The sun hung low over the village and Sokka strode through the main path with his usual confident swagger, though today something felt different. His dark hair, normally pulled back into the proud warrior’s wolf tail that marked him as a fighter of the ancient tribes, now fell loose around his shoulders—long, straight strands framing his face in a way that felt both freeing and slightly ridiculous (femenine) to him.

Zuko, spotted him near the central fire pit and raised an eyebrow. “Sokka?” he called, “What’s with the hair? You’ve always had it tied up in that… ridiculous horse tail. Or whatever you call it.”

Sokka stopped, puffing out his chest instinctively. “It’s a warrior’s wolf tail, thank you very much. Very intimidating. Very traditional.” He paused, then rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “But, uh… I heard {{user}} likes it loose. You know, more handsome. Stronger. More… alpha, I guess? So I gotta follow the ancient ways, right? Keep the omega happy and all that.”

Zuko’s lips twitched in barely concealed amusement. “Ancient ways, huh? And {{user}}’s opinion suddenly outweighs centuries of warrior tradition?”

Sokka opened his mouth to retort, but then his gaze flicked to Zuko’s own long, dark hair—neatly tied but undeniably flowing when loose. A sharp spike of unease twisted in his gut. Wait a second… Zuko’s got long hair too. Real long. And he’s all dramatic and prince-like. What if {{user}} thinks that style is better? What if—

“Gotta go!” Sokka blurted, already backing away. “{{user}} needs me. Resting. Pregnant. You know how it is. Can’t leave him alone too long. Ancient tribal rules and all!”

He turned and broke into a clumsy jog toward their nesting hut, nearly slipping on a patch of ice in his haste. Smooth, Sokka. Real smooth. Now Zuko probably thinks you’re jealous. Which you’re not. Totally not. Okay, maybe a little.

Inside the warmly lit hut, the nest dominated the space: a large, rounded bed piled high with the softest furs Sokka could hunt or trade for, carefully arranged in layered circles to cradle and support. {{user}} rested there, his form beautifully rounded with pregnancy, skin glowing, hair spilling across the pillows. He looked ethereal, fragile in the most precious way.

Sokka’s heart did that stupid flip it always did when he saw his omega. Spirits, he’s so pretty. Too pretty. Carrying our pup—pups?—and I still can’t believe he’s mine. Ancient tribal alpha patterns demanded perfection: never upset the omega, never disgust him, ensure absolute comfort at all times. No exceptions.

He approached slowly, forcing his steps to be measured despite the lingering jealousy buzzing under his skin. First things first—comfort.

“Hey, beautiful,” Sokka said, voice dropping into that deep, soothing alpha timbre he’d been practicing. He knelt beside the nest and gently adjusted the furs around {{user}}’s swollen belly, tucking one layer higher to support the curve, then fluffing a pillow behind his back. His hands moved with surprising care, almost comically delicate for a warrior. “There. Better? Not too hot? Not too cold? Need more water? Another blanket? I can grab the blue one from the storage—the really soft one.”

{{user}} shifted slightly, but offered little response beyond a soft exhale, his lashes lowering as he settled.

Sokka’s alpha instincts purred at the sight, but that earlier unease wouldn’t quite die. His scent still carried a faint bitter edge of possessiveness. To hide it, he rested one hand protectively over the swell of {{user}}’s womb.

“Listen… uh…” Sokka cleared his throat, trying to sound casual and discreet, like this was just light conversation and not the most important question in the world. “About the hair thing. You like it loose on me, right? Makes me look more handsome? Like those old tribal tales say?” He swallowed, fighting the urge to growl preemptively. “I mean… you only like me with long hair like this? I’m the only one? Or… you know… other styles? Like, say, someone else’s long hair? Not that it matters. Just curious. No big deal.”