⌜gi⌟

🇳🇬

[jks-luvr]

gigi

· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·

𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘩𝘦𝘳 ࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆

❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦! ❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·

𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 ᥫ᭡.

ᴍʏ ᴘᴀɢᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴄᴏɴꜱɪꜱᴛ ᴏꜰ ꜰɪᴄꜱ, ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴɴᴏɴꜱ, ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛꜱ. ᴍʏ ꜰᴀɴᴅᴏᴍꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ʙᴛꜱ + ᴀᴠᴀᴛᴀʀ + ᴊᴀᴄᴋꜱᴏɴꜱ , ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ!

ᴅɴɪ:

ᴍɪɴᴏʀꜱ 🔞, ʜᴏᴍᴏᴘʜᴏʙɪᴀ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱᴘʜᴏʙɪᴀ, xᴇɴᴏᴘʜᴏʙɪᴀ, ʀᴀᴄɪꜱᴍ, ꜰᴏʀᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ʀᴇʟɪɢɪᴏɴ ᴏʀ ᴅɪꜱʀᴇꜱᴘᴇᴄᴛ ᴛᴏᴡᴀʀᴅꜱ ʀᴇʟɪɢɪᴏɴꜱ.

ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ʀᴇᴄᴇɴᴛ╰›: click here !

[writers-bane]

How it feels to finally string 5 coherent sentences together after a writing block

[ghettofabu05]

this recent flux of jermajesty fics 😭 i’m eating so fucking good rn.

[jks-luvr]

I’ve genuinely been on tumblr for the past like 3 weeks after not opening it for months and that has made me miss writing 💔

Life’s been kicking my ass HARD (work, school, everythingggg gurl) But I’ve decided to be committed and consistent again🙂‍↕️ I’m feeling brave posting after ghosting for so long.

Even tho I only wrote for a little bit of time, I missed it everyday. But long story short, requests are open! Writing your fantasies (and mine) HMU LOVERS! #weback

(writing requests, I have no ideas yet lmao)

[jks-luvr]

some real shit @baenation

Do yall think Jermajesty & jaafar speak spanish🤤 ?

Actually been on my mind heavy

(Gonna start writing soon, life’s been a lot…)

[jussanother]

[jks-luvr]

the muggg😫

[jks-luvr]

A/N: I think this wholeheartedly needed a part 2. I genuinely enjoy every single request I receive. Truly. Knowing that you trust me with your ideas, your emotions, your comfort characters—it means more than I can say. I hope I get many more, because writing like this is something I love with my whole heart. Seeing people look forward to what I write next? That’s literally unreal to me especially since i’m just starting out. It’s such a gift, and I never take it lightly. Thank you for reading, and for feeling.

I hope you loved this as much as I did.

Please read with an open heart. 🫶🏾

Lo’ak Sully x Fem!Reader, deaf metkayina reader, second person POV, post rda attack, emotional reunion, spirit tree connection, angsty

Silent Tides 2

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The reef feels wrong without you.

The sea was supposed to be his new home—his new safe haven.

Lo’ak notices it first thing in the morning—before the sun crests the water, before the village wakes up. 

The ocean is calm, it's almost mocking how gentle it looks. Like nothing ever happened.

 Like it didn’t swallow you whole and leave him kneeling in the sand with empty hands.

He hasn’t slept.

When he closes his eyes, he sees your hands.

Not still. Never still. Moving. Signing. Saying something he couldn’t catch in time.

He scrubs his palms in the shallows until his skin burns, until Neteyam grabs his wrists and forces him to stop.

“Enough,” his brother says quietly.

Lo’ak jerks away. “They’re still dirty.”

Neteyam freezes. Slowly lets his hands fall.

“They’re not,” he says.

 “Lo’ak, look at me. They’re clean.”

Lo’ak doesn’t look.

Jake finds him later, sitting alone near the edge of the reef, knees pulled to his chest. 

He’s staring at the water like the ancestors might give you back if he watches hard enough.

Jake doesn’t raise his voice. He never does when it matters most.

“You…you can’t keep beating yourself up son,” he says.

Lo’ak laughs—a sharp, broken sound. 

Jake exhales slowly and sits beside him. Close, but not touching.

Jake continues. “None of us saw it happen. You were doing what you were told. What everyone was doing.”

“I should’ve been watching her,” Lo’ak snaps, finally turning. His eyes are red-rimmed, wild. “I was right there. She was right there.”

Jake meets his gaze. “But you held her when she needed it most.”

Lo’ak shakes his head violently. “That’s not enough–it’s not enough.”

Neytiri kneels in front of him later, hands folded in her lap. Her eyes are soft in that way that makes it hurt worse.

“She knew you cared,” she says gently. “Eywa knows it too.”

Lo’ak swallows hard.

“She never heard me say it.”

Neytiri’s voice doesn’t waver. “She didn’t need to.”

That’s when something in him cracks.

Because everyone keeps saying the same thing.

It wasn’t your fault.

His brother. His dad. His mom. Even the elders, voices low and steady, offering him the same mercy he refuses to take.

But guilt doesn’t listen to reason.

It sinks in his chest like a stone.

He bears your death.

He avoids the water after that.

When he does end up sleeping, it’s on the sand, and he wakes up gasping—hands reaching out, fingers curling like they’re trying to remember the shape of yours.

A nightmare.

He tries to sign alone one night.

Just one phrase.

His hands shake. The movements come out wrong—too fast, too sloppy, missing the softness you always had.

 He slams his fists into the sand in frustration, breath hitching.

“I’m trying,” he whispers to no one. “I’m trying now.”

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Lo’ak doesn’t tell anyone where he’s going.

He just leaves before dawn, slipping past the still sleeping village while the sky is still bruised purple and blue. 

The reefs glowing faintly each stroke like Eywa already knows why he’s here.

His chest hurts the entire swim.

Heavy. Like grief has settled into his bones and decided to stay.

He reaches the Spirit Tree with shaking hands.

For a long moment, he doesn’t move.

He’s scared.

Because what if nothing happens?

What if the silence follows him even here?

Slowly…hesitantly, he reaches out and connects his kuru.

The world shifts.

The reef fades.

Lo’ak squeezes his eyes shut. “Please,” he whispers, voice barely sound at all. “Please—Eywa, I don’t… I don’t know how to do this right.”

The glow intensifies.

And then—

“Lo’ak.”

He inhales so sharply it hurts.

Your voice isn’t distant.

It isn’t echoing.

It’s right there—warm, threaded through the space between his ribs like it belongs.

He gasps. “No—no, y/n. I’m—”

“Lo’ak,” you say again, gentler this time. “You’re here. I can hear you.”

“You—you can hear me?” he chokes. “You— you don’t need—”

“No,” you say while you giggle softly. 

“I don’t need your hands.”

For the first time in your life, for the first time in his…

You hear him.

Fully. Clearly.

His voice shakes when he speaks your name. 

“I’m sorry—I should’ve said it sooner.”

You don’t answer right away.

When you do, it’s with the same calm you always carried. 

“Why are you sorry?”

“It’s my fault–”

“You’re not at fault Lo’ak, I told you this.”

He lifts his head, eyes wet, staring into your own. It’s like nothing changed.

“I’ve been trying to sign something,” he admits quietly. “Ever since you… since you left.”

Your presence feels closer then. Like water curling around his shoulders.

“Show me.”

He hesitates.

Then lifts his hands.

They tremble as he moves them—slow, unsure. 

He messes up the sequence, frowns, starts again.

“I—” His voice cracks. “I don’t know if this is right.”

You watch him patiently, the way you always did.

You take his hands into yours, guiding him correctly.

“You’re rushing,” you say softly. “Breathe first.”

He inhales. Deep. Steady.

This time, his hands move slower. More intentional. The meaning is clearer.

Thank you.

He stops, staring at his hands like they’ve betrayed him. “Is that— is that right?”

You smile.

“Yes,” you say. “You’re listening now.”

His throat tightens. “You used to say that to me.”

“I know.”

“I never got to say it to you,” he whispers.

Your voice is warm. Certain. “Well you’re saying it now.”

His breath shudders. “I miss you.”

“I’m right here,” you reply. “Just a bit differently.”

“I was so loud,” he says bitterly.

 “But you were always just there, and I thought— I thought I still had time.”

You move closer to him, your presence a bit startling.

“You always saw me,” you say. “Even when you didn’t realize it.”

He shakes his head. “I see you now.”

“I know,” you repeat.

Your voice softens, becoming something like water at dusk.

“Promise me something.”

“Anything,” he says instantly.

“Don’t punish yourself forever,” you tell him. 

“Continue to love loudly. Listen carefully. Teach others the way you’ve learned.”

His lips tremble. “Without you?”

“With me,” you correct gently. “Just… not where you expect.”

The glow begins to dim.

“It’s time for you to go back.”

Panic flares in his chest. “Wait— wait, I have more—I—”

You interrupt softly. “Lo’ak.”

You turn his head softly to look at you.

You say his name the way no one else ever did.

“I see you.”

But it’s over, the reef is quiet again

Reality hits him harder than expected.

“I–I see you, y/n.”

When he reaches the shore, Lo’ak stays there after a long time, hands steady now, heart still broken.

But for the first time since you left, the silence finally doesn’t feel like punishment.

Finally.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

[jks-luvr]

hii i was wondering if you could write this?

your work is amazing btw

i don’t have much for the plot but basically the reader is a deaf na’vi that communicates through the same sign language they speak to the tulkuns with. she’s best friends with tsireya and usually stands in tsireyas shadow. and while teaching the sully’s with tsireya she develops a crush on lo’ak. but lo’ak is obviously too worried about tsireya and too blind to realize the girl is right there infront of him. but then while the RDA is attacking she sadly gets shot and lo’ak doesn’t realize until she’s in his arms in her final moments.

A/N: hi 🫶🏾this one hurt to write, not gonna lie. I wanted to explore lo’ak’s guilt in a way that felt appropriate. the idea of a deaf na’vi who communicates through the tulkun language was something I didn’t even know would mean a lot to me😫. Im even thinking about making a part 2 of how lo’ak goes on about this afterwards.

this request was beautiful and I hope I am able to meet your expectations. please read gently. and thank you so much for trusting me with this request 🤍

lo’ak sully x fem!reader, deaf metkayina reader, second person pov, heavy angst, unrequited love, major character death, no happy ending, mentions of blood, gunshot injury, rda Attack, guilt, grief, oneshot

Italics entail the sign language

Silent Tides - Lo’ak Sully

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

You learned the language of the tulkun before you ever learned the words of your own people.

Not because you wanted to—but because sound was never really meant for you.

Even so, the Metkayina never treated you like you were broken.

Ronal taught you with her hands instead of her voice, and the tulkun listened to you the way others never did—with patience, without rushing you to catch up.

Your hands became your voice. Wide gestures in open water. Gentle movements near the reef.

Tsireya learned with you.

She was always beside you—radiant. The girl everyone noticed first.

You didn’t mind standing in her shadow.

The shadows were always quieter.

When the Sully family arrived, it was Tsireya who spoke first. It was Tsireya who smiled and explained and laughed.

And it was you who stood just behind her shoulder, hands moving slowly, translating what you could, watching like always.

That’s when you noticed him.

Lo’ak Sully was… loud. Not just with his voice, but with his presence. Restless energy, sharp eyes, emotions worn openly like he didn’t know how to hide them yet.

Lo’ak doesn’t care to notice you at first.

Not really.

You’re always there—close enough that he never thinks to look twice.

Standing just behind Tsireya’s shoulder, hands moving smoothly as water, eyes calm and observant.

When Tsireya speaks, the attention follows her voice. When you spoke, it was easier to miss.

But you could never miss him.

You notice how his shoulders tense when he thinks he’s messed up again.

How his jaw clenches when Neteyam corrects him. How his eyes soften when Tsireya laughs.

You saw everything.

When you teach the Sullys, Tsireya talks. You show.

You guide Lo’ak’s hands through the motions of swimming with the current instead of against it.

You correct his breathing with gentle gestures, by tapping your own chest, then his.

He watches your hands more than your face.

At first, he thinks it’s because it’s fascinating—this silent language you carry so fluently.

The way the tulkun respond to you like you’re one of them.

The way your signs stretch wide and slow in the water, meant for beings older than your words.

You don’t ever get tired of it?

He asks one day, floating beside you while Tsireya swims ahead.

You tilt your head, confused.

He gestures awkwardly. Teaching us. Being… quiet all the time.

You smile softly and sign back.

Quiet can be better, plus what choice do I have?

He frowns, like that lands somewhere deep. “Yeah,” he mutters. “I guess.”

But then Tsireya calls his name, and he swims after her without another thought.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

You fall for him in pieces, unintentionally.

In the way he always waits for you to finish signing before responding—even when the others don’t.

In the way he glances back to make sure you’re still following.

In the way he grins at you when he finally understands something without Tsireya needing to explain it first.

Once—just once—he asks you, Did I do that right?

And when you nod, eyes bright, he smiles like he’s just won something important.

That smile wrecks you.

But he still looks at Tsireya like she’s the answer to a question he hasn’t figured out yet.

And you start to tell yourself that wanting him quietly is better than not having him at all.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The day the sky people returned, the ocean felt wrong.

You feel it before anyone says anything. The water is tense. The tulkun are restless.

Your hands move faster when you sign warnings to the younger Metkayina.

Run.

Hide.

Go.

Lo’ak finds you as chaos breaks loose.

“Hey—hey!” he shouts, grabbing your arm to pull you behind cover. “Stick with me, okay?”

Doing your best to read his lips as there is no time to sign.

You nod quickly, fingers squeezing his wrist once in reassurance.

You’re helping evacuate when it happens.

There’s a sharp force—sudden. There’s no pain at first. You just don’t feel right.

Your breath stutters. The world starts to tilt.

You only felt the impact, stealing the strength from your body like the tide was pulling you under.

Lo’ak turns back just in time to catch you.

“Whoa—hey, hey,” he says, confused, steadying you. What—what’s wrong? His hands move fast, clumsy with panic.

Your hands tremble as you lift them. Your signs come slower now.

I think I was hit.

His eyes drop, he sees the blood trailing down.

The color drains from his face.

“No,” he whispers. “No, no—you’re fine. You’re fine.”

You sink into his arms, strength fading, and that’s when it hits him—this isn’t fine. This is bad. This is terrifying.

He lowers himself to the ground, cradling you like something fragile.

“Stay with me,” he begs, voice breaking. “Please—just stay.”

You look at him, and there was no fear in your eyes, zero. Just warmth.

Your hand rises to his cheek, brushing away tears he didn’t notice falling.

Lo’ak.

“I’m here,” he chokes. I’m right here.

Your fingers press gently to his chest, right over his racing heart.

I see you, Lo’ak. Strong heart, you have no fear.

His breath catches hard, like he’s been punched.

I see you, he sobs. “I swear—I do now.” I was so stupid, I was so—

You shake your head, small and tired.

You are not at fault.

He presses his forehead to yours, shaking.

Your blood fills his hands, his head brought down as broken sobs fall from his mouth.

I’m sorry, y/n.

He presses his forehead to yours, shaking. You were right there. You were always right there.

Your smile trembles.

Listen for me in the water.

Your hand slips from his chest.

Lo’ak stays there long after others arrive.

Long after Tsireya’s hands cover her mouth in shock.

Long after the fighting moves away from the reef.

You’re still warm.

That’s the worst part.

“No,” Lo’ak says hoarsely, tightening his grip when someone tries to touch you. “No—don’t. She’s still here.”

His voice cracks on the last word.

Tsireya’s eyes are red, glassy. “Lo’ak…”

“She was just talking to me—we were,” he snaps, anger flashing through the grief like lightning. “She was fine.”

No one answers him.

Because everyone sees it. Everyone knows.

Lo’ak looks down at you again, chest heaving, like if he breathes hard enough you’ll start breathing too.

“Hey,” he whispers desperately, brushing your hair back with trembling fingers.

“You didn’t— you didn’t finish what you were saying.”

Silence.

His throat tightens painfully. “You always finish,” he says, like it’s a fact that can fix this. “You always make sure I understand.”

He lifts your hand again, presses it to his chest where your palm was just minutes ago.

“Do it again,” he begs. “Please. Just—just once more. I’ll listen better. I swear I’ll listen. I promise.”

Something inside him caves in.

A sound rips out of his chest—ugly, broken, nothing like the tough front he’s always worn.

He folds over you, forehead pressing to yours once more, shoulders shaking.

Jake finally kneels down, careful, steady. “Lo’ak,” he says softly but firmly. “Son… we have to move.”

Lo’ak shakes his head violently. “No. No, you don’t get it. She said—she said something to me. I didn’t answer her.”

His breath stutters. “I have to answer her.”

Jake starts again desperate to reach his son, “Lo’ak… she knows. She knew you cared.”

He looks up at him sharply, rage and grief tangled together.

“I didn’t get to show it.”

His voice drops to a whisper. “I never showed it.”

He looks back down at you, thumb brushing your knuckles, memorizing the feel of your hand like he’s afraid his mind will erase it.

His jaw tightens. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

The guilt settles heavy in his chest.

When they finally pull him away, it feels like they’re tearing something out of him.

His hands claw uselessly at the air where you were.

“No,” he cries, voice breaking completely. “I–please don’t take her away from me.”

But they do. They need to.

And Lo’ak Sully is left kneeling in the sand, hands empty, chest aching with the knowledge that the one person who never demanded his attention was the one who deserved it most.

From that moment on, every silence feels like punishment.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

[h0nology]

HE’S WITH HIS AUNTIE 😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩

[jks-luvr]

✯ - MY girl

✯ Lo'ak x Fem!oc , POV (second person),

✯ wc: 3651

✯ All Characters are aged up.

⤷ , Angst, mutual pining, slow burn, friends to lovers (eventually), unspoken feelings, emotional miscommunication, yearning, emotional confusion, guilt, jealous Lo'ak, new male interest

➥ prev.

➥ next.

listen♬ˎˊ˗

Days of built up resentment, words left unsaid. Things between Mey'ira and Lo'ak don't seem to be improving. After talking to Tarey, this is the breaking point for Mey'ira. Lo'ak keeps spiraling and it's not getting him anywhere, with anyone.

“But you did,” you reply immediately. “And I’m so tired of it. Of you hurting me all the time.” He steps back like you struck him. “If you cared,” you say, “you would’ve trusted me. If you loved me—” you stop, swallow hard, then finish anyway, “—you wouldn’t have destroyed the first thing that made me feel like I could breathe.” “But you ruined it,” you say flatly.

#8

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Later, Lo’ak sits outside the village.

Alone.

Knees pulled to his chest, staring out at the water like it might give him answers if he looks long enough. 

His knuckles ache. His jaw is tight.

Footsteps approach.

He tenses immediately.

“I come in peace,” a voice says calmly.

Lo’ak glances up.

Tarey.

Of course.

“What do you want,” Lo’ak mutters.

Tarey stops a few steps away, hands open at his sides. No weapons. No challenge.

“I’m not here to fight,” he says. “I just… wanted to check on you.”

Lo’ak lets out a bitter laugh. “You serious right now?”

“I know how this looks,” Tarey says evenly. “But I didn’t ask for this tension. ” He throws up air quotes.

Lo’ak’s eyes narrow. “Don’t go there.”

“I care about her too, you know.” Tarey continues anyway, voice careful. “But I don’t want to come between anything you two have—or had.”

Lo’ak stands abruptly. “You don’t know anything about us.”

Tarey doesn’t flinch. “Tell me where I stand. Let’s settle this.”

Silence stretches.

Finally, Lo’ak exhales, tired in a way that reaches his bones.

“You don’t,” he says. “Not with me.”

Tarey nods slowly. “If being around me makes things worse for her… I’ll back off.”

That stops Lo’ak cold.

He didn’t expect that.

“You’d just… leave?” Lo’ak asks.

“I’d step aside,” Tarey corrects. “Because I don’t want to hurt her. And I don’t want to be the reason you tear yourself apart.”

Lo’ak looks away, fists clenching again.

“You think you’re better than me,” he mutters.

“No,” Tarey says quietly. 

Tarey takes a step back. “Figure it out. But Mey’ira—she deserves honesty.”

Then he leaves.

Lo’ak stays where he is, staring out at the sea—realizing, slowly, painfully—that the fight isn’t with Tarey.

It never was.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

It’s been days since Loak's outburst.

You’ve noticed the disconnect—the distance between you and Tarey.

Well finally, Tarey waits until the training grounds are empty.

Until the noise fades, the adrenaline settles, and you’re rinsing your hands in the water like you’re trying to wash the day off your skin.

“Mey’ira,” he says gently.

You turn, already tired. “Yeah?”

He hesitates. That’s new. Tarey is usually steady—grounded in a way that makes you feel safe without even realizing why.

“I talked to Lo’ak,” he says.

Your stomach drops.

You still your hands. “Why? About what?”

“About you,” he answers honestly.

You straighten immediately, walls sliding back into place. “There’s nothing to talk about though.”

“That’s what you think,” Tarey replies. “He doesn’t.”

Silence stretches between you, thick but not hostile.

You exhale, rubbing at your wrist. “Whatever he thinks is on him. We’re just friends. That’s it. There’s no us.”

The words come out fast. Too fast.

Tarey watches you closely, eyes soft—but sharp.

“You know,” he says slowly, “it sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself more than me.”

That hits.

Your breath stutters just a little.

“I’m not,” you say, quieter now.

Tarey steps back half a pace, giving you space instead of pressure. 

“I don’t want to be in the middle of something unfinished.”

“There is nothing unfinished,” you insist, voice tightening. “What Lo’ak and I had—whatever it was—it didn’t work. For a reason. I’m not waiting around for someone who doesn’t know what they want.”

Tarey nods. “That’s fair.”

Then—gently, “But I won’t be a distraction from him either.”

You look up at him. “Distraction?”

“I won’t train beside you, laugh with you, let you lean on me,” he continues, “if it’s only because you’re trying to run away from your feelings for someone else.”

Your chest aches.

“That’s not—” you start, then stop.

Because the truth is right there. Burning. Obvious.

Tarey sighs softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I like you, Mey’ira.”

The words hang between you, unplanned.

“Tarey—”

His eyes widened just slightly, like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

“I didn’t plan on saying it so—soon,” he admits. “But it’s true.”

Your heart stumbles.

“I like how fearless you are. How you listen. How you soften when you trust someone. What’s there not to like?” 

His voice stays calm, even as the confession slips free. 

“I won’t—I can’t be the one you choose just because it hurts less than choosing him.”

You swallow hard.

“I don’t want you to back off because of Lo’ak,” you whisper.

Tarey shakes his head. “I’m backing off because of you.”

You meet his gaze.

“When you’re ready—actually ready,” he says, “to choose me without worrying about hurting him, then we can talk.”

He offers a small, sad smile. “Until then, I won’t put myself between something that still matters to you.”

Then he turns to leave.

And you realize that safety doesn’t always mean easy.

Sometimes it means someone liking you enough to let you go.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

You don’t notice him at first.

You’re too busy rewrapping the leather around your forearm, fingers moving out of habit, jaw tight. The sounds of the village blur—waves, voices, life going on like nothing cracked open yesterday.

You don’t turn when you hear him.

“Mey’ira.”

Your jaw tightens. You keep working the strap around your arm like your hands don’t know his voice by heart.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Lo’ak says.

You let out a breathy laugh. Slow. Mean.

“Have I? Didn’t notice,” you shrugged your shoulders.

That makes him flinch.

“I just want to talk.”

You spin around so fast it almost surprises you.

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

He opens his mouth. You don’t let him.

“You didn’t want to talk when I was standing right there,” you snap. “You didn’t want to talk when you decided to turn training into a damn blood bath because you felt insecure.”

“I was protecting you.”

That word.

You step closer, eyes blazing. “Excuse me?”

“I—”

“Did I ask you to protect me,” your voice projecting. “Because if you really think—for a second—that was protection, apparently you don’t know me at all.”

His jaw tightens. “He was getting too close.”

“And?” you shoot back. “So what?”

“So what?” he repeats, incredulous. “You really don’t see it?”

“See what exactly Lo’ak?” You ask, voice rising now. 

“What I see is you barging in, starting a fight, humiliating him—yourself because you couldn’t stand watching me do something that didn’t have to revolve around you.”

“And instead of trusting me, you tried to control the situation. Like always.”

The ocean roars behind you, but it’s nothing compared to the pounding in your chest.

“That’s not fair—”

“We can’t still be talking about fairness,” you cut in. “You don’t get to say that after what you did.”

“I was trying to protect you,” he repeated.

You step closer, eyes flashing. “From what? From training? From learning? From being happy for five minutes without it somehow becoming about you?”

“You ruined it,” you continue, words spilling now, sharp and unstoppable. 

“The one thing I wanted. The one thing that was mine. Training with my father, with Jake—learning, growing, feeling like I didn’t have to just… react to you all the time.”

He takes a step toward you. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I don’t care about what you meant Lo’ak,” you interrupt. “I care about what you did.”

His voice cracks just slightly. “You think this is easy for me? Watching you get closer to someone else?”

You stare at him. Really stare.

“And whose fault is that?” you ask quietly. “Because last time I checked, this is because of you.”

His breath stutters. “That’s not—”

“You never said anything,” you press. “You never claimed anything. You wanted me close enough to stay.”

The words hang between you, heavy.

“And the second I start moving on,” you continue, voice trembling now with something dangerously close to tears, “you tear it down.”

Lo’ak shakes his head. “I was scared.”

“And that makes it okay?” you snap. “You don’t get to destroy things just because you’re afraid of losing me.”

“I liked him,” you admit. The words feel raw leaving you. “Actually liked him—” you shake your head.

His face falls.

“And you took that from me,” you finish. “You didn’t protect me. You were protecting yourself.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he says hoarsely.

“But you did,” you reply immediately. “And I’m so tired of it. Of you hurting me all the time.”

He steps back like you struck him.

“If you cared,” you say, “you would’ve trusted me. If you loved me—” you stop, swallow hard, then finish anyway, “—you wouldn’t have destroyed the first thing that made me feel like I could breathe.”

“But you ruined it,” you say flatly.

He freezes.

“The one thing I wanted for myself,” you continue. “Not for you. Not for us,” you gesture between the two of you.

“For me,” you say as your voice shrinks.

“There is no us,” he snaps.

Your eyes lock onto his.

“Exactly.”

You turn away.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The village is alive tonight.

Drums echo across the water, voices weaving together in song as the ceremony begins. 

Firelight dances along the reef, reflecting off shells and skin and joy you feel completely removed from.

You sit inside your mauri instead.

The flap is half-closed, letting in only slivers of sound—muffled laughter, rhythmic chanting, the distant sounds of celebration. 

You press your forehead to your knees, arms wrapped around yourself like that might keep everything from spilling out.

You told yourself you were fine.

You told yourself this was the right choice.

Your chest tightens anyway.

The tears come quietly. No sobs. Just the slow burn behind your eyes, the kind that makes breathing feel like extra work. 

You swipe at your face angrily, frustrated at yourself for still hurting when the world has clearly moved on.

You don’t get to be upset.

Outside, the drums grow louder.

Inside, you crack.

“Aylì’u?”

You freeze.

You don’t answer.

The mauri flap rustles.

Ao’nung ducks inside without waiting for permission, already halfway through a sarcastic comment that dies the second he looks at you.

“Oh.”

You turn away fast, scrubbing at your cheeks. “Go away.”

He doesn’t.

Instead, he lowers himself onto the woven mat across from you, movements slower than usual—careful.

“You’re missing the ceremony,” he says lightly. “Which is, basically… a crime. Mother is already at my—”

He stops when your shoulders shake.

The silence stretches.

“Hey,” he says, softer now. “Hey. Look at me.”

You don’t.

Ao’nung exhales, a hand on his chest. “Okay. That’s fine. You don’t have to.”

He sits there anyway.

The drums outside fade into background noise, replaced by the sound of your uneven breathing. 

You hate that he sees you like this. 

Hate that you couldn’t hold it together for one night.

“Who? Who is making you feel this way?” Ao’nung asks eventually.

That question breaks something open.

You laugh wetly. “Only you’d think it was something like that.”

“I’m serious,” he says. “Because if this is about Lo’ak, I will—”

“It’s not just him,” you cut in, voice cracking.

 “It’s everything.”

That makes him quiet.

You wipe at your face again. “I thought I was finally doing something for me. Training. Learning. Feeling… proud of myself—father was proud of me.”

 Your throat tightens. “And now it just feels ruined.”

Ao’nung shifts closer, sitting beside you now instead of across. 

“It’s not ruined—nothing is,” he says firmly.

You shake your head. “It doesn’t feel that way.”

He scoffs softly. “Mey’ira, you’re allowed to be hurt. You’re allowed to be upset. That’s what your feelings are for.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I feel stupid.”

“For caring?” he asks. “Pfft, yeah, no. Yeah, you’re definitely not allowed to do that.”

You huff despite yourself.

Ao’nung glances at you, then nudges your shoulder gently. “You know… when I mess things up—and I mess things up a lot—I always try to act like it didn’t get to me.”

“Yeah,” you mutter. “You’re terrible at hiding it.”

“Rude,” he says, then softens. “But when it really hurts? I want to disappear too.”

You finally look at him.

His expression isn’t teasing now. It’s honest. Protective in a way that makes your chest ache.

“You don’t have to be strong tonight,” he says. “You’ve been strong enough.”

The tears spill over again, faster this time.

 You cover your face, embarrassed, but Ao’nung gently pulls your hands down.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “You cry in here. I’ll stand guard.”

You sniff. 

“You’re so bad at guarding.” You say through your sobs.

“I’m excellent,” he argues. “I scare people.”

That earns a weak smile.

 Inside the mauri, you lean your head against Aonung's shoulders, solid and warm.

“You’ll find your way back to it,” he says quietly. “To training. To everything. This doesn’t get to take that from you.”

You rest your head against his arm, exhausted.

“Promise?” you whisper.

He nods without hesitation. “When has your big brother ever been wrong?”

You snorted. “You want me to answer that?” 

He looked away a little too quickly, 

“Nope. Don’t.”

You couldn’t keep the laugh from escaping.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The training grounds have cleared, but the tension hasn’t.

Neteyam stands near the edge of the sand, arms crossed, jaw set so tight it looks painful.

 Ao’nung paces in front of him like a caged predator, tail flicking with agitation.

“This isn’t nothing,” Ao’nung snaps. “You saw it. He turned training into some sort of dominance competition.”

Neteyam exhales through his nose.

 “I know.”

“She was doing well,” Ao’nung continues, voice low but furious. 

“She was focused. Confident. He fucked it up—he couldn’t stand it.”

Neteyam rubs a hand down his face. 

“Lo’ak’s always been like this. He feels things too greatly and then—”

“And then he wrecks them,” Ao’nung cuts in. “He doesn’t get to walk all over her just because he doesn’t know how to sit with his emotions.”

Neteyam doesn’t argue. That alone says everything.

“She cried,” Ao’nung adds quietly. 

“Alone. In her mauri.”

Neteyam’s head snaps up. “When?”

“During the ceremony,” Ao’nung says. “While everyone else was celebrating.”

Neteyam’s fists clench.

Before he can respond, footsteps crunch against the sand.

Lo’ak.

He stops short when he sees them both, shoulders already tense like he walked into a fight he expected.

“What’s this,” Lo’ak mutters. “Group discussion about me?”

Ao’nung turns slowly, eyes sharp. “You don’t get to joke.”

Neteyam steps forward. “Lo’ak—”

“Both of you need to mind your business,” Lo’ak snaps, jaw tight. “This doesn’t involve you.”

Ao’nung laughs once.“Everything involving her involves me, that’s my little sister.”

Lo’ak’s eyes flash. “I don’t care who she is to you. Stay out of it.”

Neteyam’s voice hardens. “Watch yourself, Lo'ak.”

“Oh, so now you care?” Lo’ak fires back. “Where was all this when she stopped talking to me?”

Ao’nung steps closer. “You don’t get to act betrayed when you’re the one who keeps fucking everyone over.”

Lo’ak shoves a hand through his hair. “I was trying to protect her.”

Neteyam shakes his head. “From what?”

Silence.

“You don’t get to claim her. She doesn’t even want anything to do with you anymore,” Ao’nung says flatly.

Lo’ak’s chest heaves. “Say that again.”

Neteyam steps between them instantly. “Enough.”

Lo’ak’s voice drops, dangerous. “You don’t understand. Nobody understands”

Ao’nung meets his stare without blinking. 

“No. I understand perfectly. You’re too much of a baby to use your words.”

“You can’t even communicate that you’re scared she doesn’t need you anymore.”

That’s when Lo’ak turns away.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The crafts shelter hums with quiet life.

Sunlight filters through woven palm above you, dappling the sand and catching in the soft shells scattered across the floor. 

The smell of sea resin clings to your fingers.

You sit cross-legged, braid resting over your knee, fingers working on instinct alone.

Tuk sits beside you, knees tucked under her chin, fiercely focused as she threads beads onto a thin cord. 

Around you, three younger girls chatter in half-whispers, giggling every time someone drops a shell or messes up a knot.

“No, no—like this,” Tuk insists, scooting closer to one of the girls. “If you don’t pull it tight, it’ll break.”

The girl groans dramatically. “Why is this so hard?”

You smile softly, reaching out to guide her hands. “You’re rushing. Slow down.”

She watches your fingers closely, mimicking the motion. “Ohh.”

“That’s it,” you encourage. “You’ve got it.”

The girl beams. “Yes!”

A sudden shadow stretches across the entrance.

“Mey’ira?”

You glance up.

Tarey stands just outside the shelter, posture careful, like he’s not sure he’s allowed to be there. 

His hair is still damp from training, curls clinging to his temples. His hands rest awkwardly at his sides.

Tuk’s head snaps up.

“You!” she points at him immediately. “You’re the warrior!”

Tarey blinks, startled. “I suppose?”

One of the younger girls gasps. “The one who trains with Tuk’s father!”

Another leans forward, eyes wide. “You’re very strong.”

Tarey shifts, suddenly bashful. “I—thank you?”

Tuk scoots over, patting the sand beside her. “You have to sit. We’re making things.”

He looks to you again, silently checking.

You shrug lightly. “You’ll survive.”

Something eases in his expression. He steps inside, folding himself onto the sand carefully, like he’s afraid he might break something just by being there.

Tuk hands him a bundle of fibers. “Make one.”

“I don’t know how,” he admits.

“That’s okay,” you say, moving closer. “Neither did I at first.”

You lean in, guiding his hands.

He listens. Really listens.

The girls exchange looks.

One of them grins. “You’re sitting very close.”

Your cheeks warm instantly. “We’re just—”

“Ohhh,” another singsongs. “That’s how my parents sit.”

Tarey stiffens slightly. “She’s just teaching—”

“Teaching you to be the perfect husband?” Tuk blurts.

The shelter erupts in giggles.

You choke on a laugh. “Tuk!”

“What?” she defends. “You two match.”

The younger girls nod enthusiastically.

“She braids,” one says. “He fights.”

“That’s perfect,” another adds seriously. “He protects. She makes things.”

Your heart stutters.

Tarey clears his throat. “I think that’s… very nice. But it's not true.”

Tuk squints at him. “Why not?”

He glances at you, eyes soft. 

“Because she hasn’t said yes,” He teases the girls.

Your breath catches.

The girls lose it—they squeal and scream excitedly.

“You have to ask first!” Tuk exclaims.

“You should make her a necklace!” Another one adds.

“They’ll have the biggest mauri and live by the water!” 

You laugh, flustered, shaking your head. 

“You’re all ridiculous.”

But you don’t pull away.

And that’s what he hears.

Lo’ak stands just beyond the shelter, half-hidden by a support post.

He wasn’t trying to listen.

He just… stopped when he heard your laugh.

That sound punches straight through his chest.

Then—

“Do you think they’ll have kids?” one of the girls whispers loudly.

Tuk nods decisively. “Many.”

Lo’ak’s breath catches.

He watches the way Tarey smiles, just warmly. The way your shoulder brushes his arm and neither of you moves away.

It feels like watching something slip through his fingers in slow motion.

Inside the shelter, you gently nudge Tarey with your elbow. “Ignore them.”

He chuckles softly. “I don’t mind.”

That’s when he says it—quiet, meant only for you.

“I like seeing you like this.”

Your hands still. “Like what?”

“Relaxed,” he says. 

Your throat tightens.

You look away go focus your attention back on the girls, but your mind never stops thinking about the man next to you 

Outside, Lo’ak turns away.

He doesn’t stay long enough to hear your reply.

Because hearing you say it back might actually break him.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The Sully home smells like cooked fish and sea herbs.

It’s warm. Too warm.

Everyone sits in a loose circle, plates balanced on the makeshift table, the quiet hum of evening settling over them like a blanket. 

Neteyam eats silently, as ever. 

Kiri pokes at her food, distracted, eyes somewhere far away.

Lo’ak barely touches his.

Jake notices. He always does.

 But tonight, he lets it go.

Tuk, on the other hand, is vibrating.

“So,” she blurts suddenly, mouth half-full. “Guess what happened today.”

Lo’ak stiffens immediately.

Jake raises a brow. “You usually don’t need an invitation. Go ahead babygirl.”

Tuk grins. “Mey’ira was making crafts with us.”

Lo’ak’s jaw tightens at her name, but he says nothing.

“And Tarey was there too!” she adds brightly.

That does it.

Lo’ak’s fingers curl slowly into his palm.

“Oh?” Jake says, neutral. “That's nice?”

“It was more than nice,” Tuk insists. “They were sitting really close. Like—really close.”

Neteyam flicks a glance at Lo’ak, subtle but sharp.

Kiri’s head tilts. “Close like… friends?”

Tuk shakes her head violently. “Nooo. Like mates.”

Neteyam snaps his head up. “Tuk.”

She ignores him.

“We decided they’re going to get married,” she announces proudly. “The girls said it first but I agreed.”

Neytiri chokes on her drink.

Jake coughs. “Alright—”

“And they’ll have kids,” Tuk continues. “Probably a lot. Tarey would be a good dad.”

That’s when Lo’ak stands so abruptly his plate tips, fish sliding into the sand.

“Enough,” he snaps.

The table goes silent.

Tuk blinks, startled. “What? I was just—”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lo’ak says sharply.

Neytiri’s voice lowers. “Lo’ak don’t scare your sister.”

But Lo’ak isn’t looking at her—at anything. His eyes are fixed on nothing, chest rising too fast.

“You’re too young,” he continues, voice tight. “You didn’t see anything.”

Tuk’s excitement falters. “I— I was right there.”

Lo’ak laughs once, bitter. “Yeah. Whatever.”

Kiri frowns. “Lo’ak—”

He grabs his things. “I’m done.”

Jake stands. “Hey. Sit back down.”

Lo’ak shakes his head. “I can’t.”

And then he’s gone.

The sound of his footsteps fades into the night.

Tuk looks between them, confused. “Did I do something wrong?”

Jake exhales slowly. “No, babygirl.”

Neteyam sits back down, jaw tight. “But he’s just not okay.”

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

A/N: this is so long and overdue, life got in the wayyyy. I love to see the traction all my other chapters have been receiving🫶🏾 9 out soon!!

If you made it here thanks for reading!

Feel free to leave tips, notes, or requests. ༝༚

[jks-luvr]

✯ - MY girl

✯ Lo'ak x Fem!oc , POV (second person),

✯ wc: 3220

✯ All Characters are aged up.

⤷ , Angst, mutual pining, slow burn, friends to lovers (eventually), unspoken feelings, emotional miscommunication, yearning, emotional confusion, guilt, jealous Lo'ak, new male interest

➥ prev.

➥ next.

listen♬ˎˊ˗

What starts as training becomes something else entirely. Mey'ira lets her guard down. Lo'ak grows restless. The fragile balance between them begin to fracture under jealousy, proximity, and feeling no one wants to name.

“So that’s it?” he snaps, pacing once before stopping in front of you. “You get close to this new guy and forget all about us?” Your chest tightens. “There is no us, Lo’ak.” “There hasn’t been for a while,” you continue, softer now but no less firm.

#7

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Your father is already awake when you step outside your marui, the sea still half-asleep, the sky painted in blues and pinks. 

He’s checking his gear with the same careful precision he’s always had.

“Get your bow Ira,” he says without looking at you.

You blink. Once. Twice.

“What for?”

He finally turns then, eyes soft but serious in that way that it still makes your chest tighten. The way that tells you this isn’t a suggestion.

“You’re hunting with us today.”

Us.

You glance past him and see Jake Sully standing in the distance, tightening the strap on his arm guard. 

Your first instinct is to argue with your father.

Your second is to ask why now.

But the truth settles before either can leave your mouth.

Because he’s noticed.

The way you’ve been quieter.

The way you linger too long at the water’s edge.

The way your laughter doesn’t come as easily anymore.

Your father doesn’t say any of that, obviously.

He just says, “I have missed you, Ma’ite.”

The words hit harder than any scolding ever could.

So you nod, “Okay.”

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Training with them feels…different. Way different.

Jake is firm, direct, corrective in a way that doesn’t leave room for any doubt. 

He treats you like a warrior in progress, not a girl who is fragile—or needs to be handled carefully.

Your father, though—he watches.

Not in judgment. Not in disappointment.

In attention.

He adjusts your grip on your bow without speaking. Reminds you to slow your pace when he notices your breathing change. 

Walking just close enough that you can feel his presence even if he says nothing at all.

It isn’t about sharpening your skills. It’s about being near you—and that’s enough for both of you.

You realize that somewhere between drills, between silent walks through the reef paths, between shared meals eaten without words.

He’s making time.

And you let him.

Lo’ak is there too.

You didn’t know he would be.

At first, you pretended it didn't matter. Pretend your heart didn’t stutter when you see him standing with the others, spear resting against his shoulder, hair tied back, expression guarded.

You train beside him.

Swim beside him.

Hunt in the same waters.

Close enough to feel familiar.

Neither of you say much.

But sometimes—when you’re both catching your breath, when the sun glints off the water just right—you feel his gaze linger.

But you don’t look back.

Not because you didn’t want to, necessarily.

But because you weren’t sure what you’d do if you had.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The village is quieter by the time you return.

Most of the hunters have already dispersed, voices fading into the rhythm of evening. 

Your muscles ache in that deep, satisfying way that tells you you’ve earned your rest, but your father doesn’t head toward the marui just yet.

Instead, he veers toward the edge of the reef.

You follow without question.

The water is calm here, glassy and darkening as the sun dips lower.

For a moment, neither of you speaks.

Your father kneels, rinsing his hands in the sea. You mirror him, sitting beside him, toes brushing the water’s surface.

“You didn’t fall behind,” he says at last.

You glance at him. “You were watching that closely?”

He exhales through his nose, almost a quiet huff of amusement. “I always do.”

You trace patterns in the sand with your fingers, suddenly unsure of what to say. 

There are a hundred things sitting in your chest—things you don’t know how to explain without unraveling.

Your father notices anyway.

“You’ve been carrying something daughter,” he says, just observant. 

“For a while now.”

Your throat tightens.

You shrug, weak. “I’m okay.”

He doesn’t respond right away.

Then.

 “You don’t always have to be.”

Your shoulders sag, tension leaking out of you in a way you didn’t realize you were holding back. You swallow hard, eyes fixed on the water.

You murmur. “I just… didn’t know how to fix it.”

He turns fully toward you then.

“You don’t need to fix everything alone,” he says gently. “You never have.”

You let out a shaky breath. “It feels like I keep disappointing people.”

Your father reaches out, resting his hand over yours.

“You could never disappoint me with your feelings,” he says. “Only by hiding them from those who love you.”

Your eyes burn.

“I just don’t want to make the wrong choice,” you whisper.

He squeezes your hand once, firm but reassuring.

“Then take your time, Mey'ira,” he says. “No one will rush you.”

The tide laps softly against the shore, like it’s listening.

After a moment, he stands and offers you his hand. You take it without hesitation, letting him pull you up.

He hesitates at first, but then he hugs you.

Tightly, warmly wrapped in his embrace. 

Like a million words being spoken.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The sand is still cool beneath your feet, the air sharp with salt and early morning quiet. 

Your father moves with purpose beside you, already stretching his shoulders, bow slung easily across his back. 

Jake Sully stands a few paces away, arms crossed, watching the shoreline like he’s mapping the day ahead.

And then there’s Lo’ak.

Leaning against a rock, pretending he’s relaxed. Pretending he hasn’t been watching you since you stepped onto the beach.

“Alright,” Jake says, clapping his hands once. “We’ll start with tracking and range work. Split into pairs.”

Your father nods. “You stay close today,” he tells you softly. You nod back. “I will.”

That’s when someone else steps forward.

He’s taller than you expected—lean, broad-shouldered, skin marked with faint scars that speak of years in the water and jungle alike. 

He wasn’t unfamiliar—no.

You’ve definitely seen him around before, maybe with your cousins, family, something. 

maybe he’s one of Aonung's friends— mm no you would’ve noticed that by now. 

His hair is tied neatly back, long curls catching the light as he moves. Calm, turquoise eyes. Observant. Sharp in an oddly quiet way.

“This is Tarey,” Jake says. “He transferred over from nightly patrol rotation. Solid hunter. Knows the reef better than Tonowari,” he jokes.

Tarey inclines his head slightly when his eyes meet yours. 

“Looks like I’m paired with you,” he says, voice low and even. You blink, then nod. “Okay.”

You and Tarey move along the treeline, tracking marks pressed into damp sand. 

He crouches easily, pointing out subtle shifts. Broken shells, disturbed roots, water patterns you hadn’t noticed at first.

“You’re quick,” he remarks after a moment. “You don’t hesitate.”

You shrug. “I’ve had good teachers.”

His lips twitch. “It shows.”

You catch Lo’ak glancing over every so often. Too often to be casual.

 Each time your eyes meet, he looks away—jaw tight, expression unreadable.

When you let loose an arrow and hit it clean, in the center, Tarey lets out a quiet whistle.

“Damn,” he mutters. “That was clean.”

You smile despite yourself.

Lo’ak scoffs from behind you. 

Loud enough to hear.

“That target’s easy,” he says. “Try it moving.”

Jake shoots him a look. “Then show us.”

Lo’ak does. Perfect shot. Of course.

But when he looks at you afterward, it’s not pride in his eyes.

It’s something way deeper.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Training continues on like that as the days pass.

At first, it’s just familiarity.

It doesn’t happen all at once.

Tarey standing a little closer during training, handing you a fresh arrow before you even ask. 

Correcting your stance with words instead of touch, like he knows you’re not ready for that yet.

“You lead with your shoulder,” he tells you one morning, voice calm as the tide. “Try loosening it. Let the shot breathe.”

You do.

The arrow flies cleaner.

Your lips curve before you can stop yourself.

“Again,” you say.

Your father notices first.

You wake up earlier now. You stretch without being told. 

You ask questions—real ones. About wind patterns, current shifts, how to read a hunt before it even begins. 

You don’t just follow along anymore.

You want to be here.

Jake notices too.

“So,” he says one afternoon, watching you adjust your bowstring. “Looks like training finally stuck.”

You shrug, but there’s a lightness in your chest you don’t bother hiding. “I like learning.”

Tarey glances at you from where he’s sharpening his blade. Something warm flickers across his face.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

You laugh more around him.

It surprises you the first time it slips out—soft and unguarded, when he misjudges a jump and splashes water up to his chest. He blinks, then laughs too, shaking his head.

“Do not tell anyone,” he says, mock-serious. “I have a reputation.”

“I absolutely will,” you reply, grinning.

He watches you like that for a moment. 

“That’s a first,” he says.

“What?”

“Your laugh.”

“Ugh then I’ll just never laugh again,” you say sarcastically.

He chuckles, “I didn’t mean it like that, you’re always smiling but I’ve been meaning to hear what your laugh sounds like.”

“And that’s just not utterly creepy,” you giggle again.

“No not like that—just forget it. I know what I mean.” He nods his head while still grinning.

You get up, still fixing to tease him. 

He stands up immediately after you.

The both of you start your walk back to the village.

“No, you definitely meant it in a ‘I’ve been stalking Mey’ira day and night to hear her laugh’ kind of way.” You started again.

“Stop No! I’m not creepy Mey’ira,” he nudges you a bit.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Training ends later than usual on this day.

The sun is already sinking when you finally stop, shoulders aching, hands trembling from overuse. 

Your father and Jake move ahead, voices low as they talk strategy, leaving you behind without meaning to.

Tarey stays.

You notice it when you bend to retrieve your spear and he’s already holding it out to you, grip turned the right way so you don’t scrape your palm.

“Here,” he says.

“Thanks.” Your fingers brush his. Just barely.

You straighten too quickly, suddenly aware of how close he is. 

How easy it feels to stand there with him, the silence not heavy—but comfortable.

“You did better today,” he says. “Your stance is steadier.”

A cocky grin starts to stretch out on your lips. “Guess I’m learning.”

“You are,” he replies, and there’s something in his voice that makes your chest warm. “Fast, too.”

You laugh softly. “You sound surprised.”

“I mean–I am,” he admits, smiling. “Not because you’re not capable. Because you didn’t believe you were before.”

You look out toward the water, watching the ripples catch the fading light. 

“I didn’t even think I’d like this,” you say. “Training. Hunting. Being out here all the time.”

“And now?”

You hesitate.

“Maybe now I don’t dread it.”

Tarey hums thoughtfully. “That’s not the same as liking it.”

“No,” you agree. “But I don’t dread you.”

The words slip out before you can stop them.

You freeze.

Tarey does too.

Slowly, he turns to look at you—not teasing, not smug. Just… open.

“I don’t dread you either,” he says quietly.

Your heart does something stupid.

The breeze picks up, tugging at your hair, carrying the distant sound of laughter from the others. 

Lo’ak’s voice cuts through it, familiar and sharp, and instinctively your shoulders tense.

Tarey notices.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you lie, then sigh. “Perfect.”

He nods, “Perfect.”

Another silence. This one charged.

Tarey breaks the moment gently. “You should head back before they start wondering where you went.”

You nod, but don’t move right away.

“…Tarey?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you’re training with us.”

He smiles—soft, genuine. “Me too.”

You walk away with your chest buzzing, heart unsteady.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

You don’t notice it right away.

Safety doesn’t announce itself.

 It settles. It waits. It makes space.

It happens during a hunt.

You and Tarey are tracking something small along the reef edge, the water shallow enough that the sun still kisses the sand. 

Your father and Jake are further ahead, voices low, focused. 

You misstep.

It’s nothing dramatic. Just a slick patch of rock, your foot slipping as your weight shifts wrong. Your breath catches—

Tarey’s hand is there.

Not gripping. Not pulling.

Just steady at your elbow, grounding you before panic can even bloom.

“Easy,” he says quietly. “I’ve got you.”

And that’s it.

No rush of embarrassment. No spike of adrenaline. No need to explain yourself or apologize for being clumsy or slow.

You don’t even flinch.

That’s when you realize it.

Your chest doesn’t tighten around him.

Your thoughts don’t race.

Your body doesn’t brace for impact.

You trust him.

And that scares you more than the water ever has.

Later, when the hunt pauses and everyone rests, you sit beside Tarey in the shallows, feet tracing patterns in the sand beneath the water. 

He sharpens his blade, movements slow.

“You’re quieter today,” he says.

“I don’t feel like I have to be on guard,” you say. “Not right now.”

His hands still.

He doesn’t look at you right away. When he does, his expression is gentle.

“That’s a good thing,” he says. “You deserve that.”

Something warm presses behind your eyes.

No one has said that to you in a long time.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The realization hits harder when you laugh—really laugh—at something stupid he says about Jake’s hunting tactics. 

You don’t pull back. Don’t wonder if you’re being too much or too open.

You just are.

And Tarey lets you be.

In the distance behind you, Lo’ak sees it.

The ease.

The way your shoulders rest.

The way your smile doesn’t flicker when Tarey glances back to make sure you’re still there.

Lo’ak swallows hard.

Because he remembers being that place for you.

Now someone else is in his space.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The tension had been building all morning.

You felt it in the way Lo’ak’s gaze lingered too long on Tarey.

In the way his movements during training were sharper. 

Louder.

 Like he was trying to prove something no one had asked him to prove.

Tarey notices too.

He always does.

But he doesn’t rise to it. Doesn’t challenge Lo’ak back. 

He keeps his distance, focuses on the drills, listens when your father corrects his stance.

Lo’ak hates that more.

It happens during sparring.

Jake calls for pairs to rotate, and somehow it becomes Lo’ak and Tarey facing each other. 

The air shifts immediately.

“This is just practice,” Jake says, already watching Lo’ak carefully.

Lo’ak rolls his shoulders. “Yeah. I know.”

Tarey gives a small nod. Respectful. Calm. “Ready when you are.”

That calm snaps something.

Lo’ak lunges harder than necessary.

The clash of weapons is loud, sharp, echoing across the sand. Tarey blocks cleanly, but Lo’ak presses, faster, rougher.

Turning his technique into aggression.

You step forward without realizing it.

“Lo’ak,” you call. “Hey—”

He doesn’t hear you.

Or he does, and doesn’t care.

Tarey stumbles back under a blow that’s just a fraction too strong for sparring. 

He recovers quickly, but the message is clear.

This isn’t training anymore.

Jake’s jaw tightens.

“Enough,” your father says sharply.

Lo’ak doesn’t stop.

That’s when you move.

You step between them before anyone else can.

“Stop,” you say, voice steady but loud enough to cut through the tension. You don’t look at Lo’ak—not at first.

You turn to Tarey instead.

“Are you okay?” you ask, hand briefly brushing his arm.

He nods. “I’m fine.”

Then—only then is when you face Lo’ak.

Your heart is pounding.

“This wasn’t fair Lo,” you say. “He didn’t do anything to deserve that.”

The air goes dead quiet.

Lo’ak stares at you like you’ve struck him.

“You’re defending him?” he asks, disbelief bleeding into anger.

You swallow. “I don’t want this to turn into something unnecessary.”

Jake steps in, firm. 

“Lo’ak, stand down.”

Lo’ak doesn’t take his eyes off you.

The look on his face isn’t hatred.

It’s hurt.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

He waits until later.

Until the training disperses. Until your father walks ahead with Jake. 

Until Tarey is far enough away to give you space without being asked.

Then Lo’ak corners you near the waterline.

“So that’s it?” he snaps, pacing once before stopping in front of you. “You get close to this new guy and forget all about us?”

Your chest tightens.

“There is no us, Lo’ak.”

“There hasn’t been for a while,” you continue, softer now but no less firm. 

“And that wasn’t me choosing him over you. That was me choosing peace over whatever you were trying to turn that into.”

“No,” he cuts in. “Don’t. Don’t pretend like I didn’t see it. You stepping in front of me for him.”

You laugh, short and disbelieving. “That’s what you think this is about?”

“What else would it be?” His voice cracks, just slightly. “You replace me and suddenly I’m the bad guy?”

“Lo’ak—”

He looks away, jaw clenched. “So I’m just… nothing now?”

Your heart aches at that. It really does.

“No,” you say. “You’re someone I still care about. But you don’t get to hurt people because you’re hurting.”

Silence stretches.

The sea hums behind you.

Lo’ak finally looks at you again, eyes wet but defiant.

 “You never used to look at me like this.”

“Well you’ve changed Lo’ak,” you say quietly. I never used to have to protect myself from you.”

That’s what does it for him.

He nods once, sharp and brittle. “Right. Got it.”

He turns away before you can stop him.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Neteyam finds him near the training racks.

He doesn’t say anything at first—just watches Lo’ak pace, hands clenched, breathing like he’s still mid-fight even though it’s long over.

“You gonna tell me what that was?” Neteyam finally asks.

Lo’ak doesn’t look up. “Mind your business.”

Neteyam scoffs softly. “You made it my business the second you tried to rip someone’s head off in front of the whole clan.”

That gets Lo’ak to turn.

His eyes are wild. Defensive.

“She chose him,” Lo’ak snaps. “Did you see that?”

“She stopped you from hurting someone,” Neteyam fires back. “That’s not the same thing.”

Lo’ak laughs. Short and sharp. “You always do this. You always take her side.”

“Because you’re acting insane,” Neteyam says, voice firm but not cruel. “Lo’ak, listen to yourself. You’re jealous, you’re spiraling, and you’re taking it out on everyone except the one person you should be talking to.”

Lo’ak steps closer. Too close.

“I’m not some broken thing you need to fix.”

Neteyam doesn’t back down. “Then stop breaking everything around you.”

That’s when it happens.

Lo’ak’s fist connects before either of them can think.

Neteyam stumbles back in shock more than pain, staring at his brother like he doesn’t recognize him.

“You hit me?” he breathes.

Lo’ak’s chest heaves. “You don’t get to talk to me like that.”

Neteyam lunges.

They collide hard—grappling, fists flying, sand kicking up around them. 

It’s messy. Emotional. Not about strength, just years of tension cracking open all at once.

“Get off him!” someone shouts.

Hands grab them, pulling them apart before it goes any further.

Neteyam doesn’t look angry when it ends.

He looks hurt.

“Get your fucking head straight,” he says quietly. “Before you lose everyone around you. For real.”

That hurts worse than the punch.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

A/N: Idk why this took so long for me to release🤦🏾‍♀️. I started writing 6,7,8 at the same time so I should be done with 8 and start 9 very very sooonnnn.

If you made it here thanks for reading!

Feel free to leave tips, notes, or requests. ༝༚

[jks-luvr]

Hey!! I have a request! Could you do a lo’ak x fem!reader where the reader was going underwater exploring in the Metkayina village with lo’ak and some others but got lost and got attacked by multiple sea animals like when lo’ak got attacked and saved by Tulkun, and she loses her breath under water and sinks as she drifts off she sees lo’ak coming to save her! I live for worried lo’ak

A/N: My heartt🥹!! Thank you so much for requesting.

I really hope this meets your expectations, I enjoyed bringing your idea to light!!

Still breathing — Lo’ak x Reader

⤷ Lo’ak x Fem!reader, Angst with a happy ending, mentions of blood, injury aftercare, oneshot, rescue, protector Lo'ak, sfw!!

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Group bonding, that’s what you all called it.

The parents never really had an issue with it—at least you were out together, getting along.

Riding ilus, hunting, swimming until your lungs burned, listening to the songs of your tulkun brothers and sisters echo through the water.

It was routine. Familiar. Safe.

Or at least, it always had been.

Today, the sea is calm—but not kind.

Sunlight slips through the water in sections, breaking apart as it reaches the reef, and the deeper you swim, the quieter everything becomes.

Lo’ak glides ahead of you, effortless as always, twisting through coral like the sea's answer to him alone.

He slows just enough to glance back.

“You keeping up, skxawng?” he signs, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth before he darts ahead again.

One of the others laughs, nudging your shoulder as they pass, and Lo’ak immediately takes that as permission.

“Careful,” he signs again, teasing now. “Don’t get lost.”

He circles back, flicking his tail just close enough to splash your face, then points at you—then toward the reef ahead—like he’s daring you to try harder.

The water shifts.

Not suddenly. Not violently. Just… curiously.

The reef grows darker, coral rising taller around you, shadows stretching into places where the sunlight no longer reaches.

The sounds of the group fade, laughter wears down until it’s nothing but distant echoes.

You don’t realize how far you’ve drifted until something curls around your ankle.

The current tightens.

And begins to pull.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Your first instinct is to not panic—after all

your whole life you’ve trained for situations like this.

You try to remember what you’ve learned.

Breathe. Deep breaths.

As you search for a way out, those three words loop in your mind.

Breathe. Deep breaths.

The water pressure is changing, you can tell by how hard it is to breathe now.

A pressure coming down your lungs.

You’re drifting just a little too far, following the shimmer of sunlight , when the water around you feels… heavier.

Not the current. Something else. Something watching.

A shadow flickers beneath you. Quick. Sharp.

Your heart stutters. You kick harder, but the water resists.

Another shadow—larger this time. Something fast. Something hungry.

Your arms flail, claws of fins grazing your shoulders. Sharp teeth flash in the murk. The first reef predator comes at you, snapping at your leg.

You twist, narrowly avoiding its bite, heart hammering so hard it hurts.

And then another—another—joining the first.

The predators circle. You kick, swipe, twist. But the more you struggle, the more the current and the shadows work together, pulling you down.

You swim away as fast as your body would let you—hiding in a corner small enough the reef predators won’t be able

to reach from.

You look at it, really look.

Everything about it is dark, teeth sharper than knives, the way it’s just waiting there—waiting for you.

It’s tracking you with its eyes. After a while it turns away, like it was about to leave.

Escape. Escape. Escape.

But how?

You find a hole, maybe a way out. You slowly start inching towards the exit.

You’re running out of air. Gagging as you try and move forward.

Your leg gets stuck.

Now you’re panicking, you’re running out of oxygen.

You finally managed to get your leg out, tearing the skin. Blood flows out slowly.

But then, everything starts to blur. The water presses against your chest, your lungs screaming, your vision fading at the edges.

You’re sinking. Slowly. Unstoppable.

Your body is giving up.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

“Guys, where’s y/n?” His eyes wide. Focused. Fear carved into every line of his face.

Lo’ak dives back down, he can’t find you.

You’re sinking.

Not fast. Not dramatic.

Just enough that fighting feels pointless.

The pressure in your chest dulls, the panic thinning into something quiet, something heavy.

And then—movement.

A shape cutting through the blue like it refuses to lose you.

He’s cutting through the water, straight toward you. Arms out, fingers brushing your arm as he fights through the predators.

Tulkun fins slicing through the current. A guardian appears from nowhere, massive, protective. The predators scatter.

Lo’ak grabs your wrist, pulling you up, up, gasping as the sea roars around you.

Your lungs scream for air, your chest heaving.

Finally, you reach the surface.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Salt stings your eyes, your hair floats in a halo of sea and sunlight, and Lo’ak holds you tight, just long enough for both of you to realize—you’re alive.

He doesn’t tease. Not now. Only worry.

“What the fuck y/n—why would you ever go that far down,” he whispers, brushing water from your face.

He doesn’t let go as he hauls you onto the Ilu, muscles tense, jaw tight. His hands hover over your leg, inspecting the gash.

“Breathe,” he mutters, voice low but firm. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

You wince as he gently presses a hand to slow the bleeding. His touch is careful, deliberate, but every movement radiates urgency.

“You could’ve died, y/n,” he says, eyes dark with worry. “Do you know what would’ve happened if I hadn’t found you?”

You try to explain, but the words catch in your throat. He huffs, exasperated, like he’s both relieved and furious.

“If you wanted to go that far down, you tell me next time. I would’ve gone with you. I would’ve protected you.” His voice softens slightly, lips brushing your temple as he adjusts your position so he can properly analyze your leg.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

When you guys reach the island again, Lo’ak is restless, muscles tense, jaw tight.

His eyes flick between your face and the gash on your leg, heart hammering.

“Stay with me,” he mutters, voice low but firm. “I’m not letting anything happen to you.”

Before you can protest, he’s off the Ilu, sprinting toward the Tsahik’s mauri in the village. His movements are quick, almost frantic, yet deliberate.

You watch, chest still heaving, as he grabs clean cloth, the

Tsahik’s herbs, and bandages. Every second he’s gone feels like an eternity.

When he returns, the worry on his face has deepened, jaw set, eyes sharp and focused.

He kneels beside you, hands already inspecting your leg, pressing gently to assess the bleeding.

“Stop moving around. You’ll only make it worse,” he mutters, dipping a cloth into the antiseptic herbs and pressing it carefully against your wound.

His hands shake, but he pauses to steady them for a moment.

You flinch at the sting, but he doesn’t hesitate, wrapping the clean cloth and bandages around the gash with precise hands.

Every movement is protective, gentle, his thumb brushing your skin lightly to reassure you.

“Careful,” he whispers, almost softer now, voice thick with relief, “you can’t keep doing this. You’re reckless.”

He finishes wrapping your leg, hands lingering a fraction too long as if checking you again.

His jaw is tight, but there’s a flicker in his eyes—relief, frustration, something softer.

“Don’t scare me like that again,” he mutters, voice low but trying to sound stern.

He taps the bandage with a finger, then looks away, pretending not to watch your reaction.

He stands, brushing water from his hair, and crouches beside you.

Lo’ak snaps his gaze to you, eyes dark and flashing with exasperation.

“Can you stand?” he asks, voice low, controlled—but you catch the edge of worry in it. “If it’s too much, I’ll carry you.”

You straighten, teeth gritted. “Lo’ak no, I can—”

Your legs tremble almost immediately. The moment you try to shift your weight, your knees buckle, and you slump back into the sand.

Lo’ak bursts out laughing, the sound breaking the tension like a wave. “You’re so stubborn," he mutters, shaking his head with that crooked grin you know all too well.

You groan, cheeks burning, but he’s already there, hands under your arms, lifting you carefully.

He wraps an arm securely around your waist, holding you close against his chest.

“Lean on me,” he says, voice low, almost a whisper. “I’ve got you,” his tone is soft, full of affection and relief.

You rest your head against him, letting your breath settle, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

His other hand supports your legs, careful not to mess with the bandage.

“Promise me you won’t try any warrior stunts alone again, I need you back to me in one piece.” He murmurs, carrying you effortlessly.

You smirk, teasing despite yourself. “No promises,” you whisper.

Lo’ak huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “Then you’ll just have to deal with me breathing down your neck the whole time,” he mutters, fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your face as he carries you back toward the village.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

[jks-luvr]

✯ - MY girl

✯ Lo'ak x Fem!oc , POV (second person),

POV switch (Lo'ak + Mey'ira)

✯ wc: 3032

✯ All Characters are aged up.

⤷ , Angst, mutual pining, slow burn, friends to lovers (eventually), unspoken feelings, emotional miscommunication, yearning, emotional confusion, avoidance, guilt

➥ prev.

➥ next.

listen♬ˎˊ˗

He disappeared because caring was hurting him too much. The whole clan was out searching for Lo'ak. Only you knew exactly where to find him.

“Mey’ira,” your mother called for you. She enters your mauri in a panic. “Mey’ira, your friend has gone missing.” “My friend?” You said confused, “Tsireya?” “No, the Sully boy,” she said like she was almost out of breath. “Neytiri has people looking for him everywhere, you’re the only one who could truly know where to find him.” She says, eyes searching your face desperately. Your heart drops.

#6

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

(Loak’s POV)

The days loop, dragging me through the same motions again and again.

I can’t sleep. I’ve been missing cues.

I can’t even train properly anymore, and my dad’s been on my case because of it—especially that.

I don’t blame anyone but myself.

There’s no one else to blame.

I just feel… lost. The one person who had me—who always had my back through thick and thin—I was the one who ruined that. I couldn’t even stop myself.

People have started keeping their distance. I’ve been more aggressive. More agitated. Snapping at anyone who gets too close, like it’s easier to push them away than admit how broken I feel.

I want—no. I need to be with Mey’ira.

She’s my best friend, my only safe space.

The only person I could trust to remind me that I wasn’t perfect, but not everything was my fault.

I need her to tell me everything is going to be okay. That this is temporary. That we’ll find our way back to each other.

Our argument replays in my head on a loop. The way her tears ran down her face. Her eyes red, her voice trembling.

I should’ve told her then—right then—that I wanted us to be okay. That I needed her.

I couldn’t.

I failed.

Again.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

(Mey’ira/reader POV)

It started off small—the gifts from Lo’ak.

You tell yourself it doesn’t mean anything.

But you know better.

Lo’ak never did anything halfway.

Carved shells with your initials on them. 

A shell top his mother and Kiri always wore—you called it cute a couple of times.

He had Tuk come into your mauri and give you some of the sweet Neytiri made that you loved so much. 

But this one particular gift—you notice it in the morning.

At first, you think you’re imagining it—like your mind is filling in the empty spaces the way it’s been doing all week.

But it’s there, resting just inside the entrance of your mauri, placed carefully on a folded piece of woven kelp.

A shell necklace.

Not just any shell. One of the pale blue ones that only wash up after high tide, smooth and worn soft by the sea. 

Your fingers hover over it before you touch it, like it might disappear if you move too fast.

Your chest tightens.

You sit on the edge of your sleeping mat, the necklace curled in your palm, its cool surface slowly warming against your skin. 

There’s no note. No explanation. Just the quiet weight of intention.

The rest of the day, you move carefully, like the world might shatter if you step wrong. 

You don’t wear the necklace. You don’t hide it either. You leave it where it is, unsure which choice would hurt less.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

That night, when the village quiets and the sea hums low beyond the reef, you check again.

Another gift.

A small candle this time. Inside, dried reef flowers. The kind you once said smelled like home.

Your breath stutters.

How would he even get this? You thought to yourself.

Your throat burns with everything you want to say and nowhere to put it.

If he’s trying to make you forget him, he’s failing.

If he’s trying to remind you he’s still here… that might be worse somehow.

You lie back, staring at the woven ceiling of your mauri, the gifts beside you like unanswered questions.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

(Loak’s POV)

I noticed her—it was embarrassing how fast I did.

Like my body knew before my mind could catch up. 

Like every part of me was still tuned to her, no matter how hard I tried to shut it off.

She had on the necklace I made.

For a second, everything else faded. The noise. The heat. The people around us. 

All I could see was that pale blue shell resting against her skin, the way it caught the light when she moved.

My chest tightened.

Believe it or not, I spent hours making it. I paid more attention to it than I have all week on my training.

Dad noticed that. Of course he did.

He wasted his breath—again trying to tell me there’s better things to focus on.

Ironic.

Neteyam noticed more.

He followed my stare before I could stop myself, his expression shifting the second he saw what I was looking at. 

He didn’t say anything at first—only just exhaled through his nose like he already knew how bad it was.

I tore my eyes away, jaw clenched.

“She wore it,” I muttered, mostly to myself.

Neteyam glanced at me. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “She did.”

That should’ve made me feel better.

It didn’t.

It made the guilt crawl deeper under my skin.

I swallowed hard, fingers curling at my sides. “I didn’t think she would.”

Neteyam’s gaze stayed on me this time. Steady. Too steady. “Then why’d you make it?”

I didn’t have an answer. Not one that wouldn’t sound pathetic.

Because I miss her.

Because I don’t know how to talk to her without breaking something.

Because leaving things at her mauri is easier than facing her eyes.

I scrubbed a hand down my face, frustration burning behind my ribs. 

“I can’t do this,” I said under my breath. “I keep messing it up.”

Neteyam was quiet for a moment. 

“I—” My voice caught. I hated that it did. “Every time I open my mouth, I make it worse.”

Neteyam studied me, like he was weighing something. “She’s hurting, Lo’ak.”

I knew that. I knew that. It replayed in my head every night.

“I know,” I said, too fast. “That’s why I—” I stopped, jaw tightening. “That’s why I haven’t gone to her.”

He didn’t look convinced.

I hesitated. Then—quietly, almost shamefully.

“Can you talk to her?”

It was the softest I’d  been all week.

Neteyam’s brows pulled together.

Neteyam didn’t promise anything. 

He never does.

But he clapped a hand on my shoulder before walking off, and that alone felt like both a warning and a mercy.

I looked back at her one more time.

The necklace rose and fell with her breathing.

She wore it.

And somehow, that made wanting her hurt worse.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

I was already on edge when my dad called me over.

I could feel it in my shoulders, the way my jaw stayed clenched even before he opened his mouth. 

Like my body knew this wasn’t going to be a conversation—it was going to be a debate about my behavior.

“You missed training again,” Jake said, arms crossed.

I stared past him, eyes fixed on the water. “I know.”

“That’s the third time this week.”

“I said I know.”

My mom’s voice cut in, sharper. “Lo’ak.”

I looked at her then. Big mistake.

Neytiri’s eyes weren’t angry. They were worried. Tight with something close to fear, and somehow that made it worse.

“You have been distant,” she said. “Unfocused. You snap at your siblings. You disappear for hours.”

“I’m fine,” I muttered.

Jake scoffed. “You don’t look fine.”

Something in my chest twisted. “You don’t know how I feel.”

“That’s because you won’t tell us,” he shot back. “You shut down every time we ask.”

Because every time I talk, nobody listens.

I ran a hand through my braids, pacing once before stopping myself. “Well I’m trying,” I said, voice tight. 

Neytiri stepped closer. “Then show us.”

I laughed under my breath—short, bitter. “That’s the problem. No matter what I do, it’s never enough for either of you.”

Jake’s jaw clenched. “That’s not fair.”

“It’s not?” I snapped, finally looking at him. “You want me to train like nothing’s wrong. To act like everything’s normal when it’s not.”

“So talk to us,” Neytiri said softly. “Let us help you Lo’ak.”

Help.

I shook my head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Her expression faltered. “Do not say that.”

“You wouldn’t,” I repeated, louder now. “You think this is about discipline or focus or duty. It’s not.”

It’s about losing the one person who—” I stopped myself, breath hitching.

Silence fell.

Jake’s voice came slower. “Lo’ak… is this about that girl?”

The way he said it—like it was something simple, something small—made something in me snap.

“Of course you’d think that,” I said, heat flooding my chest. “That’s all you ever think.”

Neytiri frowned. “That is not what he meant.”

“Yes it is,” I shot back. “You both think I’m just distracted. That I’ll get over it. That I’ll wake up one day and be fine.”

Jake’s tone hardened. “You’re an adult now Lo’ak. You don’t get to fall apart because something didn’t go your way.”

I stared at him, stunned.

“It’s not about something ‘not going my way,’” I said, voice shaking now. 

“It’s about me messing everything around me up. It’s about hurting people I never wanted to hurt.”

“ And instead of asking why I’m struggling, all you see is what I’m doing wrong.”

Neytiri’s eyes softened. “My son—”

“No,” I interrupted, backing away. “You don’t want to understand. You want me to fix it quietly so it doesn’t disrupt anything that has to do with you.” I look straight at my father.

That was harsh, I know. But it felt true.

And that was enough.

Jake exhaled slowly. “Lo’ak, you can’t keep running. It gets you nowhere.”

I laughed, hollow. “Well it gets me away from this—from you.”

“Excuse me–“ My fathers voice was strong.

“No dad,” I continued. 

“I’m tired of being nothing but expectations to you.”

Neytiri reached for me. I stepped back before she could touch me.

“I just need space,” I said. “Since no one seems to care to hear me anyway.”

I turned before they could say anything else.

Before my mom could look at me like I was already slipping away.

Before my dad could tell me to grow up.

Because I was tired of being strong.

And I was even more tired of feeling alone in a room full of people who loved me.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

(Mey’iras POV)

Neytiri knew something was wrong the moment eclipse fell, and her youngest son hadn’t returned to his mauri.

She tried to get Jake to go to his son, make things right between the two. 

But as stubborn as he is, he refuses.

Lo’ak had always come back before dark. Even on his worst days. 

Even when he was angry, reckless, distant—he always came home.

She stood at the edge of the village, eyes scanning the water again and again as if staring harder would pull him back. 

Her chest felt tight, breath shallow.

“MaJake,” she said quietly at first. Then louder. “MaJake.”

He turned, already tense. “He’s probably cooling off.”

“No,” she snapped, sharp as a blade. “He would’ve been back by now.”

She called Neteyam’s name. 

Then Aonung’s. 

Warriors scattered, ilu were prepared, voices rising as the truth settled heavy over the clan.

Her youngest son—impulsive, emotional, carrying too much inside him—had vanished into the sea.

Neytiri’s hands trembled as she pressed them to her chest, eyes glassy.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

As my parents were fond of the Sullys, their first instinct was to find me.

“Mey’ira,” my mother called for me. She enters my mauri in a panic.

“Mey’ira, your friend has gone missing.”

“My friend?” I said confused, “Tsireya?”

“No, the Sully boy,” she said like she was almost out of breath.

“Neytiri has people looking for him everywhere, you’re the only one who could truly know where to find him.” She says, eyes searching your face desperately.

Your heart drops.

You don’t hesitate.

You don’t ask questions.

You just know.

“I think…” Your voice catches. You swallow. “I think I know where he is.”

You exit your mauri and call for your Ilu with efficiency.

Jake starts giving orders immediately—sending riders toward the reef, splitting the search wide.

You don’t follow them.

Instead, you turn the opposite way.

No one stops you.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

You slip into the water, mounting your ilu with shaking hands, heart pounding so hard it hurts. 

The sea is dark and endless, moonlight shimmering across the surface like broken glass.

The farther you go, the heavier your chest feels.

Please, you think. Please be alive. Please be okay.

The water grows deeper. Colder. The familiar safety of the village fades behind you.

And then—

You see him.

Loak just sits in the middle of a sand cay. Legs up against his chest, shoulders slumped like he’s carrying the weight of the ocean itself. 

His head is bowed, fingers trailing through the sand inattentively.

He looks small out here.

Lost.

Your breath stutters.

You guide your ilu closer, voice trembling as it finally breaks the silence.

“Lo’ak.”

His head snaps up.

You weren’t mad at him anymore, you had no reason to be.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

“Ira,” he says hoarsely. “How did you know where I was?”

“Everyone is looking for you,” you reply, dismounting carefully, climbing onto the sand beside him. 

“Your mother is terrified.”

Shock flashes across his face—followed by something unreadable. Relief. Guilt. Pain. All tangled together.

He looks away. Jaw tight. “I didn’t ask them to.”

Your chest aches. 

“Come back home, Lo.” You take your hands bringing it to his chin, making him face you.

That familiar feeling of softness made him flinch.

“No, no, no, no,” he said with quickness

He looked at you—really looked. As if you’d disappear if he looked away. 

Silence stretches between you, thick and heavy.

“Lo’ak.”

“I can’t go back,” he finally says, voice low. “Not yet.”

“Everyone is worried sick Lo. Please?” You turn to him, eyes shining.

You pause—a brief moment of silence passes.

“Fine, then I will just stay here with you.” 

“Mey’ira,” he cuts in, turning away from your gaze. His eyes are red. Tired. Wrecked.

“Will you listen to me?” He says, sincerity taking over his voice.

“I’m listening.” 

The sea laps gently around you, waves crashing beneath your feet like they understand the weight of this moment.

“I don’t wanna keep going on like this, hurting you—hurting myself.” 

He ran a hand through his braids, “I don’t want to continue my days, pretending I’m fine without you Ira—I’m not.”

“I miss you Ira.”

The words finally fell, all the things he could never find the courage to say to you.

“I actually miss you. I miss us. I can’t go on like this, trying to ignore how much you take over me.” 

“Lo’ak—”

“Even if it means us just being friends, putting our feelings aside to go back to how we were.” 

His eyes meet mine again, glossier.

You swallow, heart pounding painfully in your chest.

“I hear you,” you say quietly. “Every word.”

Your hand lifts on instinct—then stops halfway between you. 

You let it fall back to your side.

“But I don’t know how to believe this won’t end the same way.”

His breath stutters.

“I don’t know how to open my heart again without wondering when you’ll disappear,” you continue, voice shaking despite yourself. “And that terrifies me, Lo’ak.”

He nods slowly, like he expected this. Like he deserves it.

“I know,” he whispers. “I know I don’t get to ask you for trust right now.”

“So don’t,” you say.

He looks up, startled.

“Don’t ask me to forgive you,” you continue. “Don’t ask me to go back to how we were.”

Your eyes meet his—steady, aching.

“Just… stay. Don’t run, Lo’ak. Come home. I want to see you try.”

His shoulders sag, relief crashing through him so hard it almost knocks the breath from his lungs.

“I can do that,” he says immediately. “I swear—”

You cut him off gently. “Don’t swear. Just show me.”

Your fingers brush his—barely, accidentally.

Neither of you pulls away.

Not yet.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

When you reach the shallows, you dismount first, steadying yourself on the sand. 

Lo’ak follows a moment later, hesitating before stepping up beside you. 

He keeps his hands to himself, fists opening and closing like he’s fighting muscle memory.

The village lights glow ahead. Our warm, familiar. Home.

You feel his hesitation before he says anything.

“They’re going to be mad,” he mutters.

You glance at him. “They’re going to be relieved.”

He exhales through his nose, shoulders slumping. “Same thing with them.”

You almost smile. Almost.

As you walk, the sounds of the clan grow louder—voices, movement, footsteps rushing toward the shoreline. 

Someone must have spotted you. Relief drags through the air before you even reach the edge of the village.

Then it happens.

Neytiri.

She’s the first to reach him.

Her breath catches when she sees him, eyes wild for half a second before she pulls him into her arms.

She scolds him even as she holds him, words sharp and broken, pressing her forehead to his.

You slow your steps.

Give them space.

Jake’s there too, hand heavy on Lo’ak’s shoulder, jaw tight, eyes burning with too many emotions to name.

 Neteyam stands just behind them, watching Lo’ak carefully—then his gaze flicks to you.

Thank you, it says. And a bit worry. And also something like hope.

You don’t stay long.

You start to turn away quietly, slipping back into your shadows like you were never meant to be part of this moment—

“Mey’ira.”

Lo’ak’s voice cuts through the noise.

Not loud. Not desperate.

Just enough.

You stop.

Everyone notices then. 

Neytiri follows his gaze, her expression softening when she sees you standing there, damp hair curling around your shoulders, eyes tired but attentive.

Lo’ak steps away from his parents, just one pace. 

Not chasing. 

Not demanding anything.

“Thank you,” he says quietly. “For coming after me–for still caring.”

You nod once. “Yeah Of course. But you really did scare everyone.”

His lips twitch faintly. “Yeah. I’m good at that.”

Silence stretches again—familiar, though.

“I’ll… see you tomorrow,” you say finally.

His eyes lift to yours, something hopeful flickering there. “Yeah,” he says. “Tomorrow.”

You turn and walk away before either of you can ruin it.

Behind you, Lo’ak watches until you disappear into the glow of the village—heart still aching, but lighter than it’s been in weeks.

For the first time in a long time, he doesn’t feel like he’s chasing you.

And you don’t feel like you have to run.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

A/N: This one is a bit longer but it's perfect because I literally loved writing all this. OMG, it makes me so happy to see how much people genuinely love this as much as I do. Many, many more to go !! If you can't tell by the songs I just love Kehlani, she fits perfectly😫

If you made it here thanks for reading!

Feel free to leave tips, notes, or requests. ༝༚

[jks-luvr]

✯ - MY girl

✯ Lo'ak x Fem!oc , POV switch (second person),

POV switch (Lo'ak + Mey'ira)

✯ wc: 1986

✯ All Characters are aged up.

⤷ , Angst, mutual pining, slow burn, friends to lovers (eventually), unspoken feelings, emotional miscommunication, yearning, emotional confusion, avoidance, guilt

➥ prev.

➥ next.

listen♬ˎˊ˗

Avoidance turns into confrontation, the older brothers knew that if there was something they could do to fix this they should at least try. Time passed but their feelings didn't, neither of them know how to stop hurting the other.

“You hurt me too, Ira,” he said, voice low. “You don’t get to pretend you didn’t.”

You swallowed hard. “But I wanted to fix it. I wanted to tell you what everything meant. What you meant to me.”

“I know,” he replied. “That’s the worst part.”

#5

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

(Lo’ak’s POV)

Neteyam didn’t sit right away.

That’s how I knew this wasn’t going to be quick.

He stood beside me, watching the water the same way I was pretending to—like there was something in it worth staring at. I kept my eyes forward, shoulders tight, prepared.

“You’re doing it again,” he said finally.

I didn’t answer.

“You know,” he continued, calm as ever, “the disappearing act.”

“I’m right here,” I muttered.

He huffed quietly. “You’re here, yeah. You’re just not present.”

That earned him a glance. “You come out here to lecture me?”

“No,” he said. “I came out here because Mey’ira was crying on this same beach last night.”

My breath hitched before I could stop it.

Neteyam noticed. Of course he did.

“She didn’t see me at first,” he added, softer now. “Didn’t even hear Aonung. She was too busy blaming herself.”

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. “Blaming herself for what.”

“For you,” he said plainly.

I scoffed, forcing a shrug. “That’s not fair.”

“No,” Neteyam agreed. “It isn’t. But that isn’t going to stop her from doing it.”

Silence pressed in around us. The water lapped against the rocks, steady and uncaring.

“She thinks you’re going to court Tsireya,” he said after a moment.

My jaw clenched. “I’m not.”

“I know,” Neteyam replied. “You know. But she doesn’t.”

I exhaled sharply through my nose, frustration burning low in my chest. “Then Tsireya shouldn’t be saying things like that.”

Neteyam tilted his head. “Or you shouldn’t be giving her reasons to.”

That landed harder than I expected.

“I didn’t ask for this,” I said, quieter now.

“No,” Neteyam agreed. “But you’re letting it happen.”

I looked down at my hands. They were shaking—just slightly. I curled them into fists.

I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth, breathing through the ache.

“She didn’t even say your name at first,” he added. “Like saying it might make it worse.”

My head snapped up. “She didn’t?”

Neteyam nodded once. “That’s what scared me.”

Silence stretched between us again

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

“I don’t know how to fix this,” I admitted finally. My voice felt raw, broken down to something honest. “Every time I’m near her, I want to ask for more than I’m allowed to want.”

Neteyam studied me. “Have you asked her what she’s willing to give?”

I shook my head slowly. “No.”

“Do you really want to fix it, little bro?” he said. “You’re only just assuming that what she wants is less than what you want.”

That thought sat heavy in my chest.

“I didn’t leave because I didn’t care,” I said quietly. “I left because if I stayed, I’d hope.”

Neteyam nodded. “Hope is not your enemy, Lo’ak.”

I laughed softly, bitter. “Feels like it.”

He stood, resting a hand briefly on my shoulder. 

He paused, then added, “Waiting hurts, you guys have been waiting for years–searching for a silver lining.

“ Why you guys keep fighting—fighting what is already there, something only the two of you know the answer to.”

He walked away, leaving me staring at the water again.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

(Mey’ira/reader POV)

The days were a complete blur, like the same thing happened every. single. day.

You helped your mother prepare her herbs, helped with the clan’s meals, and played with the younger ones in the water.

It felt as if the pain in your heart was minimizing itself—not fully gone, but way less.

Of course, Lo’ak was still lingering in the back of your mind. He’s your best friend—or was your best friend. So many what ifs take over your mind.

What if you never kissed him?

What if you never had that argument?

What if you never gained feelings for each other?

Constant war in your head.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The “hangout” that Aonung supposedly planned was dragged longer than it needed to be. You could’ve gone that day he proposed the idea. But every time you brought it up to him he would say,

“Relax baby sis, we have to make sure everything goes smoothly.”

Over and over with that annoyingly smug expression.

That we word. It irked your soul.

Who is we when you aren’t doing anything and it’s him planning this whole thing?

You should just tell him to forget it at this point.

Your patience was wearing thin, but eventually the day came.

No—you weren’t expecting it.

Aonung woke you up before the sun was even up, telling you that you had five minutes to get prepared.

“Come on, crybaby,” he said, shaking you. “You’ve been cooped up all week. Neteyam and I are going out—just a small thing. You’re coming.”

You frowned, turning away from him. “Since when do you invite me to your little hunts?”

“Since I care about your mental wellbeing,” he replied smoothly.

“Okay, Aonung, where are we going?” you asked, half asleep, irritation creeping into your tone.

“Don’t worry. Get ready and once you’re done, come outside,” Aonung whispered.

You hurriedly threw on whatever was next to you, not really caring how you looked.

I mean—it’s only your brother. And Neteyam, you guess.

You threw on some earrings, fluffed your hair out, and pretty soon you were outside.

“I’m done,” you said, walking toward your brother.

“Finally. Taking forever and you don’t even know where you’re going. I could’ve had you picking up trash.”

You gasped sarcastically. “You would never. I am your princess.”

Aonung rolled his eyes as he started walking. “Hurry up. Neteyam is waiting for us.”

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

You didn’t speak much on the way there. The air was cool, the path familiar—way too familiar. You realized where you were headed just as your feet slowed on instinct.

“Aonung, why are we here?” you said, your voice strong, emphasizing here.

Aonung kept walking. “Relax. You don’t own the beach.”

You immediately spotted Neteyam stopped near the tree line, adjusting the strap of his bow.

He saw you and Aonung and smiled—before they both quickly walked backward, away.

“We’ll be right back,” he said. “Just checking the traps.”

Both of them turned.

You stared after them, heart thudding. “Aonung?”

No response.

“Neteyam?”

Nothing.

You exhaled sharply, your palm pressing to your forehead as the realization settled heavy in your chest.

They left you.

On purpose.

You turned slowly—and there he was.

Of course.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

“Oh,” you breathed. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Lo’ak stood near the water’s edge, shoulders tense, eyes fixed on the horizon.

His head turned at the sound of your voice.

For a second—you saw it. Surprise. Relief. Guilt. All flickering across his face before he masked it behind something guarded. You hated how quick you noticed it.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” he said.

“I had a feeling,” you replied quietly. His jaw tightened.

You stood there, neither of you moving closer.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” you said finally. Softly, as if you were trying not to break at your own words.

He huffed a breath. “You’ve noticed.”

“Hard not to,” you shot back. “You act as if I’m nothing but a stranger.”

He looked at you then. Really looked.

“And you look at me like I ruined your life.”

That stung. “Do you honestly believe that, Lo’ak? That I—out of all people—would ever think that of you?”

Silence fell again, heavier this time.

You stood there, neither of you moving closer. The distance felt unbearable—like if either of you crossed it, something would break. Like always.

Your hands curled at your sides.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

“So what? This is it?” you said. “You just disappear from me and let everyone assume things about you and Tsireya?”

His expression flickered. “Is that what this is about?”

You laughed softly, bitter. “What is this not about, Lo’ak?”

“I didn’t court her,” he said suddenly.

“I’m not going to,” he added. “But you don’t know that—because you won’t talk to me.”

“Lo’ak—oh my—you’re the one that didn’t want to work anything out,” you snapped, frustration filling your voice.

“It was you that got up and disappeared from me. Not me—you. You did that, Lo’ak. A-and for what? Do I mean that little to you?”

Your throat tightened as your eyes filled, but you refused to let the tears win.

“Mey’ira, I was trying not to hurt you.”

“No! Don’t start with that!” you cut him off, heart hammering. “You didn’t try at all. You walked past me like I wasn’t here. Like I didn’t matter. And now you’re standing here, expecting what from me? Forgiveness?”

“I’m not expecting anything! That’s the thing,” he shot back, tension coiling in his jaw. “I was trying to figure myself out—figure out what the fuck this is. You don’t get to blame me for that.”

“You think walking past me, throwing yourself at other girls, pretending I don’t exist isn’t hurting me? You think that’s easier for me?”

His eyes darkened. “I didn’t—I don’t think that Ira. I didn’t say that.”

You hissed, taking a step closer. “Every time you laugh with them, every time your eyes refuse to meet mine, it’s like you’re erasing me, Lo’ak. Like nothing between us matters. Am I such a joke to you?”

He stepped closer. Just one step. Enough to make your breath catch.

“You hurt me too, Ira,” he said, voice low. “You don’t get to pretend you didn’t.”

You swallowed hard. “But I wanted to fix it. I wanted to tell you what everything meant. What you meant to me.”

“I know,” he replied. “That’s the worst part.”

You exhaled, eyes burning. “What does that even mean?”

“Ira…” His voice dropped, dangerous. “You think I don’t feel the same? You think I wanted to be here feeling like this?”

“Then why?” your throat tightened. “Why aren’t we talking? Why aren’t you trying with me, Lo’ak?!”

He ran a hand through his braids, frustration bleeding into every movement. “Because every time I open my mouth, it’s like I’m tiptoeing around glass. You won’t listen. You refuse to let me in!”

“I won’t let you in?” you scoffed. “You walked away. You ran. And now you’re acting like I’m the problem!”

His chest rose and fell sharply. “Mey’ira… you think I don’t care? That I want this—” his breathing fastened, “—all this tension between us?”

“You’re not acting like it!” you snapped. “You’re acting like I’m supposed to just… wait for you to figure out if I matter.”

The silence fell hard, broken only by the crash of the waves.

“I…” you faltered. Your chest burned, tears threatening again. “I’m scared, Lo’ak. I’m scared if I let you in, I’ll fall… and if I fall, you’ll leave. Like last time.”

His lips parted slightly, jaw tight, fists clenched at his sides. That broke him—not your anger, not your words. Your fear.

Footsteps echoed somewhere in the distance.

 Too far to help. 

Too close to ignore.

Aonung’s laugh carried faintly through the trees.

You sighed, turning your head. “I’m not going to do this again, Lo’ak.”

Your voice dropped. He was looking at you—searching your eyes for something.

“Every time we speak, we argue. We can’t even have a simple conversation.”

You looked down at the ground, hands tangled in your curls.

“We—we aren’t even friends anymore, Lo,” your voice shook.

“What even is this?” you whispered. “How did we get here? When did you become so cold—so ignorant?”

You opened your mouth, wanting to scream, to cry, to throw everything at him—but the words stuck.

A memory flickered. Late nights by the water. His cheering me up after a brutal day–just us indulging in one another. 

Him nudging me with a grin, whispering, “Never forget, mama…”

“I got you forever.”

Tears ran down your face uncontrollably.

You swallowed hard, the salt of your tears mixing with the sea breeze.

You needed to leave. Immediately.

You turned on your heel and walked away.

Once more.

For the last time.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

A/N: so I saw a video that said using 'first person pov' lures people away and thats the LAST thing I wanna do. Please lmk if you guys prefer 1st or 2nd person POV!!

If you made it here thanks for reading!

Feel free to leave tips, notes, or requests. ༝༚

Which point of view?

1st

2nd

Voting ended onJan 14

[jks-luvr]

✯ - MY girl

✯ Lo'ak x Fem!oc , First person POV

✯ wc: 1659

✯ All Characters are aged up.

⤷ , Angst, mutual pining, slow burn, friends to lovers (eventually), unspoken feelings, emotional miscommunication, yearning, emotional confusion, avoidance, guilt

➥ prev.

➥ next.

listen♬ˎˊ˗

One Kiss changed everything, a week of silence makes it worse. Mey'ira is left to drown in guilt, regret, and the consequences of her silence. Now all she feels she can do is watch Lo'ak from a distance.

On some nights like this, shawty, I can't help but think of us I've been reminiscin', sippin', missin' ya (Missing ya) Can you tell me what's with all this distant love? (Love) If I called, would you pick it up?

On some nights like this, I just wanna text you, but for what? You gon' say you want me, then go switch it up (Switch it up) Just gon' play with my emotions just because, no (Oh)

# 4

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Lo’ak has never been one to sugarcoat anything—especially when it comes to his feelings. It’s one of the many things I admire about him, something I don’t think I could ever do myself.

Since that night, I’ve been sleeping restlessly, knowing how much of my confusion I placed on his shoulders. And for the first time in a long while, I was the one who left him unsure.

A week passed, and somehow the world kept moving as if nothing had shattered. Lo’ak moved through the village like he always had—easy, smiling, untouched—but now there was always someone beside him.

A different girl each time. Different laughter. Different hands. All of it close enough to feel intentional. Close enough to hurt.

He never looked at me. Not once. And every time I saw him, it felt like he was erasing me piece by piece, like whatever we almost were had never meant anything at all. I told myself I had no right to feel this way.

Friends don’t break like this.

But my chest didn’t seem to care what rules I tried to follow.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Starting the day had been rough for me.

I hadn’t even realized that I’d been staring off again until his thick voice cut through the air.

“Mey’ira.”

I flinched.

My father stood near the waterline, arms crossed, eyes sharp in that way that always made me feel smaller. I straightened instinctively, hands tightening around the basket I’d barely filled.

“You were meant to be back an hour ago,” he said. Not loud. Maybe even worse—controlled.

“This is what you were sent to do?” he asked. His voice was calm, but there was something sharp underneath it. “Because it looks like your attention has been elsewhere.”

My father’s eyes swept over the work in my hands that was unfinished, careless. His jaw tightened.

“I’m almost done,” I said quickly.

“That isn’t the point.” His gaze hardened. “You’ve been almost everything lately.”

The words hit harder than I expected.

“You are the daughter of the olo’eyktan,” he continued.  “You don’t get the luxury of being careless. People watch you. They rely on you.” 

“Your focus should reflect that. Instead, I see hesitation. Distraction.” 

His eyes flicked briefly toward the shoreline, towards the training grounds. Toward the Sullys’ side of the village.

I swallowed.

My chest tightened, breath catching.

“I raised you to be steady, my daughter,” he added, quieter now, but heavier. “Not lost.”

He turned away without waiting for a response.

I stayed where I was, hands trembling, the echo of his words pressed into me until everything I’d been holding back was threatening to spill.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Tsireya and I were helping our mothers prepare supper. 

The air inside the cooking space was warm, thick with the scent of fish and sea herbs. Tsireya stood beside me, hands moving easily as she prepared the meal, her movements practiced.

For a while, we worked in silence.

Then she spoke.

“Lo’ak walked me home yesterday.”

My hands stilled from hearing his name.

“Oh–that’s nice,” I muttered, trying to sound indifferent.

She glanced at me, just once. “He’s been spending a lot of time with me.”

I nodded, even though it felt like my chest was caving in. “I’ve noticed.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

“My mother thinks he’s going to ask to court me,”She glanced toward her mother, seated beside mine, chatting softly.

The word rang in my ears. Court.

I finally looked at her then, my expression betraying me before I could stop it. Tsireya sighed softly, setting her things down.

“Ira,” she said gently, “before you say anything… I know.”

My head tilted slightly, unintentionally. “You know what?”

“How you and Lo’ak are,” she said, eyes sharp now. “The staring, the tension, the silent wars—you can’t even act normal around him. I see it. Everyone sees it.”

My jaw tightened. “What–Tsireya—”

She cut me off. “I was hoping—really hoping that you’d figure it out before it ever got here–to this point.”

My throat burned. I had no words.

Silence filled the space.

“Honestly Ira, I deserve to be happy too,” she said, voice steady but kind. “And I can’t keep waiting for something you two won’t name.” 

That hurt more than anger ever could.

“You’re my best friend, Ira,” Tsireya continued. “I love you. But I’m not going to pretend I don’t feel something when I do. And if that happiness ends up being with Lo’ak…” 

She hesitated, eyes softening. “I’m sorry. Truly. But I won’t let your unrealistic expectations—or his fear—stand in the way of that.”

The room felt too small. Too quiet.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

It was quiet, cold, and late.

By now everyone should be asleep.

I went to the only place that felt like an escape—the sea.

The beach was empty, silent except for the gentle crash of waves against the sand. I sank down, hugging my knees to my chest, letting the salt air sting my eyes as the tears finally came.

I’d tried all day—tried to keep busy, tried to distract myself with chores, with food, with the rhythm of life around me—but nothing worked. Every laugh I heard, every glance of Lo’ak with someone else, felt like a blade twisting in my chest.

I pressed my face to my knees, letting the sobs shake me. Guilt clawed at me like a living thing. 

For all the times I’d run from him, avoided him, put up walls instead of saying what I meant… for every chance I’d let slip because I was scared, I had created this pain for both of us.

The moonlight reflected off the water, cold and unforgiving, and it felt like the universe itself was judging me. 

I hated how small I felt, how weak, how incapable of controlling the storm I’d unleashed myself inside my heart.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

“Mey’iraaa~” 

That annoying voice cut through my inner thoughts. 

Aonung. And Neteyam.

I quickly wipe my tears from my eyes, trying to hide any hint of my pain. 

One thing about Aonung—he can’t stand to see me hurt. My whole life, I’ve been his world. His priority. His purpose.

He’d burn worlds for me.

I guess that’s something to appreciate.

They both came to sit on either side of me.

“Why are you guys up?” I asked, irritation slipping into my tone.

“Why are you out here alone?” Aonung said, poking two fingers against my head. “Have I not told you not to roam by yourself this late?”

“You’re not my father,” I snapped. “Stop lecturing me.”

He and Neteyam chuckled.

“Why so down, little one?” Neteyam asked. I internally cringed at the nickname—he’d been using it for years.

“I’m fine,” I lied, my voice brittle.

Neteyam paused. “I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re not fine. You’re hiding something.”

Aonung studied my face, noticing the tear-stained skin, the red eyes.

“So,” he said lightly, “who do I have to kill?”

Neteyam’s expression softened, though his voice stayed firm. “It’s Lo’ak, isn’t it?”

I looked at him. How did he already know?

“Out of everything you could cry over,” Aonung teased gently, wiping my cheek, “why Lo’ak, Aylì’u?”

“It’s not his fault,” I whispered.

Neteyam sighed. “I find that extremely hard to believe, little one.”

“I’m telling the truth,” I said, vision blurring. “Not everything is Lo’ak’s fault.”

He struggles enough already—seeing himself as a disappointment to his family.

Neteyam continued, “Look, Ira. I know my brother can be annoying, ignorant, and incredibly hard-headed.”

Aonung snickered. I scoffed.

“But if there’s one thing anyone can see,” Neteyam said honestly, “it’s that he cares deeply about you.”

Aonung wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer.

“You’re intelligent, Mey’ira,” Aonung says softly.

“You love hard. You feel things deeper than most. And you’re an adult now—one who knows what she wants, even if you keep denying it.”

He was right. They always were.

I sighed quietly, his warmth easing something in my chest. Maybe… maybe everything wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“You’re strong, Ira,” Neteyam said with a smile. “What’s meant for you will come—sooner or later.”

Then he smirked. “Whether that’s Lo’ak… or Lo’ak.”

I rolled my eyes. “But he doesn’t want what I want,” I say, almost defeated. “He’s going to court Tsireya.”

Neteyam frowned. “Where did you hear that?”

“Tsireya said that?” Aonung added, laughing like I’d told a joke.

I nodded, confused.

They leaned toward each other, exchanging looks—silent communication.

They definitely knew something.

“What are you hiding?” I asked.

“Nothing,” Aonung said far too quickly.

Then, softer, “Come on, baby sis. Let’s spend some time together later.” He glanced at Neteyam. “We could go hunting. You’re always saying you want to join us.”

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

I nodded, letting them wrap me in their warmth, letting their teasing and gentle scolding ease the tight knot in my chest. For a moment, I felt lighter, almost like the tide had pulled back some of the storm.

But as I looked out at the crashing waves, my chest tightened again. Lo’ak wasn’t here. He hadn’t asked, he hadn’t appeared, and yet every ripple of water, every whisper of wind felt like it was carrying him away from me. My heart ached in a quiet, stubborn rhythm, refusing to be soothed.

Aonung nudged my shoulder, and Neteyam’s hand lingered for a second too long, grounding me in the present, in the life I could control. I gave them a small, grateful smile.

And yet, even as I rose from the sand, brushing away tears that still burned, a part of me couldn’t stop reaching for him—Lo’ak, moving through the world like I didn’t exist, like the last week had erased everything we almost had.

The night was quiet, the waves calm. But inside me, a storm raged on,

and I knew it wasn’t going to let go anytime soon.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

A/N: chapter 4 omggg! A couple of family dynamics here, big brother Aonung 🥹. I hope you love this just as much as I do!!!

If you made it here thanks for reading! Feel free to leave tips, notes, or requests. ༝༚

[jks-luvr]

✯ - MY girl

✯ Lo'ak x Fem!oc , Lo'ak POV

✯ wc: 1329

✯ All Characters are aged up.

⤷ POV switch (Lo'aks) , Angst, mutual pining, slow burn, friends to lovers, emotional hurt, unresolved feelings, miscommunication

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listen♬ˎˊ˗

Lo’ak leaves before Mey'ira could even notice, his own thoughts racing, leaving her alone. He avoids her, when they finally meet, all words fail, hearts race. This storm between them might just break everything.

What are we doing, Mey’ira?

#3

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Loak’s POV

How did we get here?

It’s not even the first time I’ve asked myself that.

Drowning in my own thoughts, I keep switching back and forth. All we did was kiss, nothing more. Nothing less. It was bound to happen eventually.

In front of me I look at the woman who’s taken up most of my life. Her face is so pretty, at peace while her lips are parted slightly. Her breathing is slow and steady. I can’t even imagine deserving someone like her. I guess in some sense this is my fault—for wanting more than she was ready to give.

I had no intention of sleeping, I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I’m not even entirely sure what happened, it went from point A to point B so quickly.

I start preparing myself to leave, lifting myself off of her sleeping surface. It’s like she read my mind, almost immediately after I stood, she woke up.

“Lo?” she says groggily, not even registering that she’s awake. Hearing my name from her voice almost makes me want to stay.

“No, no, no ma, go back to sleep, okay?” Words that flow like water for me, I don’t even notice it. She hums in response, immediately drifting back into sleep.

I exit her mauri, looking back one last time for the night. I don’t know where we are going from here, what we are going to do. I knew I had to leave, I can’t trust myself to stay. Because staying would mean hoping—and I don’t know if she’ll ever meet me there.

Honestly, I’m terrified. 

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Avoidance.

Something I was used to, something that gave me a sense of peace. Avoidance was easier than answers. Easier than looking at her and seeing the question in her eyes—the one I didn’t know how to respond to without breaking something between us. Or breaking myself.

The village was already awake when I stepped outside. Voices, laughter, the familiar rhythm of life moving on like nothing had shifted overnight. Like we hadn’t. 

She was the first one I saw.

She was near the water, hair loose, moving the way she always did—soft, naturally unguarded. My chest tightened before I could stop it. Instinct pulled me toward her, the same instinct that always had.

I turned away.

I took the longer path, eyes fixed ahead, pretending I didn’t feel the way her name almost formed in my throat. Pretending I didn’t notice when she looked up, when her gaze searched for mine.

Every time our paths crossed that day, I did the same thing. 

I passed her like she was a stranger.

Like the night before hadn’t happened.

Like I hadn’t memorized the way she breathed in her sleep.

And every step away felt worse than the last—but stopping felt impossible.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The day seemed to move at an excruciatingly slow pace. My father had my brother and I all over the place, giving us different commands every chance he got. 

Once he decided our duty’s, as he called them, were completed we were excused. I knew I didn’t want to go back to my mauri just yet. Yet I trusted myself and let my feet take its course.

The moment I stepped onto the smooth stone overlooking the water, I knew it was a mistake. This place was ours—always had been. A space that never asked questions, never demanded answers.

I shouldn’t have come here.

I was sitting there, staring at the horizon, when I felt it.

Her.

I didn’t turn around. I didn’t have to.

“Lo,” she said, soft. Careful. Like she was approaching something already broken.

I exhaled through my nose. “You shouldn’t be here.”

There was a pause. I hated the way my chest tightened at the sound of her footsteps anyway.

“This is our spot,” she said. “Since when do I need permission?”

I finally looked at her then.

Big mistake.

She looked… normal. Like she hadn’t wrecked my head, like she hadn’t been the last thing I thought about before the sun came up. The calm in her face made something sharp twist in me.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

“What do you want, Mey’ira?” I asked, a little too flat.

Her brows knit together. “I just wanted to talk. You’ve been—avoiding me.”

“That’s because talking hasn’t exactly gone great for us lately,” I shot back.

Her lips parted, then pressed together. “So we’re just pretending last night didn’t happen?”

I stood up before I could stop myself. “That’s funny. I thought that’s exactly what you wanted.”

She flinched.

Instant regret. Didn’t matter. I kept going.

“You pushed me away. You told me to leave,” I said, voice tight. “And now you’re acting like I’m the problem for giving you exactly that.”

“That’s not fair,” she snapped. “You don’t get to decide what I meant for me. You stayed, we kissed, why can’t you understand what that means to me?”

“Explain it to me,” I said, frustration finally bleeding through. “Because right now, I don’t understand you at all.”

She looked away. That silence again. The same one that’s been killing me for days.

I laughed—once, humorless. “See? This. This is what I mean.”

“What do you want from me, Lo’ak? What do you need?” she asked, voice shaking now.

The question hit harder than it should’ve.

“I want you to stop acting like I’m imagining this,” I said. “Like there isn’t something sitting between us, growing every time you don’t say what you mean.”

She shook her head. “You’re making it bigger than it is.”

That did it.

I stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat between us again. “Don’t lie to me,” I said quietly. “Not when I see the way you look at me. Not when I feel it every time you pull away.”

Her breath hitched.

And then—too fast, too honest—she said it.

“I’ve been feeling like this for days, okay?” Her voice cracked. “Every time I see you with someone else, every time you look at me like you’re about to say something and don’t—it’s driving me insane, Lo.”

The world went silent.

“What are we doing, Mey’ira?” I ask. I don’t mean it as an accusation. I mean it like a question–a question I’ve been asking myself all day. All night.

“You kissed me, Mey’ira. You said things—and then you shut down like it didn’t mean anything.”

“I didn’t shut down.” She looks overwhelmed, and that almost makes me stop. 

Almost.

“I was confused,” she says quietly.

“So was I,” I fire back, my chest tight. “I still am.”

 “You’re saying that like it’s my fault?” she added, softer now. Hurt.

I stared at her, heart pounding so loud I swore she could hear it. “That’s not what I meant.” I said, but the damage was already there. 

She waited. For reassurance. For something solid.

And I had nothing to give her.

I started again, “Mey’ira, I need to know what this is. Because I can’t keep guessing.” She doesn’t answer. And somehow, that hurts more than if she’d yelled at me.

I nod slowly, like I finally understand something I didn’t want to. My jaw clenched. “I can’t do this,” I said finally. “Not like this.”

Her eyes widened. “Lo’ak—”

I stepped back.

“I care about you too much to keep pretending like we don’t want the things we’re too afraid to name,” I said, voice low. “We’re grown, Ira. We aren’t babies anymore a-and I’m not going to stand here and be confused by you anymore.”

She looked devastated.

So I did the only thing I knew how to do.

I walked away.

 If I stay, I’ll say something I won’t survive. If I stay, I’ll ask her to choose me. And I don’t think she can.

 I walk away without looking back.

Im not angry.

Just broken enough to know that staying would ruin us both.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

A/N: Thought it was time for a change !! Please let me know if you enjoyed this!! If you made it here thanks for reading! Feel free to leave tips, notes, or requests. ༝༚

[jks-luvr]

✯-MY girl

✯ Lo'ak x Fem!oc , first person POV

✯ wc: 1736

✯ All Characters are aged up.

⤷ Angst, mutual pining, slow burn, friends to lovers, emotional tension, unresolved feelings, miscommunication, jealousy, makeout sesh

➥ prev.

➥ next.

The night before leaves Mey'ira with so many different emotions. She knows she has to do something, but can't pin as to what that is exactly. One conversation, one argument, one kiss eases years of miscommunication and unresolved feelings. Or does it?

#2

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The ocean was restless and honestly, so was I. How could I sleep when my mind was circling one person? I don’t even think he could begin to understand how those two little words, words that probably spilled without a second thought, lingered with me all night.

My girl.

That was new, even from Lo’ak. I still can’t wrap my head around what was going to happen last night..what could it even lead to?

What does this mean for us now? Do I just get up and go about my day like nothing has shifted? 

“Focus Ira” I say to myself to end this one sided debate in my head. “You guys didn’t even kiss.” I prop myself up, taking deep breaths. 

“Nothing happened, relax.”

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

It was still pretty early when I decided to go to my parents mauri, my mother was still preparing our breakfast, while my father was still sound asleep. 

“Ma’ite.” My mother called softly. 

“Yes, mother?” I responded, setting down the basket I was helping her weave. 

“Can you please find your brother? Tell him food is ready, he was hungry before he left.” I nod once and begin my search for my older brother.

I spot Loak's older brother Neteyam, he and my brother are best friends–inseparable. Seeing him, I already knew that Aonung was close by.

I call out to my brother, “Aonung.” 

Neteyam turns and looks down at me with a light smile, before giving me the greeting sign that means I see you.

“Goodmorning, Mey’ira.”

“Morning, teyam!” I say with a smile that came easily, as I returned the gesture.

I then turn to Aonung, “Mama says that the food is prepared,” I looked quickly at Neteyam, “Would you be joining us?” 

He pauses for a moment before nodding.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The morning blurred past me, and before I knew it, I was returning back from collecting herbs for my mother, the kind she used to prepare her remedies.

Along my way back to my parents’ mauri, I see two familiar faces walking alongside each other. 

Lo’ak

…and Tsireya? 

Tsireya is my best friend–sister even. Since birth we’ve been attached by the hip.

The pairing wasn’t unusual. They were close, yes.

But not as close as Lo’ak and I. Never.

The way they laughed, the way his hand lingered near hers—it was supposed to be nothing, but it felt like there was a storm brewing in me.

Why?

I’m in my head again, for no reason at that. I attempt to ignore them, thinking I can walk past unnoticed.

I hurried along, my feet moving faster than my thoughts. 

Until I’m stopped by that familiar feeling– his touch.

Well that didn’t work.

“Ira?” You hear his voice, so velvety and soft. My gaze drops down to his hand on my wrist, guiding me to face him.

“Mey’ira!” Tsireya adds, “I didn’t even notice that was you.”

Right.

I force an awkward smile, doing everything to avoid Loak's gaze.

 “Hey guys, what’re you up to?” I say, nervously. His eyes burned into the side of my face.

“Nothing really, just hanging around–talking.” Tsireya's voice came through sweet and casual.

“You want to come and hang with us?” Lo’ak says, moving his head to meet wherever my eyes were.

As if, I think bitterly.

“My mother actually sent me to get some herbs for her, she’s probably waiting. I should really get going.”

Not even bothering to wait for a response, I turned back around. I picked up my pace, each step carrying more urgency than the last, trying to escape the tightness in my chest.

Why do I feel like this?

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

I stayed in my mauri for the rest of the day, doing nothing of importance, though my mind was spinning with thoughts I didn’t want to admit. Eventually, I got up, finding something—anything—to clean or arrange, just to keep busy.

I lit a few candles, human things, Mr. Sully said they made the room smell nice. The warm aroma filled the air, and for a moment, I felt… almost calm. Almost.

Until that voice cut through.

“Yo, Ira!”

I froze.

“What, Lo’ak?” My tone was sharper than I intended.

“Where’ve you been all day?” He stepped fully into my space, that casual closeness that made my chest tighten.

“In here. Why? What do you need?” I refused to meet his eyes, focusing instead on the flickering candlelight.

“I… missed you.”

And just like that, the walls I’d built around myself cracked. My chest betrayed me. Why did he have to be so… him? So effortlessly perfect? It made my head spin.

“Okay,” I said, forcing my voice into something stern. My eyes dropped to the candle flames, trying to anchor myself. I was melting inside, but I couldn’t let him see it.

“Are you okay, mama?”

“M’fine,” I lied poorly. He knew it. Of course he knew it.

“Ira… What's wrong? Why are you acting like this?” His frown deepened.

I clenched my fists at my sides, trying to push the heat in my chest down. “Nothing.”

His brows drew together. “Nothing? That’s not?… Okay. Did I—did I do something?”

I wanted to scream, to tell him I didn’t know, to push him away and pull him closer all at once. “Lo’ak please.”

His eyes softened, searching mine, confusion and care blending in that irritatingly perfect expression. “You’re mad at me?”

I bite down hard, lips in a thin line. “I’m… not mad. Not really. I—” My words failed me, twisting into a mess of frustration, need, and jealousy.

“C’mere.” He took a step closer. His hands interlaced with mine. Why does he do this? I tried to pull back, but my body wouldn’t obey.

“Talk to me, Mey’ira,” he murmured. His voice was soft and steady. And I hated how it made my chest ache.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

I glared at him, heart racing, frustration spilling out. 

“Why do I always have to talk, Lo’ak? Maybe I don’t want to. Maybe you should try and just take the hint for once instead of just standing there!”

His jaw tightened, a flash of hurt and confusion crossing his face. “What? I am trying to understand you. You’ve been AWOL all day. I’m trying to figure out what's going on and all I get from you is this wall!”

I threw my hands up, “Why do you keep pretending Lo’ak? Why-Who is pretending going to help?”

He took a step closer, frustration bleeding into his voice. Almost begging.

“Pretending? Do you honestly think I could ever pretend about you? About how I feel? Mey’ira… tell me what’s wrong instead of shutting me out. Please.” 

“I… I can’t Lo’ak.  I can’t even understand it myself!”  I throw my hands up, pointing at myself.

I snapped, my voice trembling with anger and something hotter, something I wasn’t ready to name. 

“It’s like… like it hurts every time I see you with someone else, everytime I think about you, everything just hurts when I’m around you, when I’m not around you. And I can’t stop it, and I don’t know why. I don’t know what this is.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them.

His eyes went wide, a flicker of panic and something else, crossing his face. He ran a hand down his face, exasperated, frustrated. 

“Ira, I want to understand this. I wanna understand you, so can you please just work with me here. Just speak, tell me what’s on your mind, I swear I’m not going anywhere.”

The tension between us coiled tighter. His gaze pinned me, desperate, frustrated, yearning. Every fiber of his was reaching for me, but I was a storm he couldn’t read. Like an impossible puzzle.

“I don’t know, Lo’ak. I don’t know anything.”

I wanted to scream. I wanted to collapse into his arms. I wanted to push him away. I wanted to kiss him until the world disappeared. I couldn’t do any of it.

He exhaled sharply, leaning closer, almost enough for our foreheads to touch. My heart was hammered. Every nerve in me was on fire. 

“I… I don’t—” I cut myself off, I broke. I gave in.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

I took his face in my hands, rising on my toes to lean in fully. It was quick and entirely thoughtless. I studied his face, and his eyes widened—he froze, completely taken aback.

Then his hand met my neck, pulling me back to his lips. His lips were impossibly soft, and before I could think, I was kissing him back with a desperation I hadn’t even realized I was holding in.

His tongue traced mine, slow at first, testing, then demanding, claiming me in a way that made my knees weak. Every inch of him pressed into me, and I felt the years of our unspoken tension and feelings we’d been holding for so long snap like a twig.

My hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, as if letting go even for a second would be unbearable. I gasped, moaned, leaned into him, tasting him, needing him, every frustrated, hungry part of me spilling out into that kiss.

He groaned low in his throat, and it vibrated through me, making me ache for more. We broke apart for barely a second, eyes dark with raw, almost feral desire, then collided again, tongues dancing and hands roaming like we couldn’t get enough.

We couldn’t.

Our breaths mingled, ragged, uneven, and there was nothing but us. Just desperate and trembling. I whimpered against him, and he responded with a growl, dragging me impossibly closer by my waist, claiming every part of me with each heated press of our lips and tongue.

Then, without breaking the kiss, he lifted me effortlessly into his arms. I wrapped my legs around him instinctively, arms locked around his neck, our mouths still stuck together in a frenzy of need. 

Every step he took toward my sleeping mat was a promise, a whisper of what was to come, and even though we hadn’t said a word, it was enough to set my skin on fire, enough to make my heart feel like it would burst.

And when he finally laid me down, our lips still pressed together, the world outside vanished completely, leaving only the two of us, gasping, aching, and consumed by each other.

Shit.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

A/N: IKK they dont sleep in their Mauri or have sleep mats, don't shoot me. I actually enjoy writing but idek if people are gonna read this): I hope this wasn't "moving too fast" In their case. If you made it here thanks for reading! Feel free to leave tips, notes, or requests. ༝༚

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