Chapter Text
The salt water burned his throat with every cough. Emiya Shirou's fingers clawed at the wet sand, dragging his broken body further onto the shore, each inch a battle against the exhaustion that threatened to swallow him whole.
He had been so certain he would die out there.
The hunt had been brutal. Dead Apostles in the South Pacific, a nest of them hidden among the islands, feeding on fishermen and tourists alike. His projections had held, but just barely. The explosion on the ship had thrown him into the ocean with nothing but his will to survive and a piece of driftwood that had kept him afloat for—how long? A day? Two?
Splash. Gasp. Splash.
The rhythm of his crawling was punctuated by the sound of water dripping from his ruined clothes and the wet rasp of his breathing.
When he finally managed to roll onto his back, the sky above was a brilliant blue he hadn't seen since... since he couldn't remember. Not the gray of Fuyuki, not the blood-red of the battlefields he'd walked through.
"Mmph..."
He forced himself to sit up, his muscles screaming in protest. His eyes swept across the shoreline, cataloguing everything with the instinct of a survivor.
Coconut palms. Freshwater stream cutting through the sand. Fruit-bearing trees in the distance. No signs of human habitation.
His fingers pressed into the sand, feeling the coarse grain. "This island... it shouldn't exist."
No map he'd ever studied had marked this place. No satellite imagery. It was as if the land itself had simply decided to manifest in the middle of the ocean, a secret kept from the rest of the world.
"Fine," he muttered, pushing himself to his feet. His legs wobbled, but they held. "One problem at a time."
Days passed in a blur of labor. Shirou's body, battered as it was, responded to the work with the stubborn resilience that had kept him alive through countless battles. He wove palm fronds into a rough shelter, gathered firewood, and tested the fruits growing nearby—cautious bites, waiting to see if his stomach would revolt.
Crunch. Swallow. Wait.
No poison. Just sweet, unfamiliar flavors that reminded him of mangoes and peaches and something else he couldn't quite name.
"Reinforcement," he murmured, and watched as his fingertips glowed with that familiar light. The stick in his hand grew harder, sharper, more deadly. He carved notches into it, crafting a rough spear.
But he couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.
Rustle.
He spun, his eyes scanning the dense vegetation.
Rustle, rustle.
Nothing. Just the wind through the leaves. Just his imagination.
"There's no one here," he told himself firmly. "Focus on getting home."
The attack came three days later.
Shirou was knee-deep in the stream, washing the salt and grime from his skin, when the first arrow whistled past his ear.
Zing.
His body reacted before his mind caught up, rolling sideways into the water as another arrow embedded itself in the mud where he'd been standing.
"Wait—!" He held up his hands, water streaming down his face. "I'm not—"
Scream.
The sound that erupted from the treeline was inhuman. Not a battle cry—something more primal. More angry.
And then she emerged.
Blue. So vibrantly, impossibly blue that Shirou's brain struggled to process what he was seeing.
Tall. At least nine feet of lean, powerful muscle. Her skin was the color of a twilight sky, striped with darker patterns that seemed to shift as she moved. Her eyes—golden, slitted, furious—locked onto him like he was prey.
"N-Now, hold on—"
Thwip.
The spear she threw wasn't meant to warn. It was meant to kill.
Shirou dove, rolling through the shallow water, feeling the displaced air as the weapon passed inches from his skull.
"Look, I don't want to fight you!"
She didn't respond in any language he could understand. Just a guttural hiss that carried no trace of negotiation.
Hiss. Snarl. Claws.
Her hands—three-fingered, tipped with sharp claws—reached for him as she closed the distance with terrifying speed. Her body moved like water, fluid and deadly, every motion carrying the grace of a predator.
Shirou dodged, parried with his reinforced forearm, and felt the impact shudder through his bones.
Crack.
Not his bones. Hers? The force of his block had sent her stumbling back, but her eyes held no fear. Only rage.
"Stop!"
Scream.
The sound shattered the air, and Shirou realized she wasn't calling for help. She was calling for reinforcements.
From the jungle, more shapes emerged. More blue. More golden eyes. More hisses and screams.
"Damn it!"
He ran.
The skeletons were waiting in the cave.
Shirou had stumbled through the undergrowth, branches whipping at his face, heart pounding in his chest, until the ground had opened beneath him and he'd tumbled into darkness.
Thud. Roll. Gasp.
When he looked up, the bones were everywhere.
Human bones. Dozens of them, lying in tangled piles, some still wearing the tattered remains of clothing. The cave had been a settlement once, a crude village built into the rock, now nothing but a graveyard.
"What happened here?" Shirou whispered, his voice echoing off the stone walls.
He moved carefully through the debris, his magus senses alert for any threat. But the only danger was his own racing heart.
The diary was tucked away in a chest near the back of the cave.
Wood. Rotting. Rusted hinges.
Shirou lifted the lid and found the leather-bound book inside. The pages were water-damaged, the ink faded and illegible. But the drawings were unmistakable.
A Na'vi woman, spear raised, attacking a human.
The human fleeing, leading her toward a trap.
The Na'vi caught, bound, helpless.
The human approaching her—
Shirou closed the book with a snap.
"Rape." His voice was flat, emotionless. "They... they did that. To survive."
He sat back on his heels, staring at nothing.
The Na'vi woman's snarling face appeared in his mind. Her golden eyes. Her sharp teeth. The hissing sound she'd made as she tried to kill him.
"She's trying to kill me," he said aloud, as if trying to convince himself.
The diary's final image: the Na'vi sitting peacefully beside the human, docile, domesticated.
Something in him stirred. The sight of that feature at his feet. His cock throbbed.
The first time he saw her alone, he almost turned back.
She was patrolling the eastern ridge, her tall form outlined against the setting sun. Her body moved with that same liquid grace, muscles shifting under blue skin, her long black braid swaying behind her.
Beautiful.
The thought came unbidden, and Shirou crushed it immediately.
Predator. Threat. Enemy.
He'd prepared for this. Reinforced the vine rope until it could hold anything. Studied her movements for two full days. Calculated the angles.
She'll try to kill you. She won't stop. Make her yours, or he I'll take your life.
He moved through the trees like a ghost, his projections silent, his breathing controlled.
Rustle.
Her head snapped toward the sound.
Now.
Shirou dropped from the canopy, the vine loop slipping over her head and torso in one smooth motion. She thrashed, her scream of rage cut off as he yanked the rope tight.
"Move it and don't make his worse"
Her body slammed into his as he pulled her to the ground, a tangle of blue limbs and desperate fury. His hand found her mouth, pressing hard to keep her from calling for help.
Muffled scream. Muffled snarl. Her teeth bit into his palm.
"Ow—! Damn it!"
Blood welled between his fingers, but he didn't let go. Instead, he used his free hand to drag her deeper into the undergrowth, away from the ridge, away from her patrol route.
"Just... just hold still. don't want to hurt you. Quite the opposite, I will make you experience the best pleasure you ever felt."
Her eyes—impossibly golden, slit-pupiled, burning with hatred—blazed up at him.
Hmph. Hmph. Hmph.
Her breathing was rapid through her nose, her chest heaving against the vines.
Shirou finally paused, taking her in.
She was magnificent.
Her face was a masterpiece of feline grace—high cheekbones, a small, flat nose that was slightly bifurcated, ears that were large and pointed and flicking with agitation. Her full lips were pulled back from sharp teeth, and her eyes... her eyes held depths that Shirou couldn't begin to fathom.
Beneath the vine rope, her body was a study in contrasts.
She was lean, so lean he could see the definition of her abdominal muscles, the curve of her hips. But there was no denying her femininity. Her waist was impossibly narrow, a sharp taper that flared into perfectly rounded hips. Her legs were long and powerful, and between them—
Shirou looked away quickly, his face flushing.
Her breasts were high and full, pressed together by the rope. The skin there was unmarked by the stripes that covered the rest of her, smooth and blue and absolutely perfect. Her nipples were dark, surrounded by a slightly lighter areola that seemed to glow faintly in the dim light.
Bioluminescence. She's glowing.
He could see the pattern now—a web of softly illuminated dots that followed her circulatory system, pulsing with her heartbeat. In her fear and rage, they glowed brighter, painting her in a breathtaking pattern of light.
"Beautiful," he breathed, and instantly regretted it.
Snarl. Hiss. Thrash.
She tried to bite him again, and he barely pulled his hand back in time.
"Okay, okay." He forced himself to breathe. "Listen. I know you can't understand me. But I'm going to... I'm going to put something in your mouth. I don't want you to scream."
Her eyes widened, and there was something primal in her expression—not fear, but understanding. She knew exactly what was happening. What he was about to do.
The diary's drawings flashed through his mind.
Human mounting Na'vi.
Na'vi submitting.
Her legs were spread beneath him.
Shirou sat between her thighs, his knees pressing into the soft earth. The vine rope had held, but just barely. She'd struggled the entire time, her muscles straining against the bonds, her hisses and growls never ceasing.
But now... now she was still.
Not because she'd given up. Because she was watching him.
Those golden eyes tracked his every movement. The glow of her bioluminescence had shifted, the colors dimmer, the patterns more subtle. It was as if she was assessing him. Trying to understand.
Shirou's pulse quickened, he had his beautiful creature at his mercy. What was his feeling? He knew this as wrong. Survival was a good excuse, however he wasn't a man of excuses.
But she'd kill you. She's tried to kill you. There's no other way to survive here.
Shirou’s hands trembled as he freed himself, the humid jungle air kissing sensitive flesh. Arousal flooded his body, primal and undeniable. He’d stopped pretending this was about survival the moment he saw the way her bioluminescent freckles pulsed with fear. This was conquest. Pure, animal conquest.
The Na’vi’s golden eyes dropped, and the shift was immediate. Her pupils dilated, then contracted to razor-thin slits. He watched confusion battle terror on her alien features, her sharp teeth worrying her lower lip. She’d expected to be killed. Instead, she was staring at a length of flesh that defied her understanding of biology.
It wasn’t just large. It was a monument. Nearly two feet of rigid, veined column, thicker than her forearm, the tip already glistening with anticipation. A slow, fat bead of precum welled at the slit, catching the dappled sunlight. It drooled downward, a promise.
Her reaction was visceral. A choked, guttural sound escaped the gag—not a hiss, not a scream, but a whimper laced with pure, disbelieving horror. Her entire body bucked, muscular thighs clamping together, trying to seal herself away. The vine ropes creaked as she yanked at her bound wrists, her striped skin glowing brighter with panic. Every survival instinct screamed at her to flee.
Shirou didn’t give her the chance. He used his knees to force her legs apart again, pinning them wide. The resistance was futile. He laid his full weight against her, and the heated brand of his cock slapped wetly onto her flat, taut stomach. The sound was a lewd, meaty schlap. The tip nestled obscenely between the underside of her breasts, a full hand’s breadth past her navel. A smear of slickness marked her blue skin.
“See that?” Shirou’s voice was a low, strained growl, not entirely sane. “That’s how deep I’m going to be inside you.”
She saw. Her eyes were locked on the impossible invader, trying to process the geometry. The males of her kind were practically a biological afterthought, a mere three or four inches when aroused. They were connectors, designed to bond through the neural queue, not to conquer with brute physicality. This thing pressing against her belly was a weapon from another world, a battering ram of hot, unyielding purpose.
He reached down, calloused fingers tracing the seam of her slit. The touch made her flinch, but he was unrelenting. He parted her outer folds, revealing the impossibly tight, impossibly vibrant entrance within. A gush of slick warmth coated his fingers instantly. Her body was betraying her mind, a biological response flooding her channel with a natural lubricant meant to accept a mate.
Nnngh. The sound vibrated through the gag. Her head thrashed, her long braid whipping across the dirt. But her hips, traitors to her will, tilted upward in a minute, unconscious roll.
Shirou aligned himself. The flared head of his cock pressed against that tight, slick opening, and they both froze. A moment of mutual, suspended disbelief. He could feel her heartbeat thrumming against the sensitive tip, a frantic, trapped bird.
He pushed.
Her flesh resisted, a ring of astonishing pressure yielding not an inch. The tip of him lodged just inside, stretching the entrance to a pale, glowing white around his girth. A muffled, high-pitched keen tore from her throat. Her abdominal muscles clenched, a visible wave of tension, and Shirou felt the pressure turn into a vice.
“You’re going to take it,” he grunted, withdrawing a fraction of an inch, leaving only the very tip inside. Then he thrust forward, a short, brutal jolt. Schlk-urp. Another inch, swallowed. Her body sucked at him, a wet, obscene sound echoing in the clearing.
Again. Withdraw. Thrust. Schlk. Another inch. Her legs, pinned as they were, kicked uselessly against the forest floor, her long toes curling and uncurling. Her bound hands twisted above her head, claws piercing her own palms. Her screams had dissolved into a series of choked, liquid gasps.
He watched her face as he worked his way inside, a study in overwhelming sensation. Her golden eyes were glassy, tears leaking from the corners. Her sharp-toothed mouth hung open around the gag, a thread of drool escaping. It was a portrait of absolute defeat.
Then, his hips met hers.
With a final, world-altering squish, Shirou buried himself to the hilt. Every last inch of that monstrous pillar slammed home inside her, and he felt the impact deep in his own gut. He froze, reveling in the sensation. Hot. So impossibly hot and tight and alive. Her inner walls spasmed around him in panicked, fluttering contractions, trying desperately to expel the intruder.
The Na’vi’s entire body went rigid. Her back arched off the ground in a violent convulsion, and a high, keening wail was swallowed by the gag. Her gaze dropped from his face, past his chest, to her own abdomen.
The sight was obscenely, gloriously surreal. Her once-flat, toned stomach was now grotesquely deformed. A thick, distinct column swelled the skin, a perfectly defined outline of his cock bulging from her navel all the way up to just below her ribcage. As they both watched, motionless, the outline seemed to twitch and pulse with his heartbeat. She was seeing herself, her own body, remolded around his shape. A living sheath.
The terror in her eyes broke then, replaced by something more profound: a soul-deep shattering. This was a violation that went beyond the physical. He had marked her inside and out.
Then, he moved.
The first withdrawal was a slow, agonizing drag of hot, wet flesh. He watched the bulge in her belly slide downward as he retreated, the outline of his cockhead a hard knob near her navel. It was a visual feedback loop more intoxicating than any drug. She was a living gauge of his penetration.
Plap. He thrust back in, a firm, piston-like motion. The bulge re-formed, ascending back to her chest. Her breath hitched with a wet, choking sound. Her bioluminescence was going haywire, a strobing constellation of panicked light.
He found a rhythm—deep, deliberate, and punishing. Plap... plap... plap. Each impact forced a thin, stifled cry from her. Her inner muscles clenched and released in an erratic, milking grip, the friction so intense it bordered on pain. He pinned her kicking leg with a knee, forcing her wider. Her pussy squelched lewdly around him, the sound a sticky, liquid percussion.
“This is what happens,” Shirou panted, his words timed with his thrusts. “You... try to kill me... I... claim you.” He wasn’t sure if he was speaking to her, the diary’s memory, or the darkness within himself. It didn’t matter. The mantra burned in his blood.
Her resistance was crumbling in waves. The fury in her eyes had dimmed to confusion, her struggles reduced to tremors. A different tension was building in her coiled muscles, a different kind of panic. He could feel it in the way her hips began to hitch, a tiny, involuntary roll meeting his downward thrusts.
Plap-plap-plap-plap. He picked up the pace, abandoning any pretense of gentleness. His own release coiled at the base of his spine, a pressure that demanded a brutal, shattering conclusion. He drove into her with wild, animalistic abandon, the sounds of their coupling a wet, frantic symphony.
Her breaking point was a glorious sight. Her eyes, those pools of molten gold, rolled back into her head. The gag muffled a sound that was no longer a scream but a guttural, drawn-out moan of total capitulation. Her whole body seized, her spine bowing, her inner walls clamping down on him in a series of powerful, rippling orgasmic contractions. A gush of hot fluid flooded around his pistoning shaft.
The sensation pushed him over the edge.
“Take it!” he roared, slamming home one last time, burying himself to the absolute maximum depth. The head of his cock ground against the sealed entrance of her womb.
He erupted. Not a trickle, not a spurt, but a high-pressure deluge. Gush... gush... GUSH. A torrent of thick, scalding seed blasted directly into her core. He felt his own balls clench and drain, pumping and pumping an impossible, inhuman volume.
The effect on her was instantaneous and dramatic. Her moaning cry turned into a wet, confused gurgle. Her bound hands unclenched, her claws going limp. The bulge in her stomach began to swell. It was slow at first, a gentle rounding, but with each additional pulse of his climax, it expanded. Rounder. Tighter. More obscene. The outline of his cock was lost in a growing, taut dome of seed-stuffed flesh.
By the time the last shuddering pulse of his orgasm faded, she looked pregnant with triplets. Her stomach was a huge, smooth, glowing orb, stretched so tight he could see the delicate web of her bioluminescence straining across its surface. She was a reservoir filled to absolute capacity.
She’d lost consciousness. Her body was limp, her head lolling, a serene, almost comical expression of blissed-out shock on her alien features. Shirou drew in a ragged breath and slowly, gently, pulled himself free.
The withdrawal was a masterpiece of lewd sound. A long, wet schlooooorp, followed by a veritable flood. His thick, pearlescent seed gushed from her violated slit in a heavy, unending stream, pooling on the jungle floor. The pool grew to a puddle, a testament to the sheer quantity he’d pumped into her. Her stomach slowly, ever so slowly, began to deflate.
He sat back on his heels, chest heaving, staring at his handiwork. The conquered warrior lay in a pool of her own juices and his seed, her body glowing softly in the dim light. Guilt tried to claw its way into his thoughts, a faint echo of the man he used to be. He’d wanted to be a hero. A savior. He looked at the violated creature before him and knew that name was lost forever.
Then, she stirred.
Her eyelids fluttered, a soft, questioning coo escaping her lips. The gag had fallen away. She blinked, her golden eyes focusing slowly, unfogging from the overwhelming experience. She pushed herself up on an elbow, her gaze drifting down to her swollen, seed-slicked belly.
The expression that bloomed on her face was not rage. It was not shame. It was wonder. She touched her distended stomach with both three-fingered hands, prodding it with a reverent, almost scientific curiosity. A soft, purring sound rumbled from her chest, a vibration he felt through the ground.
Prrrrrr...
She looked up at him, her ears no longer pinned back with fear but angled forward, alert and attentive. The hatred was gone. In its place was something far more terrifying: adoration. A primal, soul-deep imprinting. He had claimed her, filled her with a life-giving deluge, and her biology, her instincts, had rewritten her reality in an instant.
She crawled toward him, her movements liquid and no longer hostile. Her body, still trembling from the aftershocks, pressed against his side. She nuzzled her face into his chest, her purr escalating to a thrumming, contented buzz. Her long, sensitive tail curled around his calf, a possessive, intimate gesture. She rubbed her swollen belly against his hip, a silent, cat-like plea for recognition.
Shirou stared down at her, his heart a knot of conflicting emotions. He had done this. He had taken a fierce, intelligent creature and broken her into a purring, needy thing. The diary’s final drawings had been a prophecy. Domesticated. Docile. His.
His hand, moving with a will of its own, came to rest on the warm, taught curve of her belly. A possessive shudder ran through him.
He was still processing the profound, unsettling shift when a sound shattered the fragile peace.
A fierce, high-pitched scream erupted from the treeline behind them. Shirou spun, still on his knees, just in time to see a second shape burst from the undergrowth. Smaller. Less physically developed. But the same striking blue skin, the same striped pattern, the same molten gold eyes burning with an identical, righteous fury.
A teenager. A young Na’vi, driven by the sight of her kinswoman subdued and coated in a foreign creature’s seed. She held a crude stone knife aloft, a wordless, anguished battle cry ripping from her throat as she lunged.
Beside him, the first Na’vi woman—his woman, the realization struck with a dark thrill—merely watched the newcomer with a curious, slightly territorial tilt of her head. She didn’t move to help her kin. A slow, possessive smile spread across her sharp features. Her purr deepened, a sound of absolute, smug satisfaction.
Good, Shirou thought, the last embers of his old self dying a silent death. Another one.