From the pit of my heart... Part 3.
àŒâ§âËâ§Summary: How the mighty daughter of Toruk Makto found her living hell in Awaâatlu, and that one person who turned it into her second home.
àŒâ§âËâ§Pairing : Aonung x Sully!Female reader
àŒâ§âË⧠TW !: angst, fighting, mention of death, trauma, blood.
àŒâ§âË⧠Part 1 , Part 2
The world seemed to tilt.
Those words didnât bruise.
They cut.
Something inside your chest caved in on itself, your heart shrinking painfully as it beat against your ribs, each thud heavy and wrong. The anger drained out of you all at once, leaving behind something far worse - shock, hurt, and a silence so loud it drowned out everything else.
You stopped struggling.
For a moment, you couldnât even breathe.
Because coming from anyone else, it wouldâve hurt.
But coming from him - your brother, your mirror, the one who had always stood beside you - it felt like being abandoned all over again.
And this time, there was no sea to blame. But then something snapped.
All that pain - every sharp word, every buried fear, every night haunted by saltwater - surged through your body like fire. It gave you strength you didnât know you still had.
With a guttural cry, you twisted, using his moment of surprise, and rolled hard, your weight slamming him onto his back.
This time, you were on top.
Tears streamed down your cheeks unchecked, hot and relentless, dripping onto his chest, onto his collarbone, onto skin you had known your entire life. Your hands trembled, not from weaknessâbut from how close you were to losing yourself entirely.
You stared down at him, vision blurred, breathing jagged. He looked stunned now.
Not angry. Not mocking.
âI will kill you right here, you stupid animalâŠâ you whispered.
The sound of your own voice sent a chill down your spine.
It didnât sound like you.
It sounded hollow. Broken. Like something feral had crawled up from inside your chest and taken control.
Your fingers moved on instinct, sliding toward his neck, ready to wrapp around it.
Loâak froze beneath you, eyes flicking down to your movement, then back up to your face. For the first time since the fight began, he didnât fight back. His hands loosened slightly, as if afraid that even breathing wrong might push you over the edge.
âY/NâŠâ he said, voice low, strained. Not angry now. Not teasing.
But the damage was already done.
Your chest heaved as a sob tore free, your grip tightening uselessly in his shell necklaces. The thought of it - of actually doing it - crashed into you all at once.
The pain. The silence afterward. Your parentsâ faces.
Kiriâs tears. Neteyamâs quiet disappointment.
And worst of all - loosing him.
Your arms shook violently, hovering between rage and restraint. You wanted to hurt him. You wanted him to feel even a fraction of what heâd just carved into you.
But beneath that urge was something older, heavier.
A strangled sound escaped you as your head dropped forward, forehead pressing against his chest. Your tears soaked into his skin now, your body trembling like it might split apart.
âI hate this place,â you choked. âI hate what itâs turning me into. I hate you for falling in love with the daughter of that hag ! â
But the line between who you were and who you might become had never felt thinner. Neither you nor Lo'ak noticed when a crowd had gathered, the rustle of bodies and sharp whispers barely registering in your mind.
Anger still clouded every thought, every nerve, making you blind to anything else.
No one dared to step closer or in between to stop it.
The fight had escalated beyond their expectations, darker, rawer, more terrifying than anything they had imagined. The air hummed with tension, like the forest itself was holding its breath.
âSomebody get Jake Sully here!â
Tonowariâs voice cut through the chaos like a spear, making both you and Loâak flinch. Before you could react, strong arms wrapped around you, firm and immovable, dragging you back from Loâak. The sudden movement yanked you back to your senses.
Loâak staggered back, wiping the blood trickling from his nose, chest heaving. His eyes never left you - unreadable.
You both breathed heavily, the air between you charged with unspoken words.
Eyes locked, you didnât need to speak. Everything - the anger, the betrayal, the hurt - was already written there, burning like wildfire.
Around you, the murmurs grew. Some faces reflected disgust, others fear, and a few plain, raw concern. It didnât touch you. You had no room for their judgment, no energy for their pity.
When the rest of your family appeared, out of breath and faces stricken, you didnât flinch. Didnât move. Didnât speak.
You let the world watch, let it all pile onto you, because nothing else mattered anymore. Not the whispers, not the stares, not the people who had known you since birth.
Your body trembled slightly, not from fear, but from the storm still raging inside. âThis child⊠is pure demon!â
Ronalâs words rang out across the gathered crowd, sharp and venomous. She pointed directly at you, eyes ablaze with fury, and the people around her echoed her sentiment with murmurs, gasps, and outright cheers. Every gaze seemed to bore into you, heavy with judgment, accusation, and delight at your supposed failure.
Neytiriâs hiss cut through the chaos, low and sharp, a warning to all who dared cheer.
Her arms found Loâak immediately, pulling him close, assessing his injuries in a flinch of protective instinct. Only then did her gaze flick back to you, scanning your face for the truth of what had happened. Confusion and disbelief warped her usually controlled expression, the calm shield you knew so well cracking ever so slightly.
âTonowari,â Jake said, voice tight, âthis must be a misunderstanding. They are children - they fight! Tempers flare! It doesnât meanââ
Jakeâs arms wrapped around you suddenly, the weight of his concern pressing against your shoulders. His face twisted, worry and anger mingling in a rare, raw display.
âWhen I welcomed you and your family into our home,â the leader said, voice rising, âI did not expect⊠I did not expect your daughter to behave like a killer!â
The Metkayina leaderâs roar thundered across the sand, aimed directly at your father.
Jake froze, chest tight, eyes darting frantically, searching for some shred of proof that this could be a mistake. Evidence to show that the girl standing in front of everyone, tears streaking her face, trembling, was not the monster they claimed.
Not a single word, movement, or act to immediately disprove the accusations. The silence that followed was heavier than any shout, pressing down on your chest.
And there you stood, the storm of your anger, your fear, and your pride laid bare before everyone. You lifted your chin slowly, eyes locking onto the Oloâeyktan and his mate. Not a single flicker of fear crossed your face now - no tears, no rage.
Just stillness.
Cold.
Measured.
It unsettled the crowd far more than your earlier fury ever had.
âWhat about your daughter, Tonowari?â your voice cut through the murmurs, calm enough to chill the air. âMay I ask⊠when she made a mistake⊠where were you?â
A ripple of confusion passed through the Metkayina like a sudden current.
Heads turned.
Whispers tangled with one another.
Even the sea seemed to hush, waves retreating just enough to listen.
Ronal stiffened instantly, fury sharpening her features.
âMy daughter did nothing, you demon!â she spat, stepping forward as she raised her spear, the obsidian tip aimed straight at your chest.
Her fangs bared in a warning that promised blood.
âYour daughter almost drowned me. More or less.â You replied evenly. âA few days ago. Under my siblingsâ eyes.â
A breath was sucked from the crowd all at once.
Neteyamâs head snapped toward you. Kiriâs hands flew to her mouth. Loâak stiffened beside Neytiri, every muscle taut.
Tsireyaâs face drained of color, her eyes wide, not angry, not defensive, but terrified. She found her refuge in Kiri's arms, as if she tried to dissapear.
âThat is a lie!â Ronal hissed, spear shaking now, not with threatâbut with something closer to panic.
âIs it?â you asked quietly. âAsk her.â
Your gaze shifted, not to Ronal, not to Tonowari, but to Tsireya.
The silence became unbearable.
âShe pulled away,â you continued, voice low but unwavering. âLeft me going too far in the water when she knew I was new to that. When I slipped, when I sank, she couldn't reach. Earning my trust under the lie of " It's ok, I'm here." for what, huh ?â
Your jaw tightened.
âIf Aonung hadnât reached me when he did, I would be bones at the bottom of your reef.â
Aonungâs name landed like a blade.
All eyes snapped to him. His posture stiffened, jaw clenching hard enough to ache. He said nothing; he didnât deny it.
His silence spoke louder than any defense.
Tonowari finally moved, stepping between Ronal and you, his expression dark, conflicted. His eyes flicked briefly to his son, searching for confirmation.
Ronal shook her head violently.
âShe is weak,â she snarled. âShe does not belong in the water. That is not my daughterâs fault.â
Your lips twitched - not in a smile, but in something bitter.
âAnd yet,â you said, âwhen your child makes a mistake, it is my weakness. When I fight for my right, I am a demon. Then, what am I supposed to do ?â
Jakeâs grip on your shoulders tightened.
Neytiri inhaled sharply through her teeth, anger showing in her eyes like fire when she glanced at Ronal.
The crowd shifted uneasily now, the certainty they had moments ago cracking like brittle coral.
You took a single step forward, despite the spear still pointed at you.
âI am Toruk Maktoâs daughter,â you said, voice steady, unyielding. âI have killed to protect my family. I have bled for my people. And I will not be judged by those who refuse to see their own reflection in the water.â
The sea stirred again, waves rolling in softly, as if Eywa herself was listening.
And for the first time since arriving in Awaâatlu -
You were no longer the one on trial.
âFather. I have to be with them this time.â
The words cut through the tension like a blade drawn too slowly to be ignored.
For a heartbeat, no one breathed.
Aonung stood straighter than you had ever seen him, shoulders squared, chin lifted - not in defiance, but in resolve.
His eyes did not waver from Tonowariâs face, even as the weight of the entire reef seemed to press down on him.
Saltwater dripped from his braids, tracing slow paths down his neck, but he didnât move to brush it away. He stepped forward, having everyone's eyes on him, like he was the Sun.
If the situation hadnât already been unthinkable, it was now bordering on unreal.
A murmur rippled through the Metkayina.
Disbelief.
Shock.
Some even stepped back, as if the ground itself had shifted beneath them.
Aonung, taking your side.
âAonung! Donât you dare!â she snapped, her voice sharp enough to draw blood from your ears. Her skin flushed a deep, furious purple, eyes blazing as she stepped toward him.
âYou shame us with this nonsense!â
Her words were poison-laced, but he didnât flinch at all, no emotion showing on his face.
Tonowari, however, looked caught between crashing tides.
His jaw tightened, gaze flickering between his son, Ronal, and Jake. This was not a battle he had prepared for - loyalty pulling him in opposing directions.
Jake Sully was his ally, his friend. The Sky People had brought danger to their shores, yes, but the Sully's were good people.
And now his own children were tangled in the consequences.
Everyone knew it.
Everyone felt it.
The whispers grew louder, curling around the gathering like smoke, until Tonowari slammed the butt of his spear into the sand.
âSilence!â
The sound echoed, sharp and final, scattering the murmurs instantly. Even the waves seemed to retreat at his command.
Tonowari straightened to his full height, authority settling over him like armor. He was ready to bare his fangs and fight for his children at any moment, if it was needed.
âJake Sully,â he said firmly, turning toward your father, âtake your family. Make peace within your own blood.â
His gaze hardened - not cruel, but resolute.
âThen you will come to our marui,â he continued, voice heavy with implication, âand we will speak of what has been done.â
Unsaid words hung thick in the air: judgment, consequences, truth.
Ronalâs lips pressed into a thin line, fury barely contained.
Aonung finally exhaled, slow and steady, as if he had been holding his breath since the moment he spoke.
Your eyes met his for the briefest second.
No mockery.
No cruelty.
Only something raw and unsettling - something that made your chest tighten in a way you refused to name.
He slightly nodded, like a signal of " Trust me. "
âEveryone. Inside. Now.â
Jakeâs voice cracked like a whip, cutting through the lingering tension outside. His glare swept over all of you - sharp, commanding, leaving no room for argument - as he jerked his head toward your familyâs marui.
Neytiri hissed under her breath, her tail lashing once in pure frustration, but she didnât challenge him.
Not here. Not now.
Her hand closed around Loâakâs arm, dragging him inside first, her grip firm enough to leave no doubt about how furious she was.
Jake followed close behind, one heavy hand settling on your shoulders. Not gentle. Not rough either. Just⊠controlled. Grounding.
A warning and a promise all at once.
You let him guide you inside, your body already bracing itself.
You knew exactly what was coming.
Neteyam entered next, jaw tight, eyes flicking briefly to you before he looked away. Kiri followed in silence, her usual warmth dimmed, worry clouding her gaze. Tuk was glued in her arms, small hands clutching at her shoulders as she glanced around nervously, clearly sensing that something was very wrong.
When the padded mat fell over the entrance, muffling the outside world, the marui felt suddenly too small.
Everyone sat on their mats, the circle uneven, tense.
You found yourself wedged between Neteyam and Jake, your back stiff, your eyes locked forward - straight at Neytiri and Loâak.
Loâakâs lip was split, dried blood dark against his skin, nose already deep purple and smeared with blood.
He didnât look at you.
Neytiri did, and the look on her face twisted something sharp in your chest.
Jake exhaled slowly, rubbing his face with both hands like he was trying to physically push back his anger.
âYou kids are eating my gutsâŠâ he started, voice low, strained. âEvery single one of you.â
He dropped his hands, blue eyes hard now.
âI kept asking. Over and over. What happened? Is everyone alright?â His gaze swept the circle. âBecause Iâm not stupid!â
His voice rose despite himself, frustration spilling over the edges of his control.
âI see the looks. The injuries. The way youâve all been acting like youâre walking on eggshells!â
He stood abruptly and slammed his fist into the wooden floor. The sound echoed through the marui, making Tuk flinch.
âI asked you to talk to me!â he shouted. âAnd you all chose silence instead!â
The air felt thick, suffocating.
Your heart pounded in your ears as you stared at the floor, jaw clenched so tight it hurt. You could feel Jakeâs presence beside you - solid, furious, protective in a way that almost made things worse.
This wasnât just about a fight anymore.
This was about everything that had been boiling under the surface since the moment you set foot in Awaâatlu.
And now, there was nowhere left to run.
âDad⊠all of us were just confused about what happened,â
Neteyam said carefully, choosing his words the way he always did when he was trying to keep the peace. His gaze flicked toward you for a split second before returning to Jake.
âYou know how Y/N is. She doesnât like to worry anyone. She keeps things to herself.â
For a moment, it almost worked.
Jakeâs jaw tightened, a muscle jumping there as he stared at his eldest son. The disappointment in his eyes hurt worse than anger ever could.
âOh, donât bullshit me now, boy,â he snapped, voice sharp and unforgiving. âI expected better than that. From you! From Kiri !â
He turned his glare toward Kiri, barely restraining himself.
Loâak let out a low growl, his shoulders tensing, his pride flaring faster than his senses.
Neytiri reacted instantly - her hand shot out, fingers tangling in his braids, yanking just hard enough to shut him up.
Loâak hissed, eyes flashing, but he stayed silent.
âMaâJake!â Neytiri finally broke in, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. âEnough!â
She rose slightly from her mat, eyes blazing now, not with anger at the children, but with fear barely held back.
âYour daughter almost drowned,â she said, each word heavy, deliberate. âHow about that?!â
The marui fell into stunned silence.
Neytiriâs chest rose and fell as she struggled to keep control, her gaze locking onto Jakeâs.
âYes, mistakes were made. By all of them,â she admitted, pain lacing her voice.
âBut you stand here shouting when all you had to do was listen! Our child nearly drowned, do you hear me ?â
Her eyes finally turned to you, softening just a fraction.
Worry, raw and unmistakable, cracked through her warriorâs mask.
âAs a mother,â she continued, quieter now but no less fierce, âI care less about who lied or who stayed silent, and more about why my child was pushed so far that this could even happen.â
Jakeâs anger faltered, just for a moment.
The weight of her words settled heavily in the space between you all. No shouting now. No growling. Just the ugly truth hanging in the airâthis wasnât just disobedience or a sibling fight.
Something had been breaking inside you long before the water ever swallowed you.
â Mom, it's fine. It wasnât that⊠bad.â
The words slipped out of you barely louder than a breath, as if saying them softly enough might make them true. You kept your eyes down, refusing to let the memory resurface - the panic, the burning in your lungs, the moment where you were certain the water would win.
Your fingers fidgeted with your song cord, rolling one of the small beads back and forth between your thumb and forefinger. The familiar motion grounded you, even as your chest felt tight.
âYeah, sure,â Loâak shot back before anyone could stop him.
âIf it wasnât that bad, then why were you clinging to Aonung like your life was about to end, huh?!â
His tone mirrored yours - defensive, sharp, wounded.
Neytiri snapped her gaze toward him instantly, a warning glare sharp enough to silence most warriors. But even she didnât interrupt this time.
Because she knew.
As much as she hated to admit it, Loâak wasnât wrong.
âThat wouldnât have happened,â you fired back, lifting your head at last, eyes blazing, âif your little girlfriend hadnât pushed me into it.â
Kiri flinched because she knew what was about to come.
Guilt ate her alive.
âAnd all of you agreed with her,â you continued, voice shaking now, anger and hurt bleeding together. âNot one of you cared how I felt. Not one of you stopped to think maybe I wasnât ready.â
Jake and Neytiri exchanged a look - quick, loaded. The kind parents share when they realize something deeper has been rotting beneath the surface.
âIt was wrong,â she admitted softly, her voice trembling. Her ears flattened against her head, guilt written all over her face. âWe shouldnât have done that.â
She swallowed hard, eyes shining with unshed tears.
âWe just⊠wanted to see you happy. At least once,â she said. âYou canât stay like this forever, sissy. So closed off. Itâs not good for you.â
The words werenât cruel. They were worse.
They were honest.
The marui fell silent again, heavy with everything that had finally been said out loud. And for the first time since the water pulled you under, it wasnât fear tightening your chest -
It was the realization that everyone thought they were helping youâŠ
while you felt like you were drowning alone.
âEnough. All of youâenough.â
Jakeâs voice cut through the marui like a blade, sharp and final.
It wasnât loud, but it carried weight, the kind that came from years of command, from battles fought where hesitation meant death.
The arguing died instantly, swallowed by silence.
âYour mother and I have a lot to discuss with Tonowari and Ronal,â he continued, jaw tight, eyes hard. âThis mess doesnât end here.â
That was how Jake always was.
He listened - really listened- but only long enough to gather the facts, to build the situation in his head piece by piece.
And once he had it?
He shut everything down.
Clean. Efficient.
A Marine through and through.
Neytiri shifted beside him, her tail flicking in agitation, but she didnât contradict him. Not now.
Jakeâs gaze snapped back to you and Loâak, lingering there longer, heavier.
âAnd you two,â he said, voice dropping into something colder, more dangerous. âYou are both in deep trouble.â
Loâak bristled immediately, shoulders tensing, but one look from Neytiri made him still.
You didnât react at all. You just sat there, spine straight, hands clenched in your lap, eyes unreadable.
âWeâll deal with that,â Jake finished, âafter we speak with Tonowari.â
The implication hung in the air like a storm cloud: judgment postponed, not forgiven.
For a moment, no one spoke. The distant sounds of the reef filtered faintly through the maruiâwaves breaking, wind passing through woven wallsâso normal it felt cruel.
Jake exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face.
âThis family has been through enough,â he muttered, more to himself than to any of you. âWe donât need to tear each other apart on top of it. Sullys stick together.â
His eyes flicked to you again, softer now, conflicted. Protective. Tired.
You wondered if he saw it - the way something in you had shifted, cracked, maybe even broken. Or if all he could see was another problem to contain, another fire to put out before it burned everything down.
Either way, one thing was clear:
This wasnât over.
Not with the Metkayina.
Not with Loâak.
And certainly not with the boy who had pulled you from the water⊠and into a truth you hadnât been ready to face.
" Eywa, this is such a pain..."
You mumbled under your breath with a deep sigh, letting your head lean against Neteyam's shoulder.
He smiled because he felt the same way. One of his arms pulled you closer to him, planting a long kiss on the top of your head.
This was his way of assuring you he was there for you.
Your peace maker...
Later that day, when the reef finally fell into a fragile, uneasy calm, you found yourself alone.
The aftermath of the fight had taken more from you than bruises or harsh words ever could.
You had spent hours wrapped around Kiri and Tuk, letting them cry into your shoulders, letting their guilt spill out in broken apologies and trembling words. They clung to you like you were the only solid thing left in a world that suddenly felt unstable.
You told them it wasnât their fault - over and over - until the words began to feel thin, worn down by repetition.
By the time they finally drifted off, exhaustion had sunk into your bones.
Not the kind that sleep fixes.
The kind that comes from being pulled apart emotionally, from having every nerve rubbed raw and left exposed. Your chest felt tight, your head buzzing, thoughts colliding into each other with no clear shape. Too much sound. Too many eyes. Too many expectations.
You didnât announce it.
You didnât tell anyone where you were going.
You simply let your feet carry you away from the marui, away from the whispers, away from the weight of being someone everyone seemed to have an opinion about.
You wandered until the reef grew quieter, until the laughter and voices faded into nothing but wind and water.
Eventually, you found a place that felt untouched - a large slab of rock rising just above the tide, jagged and uneven, hidden enough to keep curious eyes away.
Climbing it took effort your body barely had left, but you welcomed the sting in your muscles. It grounded you.
At the top, you sat down slowly, pulling your knees close to your chest.
The sea stretched endlessly before you - dark, calm, breathing. Moonlight painted silver trails across its surface, the waves rolling in with a patience that felt almost mocking. A few days ago, this same water had tried to claim you. Had stolen your breath, your control, your pride.
The breeze tugged at your braids, cool against your overheated skin. Salt lingered in the air, sharp and familiar, yet still foreign enough to keep you on edge. Below you, the tide whispered against stone, rhythmic and indifferent, as if the ocean didnât care who you were or what youâd lost today.
Daughter of Toruk Makto.
Warrior.
Outsider.
Problem.
You wrapped your arms tighter around yourself, staring out at the horizon where sea and sky blurred together, waiting for a sign, or an answer.
For the first time since arriving in Awaâatlu, no one was watching you. No expectations. No comparisons. No accusations.
The sudden sound of his voice sliced clean through the fragile quiet you had carved out for yourself.
Your shoulders tensed on instinct, spine stiffening as if preparing for impact, but the reaction stopped there.
You didnât have the strength left to snap, to bare your teeth, to defend your solitude like you usually would.
You knew that voice too well.
You let out a slow breath, one that felt heavier than it should have, and turned your head toward him with deliberate slowness.
âKind of,â you replied flatly. âIsnât it obvious?â
He stood a few steps away, feet planted firmly in the sand.
His arms were crossed over his chest, broad shoulders squared, the familiar smirk tugging lazily at the corner of his mouth. Moonlight caught in the thick, braided net draped across his shoulders, its fibers mixed with small beads and shells. His long braids spilled down his back and chest, some still damp, clinging faintly to his skin.
For a moment, neither of you moved.
Then you noticed it - the faint puffiness beneath his eyes. Subtle, but there. The kind that didnât come from sleepless nights alone, but from tension, arguments, words thrown too hard and too often. From being pulled into things you didnât ask for.
Whatever storm had erupted between your parents and his hadnât spared him.
He followed your gaze without comment, jaw tightening just enough to give him away. The smirk didnât fully fade, but it dulled, losing some of its sharpness.
âYou disappeared,â he said finally, voice lower now, less performative. âFigured youâd either be here⊠or doing something reckless.â
A familiar irritation stirred in your chest, but it didnât flare the way it usually did.
It just sat there, tired and dull.
âDisappointed?â you asked, eyes drifting back to the sea. âNo blood. No knives. No drama.â
He snorted softly, shifting his weight.
âGive it time, forest girl. I know you can do it.â
Silence stretched between you again, thick but not uncomfortable, just ...strange. The ocean breathed below you, steady and indifferent, waves breaking gently against the rocks as if mocking the chaos that had unfolded hours earlier.
âYou shouldnât be alone. Your parents went insane a few hours ago. " Aonung added, after a beat.
You laughed quietly, humorless. âThatâs rich, coming from you.â
That made you look at him again.
His expression had changed. The smirk was gone now, replaced by something harder to read, guarded, almost conflicted. His eyes, impossibly blue even in the dim light, flicked briefly to the water before returning to you.
He studied you like he was trying to solve a puzzle that refused to fit together. The fierce, sharp-tongued girl who had nearly drawn a blade earlier. The silent figure perched on a rock now, wrapped in herself like she might shatter if touched too roughly.
âYou always look like youâre about to run,â he muttered.
âAnd you always look like you enjoy chasing,â you shot back automatically.
That earned a quiet huff of a laugh, but it faded quickly.
Both of you knew it was partially true - he was there every time you'd done something reckless, ready to tell on you.
Aonung stepped closer, stopping just short of your rock.
Close enough that you could smell salt and sun on him.
Close enough that your body noticed before your mind could stop it.
âI didnât come here to fight,â he said.
You raised a brow. âThen what? To gloat? To make sure the âdemon girlâ didnât stab anyone else tonight?â
His jaw clenched at that.
â Stop shoving words down my throat, in the name of Eywa.â
The words landed heavier than you expected.
You stared at him, searching his face for mockery, for cruelty, but found none.
Just tension, restraint.
Just something unsaid pressing behind his eyes.
âThen why are you here, Aonung?â you asked quietly.
For the first time since youâd met him, he hesitated.
âBecause,â he said slowly, âI know what it feels like when everyone decides who you are⊠without asking.â
The ocean rolled below you, dark and endless.
And for the first time, the distance between you didnât feel like a battlefield, but like a fragile bridge neither of you knew how to cross yet.
âThat day,â he continued quietly, voice rough around the edges, âwhen you almost drowned in front of me⊠something changed for me too.â
He stepped closer to the rock, close enough that you could feel his presence without it pressing in on you. He leaned one shoulder against the stone, casual in posture but careful in distance, like he was deliberately drawing a line he refused to cross without your permission. It was such a small thing, but it didnât go unnoticed.
You didnât answer.
You didnât need to.
You simply watched him, chin resting against your knee, eyes heavy with exhaustion but sharp with curiosity. You were too tired to argue, too drained to hide behind teeth and claws.
For once, you let him speak.
âIt was scary,â Aonung admitted, and the word sounded foreign coming from him. âIâve seen people get hurt. Cuts, broken bones, fights. Thatâs normal here.â
His fingers flexed unconsciously at his side.
âBut Iâd never seen someone⊠that close. One moment you were there, angry and stubborn, and the next - ...â He exhaled slowly. âYou were sinking.â
His gaze drifted to the ocean, pupils reflecting the faint shimmer of moonlight on the waterâs surface.
âI didnât think,â he went on. âDidnât weigh anything. Didnât care who you were supposed to be, or who I was supposed to hate.â His jaw tightened. âMy body just moved.â
You remembered that moment all too well - the sudden grip around your waist, the force pulling you upward, the violent rush of air as your lungs burned back to life. At the time, it had felt unreal.
Now, hearing it from him, it felt⊠heavier.
âWhen I got you breathing again,â he said softly, âyou held onto me like you were afraid Iâd disappear. Like the sea would take you back if you let go for even a second.â
His eyes flicked to you then, blue cutting through the darkness.
âAnd thatâs when it hit me.â
Your fingers stilled against the stone.
âI realized you werenât weak,â he said. âYou werenât dramatic. You werenât refusing the water because you thought you were better than us.â His voice dropped. âYou were terrified. And you were still trying to protect everyone by pretending you werenât.â
The words slid under your skin, slow and precise.
âIâve spent so much time tearing you down,â Aonung continued, quieter now, almost ashamed. âLaughing when you fought back. Calling it arrogance when it was really⊠fear. Control. Survival.â He swallowed. âYou face things head-on. Even when they scare you. Especially then.â
The ocean sighed below you, waves brushing the reef in a rhythm older than both of you.
âAnd in that moment,â he finished, âwhen you were shaking and breathing and alive in my arms⊠I realized Iâd been wrong about you. Omatikaya, or Metkayina, Na'vi or demon blood... At the end of the day, you are a living being too. Like me â
Silence settled between you, not empty, but full.
Heavy with things neither of you knew how to name yet.
You looked away first, throat tight.
That realization of his - the one heâd carried quietly since that day - felt dangerous. Because it seemed impossible. A fever dream.
The enemy youâd built in your mind didnât fit the shape of the boy standing beside you.
And that scared you.
Every word he spoke pressed down on your chest, slow and relentless, until breathing felt like something you had to consciously remember how to do. Your heart shrank with each sentence, folding inward on itself, tight and aching, as if it were trying to protect something too fragile to be touched.
You didnât even notice when the tears started.
Not the quiet, restrained kind you were used to. These were real - hot and heavy, slipping down your cheeks unchecked, blurring the edge of the world. By the time you realized your vision had gone soft, it was already too late to pretend you were fine.
His expression shifted instantly, all sharpness gone, replaced by something uncertain, almost startled. He straightened from the stone, then hesitated, clearly fighting the instinct to reach for you without asking.
ââŠItâs time for me to say sorry,â he said at last, voice quieter, stripped of bravado. âIsnât it?â
The corner of his mouth lifted, just barely. Not his usual smug grin. Not the smirk meant to provoke or dominate. This one was crooked, awkward, unpracticed, like he wasnât sure he was allowed to smile at you at all.
It broke something open in you.
A laugh escaped your throat, strangled and uneven, half-sob and half-disbelief. You shook your head, breath hitching as you tried - failed - to pull yourself together.
âYeah,â you managed softly. âI think it is.â
You wiped at your face with the back of your hand, smearing tears away without much care for dignity. Youâd lost the energy to guard yourself, to keep your walls standing. Whatever this moment was, it had already slipped past your defenses.
Slowly, deliberately, you stretched an arm toward him.
It wasnât a command.
It was an invitation.
For a split second, Aonung froze - eyes flicking from your hand to your face, as if making sure this was real, as if afraid the wrong move might shatter the fragile peace forming between you.
His fingers wrapped around your wrist, warm and steady, grip firm but careful.
With a small pull, he hauled himself up onto the rock beside you, movements controlled so he wouldnât jostle you. When he settled next to you, there was still space between your bodies, but not as much as before.
Close enough to feel his warmth.
Close enough to feel⊠safe. Just like back then, in the water.
The sea murmured below, dark and endless, but for once it didnât feel like a threat. Just a presence. Watching. Waiting.
Aonung sat quietly, gaze fixed on the horizon, jaw tense like he was holding back a thousand things he didnât yet know how to say. You sat beside him, knees drawn close, heart still racingâbut slower now. Calmer.
Enemies, no longer.
Not friends.
Not yet.
But something had shifted, irrevocably.
And for the first time since arriving in Awaâatlu, you didnât feel completely alone.
Sitting there, face to face with him now, the world seemed to narrow until it held only the two of you.
The ocean whispered below the rock, distant and steady, while the night wrapped itself around you both like a secret.
The closeness made everything sharper.
In the dim glow of Pandoraâs night, you could see every detail of him as if the darkness existed only to frame him better.
The faint bioluminescent markings along his skin pulsed softly, slow and rhythmic, tracing familiar patterns youâd never allowed yourself to notice before. Thin stripes glimmered across his shoulders and collarbone, lighting him from within. Even his eyes seemed brighter here - deep, luminous blue, reflecting the stars and the sea at once.
And he was looking at you the same way.
Not with amusement. Not with mockery.
His gaze moved carefully over your face, lingering as if he were memorizing you - the curve of your cheeks, the way your lashes cast shadows beneath your eyes, the tear tracks you hadnât fully wiped away. You could feel where he was looking, every shift of his attention sending a quiet ripple through you.
âThank you,â you said at last.
The words came out rougher than you meant them to, catching slightly at the beginning. You swallowed and tried again, quieter this time, more honest. âFor saving my life.â
Your palms were damp now, fingers curling inward as if to hide the trembling. Admitting it, saying it out loud, felt more vulnerable than the near-drowning itself.
You had survived many things.
You were strong. You were capable. And yet, there you were, acknowledging that without him⊠you might not have.
Aonungâs expression shifted.
For a heartbeat, he looked almost startled, like he hadnât expected gratitude, especially not from you.
His eyes softened, glow dimming just a fraction as he exhaled slowly.
âYou donât owe me anything,â he said. âAnyone wouldâve done the same.â
You shook your head, a small, stubborn motion. âNo. They wouldnât have. I got a bunch of people looking at my attempt to strangle my brother, and no one batted an eyelash to stop it.â
Your eyes held his.
Steady. Certain.
âYou didnât hesitate,â you continued.
A pause.
âYou just⊠chose.â
That silence returned, heavier now.
Aonung looked away briefly, jaw tightening, then back to you again. âIâd do it again,â he said simply.
The words sank deep.
He didn't mean to, but something fragile and unfamiliar bloomed in your chest - not fear, not anger, but something warm and dangerous all the same.
Trust, maybe. Or the beginning of it.
The ocean hummed softly.
The space between you felt less like a line drawn in the sand, and more like an invitation neither of you knew how to cross yet.
Slowly, carefully, as if the moment itself might shatter if you moved too fast. You pushed yourself up onto your knees, the stone cool beneath you, your body leaning toward him inch by inch.
There was hesitation in every movement - not fear, but uncertainty.
Aonung noticed immediately.
His eyes searched your face, brows knitting together in confusion, then widening just a little as realization dawned.
He didnât pull away.
He didnât lean in either.
He waited - still, steady - leaving you the choice he had denied you so many times before.
When you were close enough, his arms lifted instinctively, hovering for half a second like he was afraid of making the wrong move.
Then, gently, he guided you the rest of the way.
Your body pressed against his.
The contact stole the breath from your lungs, overwhelming in its simplicity.
Solid. Warm. Real.
Your forehead brushed his jaw before your head found its place in the crook of his neck, nuzzling against it.
Your arms wrapped around him tightly, fingers curling into the net and braids at his back like you were anchoring yourself to something that wouldnât slip away.
For a heartbeat, he froze.
Then his arms closed around you - firm, protective, unmistakably present.
He held you like he meant it, like he was afraid that if he loosened his grip even slightly, you might disappear.
One hand pressed flat between your shoulder blades, the other settling at your lower back, grounding you, steadying you.
You felt his breath hitch.
Felt the tension in his body ease, just a little, as if heâd been carrying something heavy for far too long and had finally been allowed to set it down.
The night seemed to quieten around you. The oceanâs endless murmur softened, the wind gentled, and even the glow of the reef felt dimmer, like the world had decided to give you privacy.
You didnât cry this time.
Instead, you breathed him in - salt, sea, warmth - and let your weight sink into his hold. Your heartbeat slowed, syncing gradually with his, the frantic edge of it dulling into something steadier.
Safer.
Maybe it was trauma bonding.
Maybe it was exhaustion.
Maybe it was two people who had spent too long fighting the same storm from opposite shores.
All you knew was this: in that moment, you needed to be held by someone who understood what it felt like to carry too much weight in their chest.
And Aonung - your enemy, your contradiction, your unexpected salvation - held you like he understood exactly.
And for the rest of the night, neither of you moved.
You stayed there on that rock, tangled together, as if the moment you let go, something fragile would fracture beyond repair. The stone beneath you grew colder as the hours passed, but it didnât matter. Wrapped in each otherâs warmth, the chill never truly reached you.
Aonungâs arms remained firm around you, steady and grounding. Just there. He rocked you slowly, almost imperceptibly, like the sea itself had taught him how to soothe a wounded thing.
Back and forth. Back and forth.
You matched it without realizing.
Your fingers loosened their desperate grip and settled into something softer, resting against his back, tracing the faint rise and fall of his breathing.
Your cheek stayed tucked against his neck, skin warm beneath yours, his heartbeat a quiet, constant drum beneath your ear. It reminded you that you were alive. That he was real. That the world hadnât ended, even if it felt like it had tried.
Every breath you shared said more than words ever could. Every small adjustment - his chin brushing the top of your head, your body shifting closer when a breeze passed - was careful, considerate. As if both of you understood this was not a moment to rush or question. Just something to survive together.
At some point, your breathing evened out, the sharp edges of your fear finally worn down by exhaustion. Your muscles relaxed fully for the first time in days, weeksâmaybe longer.
His hold tightened just a fraction.
His rocking slowed, syncing perfectly with your breathing, with the soft pulse of the ocean below.
He rested his cheek lightly against your hair, eyes fixed on the dark horizon, standing watch while you drifted somewhere between wake and sleep.
Two enemies.
Two warriors.
Two children carrying expectations too heavy for their bones.
And for one long, quiet night, under the glow of Pandoraâs stars and the watchful breath of the sea, you allowed yourselves to simply exist - broken, exhausted, alive in all the ways neither of you had ever been allowed to be.
When dawn would come, everything would still be complicated.
The rules, the families, the resentment, the fear.
For now, you rocked each other gently on that stone, holding on like neither of you was ready to let the tide pull you apart.
Oh goodness, this really was a train wreck đ„čđ.
Hope you enjoy my story this far ! â€ïž
ââââââââââââââââââââ
@tamashithe2nd @fari2cute @miyoro @mavieesttriste16 @mirrorball-6 @ezekieleen @beammeupthisplacesucks1
