jake’s mouth quirked into a soft smile.

Another trill but no movement to stop him when Jake leaned in and kissed his hip, or his belly and parted his thighs, untwining his tweng, letting his breath hit his husband’s slightly chubbed cock, but that wasn’t his main focus—that little slit, warm and puffy.

“Let me help, hmm?” Jake drawled, voice low, thick, and warm like it always got when he was about to dedicate time to his husband. He kissed Tsu’Tey thigh.

Tsu’Tey’s ears flicked, tail curling.

“You—you always want to do this.” His voice was so strained. So embarrassed. “Eywa.”

“You carryin’ my baby; why wouldn’t I want to?” Jake grinned. He kissed again, gently adjusting his husband’s thighs open, kissing lower and lower. Tsu’Tey didn’t move, though his thighs quivered.

“Ma Jake, I look…I look strange—from your angle.”

Jake huffed. “Strange? Baby, you look like a goddamn feast. You’re glowin’. Ripe. Look so sweet I could lose my mind.”

Tsu’Tey chuffed softly at that. He turned his face away, trying to bury his embarrassment in the nest of furs.

Jake—gods, Jake loved this version of him. All heat-flushed, nipples puffy and tender from hormones, belly heavy with their firstborn, and he was so shy. “I've seen it all,” Jake whispered, kissing across the inner crease of his thigh were a little mole pigmented near his slit. “I know every inch of you. You got nothin’ to hide.”

Tsu’Tey let out a shaky chirr, thighs falling open a little more.

Jake took that as permission.

He devoured.

Gentle at first—reverent. Just soft kitten licks, tongue curling slowly around the edges of that fluttery slit, taking in the taste of him. Of sweat and home.

And when Tsu’Tey’s moans got higher, back arching, hips twitching—Jake just gripped his thighs, mouth full of him, and groaned. “Mm. That’s it. Let go for me, come on.”

Tsu’Tey gasped something in Na’vi—barely audible. Probably a prayer. Probably begging.

Probably trying not to soak the nest again because pregnancy had him so sensitive.

Jake just hummed. Worked his tongue deeper, flicking from his opening to his clit. Kissed and sucked and let the wetness spread across his chin, slick and beautiful and his. Tsu’Tey ran a hand low and stroked his cock—a soft chirp coming through as Jake focused on his clit, just circling then a couple of sucks. There was a chirp; his thighs clambered.

Tsu’Tey came—soft and breathless, leaking for him, cock pearling, whispering Jake’s name like it was holy?

Jake pulled up, lips glistening, and kissed his belly.

“So pretty,” he whispered. “Love you like this. Most beautiful thing Eywa ever made.”

Tsu’Tey, cheeks flushed and eyes glossy, just buried his face in his arms. 

—

The nest was soft and warm, still carrying the faint scent of the oils Jake had rubbed into the woven bedding earlier. The air inside the kelku was thick with humidity and the quiet hush of late morning, pierced only by birdsong and the occasional flick of Tsu’Tey’s twitching tail.

Jake leaned in on one elbow, watching his husband like he was the most beautiful damn thing Eywa ever sculpted—because hell if he wasn’t. Tsu’Tey lay on his side, belly round and skin dewed from the walk back from the stream, the way his braids draped over his shoulders like ink. He was trying really hard not to meet Jake’s eyes, ears flicking like crazy, lip caught between sharp teeth.

Jake had cleaned the nest that morning, humming to himself while Tsu’Tey napped, curled like a cat. Afterward, he’d walked with him to the stream and washed him slowly, reverently. Rubbed oil into his back, kxumpay into his aching feet, and kissed his belly like the altar it was. And now? Now he was lying there, all flushed and fussy and quiet, like Jake hadn’t done all that just an hour ago.

“Now don’t you start actin’ shy,” Jake murmured, his voice as thick as sap, his fingers brushing slow circles over the taut swell of his husband’s belly, flicking the navel jewelry. His thumb dragged low, teasing just above Tsu’Tey’s tweng, not pressing, just touching. “You over here poutin’ like I didn’t already get you pregnant.”

Tsu’Tey made a soft sound—half chuff, half sigh—and turned his face toward the wall. His ears were burning, and he muttered something low and sharp in Na’vi under his breath.

“I know what that means, baby.” Jake leaned in closer, putting his mouth right up against that twitching ear.

Tsu’Tey blinked wide golden eyes at him, suspicious, then turned away again quickly, tail curling up between his legs. “No, no, you do not.”

“It means, ‘I hate you when you talk like that.’” He gave his husband a smug little smirk. “Baby, I ain’t slow. You and Neytiri bullied me into learnin’ the language all proper—‘sides, I listen good when you’re yellin’ at me.”

Tsu’Tey’s snort was muffled into the bedding. “You still have that accent that cuts off our words.”

Jake leaned down and nipped his neck. “I think y’like that about me, Angel.”

He smiled again as Tsu’Tey gave him a sharp swat across the chest, but he wasn’t angry. Just embarrassed. Defensive. The only defense he had while lying there flat, round, and entirely adored.

Jake’s hand slid lower again, this time with more purpose, stroking the inside of his thigh where the skin was soft and flushed. His palm spanned easily across the muscle, rubbing slowly and coaxingly.

“C’mon now, baby,” he whispered, his voice all velvet and tease. “Ain’t no point in bein’ shy about things. You think I ain’t gonna love on you every chance I get?”

Tsu’Tey shuddered. “Jake—”

“Got this pretty belly. Got our baby kickin’ under my hand.” He pressed a kiss to the mound, lingering. “You wanna act like I shouldn't?”

The silence between them was warm, not awkward. Tsu’Tey peeked at him then, through the slits of those long lashes, his gaze soft and molten. “You are very terrible…”

Jake smiled, low and slow and sweeter than any fruit on the branch, brushing his lips across his husband’s. “Yeah, ‘m such a verrryyy bad terrible husband.”

Tsu’Tey didn’t fight when Jake kissed him again, a real kiss this time—slow and plush, the kind that curled toes and made his ears fold back with a sweet, instinctive chirr that Jake got used to during their courting. His tail unwound just a little, relaxing, brushing against Jake’s thigh.

By the time he reached the end of month five, Tsu’Tey was both miserable and glorious.

His skin was glowing with the flush of Eywa’s heat and the hormones pulsing in his blood. His chest had begun to stop swelling beneath his beads and was just a constant annoyance, and Neytiri had taken to braiding his hair meticulously every few days—he had nearly shaved the sides out of sheer frustration until she threatened to tie his tail into a knot if he touched a blade.

But, because there always is, everything felt like too much.

Too hot. Too heavy. Too present.

How Ayne and Tikian made it to term without crawling into Eywa’s arms and evaporating was a mystery.

Ka’ani and Akeylong (who had to physically restrain Arvok when he revealed he was pregnant from jumping Jake) said he looked radiant.

Liars. Pretty ones. 

Eywa would deal with them.

Worse, the cub curled against his lower spine, and Eywa, his back nerves, was always pinched.

Tsu’Tey hissed softly and shifted again, tail thumping once behind him in open protest.

Happy belated birthday to him.

Jake, who had been lounging nearby with a half-decorated arrow and a broken-apart gun, perked up immediately. “You okay, baby?”

Tsu’Tey turned his head slowly. Jake—always so quiet and—Tsu’Tey sighed, his eyes glowed gold, narrowed like a hunter eyeing prey. “Your son,” he began icily, but paused when the kit rolled like a beetle on his bladder.

His ears twitched.

“Your son,” he tried again. “Eywa bless it.”

Jake was already on his feet, alert. Hands twitching. Instincts firing like a soldier under threat. “What? What happened?”

Tsu’Tey turned his whole body this time, tail flicking. “Your son is lodged against my bladder. My back aches. My thighs ache. My feet feel like I walked and climbed Ayram Alusìng and back. I cannot hunt today. I want to hunt today and you, husband, have yet to do anything about it.”

Jake blinked. He truly was caught on that thin line between terror and devotion.

“I…I can rub your feet?” He offered, like tossing a grenade and hoping it landed right. Poa had said her feet hurt the most during pregnancy. Everyone said it. Jake was just following the rules.

Tsu’Tey stared at him. Then, without ceremony, he reached for Jake’s wrist, dragged him near, and slapped it onto his thigh.

Jake froze.

The striped flesh beneath his hand was soft and heavy with heat. It gave gently under his touch, and Jake felt the ripple of muscle and tension. Tsu’Tey’s skin shivered beneath his palm.

“Massage,” Tsu’Tey said flatly, as if he were asking Jake to bring water. “I will not beg.”

Jake snorted. His fingers curled instinctively, cupping the thick curve of the thigh. His thumb brushed lightly over the line where hip met belly. 

“Yes, sir,” he breathed, reverent. Was it a good time to admit that Tsu’Tey demanding things of him made him hard? Just seeing his husband full of their child was a massive turn-on. “Back first or…?”

“Is that a trick question?”

Jake blinked like he’d been hit with sunlight and moved behind him.

He thumbed over the twin dimples in Tsu’Tey’s lower back, pressing slow and firm, guided by months of knowing every scar, every inch of this body.

He pressed again—deeper this time—and Tsu’Tey shuddered. A gasping noise escaped his mouth before he could trap it. His tail curled, wrapping instinctively around Jake’s wrist.

“Press harder.”

Jake obeyed without hesitation. Just like he was a soldier back in the Marines.

Tsu’Tey let out a soft, broken noise—too close to a moan—and leaned back into him, trembling.

“Beautiful,” Jake muttered, pressing a kiss to his mate’s cheek, then to his neck. “Gorgeous—but you already knew that.” Tsu’Tey exhaled as Jake reached around with one hand, gently rubbing the round swell of his belly—and the baby kicked.

A soft flutter. It felt akin to a breath of wind trapped under skin—strong enough that Jake felt it.

He froze. His ears perked high, tail lashing.

“You felt that?” Tsu’Tey whispered, voice wobbling with wonder.

Jake nodded, eyes wide and wet.

“Yeah. He kicked me.”

He.

They had been saying that for a while now—based on instinct, on feeling, and on old wives’ tales. Tsu’Tey just went with it. He did not believe in the tale, but it made this—carrying—seem real. He could not explain it.

Tsu’Tey placed both hands over Jake’s, cradling his belly protectively. His expression shifted—pride, awe, softness—and he turned, kissing Jake’s cheek, nuzzling him close.

Jake held him tighter.

“You know,” he said softly, voice thick, “the kids would lose their minds if they could feel him too.”

Tsu’Tey chuckled, low and warm, but his body was still tense. Ache still throbbed through his hips, his thighs, and his lower back.

Jake kissed down his neck again. Then across the top of his spine. Then lower into the dip of his neck.

“But for now, I could…” Jake whispered, his voice dipping low, dangerously low, “Help you wind down…” His mouth pressed against Tsu’Tey’s shoulder blades.

“You would like that, would you not, skxawng? ” 

Jake snorted, but that didn’t stop Tsu’Tey from letting Jake kiss and bite on his neck. His hand curled tightly around Jake’s, pressing it firmly to his stomach like he needed that anchoring touch.

Jake slid lower, hands caressing over the softness of hips and belly, reverent as a prayer.

“Yeah, yeah, I would,” Jake breathed, already trailing his hands toward the base of Tsu’Tey’s tail. “I’ll start here.”

---

Jake stood frozen.

Absolutely still.

Holding a basket full of soft fruits with one hand and a wooden comb and belly butter in the other, while across the gathering space, Tsu’Tey—six months pregnant, gloriously round, and dangerous—was standing over three elder aunties like he was about to throw hands.

“I said the pattern is wrong,” Tsu’Tey snapped, tail flicking with every syllable. “This knot is crooked. This is not even. How do you expect me to hang this in the nursery and not want to rip it down every time I walk in?”

One of the aunties muttered, “It is not wrong; it is art. ”

Tsu’Tey’s nostrils flared. His belly gave a very visible roll as the baby inside kicked hard enough to shift the fabric around his hips—and still, he stepped forward.

“Your art is wrong.”

Jake choked. Coughed. Froze again.

Then he rushed over.

“Tsu’Tey, baby—c’mon, why don’t you sit down, yeah? I brought that fruit you wanted. The orange one with the jelly center—”

“I do not want it now; I want them to redo this garbage scrap of cloth! ”

Jake tried not to cringe.

“Okay, okay, we’ll make a new one together—c’mon, c’mere, sit down, I’ll rub your feet, you can call me names the whole time—please don’t scare the aunties, baby, you’re too pretty to get banned from communal crafts—”

Tsu’Tey glared but let Jake steer him away like a rolling thundercloud.

He sat down with a heavy grunt, propped his feet in Jake’s lap, and crossed his arms tight under his chest.

“You are lucky I like you.”

Jake grinned, already peeling fruit and unscrewing the belly butter.

“I think you more than ‘like’ me.”

---

The next day, after a long morning of checking on the newborn pa’li foals, Tsu’Tey settled cross-legged at the edge of the communal clearing, his belly swaying slightly with each shift as he tried to find a comfortable angle. How was he going to get up? Only Eywa knew. (He prayed he would not accidentally break his water this way.)

Of course, the kids swarmed him.

O’ame, M’wei, and little Tikan barreled toward him the second he sat, climbing him like he was a vine, clambering into his lap or leaning heavy against his side. Their voices tangled over each other—giddy babble about the baby pa’li, the sweets Ninat and baby Susngì had passed out, and something about one of them dreaming of a winged seed and that meant the Toruk was going to fly again.

Tsu’Tey listened with patient indulgence, grooming them: smoothing back flyaway braids, cleaning sticky cheeks with licked thumbs, and low hums of approval. He had always been a little fierce with the children—he did not baby-talk. Never had. Never wanted to. Never fake-sweet, but safe, in a way every child recognized. Enough for them to try to climb his pregnant belly.

So when Jake wandered over, grinning like he had just invented mischief, they all turned at once. ”Jake!”

“You guys wanna feel something cool?”

Every little head snapped toward him like he was a miracle.

“Cool?!” O’ame squeaked.

“Very cool,” Jake said with that wolfish smile. “The Tsahik’s belly.”

All of them blinked. Looked at each other. Then at Tsu’Tey, whose face had gone completely flat. As if the little gremlins were not surrounding his belly like bugs to sweets.

He let out a long, soul-deep sigh. It was not as if he could hide —his stomach was bare, the curve full and proud under the late morning light, blue skin stretched taut and luminous.

“The baby kicked me—well, Tsu’Tey—last night,” Jake added proudly. “You might get to feel it too.”

Instantly, the awe returned.

Wide, reverent eyes stared at Tsu’Tey’s belly like it was the greatest treasure on Eywa’s green earth.

“Can we, Tey? Pheaaaseee!” They begged in chorus, squirming with anticipation.

Tsu’Tey hummed thoughtfully, rubbing a hand over the round swell of his belly. He gave Jake a sidelong glance, then he turned to the children and snorted softly. “You may, if the baby feels so.”

M’wei reached out first, hesitant, as though the curve of his belly might vanish if she touched it too quickly. Her little hand pressed just above his navel. Tikan followed, cheeks flushed, fingers trembling, then O’ame—brash and bold—flopped forward and planted both hands and face against the bump like she owned it.

Inside, the kit shifted—writhing, wriggling, rolling, and then it kicked. A sharp little pulse against the skin. The imprint of its foot stayed on Tsu’Tey’s tummy before it returned under. 

“IT KICKED ME! IT KICKED MEEE!” O’ame screamed with glee.

M’wei squealed. Tikan yelped, stumbling back like he’d touched a spirit tree.

“The baby is real!” Tikan gasped, eyes huge, clutching at Jake’s leg like he might fly off the ground. “The baby is REAL!”

To everyone’s shock, Tsu’Tey laughed. Really laughed. Head tilted back, chest shaking, a low melodic sound like wind through reeds. The kind of laugh that made people turn their heads and smile before they even knew why. He covered the children’s hands with his own, warm and grounding.

“Very real,” he said, his voice thick with feeling.

The kids exploded with excitement. O’ame immediately launched into a story about teaching the baby to swim, while M’wei promised to bring toys the moment the baby was born. Tikan, in the quiet awe of a child who’d touched something sacred, asked if Tsu’Tey was having triplets like his mother had or twins like Talik, and Tsu’Tey immediately frowned—“Absolutely not.”

Jake, sitting back a little behind the chaos, just watched. Quiet. Heart full to the brim.

His mate, glowing and sharp and powerful, sat surrounded by giggling kits—his arms full of life, his belly full of their child, and his face softened with joy.

Jake swallowed hard, throat tight. He had never seen anything more holy.

---

Tsu’Tey was nesting.

Not just cleaning or fussing. Nesting. Full-on, possessed-by-instinct, dragging-blankets-in-from-their-chest nesting. Jake had barely blinked before every mat had been fluffed and rearranged, and the bedding now formed a massive circular cocoon that Neytiri teasingly called a “trap.”

Tsu’Tey was pacing around it, swaying with the heavy fullness of late pregnancy, belly tight and round like a ripened fruit straining against the skin. He paused with an exhale.

“False ones again?” Jake asked, lounging nearby with a practiced eye. He had the massage oil within reach, and he was already rolling his shoulders like a man preparing for a shift.

Tsu’Tey grunted. "It was a strong one," he muttered, easing himself down into the heart of the nest. He hissed, pushing braids from his face. “If this is practice, I do not think I want the real thing.”

Jake snorted. It was different nesting in the high area of the kelutral—different than a skinny hammock—snonivi. Jake was used to the swaying and the cocoons near him, but this way was good; he didn’t have to worry about their newborn deciding to prematurely swing into Eywa’s arms in the middle of the night. They had a big nest, like the families before them, but this time near the top. Hopefully, their kid wasn’t a professional roller. (From Future Jake: Neteyam wasn’t, Lo’ak was, Kiri when she felt like it, Tuktirey was too much of a cuddler to stray. )

From the other side of the nest, Neytiri hummed softly. She’d been weaving beads for the birth wrapping, long strands of blue and purple and yellow for when the child arrived. She looked up now with that quiet smile of hers—that knowing one.

“You are carrying low,” she said.

Tsu’Tey rolled his eyes. “I am also nearing eight months."

“You have an attitude to rival a palulukan,” Neytiri huffed. “Means it is a boy.”

Jake perked up. “Is that part of that old wives’ tale?”

Neytiri nodded with a smile. “If the belly hangs like ripe fruit, heavy and low. If the sa’nok breathes hot, craves sour, and their bones ache with every step—it is a boy.”

Tsu’Tey opened his mouth to scoff—then paused. He thought about his cravings for sourfruit. His hot flashes. The way he had cursed Eywa just that morning for the muggy weather, the instant he woke up.

He narrowed his eyes again, this time at his own body. The kit inside shifted, wriggled, and kicked again, tiny and sharp. As if it knew it was getting attention. “…Ma Eywa’aveng…Does the Great Mother take me as a joke?”

Jake burst into laughter, full and loud. Tsu’Tey swatted him softly with a belt of beads, then hissed and curled around his belly again.

From her side of the nest, Neytiri’s fingers slowed in their weaving. Her eyes softened as she watched them. “You know,” she said quietly, “I dreamed…before you said you were pregnant.”

Tsu’Tey looked up sharply.

Jake sat up straighter. “What?”

Neytiri nodded shyly as if she was worried she was saying something inappropriate.

“Remember when I jokingly said Arvok would dream of fish? He did, but I did the very next night.” She paused her beading. “I was shooting arrows in the lake, and then this child came—blue and bright. He looked at me with your eyes and was so cute…Looked just like Artsut when the light hit him.” Tsu’Tey pressed onto his stomach, and Jake smiled softly at him. 

She paused, tying off a knot. “I asked him his name and he said, Neteyam.”

Tsu’Tey inhaled sharply. “…Neteyam, not Näteyam?”

Jake frowned thoughtfully. “What does that mean?”

“It means, he who is not the end,” Neytiri said, her voice gentle. “Or, more modernly—this is not his end. It is a play off of Näteyam olon aysusulf.”

“It is of old dialect.” Tsu’Tey felt the words settle in his chest like a stone dropping into water—echoing, rippling, shifting everything. “Neteyam.” It felt like a memory—the name, a whisper, a reprimand, a softness, a worry—he felt as if this name had been said before.

Neteyam.

Ne–te–yam.

Endless one.

Not the end.

Not the end.

Not the end of his body breaking under the weight of this squirming child.  

Just then, their son (yes, he was going along with the wives’ tale) kicked, hard enough to make Tsu’Tey grunt, and Jake’s hand darted to his belly in reflex.

“Woo, he’s strong,” Jake chuckled in awe.

“Of course he is,” Neytiri murmured. “Look who his parents are.”

Tsu’Tey closed his eyes and let out a long breath. 

“…Neteyam,” he whispered. The name curled in his mouth like a promise.

Jake leaned over, pressing his lips to the name’s origin—his mate’s swollen belly, rising and falling with breath. “Hello, Neteyam,” he whispered. “We’re waiting for you, kid.”

“If he is a she—I am stabbing you for twisted truths, Neytiri.”

---

Tsu’Tey did not say anything when he padded into the room. Did not announce himself. Did not make any grand show.

He just walked straight to Jake—who sat on a woven bench, halfway through restringing his bow—and wordlessly climbed into his lap.

Tsu’Tey had been endlessly uncomfortable, and Jake honestly felt bad. Neteyam had finally decided to lower into his pelvis, and he was just now waiting for the day his water would break. Tsu’Tey moved like he had done this a thousand times—like Jake was a tree he could always curl up in.

Jake stilled. One hand automatically found its way to the small of Tsu’Tey’s back.

“Hey, baby.”

Tsu’Tey said nothing. Just exhaled against his throat. Arms wrapped around Jake’s neck, belly pressed to Jake’s stomach, tail curled loosely around his thigh.

Jake set the bowstring aside. The moment deserved better. He began tracing gentle circles on Tsu’Tey’s back, and he felt it—the little flutter of a contented purr. Tsu’Tey slowly blinked; he could feel the flicker of long lashes on the edge of his jaw. Not quite asleep, but not fully present either. Just being.

Jake exhaled a shaky little breath. He finds himself stunned all over again.

Because it was in these quiet, ridiculous moments—when he had gotten all nine feet and three inches of Tsu’Tey purring on top of him like a tabby loaf—that Jake really felt it. The alienness of it. The miracle of it. The fact that Tsu’Tey, the most dangerous, proud, and private person he’d ever met, wants this. 

Wants him.

Tsu’Tey shifted a little and sighed.

Jake wrapped both arms around him like a blanket, cheek resting against his husband’s temple.

“You comfy?” he murmured, even though he already knew.

Tsu’Tey hummed. His tail tightened around Jake’s leg. “You make a good perch,” he mumbled, voice muffled in Jake’s neck. “Neteyam prefers your warmth to my own.”

Jake’s laughter rumbled against his chest. “Awh, baby.”

And maybe it was the hormones. Maybe it was just how soft Tsu’Tey had become since the pregnancy, but Jake swore his husband gave a tiny little chirp, nose nuzzling into his neck like he’s trying to crawl under Jake’s skin and stay there.

Jake just melted.

“You’re so fuckin’ cute.” He kissed Tsu’Tey’s temple. “You know that?”

Tsu’Tey hummed.

Jake shifted again, letting his head fall back.

---

The kelku was quiet.

Just the occasional creak of woven mats, the rustle of leaves outside, and the soft, humid breath of Pandora’s night. Somewhere, an animal cries in the distance. 

Jake stirred the second he heard it.

A high, wet snort-hic-sneeze from the corner nestlet. Then a startled gasp. Then a wail.

Neteyam.

Jake’s eyes flew open. He was already moving, groggy but alert, hand reaching for Tsu’Tey out of instinct.

“Teyam, bean—” Jake sighed. “Tey, baby, you okay? You need me to get him?”

Tsu’Tey didn't respond at first. Just a small shift, a quiet breath escaping his lips. The light from the moons caught his face: still, serene, but tired. His lips twitched. His tail, draped across the little woven nest beside their sleeping mat, jerked once—just enough to pull back from tiny fingers still clutched around its end.

Now—Neteyam was full-on sobbing. His fists flailing. His tiny belly wobbled.

Jake was halfway to getting up when he felt it.

A lukewarm drop in the nest—Jake didn’t know what he thought it was until he remembered Tsu’Tey was originally under him—burrowed, and now he had rolled slightly, pulling his arms beneath his chest.

Jake glanced down—and saw a dark stain across the front of Tsu’Tey’s wrap. Milk. A gentle bloom of wetness was seeping through the fabric, darkening their bed.

Jake’s whole expression melted . “Aw, baby, you’re leakin’.”

Tsu’Tey groaned, not even opening his eyes. His voice was hoarse. “Grab him, rutxe.”

Jake does. He’s gentle about it, careful not to let his voice rise too much or his fingers accidentally pinch or put too much pressure on the tiny life in his hands. He lifted Neteyam with practiced ease and watched as Tsu’Tey’s tail draped over the side of the nestlet—right where Neteyam had been sleeping, as if it had always been there.

Things clicked.

Neteyam was holding it—little fists curled around the tuft, like it was the best comfort in the world.

The tuft flicked over his little nose.

Cue the sneeze, followed by tears.

Jake melted a little bit when Neteyam started pure sniffles—out of warmth, into his hands, so tired from a day of crying, peeing, pooping, and clinging to his mama. Jake snorted; such a tough life. “I know, Bean, ya love your mama.”

Neteyam fussed at first, but the moment he smelled Tsu’Tey, he calmed instantly. Like a switch was flipped. He let out one last soft cry—then immediately started chirping.

Tsu’Tey clicked back but shifted, untucking his wrap lazily, revealing one dusky nipple already dewed with milk. “Give.” Jake laid the baby in Tsu’Tey’s arms.

Their son nuzzled in like a heat-seeking missile. Mouth latched on quickly and determined. Tsu’Tey winced, huffing through his nose, but his arms tightened around the baby as he shifted him into a better position.

Jake watched in awe. 

Still. 

Every damn time.

Tsu’Tey sighed, the sound deep and raw, before his face softened. His head tilted back, just a little, ears twitching faintly as the milk flowed.

Neteyam’s tiny tail gave a happy flick.

“I ain’t mean to wake you,” Jake whispered beside them. It’s moments like this that take his breath away. His baby. His husband.

“You did not,” Tsu’Tey mumbled, blinking blearily. “Our son did.”

“You okay?” Jake whispered, brushing a braid behind Tsu’Tey’s ear.

Tsu’Tey didn’t look at him, but he nodded.

Jake’s other gently strokes the downy patch of fuzz on Neteyam’s head.

Tsu’Tey spoke quietly, voice low and far-off: “How did he wake?”

Jake smiled softly.

“Think your tail tickled his nose, and he sneezed. He lost his favorite toy.”

Tsu’Tey’s mouth lifted faintly at the corner.

“Of course it did. I am so sorry, my sweetboy.”

Jake had to smile. His mama would’ve loved this. The weirdness. The beauty.

She always said the Na’vi were like something ethereal. “They look like walking constellations,” she’d said once, staring at the newsfeed years ago. Of scientists, who, like Tommy, deployed and interacted with the natives. “Like the stars stood up and started singing.”

She’d have loved Tsu’Tey. Would’ve said, ‘Jake Aaron Sully, you went and got yourself the prettiest thing on another planet.’

And when Jake would’ve told her they made a cute baby together?

“Oh, honey. I know he’d be cute.”

His dad would’ve just clapped him on the back with that rough hand and muttered, “Outta your league again, huh, boy?”

But he couldn’t. 

They couldn’t.

Because they’re gone, but he’s here. 

His baby—their Neteyam, their couple-of-days-old boy that came hours after he made his mama’s water break during a morning hunt—was breathing softly and steadily now. His mate, tired and so beautiful, nearly asleep—it was almost painful—had a hand on the edge of the baby’s nesting space as he inched closer after Neteyam unlatched. The baby twitched a foot and curled itself near the space of his mother’s heat as he was settled, a soft peep making his mate’s ear twitch.

Jake watched and smiled faintly. Eyes stung. Maybe it was Omaticayan Hay Fever.

“God, Tommy would have loved you to bits and pieces.” Tommy would have also kicked his ass for messing up the Omaticaya social hierarchy—ruining the line of succession, the culture, and traditions, but he would have adored Neteyam and his tiny peeps and his cute little grabby hands and very blue stripes—darker than his and Tsu’Tey’s right now. Would’ve lifted him up like he was Moses parting the Red Sea , would’ve kissed his cheeks and told him stories about Earth and the stars and things like the ocean. Things Jake barely remembered now.

It was unfunny. Jake sighed—heavy and loud.

“Jake?” Tsu’Tey rasped, ears twitching. He leaned back, pressing into Jake’s space. Jake groaned and reached up to grab Tsu’Tey’s waist—wrapped by a very vehement Mo’at and Su’myi—and grabbed him like he was a lifeline, half-sniffling and half-dying inside. He was not even in pain—yet—but his soul was aching. That need to be close, to be held , to let Tsu’Tey take every sharp edge and sand it down with love.

“You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous,” Jake whispered. “Arrogant, a know-it-all, and gorgeous, and—shit—I’d die for you, you know that, angel?”

Tsu’Tey hummed low in his throat. Then he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Jake’s cheek, then lips—the baby gave a warble. “You already did.”

Jake goes quiet at that. They both did.

It was ironic how it took death for them to get their heads out of their asses—to see how bland and voided a life without the other was and how fast one could crumble and beg—Neteyam grunted, and they both found themselves peering over the nest to look at their still shut-eyed son—it would be a couple more days until his eyes truly opened; Tsu’Tey said it was normal, that the baby would rely on their scent and voice. He mewled once more, and Tsu’Tey leaned down to nuzzle him and Neteyam cooed back and let his tiny hands grab at his mother’s face, so Tsu’Tey picked him up: “Ma’itan—so tiny, so squirmy; nga yawne lu oer.” 

Jake smiled and ran a finger over Neteyam’s back. This was their baby—their blood. And for a long moment, the world was just heartbeats and breath and the quiet purr that rumbled in Tsu’Tey’s chest when Neteyam started to cut up, and when Jake reached up to kiss the underside of his jaw.

Tsu’Tey smiled. 

✦

Notes:

Na’vi Monthly Bleeding & Fertility Pathways
1. Pre-Fertility (All Intersex Na’vi Before Carrying or Siring)

Male Omegas, Female Omegas, and Female Alphas:

All have a monthly bleed from their vagina/womb.

This is Eywa’s natural cycle of fertility—much like a reminder that the womb is primed but unused.

Male Alphas (who carry):

Will experience it in adolescence, but for many it ceases early if their biology leans toward siring.

2. Carrying vs. Siring

If You Carry (Omega or Female Alpha):

You continue to bleed monthly even after carrying children.

This is the body’s way of maintaining a fertile womb until natural aging ends it.

Important detail: After birth, there is a postpartum bleed (like in humans), but after recovery, the monthly cycle resumes.

Meaning: once a carrier, always bleeding. It doesn’t shut off.

If You Sire (Omega or Female Alpha):

The vagina/womb becomes infertile and no longer sheds.

Monthly bleeding stops altogether, permanently.

This is considered Eywa’s signal: your fertile path is done, sealed in the act of siring.

Male Omegas:

Same rules as above. If they sire first, bleeding ends. If they carry, bleeding continues.

Small Bonus: Old Wives’ Tale, Village Version
The elders say…
Low belly = boy. High, wide belly = girl.
Hot flashes and cravings for sour or salty food = boy.
Sweet cravings, glowing skin, and vivid dreams = girl.
If the omega is short-tempered and bold, it’s a boy. If weepy and soft, it’s a girl. (Tsu’Tey is insulted by this.)
Frequent Braxton Hicks near sunset = boy. Eywa stirs the spirit of warriors early.

Neteyam was a word-for-word, verbatim, of the old wives’ tale for a boy, while Lo’ak indicated everything for a girl. The clan didn’t know Kiri was a thing until Neytiri and Jake were walking into the village holding a baby. The aunties were placing bets when it came to Tuktirey (when the rumor spread of the people's princess having a child in the forest). Mo’at said nothing, but the glint in her eyes? Oh, she KNEW her satchel would be heavy by the end of the day.

That is a wrap for this—for Tsujake? Nahhh—I have a two-part angst in the works, a Spider & Tsu'Tey story (I might drop it tonight w/ my little short blurb for Jake's bday), and I have A LOT of smut in my drafts, soooo maybe I will drop that tewww (including a Neytiri/Tsu'Tey/Jake).

I am working on several AUs! One where Tarsem is Tsu’tey’s son, another where JeyTiriTey are a throuple and happy and live/love/laughing <3 And it’s just scribbles, but I have been writing Tsu’Tey/Neytiri works because there truly are NONE?!?!

And I am cooking something evil for A2 and A3, ngl.

I also apologize; I was taking school very seriously and was working in the latter end of summer with personal things; I will be somewhat busy come these next weeks; this is my apology and warning in advance!

c u soon <3

Notes:

WILL INCLUDE INFO (if needed) but this story has been in development since the end of inyainycinytpt so here, i apologize for my absence :)

(Gen.) *also, i apologise for inconsistencies with the Na'vi language; i try to put their speech, thought patterns, and their entire monologue as straight, plain-jane english with no contractions because i believe/headcanon that when/if they speak, they do not use them; even if they learned to, they want to be as precise as possible. (at least for tsu'tey and neytiri)

(Gen.) The Na’vi, at least in my canon, do not have strictness on equating gender with a role—especially in parenting, they are about what you did, not what you are. (EX: if you carried life, you are a "sa'nok"; if you gave the 'seed' you are the "sempul," unless you want to be addressed as something different.)

✦ Sa’nok / Sa’nu / Mother / Mom / Mama
Definition: "The one who carried."
✦ Applied to:
Mostly Omegas of all genders.
Also, Alpha females who carried (not rare).

✦ Sempul / Sempu / Father / Dad / Daddy
Definition: "The one who sired."
✦ Applied to:
Mostly Alphas (of any gender).
Rarely are there Omega-Omega pairings where one Omega sires. (e.g., Marali's parents; one is Sa'nok and the other Sempul)

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of First Love/Late Spring