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moonchildxoxx · 2 days ago

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Could I request tutsey fem human reader. Shes love Pandora and has been studying the flora and fauna. Has a huge crush on tutsey but know he doesn’t like human’s . Eventually he does see her differently because she so kind to everyone and seeing her interactions with Navi children brings something out of him. . Unbeknownst to him she was daydreaming of what it would be like to have a family with her crush . As her interactions with her and him Star slowly he starts to get interested. He decides to court her however she’s doesn’t know Navi courting is different than humans so there are misunderstandings. One day a human that is a doctor that live in the human outpouts Star to flirt with aher. Tutsey makes it too clear to her that he’s interested after seeing that he isn’t going to loose someone tease that’s his future mate 😤

MsI soryy if this is long . Also my phone screen is busted so some grammar errors here. You can add smut if you want.

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Title: What the Heart Knows

Rating: 18+ / Mature

Pairing: Tsu'tey x Human!Fem!Reader

Word Count: ~1,636

Warnings: Slow burn, emotional tension, soft romance, cultural differences, Na'vi courting, human!reader, second-person POV

Synopsis: You didn't come to Pandora for war. You came to understand. But you didn't expect to be seen-really seen-by someone like him. Tsu'tey, proud and distant, was never meant to be yours.Until he starts offering you gifts. Until his gaze softens. Until he tells you-plainly-you are his intended. And everything changes.

A/N:

Hi lovely! First of all-thank you so much for the beautiful request. I loved exploring a soft, slow-burn Tsu'tey who slowly (and stubbornly) realizes that kindness can break down even the tallest emotional walls. Also: no worries about grammar or length

—your idea was so clear and compelling. I loved every bit of it!

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You didn’t come to Pandora for war.

You came for wonder.

Pandora never failed to steal your breath—not even after all this time. The glowing moss that lit your path after the eclipse. The gentle sway of bioluminescent plants. The quiet chirps of distant life. You came to study it all—its balance, its spirit, its untamed wonder.

But somewhere along the way, he started stealing your breath too.

Tsu’tey.

Proud. Fierce. Always watching.

The first time you saw him, he was just a silhouette in the trees—barely a presence beyond his piercing eyes and the tension in his stance. He was quiet, watchful, and seemed to weigh every human around him like a potential threat.

You knew the stories—how he once hated the Sky People, how he had every reason to. And maybe he still did. You were human, after all.

Even in your exopack, you always felt the weight of difference. The fragility. The alien-ness.

But he never said anything cruel. Never looked at you the way some of the older warriors did. And sometimes, sometimes, you caught him watching you—quietly. Curiously.

You got used to his gaze early on. Never warm, never cruel—just unreadable. Like the jungle around him: beautiful, wild, and distant.

And yet, you kept looking.

You had come to Pandora not as a soldier or a colonizer, but as a xenobiologist. The flora, the fauna—it was unlike anything Earth had left. Every vine, every pulse of bioluminescence called to something in your bones. You weren’t here to take. You were here to understand.

Tsu’tey didn’t care.

To him, you were still a tawtute. Still a sky person. Still a risk.

But you were patient.

You learned their ways as best you could. You kept your distance unless invited. You listened. You watched. You never picked without permission. You brought no weapons, only a field journal and reverence.

The village children warmed to you first.

They liked your clumsy Na’vi and your sketches of creatures they saw every day. They laughed at how badly you braided and tugged you into games that left you breathless and smiling.

You tried to focus on your work—studying pollination in the lilac-furred blossoms near the village, collecting notes on the way animals reacted to the rain. But your thoughts kept wandering… to something warmer.

And slowly, slowly, you noticed a shift.

Tsu’tey started appearing more often—always at a distance. Watching as you taught a girl how to say “butterfly.” Listening as you sang a lullaby from Earth. His arms still crossed. His brow still furrowed.

But his gaze no longer held distrust.

It held… curiosity.

It started small.

He passed you once near the weaver’s tents and paused when he saw you braiding fiber clumsily for a research project. Without a word, he knelt and corrected your form—his hands large but surprisingly gentle.

You tried to thank him, but your voice came out too soft. He only nodded.

Then came the day he saw you with the children.

They adored you.

You let them climb over your legs, paint your face with berry juice, giggle as you mispronounced Na’vi words. You never rushed them. Never made them feel like a task.

Tsu’tey stood silently in the shadows that afternoon, watching as a small girl curled in your lap and dozed off. You stroked her hair with a dreamy, far-off look in your eyes.

Something in his chest stirred. Something… unfamiliar.

He started seeking you out more after that.

Bringing you fruits without a word. Sitting beside you during quiet moments. Once, when you tripped over a root, he caught you before you fell—and didn’t let go right away.

It happened slowly—so slow you barely noticed it.

One day, Tsu’tey asked where you’d learned the Na’vi word for a certain bird. You blinked at him in surprise. His voice was steady, but something in his eyes flickered—like the question mattered more than it should have.

You told him, trying not to sound too eager, and when you smiled at him, his ears twitched. Not away. But forward.

The next week, he corrected your pronunciation. You repeated the word until he nodded, and something in your chest fluttered.

After that, he began to appear beside you when you were deep in the forest. Not guiding you. Just… near. Close enough that you could speak, if you wanted to. Close enough that your heart tripped every time you looked up and found him there.

He brought you things. A fruit you hadn’t seen before. A carving of a direhorse. Once, a cluster of glow-leaves bound together with thin vine.

You didn’t know it then.

But Tsu’tey had started to court you.

You didn’t understand at first.

He never said what the gifts meant. He didn’t touch you, didn’t explain. When you thanked him, he only gave a small grunt or a nod, like it wasn’t important.

It was.

But you were still human. You thought maybe he was just being nice. Or that you were imagining it—seeing what you wanted to see.

Because the truth was, you were already gone for him.

You’d daydreamed about what it would be like—if someone like Tsu’tey could ever care for someone like you. You imagined what his hands would feel like in yours. What his voice would sound like saying your name in a soft moment. What it would be like to build something here… a life. Maybe even a family.

You told yourself it was foolish.

But the dreams kept coming.

The misunderstanding began the day Dr. Rowan arrived.

He was part of a newer research team—young, loud, and clearly more interested in you than the plants. He wasn’t subtle, either. Every time he came to the village, he found an excuse to sit beside you, to touch your arm, to compliment your eyes.

You cringed inside. But you didn’t want to be rude.

Tsu’tey was less diplomatic.

You didn’t notice him at first—until Rowan laughed and brushed a leaf from your shoulder. Then you felt it. That shift in the air.

Tsu’tey was at the edge of the clearing, his stance rigid, his tail twitching behind him like a warning.

You thought he’d walk away.

He didn’t.

Instead, he crossed the space between you in five silent steps and stopped in front of you—towering, jaw tight, gold eyes narrowed.

Rowan blinked up at him, oblivious. “Oh—hey, man. Didn’t see you there.”

Tsu’tey didn’t respond to him. He looked at you.

Then, without a word, he held out a hand.

You stared at it, confused.

“I do not share,” he said. His voice was low. Rough. Possessive.

You blinked again. “Wh—what?”

“You are my intended,” he said plainly, as if it were obvious. “He touches you again, I will break his hand.”

Rowan stood up abruptly, his face pale. “Uh. I—I should go.”

He did.

You were still staring.

Tsu’tey looked down at you. “You did not know.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. “Your… intended?”

“I have been courting you,” he said, and your stomach dropped. “Have you not seen it?”

You blinked up at him, wide-eyed. “Courting?”

He crouched before you now, more level, and reached out again—slowly this time.

When you let him take your hand, his thumb brushed over your palm with reverence.

“You care for our forest,” he said. “Our children. You are not Na’vi, but… you are kind. You see us. You see me.”

Your throat tightened.

You whispered, “I do.”

He leaned forward until your foreheads touched—soft, warm. A Na’vi gesture of deep connection.

You closed your eyes, letting out a shaky breath.

“I thought you didn’t like humans,” you said quietly.

“I do not like most,” he murmured. “But I like you.”

From then on, everything changed.

Tsu’tey walked beside you now. Not as a shadow, but as something more solid. More sure. He brought you small things—a carved pendant, berries from high branches—and you began to bring him things too. You tried to learn what Na’vi gifts meant. He helped you understand.

One day, you brought him a flower you’d found—rare, luminous, soft as silk.

He looked at it like it was the most precious thing in the world.

“You found this for me?”

You nodded. “I thought it was beautiful. Like you.”

His ears twitched. “You are learning how to court.”

“Am I doing it right?”

He leaned in, his hand brushing your cheek.

“Yes,” he said. “Very right.”

You didn’t think love could be soft and wild at once, but that’s what it was.

You still studied the forest. Still played with the children. But now, you came home to his arms at dusk. To his quiet hums and long, silken gazes.

And at night, sometimes, he would brush his hand down your back and murmur, “One day… I will give you many children. Brave, wild ones. With your laugh.”

And you would smile against his shoulder, imagining the home that no longer felt like just a dream.

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