Summary: The eldest daughter of Jake Sully arrives at Awa’atlu, caught between forest and sea.
Aonung notices her first and doesn’t stop. What starts as teasing turns into something deeper… and by the time he confesses, it’s already something he can’t control anymore
A very Obvious secret
Summary: What starts as a secret quickly turns into the least subtle situation in the history of the Metkayina clan.
Aonung panics, Lo’ak enjoys every second of it, and Jake Sully is about to become a grandfather whether he likes it or not.
Waves of What Was +18
Summary: After years of fiery rivalry and dangerous games with Aonung, you finally break free from the storm he creates. Amid the ashes of jealousy and passion, Neteyam shows you a love that is patient, tender, and unwavering.
Neteyam
Waves of What Was +18
Summary: After years of fiery rivalry and dangerous games with Aonung, you finally break free from the storm he creates. Amid the ashes of jealousy and passion, Neteyam shows you a love that is patient, tender, and unwavering.
He Remembered, She Lived | Neteyam Pov
Summary: A childhood bond in the Omatikaya forest unravels when unspoken promises and time do what distance couldn’t. Years later, he returns to find she never stopped moving forward.
He Remembered, She Lived | Reader Pov
Summary: A childhood bond in the Omatikaya forest unravels when unspoken promises and time do what distance couldn’t. Told from her perspective, it follows the girl who was left behind as she learns to grow, change, and live without him, until years later, he returns to find she never stopped moving forward.
Rotxo
But I Don't Want Aonung
Summary: A quiet boy who stayed. A loud warrior who tried. Rotxo watches, waits, and somehow becomes the one you can’t ignore.
Lyle Wainfleet
The Warrior's Choice| Part One
The Warrior's Choice | Part two +18
Summary: The Ash Lands are fierce, the clan is loyal only to themselves, and a bold warrior has set her sights on a blue‑skinned outsider.
Miles Quaritch
One Day Lost, Four Years Gone | Part One
Summary: Alive again in a body that isn’t yours, you thought you had time to heal. Then he comes back. Miles Quaritch. The past crashing into the present. Hearts, memories, and choices you never thought you’d have to make.
Z-dog
And They Were Roommates
Summary: The Recoms think they’re competing for you…until they catch you and Z-Dog and realize two things:
it was never a competition and they were never invited.
Tsu'tey
In Every Storm, I See You
Summary: To Tsu’tey, you were just a tawtute, a mistake in blue skin. His training was cold, his words were knives, and his pride was a wall. But after the war, the silence between you shifts from bitter to breathless.
Tarsem
Worth Every Warning
Summary: Being the daughter of Jake Sully and Neytiri meant you were never alone. If your father wasn’t watching you, your brothers were. And your sisters? Kiri noticed everything and loved to tease. Little Tuk appeared exactly when chaos started.
And unfortunately for you, they noticed Tarsem.
Requests are open, send whatever you want and watch me lose control of my life ♡
Summary: He was never meant to choose you, bound instead to duty and Neytiri’s future. But when Neytiri chooses Jake Sully, it forces Tsu’tey to realize the truth he avoided all along. You were never a second choice, just the one he never chose in time.
| angst |
The night on Pandora did not feel like night at all. Light lingered in the air like a memory that refused to fade, caught between leaves and breath and skin. Everything was alive in a way that made silence impossible, yet you still felt completely alone in it.
Not because the forest was empty.
Because you were watching something you were never meant to touch.
Tsu’tey stood beside Neytiri. He was strong, unshaken, carved by duty and expectation. She was radiant, fierce, everything the clan needed her to be. They did not touch, but they did not need to. Their bond had been decided long before either of them had the chance to question it.
You had always known this would happen.
You had told yourself it did not matter, that what you shared with him existed outside of those expectations, hidden in quiet moments and unspoken understanding.
But watching them now, something in your chest tightened in a way you could no longer ignore.
“You should not look at me like that.”
His voice came from behind you, low and familiar. You turned slowly, meeting his gaze.
His eyes were softer with you than with anyone else, but tonight even that felt like a small comfort compared to what stood between you.
“Like what?” you asked.
“Like I am leaving you behind.”
A faint, bitter smile touched your lips. “Aren’t you?”
His jaw tightened slightly. “You know this is my duty.”
“I know,” you said quietly. “You have always known.”
Silence lingered between you, heavy with everything you never said. He stepped closer, as if that might close the distance that had been growing for years.
“Then why does it feel like I have done something wrong?” he asked.
You looked at him for a long moment, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest. “Because you never once tried to do anything different.”
He did not answer. He did not deny it either.
Before anything more could be said, Neytiri called his name. He turned instinctively, the pull of expectation stronger than anything else.
You watched him go, just as you always had, choosing the path that had already been chosen for him.
When the sky people came, everything began to shift. At first, it was subtle, almost unnoticeable, but you felt it before anyone else.
Jake Sully was nothing like Tsu’tey. He was uncertain, unpolished, and completely out of place, yet somehow that made him dangerous in a way none of you expected.
Neytiri changed around him. You saw it in the way she spoke, in the way her anger softened into something warmer. She did not follow him because she had to.
She stayed because she wanted to.
Tsu’tey saw it too, but he did not understand.
“She is only teaching him,” he said one evening, his voice edged with frustration.
“Is she?” you asked gently.
He frowned, glancing toward them as Neytiri laughed at something Jake had said. The sound was light, unguarded, different from anything you had heard from her before.
“She would not choose him,” Tsu’tey said firmly.
“You were never something she had to choose,” you replied.
He turned to you sharply. “What does that mean?”
“It means you were always her future,” you said. “Not her decision.”
The words unsettled him, but he did not argue. Instead, he looked away, as if the idea itself was something he could not yet face.
The truth revealed itself soon enough. The night the clan divided, the air was thick with tension, voices rising in anger and disbelief.
Jake stood before them, speaking words that should have sounded impossible, yet carried a conviction that could not be ignored.
Tsu’tey stood against him, unyielding as ever, his anger burning bright.
“You are one of them,” he said.
“I am trying to protect you,” Jake answered.
Neytiri stepped forward then, and everything changed. She did not stand beside Tsu’tey. She stood with Jake.
“I choose him,” she said.
The words fell into silence, final and undeniable.
Tsu’tey stared at her as if the world had shifted beneath his feet.
“You would leave what was promised?”
“Yes.”
There was no hesitation in her voice. No doubt. Only certainty.
Later, you found him alone beneath the Tree of Voices, the glow of its branches reflecting in his eyes. He looked different, as if something inside him had cracked open.
“She chose him,” he said quietly.
“Yes,” you answered.
“I was meant to be her mate.”
“I know.”
His gaze lifted to yours, searching for something he could not name. “Then why does it feel like I have lost something?”
“Because you have,” you said softly.
He frowned, confusion and frustration mixing together. “She was never mine if she could leave so easily.”
“No,” you agreed. “She was never yours to begin with.”
The words settled heavily between you. For the first time, he did not argue. He simply stood there, thinking.
“She had a choice,” he murmured.
“Yes.”
“And I did not.”
You stepped closer, your voice gentler now. “You did.”
His eyes met yours, sharper this time. “When?”
You held his gaze, refusing to look away. “Every time you walked away from me.”
Understanding came slowly, but when it did, it hit harder than anything before. You saw it in the way his expression changed, the way his breath caught as if something inside him finally fell into place.
“I thought…” he began, then stopped.
“You thought it did not matter,” you finished for him.
His silence confirmed it.
“I chose what was expected,” he said after a moment.
“Yes.”
“And you?” he asked.
A sad smile touched your lips. “I chose you, I always did.”
The simplicity of it seemed to shake him more than anything else you had said.
He stepped closer, hesitation replacing his usual certainty. “And now?”
You looked at him, really looked at him, seeing not the future leader, not the warrior, but the man who was only now realizing the weight of his own choices.
“Now you understand,” you said.
His hand lifted slightly, as if reaching for you, but it stopped halfway, uncertain.
“Is it too late?” he asked.
Your chest tightened, but you did not look away.
“It is not too late to understand what you lost.”
His expression faltered.
“But it may be too late to have it back.”
Silence filled the space between you, heavier than before. This time, there was no illusion to hide behind, no expectation to soften the truth.
“You were the only thing that was ever truly mine to choose,” he said quietly.
You shook your head, your voice calm but firm now. “No. I was the only thing you never chose.”
That was when it truly broke inside him.
Not Neytiri. Not the future he thought had been taken from him.
You.
All the moments he had turned away, believing you would always be there. Believing you did not need to be chosen because you already were.
He took a step forward, something desperate flickering in his eyes now.
“Then let me choose you now.”
And for the first time, you did not soften.
“No,” you said gently.
The word landed harder than any anger could have.
“I am not something you turn to because someone else walked away,” you continued, your voice steady, unwavering. “I am not what remains when your future changes.”
He went still.
“I am not a second choice,” you said, meeting his gaze fully. “Not now. Not ever.”
The truth settled into him like something irreversible.
“You had a choice,” you added quietly. “You just never made it.”
Silence followed, deep and final.
You stepped back, the distance between you no longer something imagined, but real.
He did not move for a long moment.
Your words had settled between you, heavy and final, but there was something worse still left unsaid.
Something that had been building for years, quietly, patiently, until it could no longer stay inside you without breaking you apart.
“I waited for you,” you said suddenly.
Your voice was softer than you expected, but it carried through the silence anyway.
Tsu’tey’s gaze lifted slightly, cautious now, as if he could feel the shift in you.
“I always waited,” you continued, the words coming faster now, no longer controlled.
“Even when I knew what was coming. Even when your bond with Neytiri was getting closer, even when everyone already decided your future for you.”
Your chest tightened, but you did not stop.
“I still believed you would come to me one day,” you admitted, your voice shaking now.
“I told myself it was only duty holding you back. That one day you would look at me and finally choose differently.”
A bitter laugh escaped you, breaking at the edges.
“I waited through all of it, Tsu’tey.”
Silence.
He did not interrupt you.
He could not.
Your hands clenched at your sides as you finally looked at him fully.
“And you never did.”
“I waited for you,” you said softly. “But I will not anymore.”
This time, when you turned, you did not hesitate.
The forest glowed around you, guiding you forward, into something unknown but finally yours.
Behind you, Tsu’tey did not move.
For the first time in his life, he understood what it meant to lose something that had once been within his reach.
Not because it was taken.
Not because it was denied.
But because he had never chosen it when he had the chance.
And now—
He never would.
Heyyyy, I'm back. University gave me a hard time, but I'm back, stronger than before(hopefully).
Summary: Spider has never really belonged anywhere, always stuck between worlds that never fully chose him. When you arrive, you don’t ask him to change or pick a side, you just see him. And when he finally tells you the truth, he realizes you’re still there.
Spider had learned early how to exist in the spaces between things.
Between worlds that never quite opened enough to let him fully in. He moved easily among the Sullys, laughed with them, followed them through the forest like he belonged.
And in a way, he did, just not the way they belonged to each other.
He saw it in the way Jake reached for his children without thinking. In the way Neytiri looked at them like they were carved from something sacred.
Spider had never been part of that shape, he had just learned how to stand close enough that it almost didn’t hurt.
Almost.
When the scientists arrived, it changed the rhythm of things.
Not soldiers this time. Not invasion wrapped in metal and violence. They spoke carefully, observed more than they took, and for once Pandora didn’t feel like it was being squeezed.
It felt… watched.
Understood, maybe.
And in that space between fear and curiosity, you appeared.
You didn’t arrive with wonder in your eyes the way the others did.
You had grown up around this, in stories, in recordings, in the quiet obsession of a father who had dedicated his life to understanding a world he never wanted to harm.
You moved through Pandora with caution, yes, but also with respect, like you already knew it wasn’t something to conquer.
Not your face. Not your voice.
The way you listened.
The way you stood still long enough for the world to move around you instead of trying to move through it.
The way you never interrupted.
It was… different.
And it pulled him in before he even realized it.
“You always do that,” you said one day without looking up from your notes.
Spider tilted his head.
“Do what?”
“Hover like you’re waiting for permission to exist.”
He scoffed softly. “That’s a dramatic way of saying I’m just standing here.”
You finally looked at him.
“I think it’s accurate.”
He should’ve brushed it off.
Instead, he stayed.
“I used to think it would get easier,” he said later, kicking a small stone between his feet.
“What would?” you asked.
“Being… half in everything.”
Your pen paused. You didn’t interrupt.
Spider stared ahead.
“With them,” he added, quieter. “The Sullys.”
A beat.
“They love you,” you said simply.
“I know.”
This time it didn’t come out sharp. Just tired.
Silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t empty.
“And Kiri?” you asked gently.
His mouth twitched, almost a smile that didn’t quite make it.
“I thought she saw me differently.”
“And she didn’t?”
“It wasn’t like that,” he said. “Not for her.”
“Did it hurt?”
He hesitated.
“...yeah.”
But he didn’t linger there. Not this time.
Like he’d already learned that some feelings don’t resolve, they just settle somewhere you can’t reach.
You shifted slightly closer, still not touching, but closer, like you were giving him space to choose.
“You don’t feel temporary to me,” you said.
Spider let out a short breath. “That’s because you don’t really know me yet.”
“I know enough,” you replied.
He glanced at you. “That’s a dangerous sentence.”
You almost smiled. “Not to me.”
His eyes lingered on you longer than usual.
Then dropped to your hands.
You weren’t reaching for him, just there.
Patient.
It was one of those nights when even the lab felt distant, like the world had stepped back and left them a quiet pocket of air. Outside, Pandora was still and wide open, stars scattered like something spilled across velvet.
“There’s something I didn’t tell you,” he said eventually.
Your expression didn’t change. “Okay.”
No pressure. No demand.
That alone made his chest tighten.
“I saved him once” Spider said.
A pause.
Then, more precise, like naming it made it heavier.
“Miles Quaritch, my father.”
Your reaction was small.
But not absent.
Just… still.
Listening in a way that didn’t ask him to justify anything yet.
Spider exhaled slowly.
“It was after everything. I didn’t even think. I just...” His fingers flexed. “I pulled him out.”
He swallowed.
“He was dying.”
You didn’t interrupt.
“I don’t know why I did it,” he admitted first, then corrected himself immediately, voice tightening.
“No, that’s not true. I do.”
A beat.
“He was terrible. I know that. I’ve seen it. I lived it.”
His gaze dropped.
“But in that moment...”
His throat worked.
“He looked at me like I was his kid.”
That word sat differently in the air.
Not soft. Not warm.
Complicated.
Spider’s voice lowered.
“Not like I was something borrowed from another life. Not like I was temporary.”
A pause.
“Like I belonged somewhere.”
His jaw tightened, like he hated how honest it sounded.
“And I think I needed that more than I wanted to admit.”
Silence.
Not cold.
Just… heavy.
“And now?” you asked carefully.
Spider blinked.
His voice came quieter.
“He’s gone again.”
He didn’t say how, didn’t need to.
It was already inside the sentence.
For a moment, he looked almost young.
Not broken. Just… unfinished.
Like something inside him had been asked to hold too many endings.
Your hand finally moved.
Slowly, deliberately, you closed the distance and took his.
He didn’t flinch away.
Didn’t hesitate this time either.
Just held on.
Like he’d been waiting for something solid without knowing it.
“You wanted to be chosen,” you said softly.
His grip tightened slightly.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “I guess I did.”
Your thumb brushed once over his knuckles.
No fixing, no explanation, just presence.
“With you,” he said after a while, voice rougher now, “it doesn’t feel like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m waiting to be picked or dropped.”
You looked at him steadily.
“You’re not.”
Something in his chest shifted.
Not loud.
Not sudden.
Just… real.
“I don’t think I know what it feels like to stay yet,” he admitted quietly.
You squeezed his hand once.
“Then we figure it out,” you said.
And for the first time, Spider didn’t feel like he was standing between worlds.
Just between one moment and the next.
And neither of them felt like something he had to survive alone.
I will defend Spider to my last breath, no negotiation, no hesitation. He’s a precious little disaster-child and I stand by that with my whole soul.
Summary: The Recoms think they’re competing for you…until they catch you and Z-Dog and realize two things:
it was never a competition and they were never invited.
Pandora’s RDA base had rules.
Not written ones, just the kind everyone pretended were obvious until they stopped being useful.
Don’t stare too long into the jungle.
Don’t ask what the lab does with Na’vi DNA.
And absolutely do not flirt with you(Unwritten rule. Z-Dog’s).
Nobody respected that last one.
You were an Avatar, and the base had collectively decided self-control was optional in your presence.
Wainfleet started at breakfast, sliding into your space like confidence was a renewable resource.
“You look like you could use better company,” he said, holding powdered eggs like they were a romantic gesture.
You didn’t even look up.
“I’m eating.”
Lopez leaned past him.
“She rejected you in under three seconds. That’s efficiency.”
Wainfleet shrugged. “Persistence wins wars.”
Across the mess hall, Z-Dog watched. Arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Not jealous in a visible way, just quietly cataloguing everyone’s future mistakes.
Mansk tried next, quieter, worse.
He sat beside you like proximity was a right.
“You always sit alone?”
You finally glanced at him.
“No. Sometimes I sit while being evaluated like a lab sample.”
Lopez whispered, “She doesn’t even have to try.”
Mansk immediately forgot his next sentence.
Z-Dog stood up.
No warning. No drama. Just inevitability.
She walked over, stopped behind Mansk, and said, “You done.”
He smiled, still hopeful.
“We’re just talking.”
Z-Dog nodded.
“Good.”
Then she dragged his chair away like it had offended her personally and returned to her seat without looking at anyone except you.
The room went silent.
Mansk adjusted his dignity.
“That was unnecessary.”
“Yes,” Z-Dog said. “It was efficient.”
After that, the official story became simple. You and Z-Dog were “just friends.”
Which worked, because you both behaved like it in public. Same missions, same timing, same silent coordination that made everyone assume you were just… unusually synchronized.
Lopez even said it once, relieved.
“At least it’s normal between them.”
Wainfleet nodded.
“Yeah. Weirdly functional friendship.”
“Efficient,” Z-Dog said.
“Exactly,” you added.
Case closed.
Except nothing on Pandora stays closed.
Because “just friends” apparently included disappearing together after shifts, standing too close in corridors.
Z-Dog’s hand lingering at your wrist a second too long when no one was watching. A quiet orbit that made everyone else feel like background noise.
Lopez noticed first, but refused to trust it.
“It’s still friendship,” he insisted.
“Aggressive friendship,” Mansk corrected.
“Disturbing friendship,” Wainfleet added.
They were all wrong.
They found out near the loading bay.
Lopez turned the corner first and froze so hard Wainfleet walked into him. “What—” Then he saw it.
Mansk arrived, took one look, and just said, “Oh no.”
Behind the crates, you and Z-Dog weren’t pretending anymore. No space, no performance. Her hand at your jaw, yours gripping her collar, like the rest of the world had quietly stopped existing.
Lopez made a noise that sounded like a system failure.
“That’s not friendship.”
“We were misled,” Wainfleet whispered.
“We built a whole theory,” Mansk added, betrayed.
Z-Dog broke the kiss slowly, completely unbothered. She glanced at them.
“You’re loud.”
Silence snapped tight.
Mansk pointed. “We thought you were just friends.”
“We are,” you said calmly.
“Friends don’t do that,” Wainfleet choked.
“We do,” Z-Dog replied.
A pause stretched too long.
Then Lopez, already spiraling, blurted, “I wrote poetry about you.”
Wainfleet turned on him instantly. “You WHAT.”
Mansk groaned. “Of course you did.”
Lopez doubled down. “I said you were like moonlight in combat boots.”
Silence.
You looked at him. “That’s not poetry. That’s a weather forecast with emotional damage.”
Z-Dog added, flatly, “It sounds unstable.”
Lopez physically recoiled. “I lost my chance because I thought you two were just friends.”
“Same,” Wainfleet said immediately.
“Same,” Mansk echoed, deeply offended by reality.
You glanced between them, then leaned slightly into Z-Dog, completely at ease.
“No,” you said, almost sweetly. “You didn’t lose your chance because of her.”
Three heads snapped toward you.
Wainfleet blinked. “We didn’t?”
You smiled, just a little sharper this time.
“You lost it because you’re men.”
Silence.
Absolute. Devastating. Silence.
Lopez processed it first. Slowly. Painfully. “...Oh.”
Mansk looked like he’d been personally betrayed by biology. “That feels targeted.”
Wainfleet pointed at himself. “So there was never— not even a—”
“No,” you said gently.
Z-Dog, still calm, still unreadable, added, “Not even a little.”
Lopez looked down at his hands like they had failed him. “I wrote poetry for nothing.”
“You wrote bad poetry for nothing,” you corrected.
From somewhere behind them, someone whispered, “This is worse than rejection.”
Wainfleet sighed like a man who had just lost a war he didn’t know he was fighting. “I can’t even be mad. That’s just… facts.”
Mansk nodded slowly. “Yeah. That’s unarguable.”
Z-Dog glanced at you, something quieter in her expression now, something almost amused.
“Efficient,” she said.
You smiled.
“Exactly.”
My woman. she could ruin me and I’d say thank you.
ma in che senso ci sono altri italiani che leggono/scrivono fanfiction di avatar su tumblr HAHAHAHAHA
Oddio, non avevo mai preso in considerazione il fatto che potessero esserci altri italiani. Ora mi fa ridere immaginare qualcuno che legge le mie ff in inglese e si trova all’improvviso una frase in italiano, tipo allucinazione
Lowkey fighting tears because I just caught ITALIAN in my own stories 😭
like hello?? traitor language??
sometimes I write in Italian first to figure out how to structure the sentences better, and then translate as best as I can… apparently some lines said “no, we stay 🤌🏻”
if you spot any sneaky Italian sentences, please tell me 🫶🏻 I beg you.
(Me rereading my own fic and suddenly it’s bilingual against my will)
No lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponential, logarithmic, while I gasp for air, scream and see the light, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, doggy, backward, sideways, upside down, on the floor, in the bed, on the couch, on a chair, being carried against the wall, outside, in the rain, in a train, on a plane, in a car, on a motorcycle, the back of a truck, on a trampoline, in a bounce house, in the pool, bent over, in the basement, against the window, have the most toe curling, back arching, leg shaking, dick throbbing, fist clenching, ear ringing, mouth drooling, ass clenching, nose sniffing, eye watering, eye rolling, hip thrusting, earth quaking, sheet gripping, knuckle cracking, jaw dropping, hair pulling, teeth jittering, vile, sloppy, moan inducing, heart wrenching, spine tingling, back breaking, atrocious, gushy, creamy, beastly, lip biting, gravity defying, nail biting, sweaty, feet kicking, mind blowing, body shivering, orgasmic, bone breaking, world ending, black hole creating, universe destroying, devious, scrumptious, amazing, delightful, detectable, unbelievable, body numbing, bark worthy, can't walk, head nodding, soul evaporating, volcano erupting, sweat rolling, voice cracking, trembling, sheets soaked, hair drenched, flabbergasting, lip locking, skin peeling, eyelash removing, eye widening, pussy popping, nail scratching, back cuts, spectacular, brain cell dissolving, hair ripping, show stopping, magnificent, unique, extraordinary, splendid, phenomenal, mouth foaming, heavenly awakening, devils tango ever bro could cause a nuclear bomb inside me and id still ride.
Summary: What starts as a secret quickly turns into the least subtle situation in the history of the Metkayina clan.
Aonung panics, Lo’ak enjoys every second of it, and Jake Sully is about to become a grandfather whether he likes it or not.
The secret was getting harder and harder to hide.
Not just because your loincloth was starting to feel tighter around your stomach, but because of the energy. That strange tension in the air when two people think they’re being subtle… but really, everyone can tell.
And Aonung?
Aonung was making it worse.
The future Olo’eyktan of the Metkayina, who was usually confident and a little too sure of himself, had completely fallen apart. Every time Jake Sully got even a little close, Aonung would stand up straight so fast it looked painful.
“Why are you staring at the reef like that?” Tonowari asked him during a meeting, clearly confused.
“Me? Nothing, Father,” Aonung said quickly. “I was just looking at the… structure of the walkways. Very strong. Very good for… families.”
From a distance, you covered your face with your hands.
So subtle.
The disaster arrived, as disasters often do, during a celebration.
The return of the Tulkun had the entire clan gathered, fires flickering against the night, laughter echoing over the water. You sat beside your mother, trying very hard to focus on Lo’ak’s wildly exaggerated hunting story.
Unfortunately, your stomach had declared war.
The smell of grilled fish was no longer appealing. It was a threat.
Next to you, Neytiri’s ears flicked once.
A small movement, but not unnoticeable.
Her gaze shifted, briefly, toward your untouched food, then to your posture, then to your stomach.
Slow. Observant.
Knowing.
She said nothing.
Which, somehow, was worse.
Aonung, who was supposed to remain with the warriors, kept drifting toward you in slow, suspicious increments, like a predator that had abruptly forgotten how legs functioned.
From across the circle, Neteyam noticed first.
His eyes narrowed slightly, watching Aonung orbit you like a lost fish.
“I think I understand what’s happening,” he whispered.
Kiri glanced at him.
“No, you don’t.”
“I definitely do,” Spider insisted, then immediately looked away like he absolutely did not want to be part of whatever emotional storm was forming.
“Eat this,” Aonung whispered, sliding a portion of nutrient-rich liver into your bowl. “It’s good for your… general health. Very general. Extremely internal.”
Kiri, sitting nearby, went completely still.
Her head tilted slightly.
Then slowly, very slowly, she turned to look at you.
“Oh,” she breathed under her breath.
“Oh, that explains… everything.”
Spider blinked.
“Wait. What do you see. I don’t like that you all understand things at the same time.”
“Aonung,” you muttered under your breath, not even looking at him, “go away. My father is right there.”
“He cannot see us,” Aonung insisted, lowering his voice as if that made him invisible. “I am blending into the shadows.”
He was not.
Ronal, seated not far from Neytiri, had already noticed.
Her sharp gaze moved from you, to Aonung, to the careful way he hovered, the way he watched you.
Then to your stomach.
Her expression did not change much, but there was a flicker of recognition.
Understanding.
And then, very faintly, approval.
The shadows had just gained a very large, very intimidating outline.
Jake Sully stood directly behind him.
Silently.
Watching.
For a full minute, he said nothing.
He simply observed.
His daughter, attempting to hide a very obvious bump behind a leaf that had absolutely no business being that small.
And the chief’s son, hovering like a nervous reef fish, looking at her with a mix of devotion and pure survival panic.
Neteyam straightened slightly.
“…oh no.”
Kiri covered her mouth.
Lo’ak leaned forward, eyes lighting up like this was the best moment of his life.
“So,” Jake finally said, his voice low and steady in a way that felt far more dangerous than shouting, “Aonung.”
Aonung went rigid.
“You seem very interested in my daughter’s diet.”
“Sir!” Aonung snapped upright so fast he nearly fell into the fire. “Yes, sir! Nutrition is vital for members of the clan who are… busy… building organs. It’s a biological marathon.”
Lo’ak lost it.
He choked on his food, coughing and laughing at the same time.
“Oh, he’s dead. He’s actually dead.”
“Lo’ak,” Neteyam hissed, grabbing his arm.
Jake’s gaze shifted slowly downward.
Then back up.
“Building… what?”
There was a pause.
A long, terrible pause.
Kiri closed her eyes.
Neytiri exhaled slowly through her nose, like she had been waiting for this exact moment.
Ronal watched in complete silence, arms crossed, calm and unmoving as stone.
“A baby!” Aonung blurted, the words escaping like they had been physically forced out of him. “It is a baby, sir! A very respectful baby! I am certain it already has the Sully ears!”
Neteyam dropped his head into his hand.
Lo’ak made a strangled noise that was half laughter, half disbelief.
Kiri whispered, “He really said that out loud…”
You covered your face instantly.
Around you, the world seemed to hold its breath.
Jake did not yell.
Which was worse.
Neytiri’s head turned slowly toward you.
Not angry.
Not surprised.
Just intensely focused.
Then, very slightly, she smiled.
Proud. Sharp. Dangerous.
Ronal’s gaze flicked toward Neytiri, catching that expression, and returned it with the smallest nod.
A silent agreement between mothers.
Jake reached calmly for his bow, checking the string with terrifying precision, before looking back at Aonung with quiet, lethal focus.
“Aonung,” he said softly, “you have three seconds to start swimming.”
Aonung did not argue.
“Run, you idiot!” you shouted, half laughing, half horrified.
He was already moving, but just before diving, he turned for half a second, voice breaking with urgency:
“We were blessed by Eywa!”
And then he vanished into the water.
There was a beat of silence.
Jake stared at the spot where he disappeared.
Slow blink.
Behind him, Lo’ak folded in half laughing. Spider made a choking noise, half shock, half pure disbelief.
“Oh, that’s not going to help him,” Spider muttered.
Tuk tugged on Kiri’s arm, eyes wide.
“…what does that mean?” she whispered.
Kiri opened her mouth.
Closed it.
“…I’ll explain later.”
Tuk nodded very seriously, then looked back toward the water.
“…is Aonung in trouble?”
“Yes,” Lo’ak wheezed between laughs. “A lot of trouble.”
Jake exhaled once, long and controlled, then shook his head slightly.
“Eywa,” he repeated flatly.
A pause.
Then, under his breath but loud enough for everyone nearby to hear:
“Yeah. Eywa, my ass.”
At the same moment, Lo’ak jumped up, pointing toward the water.
“GO FASTER!”
“Sit down!” Neteyam pulled him back.
Jake, ignoring Neytiri’s very entertained attempt to hold him back, called for his skimwing.
Kiri leaned closer to you.
“…are you okay?” she whispered, eyes wide but gentle.
Before you could answer, Neytiri placed a hand softly on your arm.
Grounding. Steady.
“I see you,” she said quietly.
Simple.
Certain.
Ronal rose to her feet and looked once more toward the water where Aonung had disappeared.
Then back at you.
“He runs,” she said calmly. “Good. He should.”
A pause.
“But he will return.”
The night that was meant for celebration turned into something else entirely.
Across the water, Jake’s voice carried:
“You cannot hide for nine months, Aonung! We are discussing your long-term survival plan!”
Behind you, Lo’ak was still laughing.
Neteyam was still processing.
Kiri had not let go of your hand.
Neytiri stood beside you, silent and watchful, already thinking ahead.
And Ronal simply looked out at the ocean.
Waiting.
A few days later, the two families met.
It was supposed to be a calm discussion.
It wasn’t.
Jake and Tonowari sat facing each other. Tonowari looked tired. Jake looked like he was trying very hard not to lose control.
Aonung stood between them.
Wet.
Again.
“So,” Tonowari began, rubbing his temples, “my son has secretly mated with your daughter.”
“Yes,” Jake replied flatly.
“In a cave.”
“Yes.”
“And now there is a child.”
Jake’s grip tightened slightly around the knife he was sharpening.
“Our grandchild,” he corrected. “A Sully grandchild. Which means this situation is now my problem.”
Aonung swallowed.
“I am taking responsibility,” he said quickly. “I am preparing a bigger place for her. And for the baby. And I will take care of them.”
Jake looked at him carefully.
Then at Tonowari.
“Can I hit him?” Jake asked.
Tonowari sighed.
“Not today.”
Aonung looked at you for help.
You just smiled, one hand resting on your stomach.
“Do not look at me,” you said sweetly. “You’re the one who told him the baby had his ears.”
summary roxto finally gets a chance with his long time artistically talented crush, he has to prove himself while he can!
wc 5.6k
a/n now i wanna do everyone with an artisan!reader, what do yall think?? who next??
The marui of threads was a place where time didn’t move by the sun, but by the inch. Nestled high above the secondary lagoons of Awa’atlu, it was a sanctuary of rhythm.
The air here was always thick with the scent of sun-bleached sea-grass, the sharp tang of drying kelp, and the faint, sweet aroma of the oils used to preserve tidal-wood. It was a place for the patient, a place for those who could hear the songs of the ancestors in the clack of a loom.
You sat in your usual corner, the one where the light filtered through the thatched roof in long, golden needles. To the village, you were a bit of an enigma. You were Metkayina to your core—a skilled diver who could navigate the crushing pressure of the deep trenches and a swimmer whose stroke was as silent as a shadow.
But you were also the girl who preferred the company of wood and bone over the boisterous circles of the youth. You weren't unfriendly, exactly; you were simply elsewhere. Your mind was always occupied by the grain of a branch or the hidden curves within a piece of coral.
Around you, the "Grandmothers"—the elders of the weaving circle—worked with a steady, practiced ease. They treated you as one of their own, a quiet prodigy who understood that beauty required silence.
"Do not hold your breath so tightly, little reef," Saeyla murmured. She was the eldest of the group, her hands moving like lightning as she wove a heavy-duty net for the deep-sea fishers. "The wood only mimics your tension. Breathe with it."
You let out a soft huff of air, relaxing your shoulders. "It is just stubborn today, Sa’eyla. It wishes to stay a branch."
The elders laughed, a sound like shells clinking together. "Everything wants to stay what it is until it realizes what it can become," another woman, Tswaya, added. "Just like our young men. They want to stay boys until the sea demands they be warriors."
Sa’eyla paused before continuing: “You should be out at the reef. The schools of silver-fish are running. The youth are making a sport of it."
"The youth are making a noise of it," you corrected, your obsidian tool making a tiny, precise shave along the wood. "I find the reef much more peaceful when they are not trying to impress one another."
The elders laughed, a sound like dry palm fronds rustling. They knew your reputation. You were always on your own or with them— yes, you were beautiful, capable and a promising warrior, you were entirely disinterested in the posturing of the young hunters. You had a duty to your art, and you took it with a solemnity that would have made a warrior proud.
Below the marui, the village was a riot of sound—the cries of children, the low lowing of the tulkun in the distance, and the constant, rhythmic pulse of the ocean. But then, a new sound cut through the ambient noise: the frantic, heavy slapping of wet feet on the woven walkways, accompanied by a voice that was far too bright for the afternoon heat.
"Grandmother Saeyla! I have it! The net for the deep-sea haul! Tell me I am not too late, or my father will have me skinning eels until the next eclipse!"
Roxto burst into the entrance of the marui, a whirlwind of salt and unbridled energy. He was drenched, his teal skin glistening with seawater, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. He looked exactly like what he was: a boy who lived for the thrill of the hunt and the warmth of the sun.
"Quiet, you noisy pup!" Sa’eyla scolded, though her face immediately softened. "You’ll knock the beads right off our strings. The net is by the pillar, exactly where it was this morning when you forgot it."
Roxto laughed, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "I didn't forget it, I was... detained. The ilu were restless."
"The ilu were fine, you were racing Aonung," Saeyla countered.
Roxto grinned, his teeth bright against his skin. "Maybe. But I won."
He stepped further into the shaded hollow, heading toward the pillar. But as he moved, his gaze drifted away from the elders and landed on the quiet figure tucked away in the corner.
He stopped. His breath, which had been coming in short, jagged gasps, suddenly hitched in his throat.
Roxto knew who you were. In a village as tight-knit as Awa’atlu, it was impossible not to. He had seen you many times before—walking along the shore at dusk, your eyes fixed on the horizon, or diving from the high cliffs with a grace that made his heart stutter. He had seen you a thousand times, of course. Awa’atlu was a small community.
He knew your name, he knew your family, and he knew you were the one the elders praised for your "golden hands." But usually, you were something he deemed unapproachable. Your beauty to him was unparalleled, and no matter how friendly he was, or how everyone knew him— he could never find a way to talk you, let alone muster up the courage.
He had spent months wanting to speak to you. He’d practiced lines in his head while out on his ilu, imagining himself saying something clever that would make you smile— or even telling his spirit brother how he wished he could just walk up to you. But every time he got close, his resolve would evaporate like sea foam in the sun.
And seeing you now, bathed in the golden needles of light in a way that made time seem to liquefy.
You were leaning into your work, your chin tucked down, the line of your neck elegant and decorated with a fine necklace. A stray lock of dark hair had escaped your top-knot, hanging precariously over your eye.
You didn't brush it away; you were too far gone in your craft. Your tongue was caught between your teeth in a look of such intense, fierce concentration that Roxto felt a strange, sudden hitch in his lungs.
He had seen warriors look like that when facing an Akula. He had seen the Tsahìk look like that when interpreting the will of Eywa. But he had never seen a girl look like that over a piece of wood.
He watched, mesmerized, as your hand moved. It wasn't just carving; it was a dance. The obsidian blade shaved off a sliver of wood so thin it was translucent, drifting through the air like a fallen petal.
"Wow," he breathed. It was barely a whisper, a tiny exhale of pure admiration that he didn't even realize he’d let out.
Finally, Sa’eyla reached out with her foot and gave Roxto’s ankle a sharp poke.
"The net, boy! Unless you intend to stand there until you grow barnacles!"
Roxto jumped as if he’d been stung by a jellyfish, ears darting back. "I—yes! The net! I see it. I will get it."
He lunged for the net, his usual coordination failing him. He fumbled the bundle, nearly knocking over a basket of dyed fibers. His face was burning now, a deep, dark indigo flush spreading across his cheeks and the tips of his ears.
The commotion finally broke your trance. You blinked, the world of spirals and wood-grain receding as you looked up.
Your eyes, still sharp with the intensity of your work, landed directly on Roxto.
He was staring at you, clutching a heap of netting to his chest like a shield. He looked breathless, as if he had just finished a sprint across the entire island.
"Oh," you said, your voice a little airy. You hadn't realized anyone else was there. "Hello, Roxto."
You gave him a small, polite smile— a smile he had yet to see until today. For Roxto, it felt like being hit by a sneak wave.
"I... uh... hello Y/N," he managed. He wanted to say something clever. He wanted to tell you that the carving looked incredible. He wanted to ask how you could sit so still when the whole world was spinning.
Instead, he said: "The wood is white."
The grandmothers erupted. Sa’eyla nearly fell off her mat laughing. "The wood is white! Truly, a scholar among us! A poet of the Metkayina!"
Roxto wanted the floor to open up and swallow him into the deepest of the trenches Eywa had blessed this land with. He squeezed the net tighter, his tail simply dropped in mortification.
You, however, didn't laugh— a little the shake of your head sure but you looked down at the piece in your lap and then back at him, your expression ever so slightly softening. You saw the way his eyes were darting around, the genuine embarrassment written in every line of his body.
"It is," you said gently, unintentionally coming to his rescue. "It’s tidal-wood. It takes the sun's light and keeps it."
Roxto felt his heart do a strange, clumsy flip. You had spoken to him. Not just a greeting, but a real thought. Your voice was like the calm water inside the reef’s own lagoon—smooth and cool.
"It looks like you," he blurted out, once again.
But this time room went dead silent, even your ears flickered forward at his words, lips parting with confusion. Even Sa’eyla stopped laughing.
Roxto’s eyes went wide. He hadn't meant to say that. He hadn't even planned the thought. It had just escaped. "I mean! The... the detail. It’s... strong. It looks strong. Like you... I mean, your work! Your work is strong!"
He was digging a hole so deep he might find the core of Pandora.
You felt a warmth creep up your own neck, ears darting back. No one usually talked to you like that. Most people admired your work, but they spoke to you as if you were only an extension of the tools you held.
"Thank you, Roxto," you whispered, eyes looking any direction but at him.
He stepped closer, drawn to your orbit like a moon to a planet. He forgot about the net as his hands dropped to his side, said net now dangling loosely. He forgot about his father. He forgot about the eels.
"That's, uhh— a lot of work for a branch," he said. He tried to sound casual, but his voice had a slight tremor to it, a crack in his usual bravado.
You hummed, looking back down into your lap. Your obsidian tool continued its slow, rhythmic journey along the wood. "It isn't a branch. It is a story."
It wasn't mean; it was just a statement of fact. You were trying to focus back on your craft, and he was becoming a distraction.
Roxto felt a flush of dark indigo heat rise to the tips of his ears. He fighting his inner excitement as he spoke to you. "A story? It looks like a fish to me. A very... stiff fish."
You paused. The tool stopped moving. You didn't look up yet, but the air around you seemed to grow a little colder. "It is stiff because it is not finished. Movement is the hardest thing to capture in something that does not breathe."
"I know a thing or two about movement," Roxto said, regaining some of his footing. He leaned against a nearby support pillar, trying to look comfortable even though his heart was hammering against his ribs. "I spend all day in the water. If you want to see how a fish moves, you should be out there, not in here with the dust."
Finally, you lifted your head.
Your eyes met his. They were once again clear, analytical, and devastatingly calm. You looked at him not as a peer, or a hunter, or even as a boy, but as an object of study. You noted the salt on his skin, the dampness of his hair, and the way he was leaning—measuring him the same way you measured a piece of timber.
"I am a skilled diver, Roxto," you said, your voice still calm. "I know how the water moves. I choose to be here because the current is fleeting. This," you gestured to the wood, "remains."
Roxto felt the weight of your gaze. It was like being submerged in a cold current—it took the breath right out of him once again.
He had always thought you were pretty, but up close, with that intense, focused fire in your eyes, you were breathtaking. He felt a sudden, desperate need to prove himself to you, to show you that he wasn't just a "noisy pup."
"I know who you are," he said softly, his playful tone dropping into something more honest. "I've seen you dive at the Spirit Tree. You stay down longer than anyone. I have always wondered why you didn't join the practice hunts."
You looked back down at your work, the brief connection severed. "The hunts are loud. They are for the stomach. This is for the soul. One does not need a crowd to speak to Eywa."
"I guess not," Roxto murmured. He stood there for a moment, watching the way the light played off your hands. He felt a strange ache in his chest—a mixture of awe and a sudden, sharp longing.
He had wanted to talk to you for so long, and now that he was here, he realized that a few clever words wouldn't be enough to bridge the gap between your world and his.
"Roxto!" Saeyla barked, breaking the spell. "The net! Or I will tell your father you spent the afternoon staring at the wall!"
Roxto jumped, his tail flicking in embarrassment. "I—yes! The net! I'm going!"
He grabbed the bundle of hemp, but he didn't move immediately. He took one last look at you—at the way you leaned back into your work, at the way the lock of hair fell over your eye. You hadn't looked back up. You were already gone, lost back into the grain of the wood.
As he walked out of the marui, his feet felt heavier than they had when he arrived. He felt like he had touched something rare and beautiful, and he wasn't ready to let go of the feeling.
Behind him, Sa’eyla watched him go with a knowing smirk. "The boy is hooked," she whispered to Tswaya. "I’ll bet you my finest sea glass he will be returning sooner than needed"
"I’d rather not lose my seaglass Sa’eyla," Tswaya chuckled before continuing "i know that scene from a mile away."
You didn't hear them. You were focused on the wood, but for the first time in a long time, the silence of the marui felt a little different. It felt like it was waiting for something. You made a cut, a perfect, curving line, and for a fleeting second, you thought of the boy with the salt on his skin and the way his eyes had widened when you looked at him.
He was noisy, yes. He was distracting. But for a hunter, he had a very quiet way of looking at things.
You pushed the thought away, returning to the wood.
The following morning, the marui of threads was bathed in a hazy, ethereal light. The sun was just beginning to climb over the distant cliffs of the archipelago, casting long, bruised shadows of indigo and violet across the woven floors. The air was cool, carrying the dewy scent of the jungle behind the village mixed with the sharp, waking tang of the salt spray.
You were in your alcove before the first hunters had even mounted their ilu. Your hands, usually so sure and steady, were currently resting idle on your knees. In front of you lay the tidal-wood fish—the one Roxto had so clumsily called "stiff." You hated that he was right.
No matter how many times you adjusted the angle of your blade or how carefully you mapped out the interlocking spirals of the fins, the wood remained wood. It lacked the spirit of the water. It lacked that sudden, violent snap of life that occurred when a fish turned on a dime to escape a predator.
You were stuck. For an artisan of your caliber, a mental block was more than a frustration; it was a crisis of identity. You stared at the wood until the grain began to blur, your brow furrowing into a deep, frustrated line.
The rhythmic thwack-clack of Sa’eyla’s loom began behind you. The elders were arriving, settling into their spots with the ease of ancient sea turtles.
"The fish still refuses to swim?" Sa’eyla asked, her voice dry but not unkind.
"It is a stone in the shape of a fish," you muttered, your voice tight. "It has no soul."
"Perhaps you are looking for the soul in the wrong place," Tswaya added, setting down a basket of dyed fibers. "You look at the wood as a master looks at a servant. Maybe you should look at it as a partner."
You didn't answer. You felt too irritated to decipher her elder knowledge, instead youou picked up your obsidian blade, turning it over in your hand, but you didn't make a cut. You didn't want to ruin the piece with a movement born of irritation.
The peaceful atmosphere was suddenly altered—not by a loud crash this time, but by a presence. The air in the marui seemed to shift, a subtle change in pressure that made the fine hairs on your neck stand up.
A low, melodic whistle drifted through the air. You didn't have to look up to know it was Sa’eyla. She had seen him first.
Roxto entered the marui. This time, there was no splashing, no shouting, and no frantic excuses. He moved with a quiet, deliberate grace that felt entirely out of character for the boy who had fumbled a net only twenty-four hours prior.
He was still damp from the morning surf, his teal skin glowing with a healthy, vibrant sheen, but his energy was contained. He looked like a hunter stalking something fragile.
He paused at the entrance, offering a respectful, silent nod to the grandmothers. He didn't say a word to them, his gaze already sweeping the room until it locked onto your corner.
He began to walk toward you. Every footfall on the woven floor was muffled, yet to your ears, they sounded like drumbeats. He stopped a respectful distance away, kneeling on the mat with a slow, controlled movement.
"Good morning, Grandmothers," he finally said, his voice surprisingly soft. Then, his eyes shifted to you, and that familiar, wide-eyed wonder returned, though it was tempered by a new, focused shyness. "Hello, Y/N."
"Hello, Roxto," you replied. You kept your voice as even as possible, but you could feel the elders watching you like hawks. You didn't look at him directly, instead focusing on the way the light caught the water droplets still clinging to his collarbone. "You are quiet today. Did the waves finally tire you out?"
Roxto gave a small, lopsided smile—one that didn't reach for a joke, but seemed to settle for a shared secret. "Not the waves. Aonung. We were practicing close-quarters defense near the reef pillars. That skxawng... he’s as stubborn as a shark-glider."
He reached for his belt and pulled out a hunting knife. It was a sturdy piece, but the blade was slightly misaligned from the hilt, and a jagged, ugly crack ran through the bone where it met the grip.
"He hit it against a rock during a parry," Roxto explained, holding the weapon out toward you. He looked genuinely saddened by the damage. "He says I should just carve a new one, but this was my father’s before it was mine. I thought... well, I hoped you might be able to heal it."
You reached out, your fingers brushing against his as you took the knife. His skin was warm, a sharp contrast to the cool morning air. You inspected the damage with a professional eye, feeling the weight and the balance.
"He hit it with a great deal of force," you noted, your artisan’s brain beginning to calculate the repair. "The bone is deep-sea marrow. It’s strong, but brittle under high impact. I can fix it, but it will require resin and a steady hand."
"I trust your hands more than any in the village," Roxto said. The honesty in his voice was disarming. He didn't say it like a flirtation; he said it as a simple, undeniable truth.
You felt a warmth creep up your neck, and you quickly reached for your kit to hide it. "Sit," you commanded softly. "It will take time for the resin to set."
Roxto didn't need to be told twice. He settled into a cross-legged position across from you, his tail curled neatly behind him. For a long time, the only sound was the scraping of your tool as you cleaned the crack in the bone. Roxto didn't speak. He just watched.
Usually, the presence of others while you worked felt like an intrusion, a layer of static that interfered with your connection to the material.
But Roxto’s presence was different. He was like the tide—constant, rhythmic, and strangely grounding. He sat with a wide curiosity in his eyes, his head tilted slightly as he watched you mix the thick, translucent resin with ground shell powder.
"Does it hurt the wood?" he asked suddenly.
You paused, a dollop of resin on the end of a fine needle. "What?"
"The wood. The bone. When you cut into it," he clarified, gesturing to your tools. "You talk about them like they’re stories. I wondered if they feel you changing them."
You looked at him, truly looked at him, and saw that he wasn't joking. "They don't feel pain, Roxto. But they have a will. If you fight that will, they break. If you listen to it, they transform. I am just... the interpreter."
Roxto nodded slowly, as if processing a profound piece of philosophy. "I think I do that with the ilu. If I try to force them to turn, they buck. But if I just... think the turn, and let them feel it, we move together."
"Exactly," you whispered, returning to the knife.
The conversation drifted into the small, quiet spaces between your movements. You found yourself telling him about the different types of resin—which ones were for strength and which were for flexibility.
He told you about the way he tracked game in the sea, and how the bioluminescence of the coral was usually a big indicator of how powerful of a creature lived there.
He was a good listener. He didn't interrupt; he just absorbed everything you said with that same intense focus you usually reserved for your carvings. It was a strange feeling—being the object of someone’s absolute attention.
As you began the delicate process of binding the hilt with fresh aquatic fiber, Roxto’s eyes wandered to the side, landing on the unfinished tidal-wood fish resting on your mat.
His expression shifted from curiosity to concern. He looked at the fish, then at you, noting the tension in your jaw that you hadn't even realized you were holding.
"What's up with that one?" he asked, nodding toward the carving. "It’s been in the same spot since yesterday. Usually, your hands don't stop moving."
You sighed, the frustration of the morning rushing back. You set the knife down for a moment, the resin still tacky.
"It’s a commission for the tsahik in her teachings. But it’s wrong. It’s exactly what you said it was—stiff. I want it to look like it’s darting through the currents, but every time I try to carve the motion, the wood stays flat. It’s a mental block. I can see the fish in my head, but my hands... they’ve forgotten how the water feels."
You looked down at your palms, feeling a sudden, rare sense of vulnerability. "I spend so much time in here, Roxto. I think I’ve started to treat the ocean as a memory instead of a living thing."
Roxto didn't laugh. He didn't make a joke about you being "Ice." He looked at the carving with a deep, contemplative frown, his tail giving a slow, thoughtful flick.
"You're trying to carve the fish," he said finally.
"Of course I am," you replied, a bit of your old coolness returning. "What else would I be carving?"
"No," Roxto said, his eyes brightening as a thought took hold. He leaned forward, his energy beginning to bubble up again, though he kept his voice low so as not to disturb the grandmothers. "That's the problem. You're trying to carve the shape of a fish. But a fish isn't just a shape. It’s a reaction. It’s the way the water pushes against the scales and the way the fins fight the current."
He looked at you, his grin growing wider, more confident. He looked like he had just discovered a new island.
"You need to see it," he said. "Not as a memory. You need to feel the push and the pull. You need to see how the light breaks over the fins when they’re actually moving, not just when you’re thinking about them."
He stood up, his excitement now too great to keep him seated. He looked down at you, his teal skin practically vibrating with a new mission.
"I have an idea," he said, his voice full of a sudden, infectious certainty. "Actually... I have the perfect idea."
You looked up at him, the unfinished knife in your lap and the "stiff" fish at your side, feeling a sudden, fluttering anticipation in your chest that you couldn't quite explain.
"Roxto?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.
He just beamed at you and threw a “thumbs” up— a quick movement that made your heart skip a beat. "Just finish my knife, Y/N. I'll be back. And tomorrow... tomorrow, I’m going to show you how to make that wood breathe."
The moment Roxto vanished, the marui of threads seemed to lose half its light. You sat perfectly still, your obsidian tool hovering inches above the tidal-wood, staring at the empty triangular doorway where he had been just seconds before.
The confused expression on your face must have been quite the sight, because a sharp, rhythmic sh-sh-sh sound started up behind you—the sound of the grandmothers trying to hide their snickering behind their weaving shuttles.
"Confused, little fin?" Sa’eyla asked, not even bothering to look up. "He is a boy of the tides. When they get an idea, it is best to simply hold on to your ilu."
You didn't answer. You looked down at his father’s knife, the resin now beginning to bond the bone hilt back into its rightful place. It felt heavier than it had before.
You spent the rest of the afternoon in a daze, the "mental block" on your fish carving still firmly in place, but your mind was elsewhere, replaying the way his eyes had brightened when he said he had a plan.
The next morning, the sun hadn't even fully cleared the horizon before a shadow fell across the entrance of your family’s pod.
"Y/N! Are you awake? The tide is waiting!"
You emerged, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, to find Roxto practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. He looked like he hadn't slept a wink, his teal skin glowing with an almost manic level of excitement.
"Do you have it? The fish? And the knife?" he asked breathlessly.
You nodded, holding up your satchel. You hadn't even had time to tie your hair up, the curly locks falling over your shoulders. Without another word, he grabbed your wrist—his hand warm and rough—and led you away from the village.
He took you to the eastern spit, a place where the reef met the open sea in a series of shallow, crystal-clear tide pools protected by towering limestone pillars. The water here was so still it looked like a sheet of turquoise glass.
"Look," Roxto whispered, his voice dropping as if he were showing you a secret grotto of Eywa herself.
In the center of the largest pool, Roxto had staked several fine-mesh nets into the sandy floor, creating a series of underwater pens. And inside? It was a riot of motion.
He had caught dozens of fish—iridescent fan-tails, needle-fish with their sharp, silver snouts, and even a few of the rare glow-fins that usually stayed in the deeper channels.
He stood at the edge of the water, his chest puffed out just a little, his tail giving a proud, rhythmic sweep behind him. He looked at the nets, then back at you, his eyes wide and searching, practically begging for your reaction. He looked so incredibly proud of himself—like a young hunter bringing home his first catch.
You stepped onto a flat, sun-warmed rock that sat barely an inch above the surface of the pool. As you looked down, the "Ice" didn't just melt; it shattered. The fish were darting, weaving, and snapping in the exact way you had been trying to imagine.
"Roxto..." you breathed, your voice soft with genuine wonder. You looked up at him, and for the first time, a full, radiant smile spread across your face—not the polite, distant one from the marui, but a warm, brilliant expression that made your eyes crinkle. "You did all this? Since I saw you yesterday?"
"I went out before the eclipse," he admitted, his grin turning sheepish but staying just as wide. "I wanted you to see the real snap of the tail. Not a memory."
"Thank you," you said, and the sincerity in your voice made his ears give a happy, frantic twitch. "Truly, Roxto. This is... it's the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for my work."
Roxto looked like he might actually float away. "Well, you know. I couldn't have the village's best artisan stuck on a 'stiff' fish. It would be a tragedy."
"Sit! Sit here," he commanded, gesturing to the rock.
The rest of the morning was a kind of new peace you hadn't known you were missing. You sat on your rock, your carving tools spread out and feet swishing in the cool water while Roxto stayed in the pools. He didn't just watch; he became your live-action reference library.
"Okay, look at this one!" Roxto laughed, plunging his hands into a net and emerging with a vibrant fan-tail.
The fish wriggled frantically, its fins flapping like wet silk. Roxto waded closer, his knees bumping against your rock, holding his cupped hands up so they were level with your face.
"See how the spine curves right at the base of the tail?" he pointed out, his wet finger tracing a line in the air. "It’s not a straight line, Y/N. It’s like a spring!"
You leaned forward, your face inches from his hands—and his chest. You could smell the salt on him, the scent of the deep ocean mixed with the warmth of the sun. You watched the fish, then immediately made a sharp, aggressive cut into your wood.
"Yes, I see it now Roxto" you chirped, your usual clinical tone replaced by more a bubbly excitement.
Every few minutes, Roxto would find a new species to show you. He was in his element—splashing, laughing, and constantly checking to see if you were watching. When a needle-fish managed to slip through his fingers and slap him across the nose with its tail before disappearing back into the net, you let out a genuine, melodic laugh that made Roxto freeze in the water.
He stood there, dripping wet, a look of absolute doting adoration on his face as he watched you laugh.
"What?" you asked, wiping a stray drop of water from your cheek.
"Nothing," he said, his voice unusually soft, his smile turning into something tender. "I just like that sound. I think the fish like it too."
You felt the blush return, but this time you didn't look away. You reached for the bone knife—his father’s knife—which was now perfectly fixed, the resin clear and the hilt stronger than ever.
"Here," you said, handing it to him over the water. "It is healed."
He took it, his wet fingers lingering against yours. He didn't even look at the knife; he kept his eyes on you. "Thanks, Y/N. For everything."
You turned back to your carving, the wood finally beginning to "breathe" under your hands. Roxto stayed in the pool, leaning his arms against the edge of your rock, watching you work with a quiet, happy sigh. But you paused, and his ears swivels forward as he straightened himself— no longer leaning against the rock.
“Is something the matter?” He asked with a tilt of his head, his wet curls falling with the movement. But his lips parted when you looked at him and placed your hand on his own—bringing it closer to your chest.
“I see you, Roxto.” You spoke, tilting your own head to look up at him— causing the sunlight to perfectly hit your irises and your loose hair falling around your shoulders. stealing the breath from his lungs once again.
“I see you, Y/N.” He replied, squeezing your hand as he smiled down at you.
The distance you kept everyone at was replaced by the warmth of a morning spent between the sun, the sea, and a boy who had decided to bring the whole ocean to your feet just to see you smile.
summary aonung has been courting you, but you’re a little oblivious to the fact.
Pairing aonung x Metkayina!reader
wc 7.2k
a/n hi guys, if I haven’t done your request by now I’m probably just really not able to write it. I get writers block so bad. But feel free to send in different ones! I love your ideas and inspiration
The sky had deepened into a bruised plum color, the vast expanse above bleeding from the burning orange of an eclipse sunset into the cool, velvety indigo of true night. Around your thighs, the bioluminescence of the shore was beginning to wake up, greeting the darkness in tiny, flickering pulses of neon blue beneath the surface. The tide was low, revealing the skeleton of the reef—a labyrinth of coral and sandbars that usually lay hidden beneath the turquoise waves.
You shifted the weight of your woven basket, resting it firmly against the curve of your hip as you waded through the knee-deep water. The woven palm fronds dug slightly into your skin, damp and rough, but the weight was satisfying. It was a physical promise of the hours of creation ahead; a heavy basket meant a busy night at the loom, crushing shells for pigment and threading beads for the clan’s ceremonial sashes.
A few yards away, the soft splashing of water broke the rhythmic lapping of the tide. Lo’ak and Tsireya were lost in their own world, a bubble of laughter and shy touches that seemed impenetrable to the outside world. Lo’ak was submerged to his waist, his tail splashing playfully behind him as he ducked down, his movements unrefined but enthusiastic, to scoop up a handful of polished stones.
"For you," he mumbled, his ears flushing a dark violet as he offered them to her.
Tsireya giggled, the sound like the wind chimes her mother once strung around awa’atlu, and their heads leaned close together as he showed her his finds. It was a common sight now; since they’d started courting, Lo’ak had become a permanent fixture at Tsireya’s side. By extension, Aonung had stopped trying to drown him, or at the very least, had ceased his active antagonism. In fact, they moved with a comfortable, brotherly ease now—a mix of teasing and begrudging respect that made the evenings in Awa’atlu feel peaceful.
"Found another one!" you chirped, spotting a flash of cream-colored calcium beneath a sharp ledge of brain coral.
You bent over, your focus narrowing on the prize. It was distinct against the darker sand, a spiral of pure white that would grind down into a perfect, snowy paste for dye. As you leaned down, the water rippling around your waist, your thick curls tumbled forward. Gravity pulled the heavy, damp ringlets over your shoulders, obscuring your vision and sticking to your cheeks.
With a practiced, absent-minded flick of your wrist, you tossed the damp mass back over your shoulder. The beads braided into your hair—tiny pieces of shell and wood—clacked softly against one another, a musical accompaniment to your labor.
You didn't notice Aonung standing just a few feet away, his movements going perfectly still.
He had been pacing the perimeter of the sandbar, ostensibly keeping watch for akula or merely patrolling his territory, but in truth, he had been circling you. Now, he froze. He was watching the way the seawater droplets clung to your skin, shimmering like liquid crystals against your patterned teal skin. He watched the concentrated line of your brow, the tip of your tongue just barely poking out between your teeth in focus, and the way your eyes—wide and bright with genuine wonder—lit up as you pulled the small, fluted shell from the sand.
To the rest of the clan, you were a diligent worker, a kind soul. To him, in this quiet moment between day and night, you looked perfectly in your element—a pretty girl collecting pretty things, entirely unaware of how the starlight caught the curve of your collarbone.
Your head turned toward the figure looming a little ways away. Your eyes unexpectedly landed on Aonung, and a confused expression took over your features. He usually spent this time of day sharpening his spear or boasting with his friends by the fire. You wondered what he was doing here, standing so silently in the shallows, but deciding not to press, you simply waved at him.
Your inviting demeanor was one of his favorite things about you, though he would sooner die than admit it out loud. You never let anyone in the clan feel left out or less than. You were loyal to your people, a healer of spirits if not of bodies, always trying your hardest to make sure everyone was doing well.
"Look at the ridges on this, Aonung," you said, breaking the silence as you lifted the shell up toward him.
You took a step closer, water swirling around your thighs. Your eyes were wide, sparkling with that infectious excitement you only got when you found a new treasure for your art. "The symmetry is perfect. Eywa really was showing off when she made this one."
Aonung stared at the shell, forcing his eyes to focus on the calcium spiral rather than the water dripping from your curls, and gliding over your ceremonial tattoo. Then, against his will, his gaze drifted up to your face. He felt that familiar tight pull in his chest—a mixture of suffocating pride and a desperate, surging need to be the reason that look stayed on your face. He wanted to be the source of that wonder, not a dead piece of calcium.
"It is... adequate," he managed to say, his voice a bit deeper than usual, rough like gravel rolling in the surf.
He felt foolish the moment the words left his lips. Adequate? It was a beautiful find. But his defenses were high, a wall built of teenage bravado and the terrifying vulnerability of a first love. He didn't wait for you to respond. He turned abruptly and effortlessly dove, his powerful tail kicking up a spray of glowing foam that misted the air between you.
You simply hummed with a small tilt of your head, unbothered by his stoicism. You dropped the shell into your basket, the clack of it joining the others, and watched his figure disappear into the darkening water.
Unbeknownst to you, underneath the surface, Aonung was on a mission.
The water was cooler here, silent save for the rush of the current. His bioluminescent spots glowed brightly in the dim depths, marking his path like a constellation. He swam past the easy finds—the common cowries and the drift-wood that Lo’ak was content finding in the shallows for his little sister. That was child's play. That was easy.
Aonung wanted the deeper parts of the reef. He wanted the places where the current was often unpredictable, where the pressure built against his ears, but where the rewards were unparalleled. He kicked harder, propelling himself toward a jagged drop-off where the coral grew thick and ancient. He scanned the crevices, his eyes adjusting to the gloom, hunting. He needed something that spoke of effort. Something that said, I went where others could not, just for you.
When he surfaced minutes later, he didn't just walk over and drop his finds into your basket. He waited. He treaded water, watching you scan the shoreline, waiting until you were standing still with that contemplative look on your face. He watched the way you bit your lower lip as you decided where to step next, your tail swaying in the water behind you for balance.
Only then did he move. He walked right into your space, dripping wet, the rising heat of his body radiating through the cool evening air. He stopped mere inches from you, close enough that you had to crane your neck slightly to look him in the eye.
"The shallows only give you what the ocean is tired of holding," he said softly, his voice low and intimate.
He reached out, his large hand hovering over your basket. He placed a cluster of small shells onto the pile of your woven treasures. They were heavy, distinct—a deep, blood-red color, their surfaces smooth as glass but thick and sturdy. They looked like they could withstand a storm, or a thousand years of tides.
You gasped, your fingers immediately abandoning your own basket rim to ghost over them.
"Aonung... these are beautiful," you whispered, the breath leaving your lungs. You looked up at him through your lashes, eyes wide. "The color... I’ve never seen this shade before. I can use the pigment from the broken ones to dye my thread the color of the eclipse sun. How did you find so many?"
You smiled, your ears swiveling back in delight as you felt your heart thump at the gesture. The realization hit you suddenly—he was so close. His broad frame towered over you, blocking out the view of the distant village fires, encompassing your entire world in that moment. You could practically trace every line of his tattoo that streamed from where his brow met his nose, to the right side of his face.
Aonung felt a swell of triumph so potent it nearly made him dizzy. He noticed the way you looked at the shells—with reverence and joy—and he silently vowed to empty the entire ocean floor, to fight an akula with his bare hands, if it meant you’d keep looking at him with those wide, appreciative eyes.
"I know where the hidden pockets are," he said, clearing his throat and trying to sound nonchalant.
He crossed his arms over his chest, though his own heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. A smirk grew on his lips, that familiar teasing glint appearing in his eyes as he narrowed them. He did a dramatic look away toward the other couple, shrugging his shoulders. "Lo’ak and Tsireya are happy with the scraps. I thought you might want something... more."
You gasped, your ears swiveling back, and you slapped his bicep playfully. The muscle under your hand was hard as rock, and wet skin slick against your palm. A small giggle of shock fell past your lips.
"Do not be mean, Aonung," you chided, though there was no heat in it. "But... thank you. Thank you for being so helpful today."
You gave him a bright, blinding smile, one that crinkled the corners of your eyes, before happily going back to your searching. You adjusted the basket, treating his contribution like gold, and bent down again to inspect the sand closely.
Predictably, your curls fell forward again.
Aonung stood rooted to the spot. Once more, you huffed softly and flipped them back with that graceful, unconscious toss of your head. Aonung watched the movement, his hands twitching at his sides. His fingers curled into fists. He wanted so badly to reach out. He wanted to be the one to tuck those wayward curls behind your ear. He wanted to be the one to carry the basket that was clearly getting too heavy to rest on your hip. He wanted to do everything for you, and the intensity of the desire was terrifying.
"Hey! Y/N! Aonung! Check this out!"
The shout broke the spell. Lo’ak was waving his arms frantically from a tidal pool a twenty meters away. He was holding up a bright orange sea star, visibly dry— either a shed or it simply died before it could make it back to the water. "It’s huge!"
Aonung looked at Lo’ak, his jaw tightening. Then he looked back at you.
He saw you laugh at Lo’ak’s find, your attention shifting entirely to the forest boy. "That’s amazing, Lo’ak! It will make a great center for a chest piece!" you called, your voice light and affectionate.
A sudden, sharp spark of jealousy—not of Lo’ak as a rival, but of the attention you were giving the sea star—flared in Aonung’s chest. It burned hot and fast. A starfish? Anyone could find a starfish. A starfish was nothing.
He didn't say a word. He didn't acknowledge Lo'ak's shout. He just turned and dove again, slashing into the water with more force than necessary. He went deeper this time, past the red shells, past the coral ridge. He was determined to find something so magnificent, so rare, that you wouldn't be able to look at Lo'ak, or the stars, or anything else for the rest of the night.
You laughed softly at his sudden departure, shaking your head. "He is so competitive," you murmured to yourself, amused by his antics. To you, it was just boys being boys, trying to outdo one another in speed and skill.
As the time passed, the moon rose higher, casting a silver sheen over the water. Your basket grew heavier, forcing you to switch hips frequently. You shifted the weight of Aonung's growing pile of treasures—he had returned three more times, each time with something more impressive: a piece of obsidian glass, a pearl still inside the oyster, and a branch of coral that looked like frozen lightning.
Finally, Tsireya waded over to you, Lo'ak trailing behind her like a happy puppy.
"Your brother is in such a good mood today, isn't he?" you said, wiping the sand from your hands as you turned to Tsireya. You gestured to the waterline where Aonung was currently surfacing, holding something that glowed faintly purple in his hands. "It's so nice of him to help me collect materials. Usually, he says weaving is boring work."
Tsireya froze. She looked at the rare, aesthetic hoard in your basket—materials that would have taken days to find in the shallows. She looked at the blood-red shells that required a dangerous dive into the trench.
Then, she looked out at the water. She saw her brother, the future Olo'eyktan, usually so proud and aloof, practically vibrating with the hope that you would like his latest offering. He was looking at you with an expression so open, so full of longing, that it was almost painful to witness.
Finally, she looked back at your sweet, oblivious face. You were smiling, genuinely believing Aonung was just being a dutiful clan member.
Tsireya let out a long, slow sigh, shaking her head.
"Yes, Ma tsmuke," Tsireya murmured, a pitying smile on her lips as she patted your arm. "Extremely... 'nice.'"
The following week dissolved into a blur of turquoise water and sun-bleached moments, defined less by your daily chores and more by the sudden, omnipresent gravity of the chief’s son. It was as if he had developed a sixth sense for your whereabouts, appearing whenever you were just starting to feel relaxed.
He appeared at random, unpredictable hours, disrupting the rhythm of your day with the chaotic energy of a storm tide. If you were mending nets by the docks, his shadow would suddenly fall over your work, his hands "accidentally" brushing yours as he offered to help with a knot you perfectly understood how to tie. If you were having a quiet meal, he would drift by, dropping a fresh fruit onto your woven mat without a word, only a smirk that lingered long after he had walked away.
But it was the afternoons beneath the water that became his favorite hunting ground.
You were deep underwater, the sunlight filtering down in shimmering "god-rays" that danced across the sandy floor, riding ilus with the Sully children and Tsireya. Down here, the world was silent save for the muffled clicks of the sea life and the rhythmic beat of your own heart.
You were all gliding through a forest of giant sea fans, the Sullys struggling a bit with their breathing rhythms while Tsireya moved with the effortless grace of a creature born of the current. You were focused on your own mount, adjusting your grip on the neural bond, when a large, dark shadow swept over you.
Aonung appeared right beside you, his ilu banking sharply to match your speed. In the turquoise gloom, his bioluminescent dots glowed like a map of the stars. He caught your eye and flashed a wide, shit-eating grin that sent a jolt through your chest. He didn't say a word—he didn't have to. He simply raised a hand, signing one sharp, challenging word:
“Race?”
You didn't even wait to signal the others. You leaned flat against the ilu’s neck, and the two of you went full throttle.
The pressure of the water increased as you accelerated, the reef becoming a blur of neon streaks. You pushed through the resistance, your tail acting as a secondary rudder, feeling the raw power of the ocean rushing past your skin. You and Aonung were neck-and-neck, weaving through coral arches and tight rock formations, completely dusting your friends. By the time you looped around the massive sea-wall and tore back toward the shore, the rest of the group was nothing but distant, tiny specks in the blue.
As the water turned from deep indigo to the pale, sun-drenched teal of the shallows, you both breached the surface simultaneously.
You gasped for air, the transition from the silent depths to the crashing sound of the waves making your head spin for a moment. Aonung popped up just inches away. He was desperately trying to play it cool, smoothing his hair back with both hands, but he couldn't hide the heavy, ragged heave of his chest. The race had pushed him just as hard as it had pushed you.
In the heat of the moment, your eyes betrayed you.
Instead of looking at the horizon or checking on the others, your gaze drifted. It started at his soaked hair, which was plastered to his forehead, then traced the dark, intricate tattoos that marked his face as a future leader. Your eyes lingered on his broadening shoulders and the powerful swell of his chest, following the lines of his body down to his core. His abs were defined and tense from the exertion, partially obscured by a beautifully woven chest piece that slung around his shoulders—a piece you knew he’d spent time choosing.
Aonung went still. He caught you staring, the exhaustion in his eyes instantly replaced by a predatory, playful spark. His ears flickered once, twice, and then that arrogant, knowing grin returned.
“My eyes are up here, ma txe’lan,” he teased.
His voice was a low, honeyed rumble that cut through the sound of the surf. You felt the blood rush to your face instantly, your ears flattening in pure mortification as your eyes shot back up to meet his. He watched your panic with absolute delight, his smile growing wider as he realized exactly how much of an effect he was having on you.
You quickly regained your composure, holding your head high as you huffed at him, trying to summon every ounce of dignity you had left while your face still burned a vivid shade of violet.
“I was simply observing the weaving!” you shot back, splashing a handful of water toward him to distract from your blush. “I helped make that piece, y’know? I was checking to see if you’d managed to fray the edges already with your... recklessness.”
Aonung didn’t flinch at the water; he leaned into it, his grin only sharpening. He looked down at the woven leather and shell-work crossing his chest, then back at you, his eyes hooded and dark with mischief.
"Ah, so it was a professional inspection then?" he asked, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. He began to paddle his ilu closer, the creature’s wet skin squeaking against yours as he closed the gap. "Tell me, weaver, did the 'work' meet your standards? Or do you need to get closer to check the... structural integrity?"
He was so close now that you could feel the heat radiating off his skin, a stark contrast to the cool ocean mist clinging to your shoulders. The playful arrogance in his posture was infuriating, mostly because it was working.
"The work is fine," you managed to say, though your voice lacked its usual bite. "The wearer, however, is being a nuisance."
"A nuisance?" Aonung laughed, the sound deep and genuine. He reached up, his large hand lingering near the strap of the chest piece, right over the fastening thrum of his heart. "And here I thought I was being helpful, giving you a chance to admire your handiwork in action. Most artists would be grateful for such a... fine canvas."
He flexed his shoulder slightly, making the shells on the strap clack together—the very shells he had dived into the deep reef to find for you just a week prior. It was a silent reminder of the effort he was putting in, a hidden thread of vulnerability beneath his teasing— and unbeknownst to you, he’d chosen that piece because he recognized your work.
Before you could think of a witty retort, the sound of chattering ilus and splashing water announced the arrival of the others.
"Finally!" Lo’ak’s voice boomed as he surfaced a few yards away, his expression a mix of annoyance and awe. "What was that? You guys took off like you had an akula on your tails!"
Tsireya pulled up beside him, her eyes darting between your flushed face and Aonung’s smug expression. She didn't miss the way her brother was lingering in your personal space, or the way your tail was twitching nervously beneath the surface. A knowing, slightly weary smile touched her lips.
"Aonung, stop pestering her," Tsireya chided gently, though there was a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. "She came out here to enjoy the water, not to be run ragged by your ego."
"I was merely testing her speed, sister," Aonung said, finally pulling his mount back a few inches, though he kept his gaze locked on yours. "And it seems she is almost as fast as I am. Almost."
He winked at you—a quick, daring movement that felt like a secret shared in front of everyone—before turning his ilu to join the group.
The afternoon that followed was shared between the both of you.
The sun, a bloated orb of fire, dipped toward the horizon, bleeding amber and gold into the turquoise waters of the reef. In the weavers' pavilion, the air was thick with the scent of dried sea grass, crushed minerals, and the faint, sweet aroma of the incense the elders burned to honor the Great Mother.
You sat nestled in your usual spot, your legs tucked beneath you. This was your sanctuary. While the others were out hunting or practicing with their spears, you found a different kind of power in the loom. There was a rhythm to it—a heartbeat in the clack-clack of the wood and the sliding of the shuttle.
You were surrounded by the elders of the clan, women whose hands were stained with dye and whose skin was etched with the deep, storied lines of many seasons. You loved their company; they didn't care about the petty dramas of the teenagers or the posturing of the hunters. They spoke of the ancestors, of the flow of Eywa, and today, they were particularly interested in your recent progress.
"Your thread is becoming stronger, little one," Ti’miria, the eldest among them, remarked as she peered over her spectacles made of polished translucent shell. "And your eye for color is improving."
You beamed, dipping a bundle of fibers into a bowl of fixative. "Thank you, Ti’miria. I’ve been trying a new technique for the binding." you watched a her eyes wandered to your material basket.
"You have been blessed by the tides, little one," Saeyla remarked, her voice like crinkling parchment. She gestured with a gnarled, dye-stained finger toward the cluster of deep, blood-red shells resting atop your fibers. "Those are not found by mere luck. They cling to the undersides of the jagged rocks where the currents are strong enough to rip a weak swimmer from the reef."
You flushed, reaching down to pick one up. It felt heavy and cool, its surface polished by the violence of the ocean. "I didn't find them," you said, your voice softening. "Aonung went to get them for me. He said the shallows were only for things the ocean was tired of holding."
A hush fell over the circle. It wasn't a cold silence, but one pregnant with meaning. Ti’miria exchanged a look with the woman beside her—a look that held the weight of a thousand seasons. They knew the pride of the Olo'eyktan’s son; they knew he didn't risk his life for "weaving supplies" unless his heart was already caught in the thread.
"Is that so?" She whispered, a secretive, knowing smile stretching her lips. "How very... helpful of him."
Before you could defend his honor or insist it was just a display of his typical arrogance, a shadow lengthened across the pavilion floor. The heavy, rhythmic footfalls were unmistakable.
Aonung strode in, looking entirely too large and too vibrantly alive for the quiet space. He wasn't carrying a spear or a net. Instead, he held a small, sturdy basket of his own. Without a word of greeting to the elders—though he gave them a respectful dip of his head—he dropped onto the mat directly beside you.
"Aonung!" you hissed, your eyes wide as you leaned toward him. "What are you doing here? This is a quiet space."
He didn't look at you. Instead, he began pulling out strips of dark, cured leather and a handful of small, iridescent shells that shimmered like oil on water. "My father says a leader must know the craft of his people," he grumbled, though his ears were twitching in a way that suggested he was lying through his teeth. "I have... things to make. I am joining you."
You stared at his basket. It wasn't filled with broken gear to mend. It was filled with beautiful, hand-picked treasures—small, delicate white shells, obsidian beads, and a strange, glowing blue seaglass.
"Since when do you weave, Aonung?" you whispered, your voice hushed so the elders wouldn't hear your teasing.
"Since I decided I wanted to," he snapped back, though there was no heat in it. He fumbled with the leather strips, his large, calloused fingers looking comically oversized as he tried to start a basic four-strand braid.
You watched him for a moment, your heart doing a strange little skip. He was being so deliberate, his brow furrowed in that same intense concentration you had seen when he was hunting. You assumed he was making a new grip for his knife or perhaps a decorative band for his ilu. You had no idea that every shell in his basket had been chosen because it reminded him of the way the light caught your eyes, or that the length of the kelp leather he was braiding was exactly the circumference of your neck.
The hour stretched on. The elders eventually stopped staring and went back to their own work, their low hum of gossip returning like the evening tide.
Aonung was struggling. A low, frustrated growl vibrated in his chest as the leather strips slipped from his grip for the third time.
"You're pulling much too hard," you murmured, reaching over without thinking.
Your fingers brushed his, and he went perfectly still. The heat of his skin was startling against yours. You gently took the leather from his hands, showing him how to keep the tension even. "If you pull too hard on the left, the whole braid will twist. You have to be patient, Aonung. You have to follow to the material."
You guided his hands with yours, your smaller fingers resting over his knuckles. For a moment, the world narrowed down to the sensation of his skin, the smell of salt and sun that followed him everywhere, and the rhythmic sound of his breathing.
He didn't look at the braid. He was looking at you. His gaze was heavy, focused on the way your hair fell over your shoulder, on the small patch of bioluminescence near your collarbone where this necklace would soon rest, on the way your lips moved as you explained the craft.
"Like this?" he asked, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that made your stomach flip.
"Yes," you whispered, finally meeting his eyes. "Exactly like that."
You spent the rest of the evening in a state of quiet bliss. You discovered that Aonung was actually quite funny when he wasn't trying to be the toughest warrior in the village. He told you about the time he tried to ride a skimwing before he was ready and ended up face-first in a patch of stinging coral. He told you about the hidden caves behind the northern cliffs where the water turned a color so bright it looked like the sky.
And all the while, he worked. He meticulously wove the shells into the leather, his movements becoming more fluid under your guidance. He was creating a necklace—a piece of jewelry so intricate and beautiful it would have taken an expert weeks—but he was doing it in a single night, fueled by a desperate, silent need to give you something of his own making.
By the time the moon was high and the fireflies of the reef began their nightly dance, you were both finished. The pavilion was empty, the elders having slipped away long ago with knowing smiles.
"I should get back," you said, feeling a sudden, shy heaviness in your limbs. "My family will be wondering where I am."
"I will walk you," he said. It wasn't a suggestion.
He picked up your heavy basket, slinging it over his shoulder as if it weighed nothing, while he tucked his own finished work into a hidden pouch at his waist.
The walk to your marui was slow. The village was quiet, the only sound the soft slap-slapof the water against the pilings and the distant call of a night-bird. Aonung walked close to you—so close your shoulders occasionally brushed.
When you reached the entrance to your home, he handed you your basket. The moonlight caught the sharp angles of his face, softening the arrogance into something much more vulnerable.
"I enjoyed the weaving," he said, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. "Even if the elders are nosy."
You let out a soft giggle, your tail swaying behind you. "They just like to see you doing something that doesn't involve throwing a spear, Aonung."
You looked up at him, your heart hammering against your ribs. You wanted to say more. You wanted to ask him why he had really come, why he had looked at you like that over the leather strips, but the words felt too big for your throat.
"Thank you for walking me," you said instead, giving him a shy, radiant smile. "And for the help today."
"Goodnight, Y/N," he whispered.
You turned to go inside, your mind racing, but just as you reached the curtain, you looked back. He was still standing there, a dark silhouette against the silver water, watching you with an intensity that made your breath hitch. You waved a small, hesitant hand, and he nodded once before turning to melt into the shadows of the village.
As you stepped inside your marui and set your basket down, you felt a strange sense of completion. You didn't know yet that tomorrow, he would find you by the shore and press a cold, woven necklace into your hand—a gift of blue teardrop pearls, starlight and the talon of a reef bird to match his own, woven by the hands of a warrior who had finally found something worth holding onto more than his pride.
The golden hour in Awa’atlu was more than just a time of day; it was a transformation of the world. The Great Mother seemed to hold her breath as the sun, a bloated and magnificent orb of molten fire, dipped toward the horizon. It bled a palette of impossible colors—burning amber, bruised plum, and a liquid gold that turned the surface of the ocean into a shimmering mirror of fire.
The air was heavy and warm, carrying the sweet, intoxicating scent of the night-blooming flora from the shoreline and the sharp, clean tang of salt spray. It was the kind of evening that felt permanent, as if the universe had paused just to witness the transition from the frantic energy of the day to the bioluminescent peace of the night.
You were wading in the waist-deep water near the village docks, the cool, rhythmic lap of the tide a soothing balm against your skin. Today, you had finally unraveled your hair from its tight, intricate ceremonial braids. Without the weight of the beads and the structure of the weave, your hair felt immense—a thick, wild sea of curls that cascaded over your shoulders and floated atop the water like dark, silken kelp. You felt free, untethered, and entirely at peace.
Beside you, Tsireya was a picture of effortless grace. She was humming a soft, melodic tune—a song the Metkayina used to call the spirit of the water—as she moved through the shallows. In her hands, she held a woven basket of small, silvery fish. With practiced ease, she tossed them one by one to a group of young ilus that had gathered around you both.
The creatures were in a playful mood, their chattering clicks and whistles vibrating through the water. One particularly bold calf nudged its snout against your hip, nearly knocking you off balance. You laughed, the sound bright and clear in the evening air, as you reached down to stroke its smooth, rubbery skin.
"They are hungry tonight," you remarked, your fingers tracing the glowing patterns on the ilu's flank. "And very demanding."
Tsireya smiled, her eyes crinkling with warmth. "They know who has the best spirit, ma tsmuke. They can feel that you are at rest today."
But as the words left her lips, her gaze drifted past you, toward the pale curve of the shoreline. Her expression shifted—a mischievous, knowing glint entering her eyes that made your heart do a sudden, unprompted hop. "It seems we are not the only ones drawn to the water tonight," she murmured, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial tone.
You followed her gaze, squinting against the blinding gold of the setting sun. There, standing at the edge of the tide where the sand met the surf, was Aonung.
He looked different than he had in the weavers' pavilion or during the frantic races on the reef. Gone was the loud-mouthed warrior, replaced by someone who looked uncharacteristically hesitant. He was standing perfectly still, his hands tucked behind his back, his tail giving a sharp, rhythmic flick that betrayed his internal nerves. He was watching you—not with his usual smirk, but with an intensity that felt heavy, even from a distance.
He seemed to be contemplating his next move, caught in a moment of rare indecision. From where you stood, you couldn't see the sweat on his palms or the way his heart was hammering against his ribs, but you could see the way he looked at you. To Aonung, you were the center of the world. The golden light caught the curve of your neck, the wild tumble of your hair, and the way your woven top rested perfectly against your skin. You were a vision of everything he had been working toward for weeks.
Tsireya, never one to let her brother suffer in silence, cupped her hands around her mouth. "Aonung! Are you waiting for the tide to go out, or are you going to join us?"
The shout broke his trance. You saw him jump slightly, his ears pinning back in a flash of visible panic. He looked around as if hoping a rogue akula might appear to give him an excuse to leave, but when he realized he was trapped, he squared his shoulders. With a deep breath that expanded his broad chest, he began to wade out into the water.
His movements were slow, deliberate. As he drew closer, the water rippling around his strong legs, the playful chattering of the ilus seemed to fade into the background. There was a gravity to his approach that made the air feel thick.
"Tsireya," he said stiffly as he reached the two of you, offering his sister a curt nod. Then, his eyes locked onto yours, and the rest of the world simply ceased to exist for him. "Y/N."
Tsireya didn't miss the way his gaze lingered on your hair, or the way your own tail was twitching beneath the surface. She let out a soft, knowing giggle. "I believe the ilus by the marui’s are feeling neglected," she announced, already turning to swim away. "Do not be a bore, Aonung. Try to use your words."
She disappeared into the golden glare, leaving the two of you in a pocket of profound, charged silence. The water swirled between you, the rising heat of his body radiating through the cooling evening air.
"You look..." Aonung started, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat, deepening it to regain his composure. "Your hair. It is different."
"I took the braids out," you said, feeling a sudden, shy heat rise in your cheeks. You reached up to brush a damp curl from your face. "Do you like it?"
"I... yes. very much," he breathed, his eyes traveling over every feature of your face.
The moment felt fragile, like a piece of spun glass. Aonung took a half-step closer, his large frame towering over you, blocking out the sun and surrounding you in his shadow. He reached into the small pouch at his waist, his movements slow and reverent.
"I have been thinking," he began, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated in your chest. "I have been courting you for a while now. It has been... a process. But I think I am finally ready to present you with this."
He held out his hand. Lying across his broad, calloused palm was the necklace he had labored over in the pavilion.
In the dying light of the sun, it was breathtaking. The green woven kelp-leather was vibrant and rich, a testament to the patience you had taught him. At the center hung the reef bird talon, polished until it gleamed like a piece of dark glass, a perfect mirror to the one he wore himself. But it was the additions that made your breath catch—trailing along the weave were small, blue teardrop pearls. They were the exact shade of the pearls you wore in your hair, shimmering with an iridescent light that spoke of the deep ocean.
"Aonung," you whispered, your fingers ghosting over the talon. "It’s beautiful. It’s perfect."
"I wanted it to be right," he said, his ears perking up at your praise. "I wanted it to match you. To show that I see you."
You were staring at the intricate knots, moved beyond words, but then his earlier phrasing finally clicked in your mind. You looked up at him, your brow furrowing in genuine, sweet confusion. "Wait... what did you just say?"
Aonung blinked, his confident posture wavering. "I said I wanted it to match you?"
"No, before that," you said, your head tilting to the side. "The part about... courting?"
Aonung’s ears did a slow, dramatic droop. His mouth fell open, and for a moment, he looked entirely lost. "Yes. Courting. The gifts? The rare shells from the trench? The racing every afternoon? The fact that I have sat through three weaver's circles just to be near you?"
You blinked back at him, your mind racing through the memories of the past weeks. To you, it had been a series of fun, increasingly close moments with a friend who was finally softening. "I thought you were just... being helpful? I thought we were becoming very, very good friends, Aonung."
Aonung looked like he wanted to throw himself into the surf. He groaned, a long, dramatic sound of exasperation, and threw his hands up in the air. "Very good friends? Y/N, that was courting. My presence at your side every waking hour for the past fourteen sun-cycles just to be very good friends?"
He paced a small, frustrated circle in the waist-deep water, his tail splashing the surface. "Did you think I was doing that for Lo'ak? You truly didn't know? After everything?"
The heat in your face was now a full, violet flush. Looking back at the intensity in his eyes, the way he always stood a little too close, the way he had essentially become your shadow—it was so blindingly obvious that you felt like a fool.
"Well... now that I think about it," you murmured, a sheepish, radiant smile spreading across your lips. "I guess it was a bit more than 'friendly' behavior."
Aonung stopped his pacing and looked at you, his frustration melting into a look of pure, helpless affection. ""I am courting a girl who is as blind as a cave-fish," he muttered to himself, though the corner of his mouth was twitching.
"I'm sorry!" you giggled, stepping into his space until your chests were nearly touching. "But I accept. The gift... and the suitor."
Aonung’s breath hitched. "I see you, Y/N"
"I see you, Aonung"
You took the necklace from his hand, the weight of it a physical promise. You moved closer, stepping up onto your tippy-toes in the swirling water to reach him. You wrapped your arms around his thick neck, burying your face in the crook of his shoulder. Aonung didn't hesitate this time; his large arms surged around you, pulling you flush against his warm, damp skin. He held you with a strength that made you feel entirely safe, his heart hammering a frantic, joyous rhythm against your own.
In the distance, Tsireya watched from the sully Marui with lo’ak, her heart full as she saw the two of you silhouetted against the last sliver of the sun. It was done.
You pulled back just enough to look at him. "Will you help me put it on?"
Aonung’s hands were trembling as he took the leather cord. You turned around, lifting the heavy, curly mass of your hair to expose the nape of your neck. You felt the cool touch of the pearls against your skin, and then the feather-light, reverent brush of his fingers as he secured the clasp.
When you turned back to face him, the necklace sat perfectly against your collarbone, the blue pearls glowing in the twilight. Aonung reached out, his thumb grazing your jawline, his gaze darkening with a sudden, heavy intensity.
"Y/N," he breathed, his hand sliding into the curls at the back of your head to pull you closer.
You didn't wait for him to ask. You leaned in, closing the distance, and then his lips were on yours.
The kiss was everything the last few weeks had been—intense, sweet, and deep like the ocean. It tasted of salt and the warmth of the sun. Aonung groaned low in his throat, his other hand splaying across your back to hold you as if he’d never let go. You melted into him, your fingers tangling in his hair, the world around you dissolving into nothing but the feel of him and the pulse of the tide.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead stayed against yours. He was breathless, a triumphant, vulnerable smile on his face. "Now," he whispered. "Do you still think we are just 'very good friends'?"
You laughed, pulling him back down for another kiss. "No, maybe best friends."
it’s actually insane how many oneshots i’ve been hoarding in my drafts like a little gremlin.
For the longest time i never felt good enough to post them, half embarrassed, half convinced they weren’t worth it… so they just sat there collecting emotional dust.
But now?? something in me snapped (in a good way) and i just need to share them. i’m actually proud of these stories, and that feeling is louder than the fear for once.
so yeah… we’re unlocking the vault 🤍
Not sure if posting almost every day is… socially acceptable, but at this point i don’t even care, these drafts have been sitting in the dark for way too long and i need to let them see the light. 🤍
and honestly? writing is the only thing right now that lets me step away from the chaos in my life and the noise in my head… so i’m holding onto it.
Story: Aonung were already in a bad mood, you come to talk to him, and you two end up fighting and A word slipped from his tongue that made you not stop talking to him, but to leave, to your clan (also you slap him in front of his parents lol)
Important note: you are jake sully's daughter ★
The argument had not started as something large.
It rarely did.
Ao’nung had returned already carrying the weight of a bad day—too many responsibilities, too many whispers from elders who believed they spoke quietly enough. His patience was thin, stretched like rope pulled too tight.
You didn’t know.
You only saw him sitting there, tense, distant, his jaw set in that way that meant his thoughts were somewhere far from the room.
So you approached him.
“Ao’nung,” you said gently. “Can we talk?”
He exhaled sharply, rubbing his face. “Not now.”
“It’s just something small—”
“I said not now.”
Normally, you would have left it there. Normally, you would have waited.
But the last weeks had been heavy for you too.
“I’ve been waiting all day” you replied quietly.
That was the wrong thing to say.
He stood abruptly, frustration spilling out before he could stop it.
“Then maybe you should learn when to leave things alone.”
Your brows pulled together. “I wasn’t trying to start a fight.”
“Well, you are” he snapped.
You stared at him, hurt flickering across your face.
“I just wanted to talk.”
“About what?” he demanded. “Another problem I can’t fix?”
Your voice sharpened slightly. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
The air between you thickened.
“I came to you calmly,” you said, trying to steady yourself. “You’re the one turning this into something else.”
His tail lashed once behind him.
“Maybe I’m tired of everything turning into something else,” he said bitterly.
You folded your arms. “You’re not being fair.”
“Fair?” he laughed harshly. “You want to talk about fair?”
You frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”
And that was when it happened.
The words slipped out, sharp and careless, born from anger rather than truth.
“Maybe if you stopped acting like some demon-blood outsider, things would be easier.”
Silence crashed into the room.
For a second, Ao’nung didn’t even realize what he had said.
But you did.
Your hand slowly curled at your side, eyes dropping to your fingers—five of them. The ones that had always set you apart among the Metkayina.
Your voice, when it came, was quiet.
“Demon blood?”
Ao’nung’s anger vanished instantly.
“I didn’t—”
But it was too late.
Something in your face had already closed.
You didn’t yell.
You didn’t cry.
You simply turned around and walked away.
“Ao’nung called after you. “Wait—”
But you didn’t stop.
Not to cool down.
Not to breathe.
To leave.
The call of your ikran echoed across the shore not long after.
It was loud, powerful enough that nearby villagers lifted their heads in surprise. Wings cut through the sky as the creature descended, its cry echoing across the water.
People began gathering, curiosity turning into concern.
Among them were Tonowari and Ronal, stepping forward with sharp eyes.
“What is happening?” Ronal demanded.
Ao’nung arrived moments later, breath uneven, having run the entire way.
He saw you standing there beneath your ikran’s wings.
And his stomach dropped.
“Hey—” he called, moving quickly toward you. “What are you doing?”
You ignored him, fastening the harness.
His heart began to pound.
“You’re not leaving,” he said, voice tightening.
You still didn’t answer.
He reached out, grabbing your shoulder gently but firmly.
“Talk to me.”
The moment his hand touched you—
You turned.
The slap cracked through the air.
It was loud enough that the gathered villagers froze.
Ao’nung staggered half a step back, stunned more by the meaning of it than the force.
Your eyes burned with something deeper than anger.
“Don’t touch me,” you said.
For once, Ao’nung had no words.
Before anyone could react, you mounted your ikran and pulled the reins.
The creature launched into the sky with a powerful beat of its wings.
Ao’nung stood there watching you disappear into the horizon.
And for the first time in years, the future leader of the Metkayina looked completely helpless.
—
The flight lasted nearly a full day.
The wind burned your face, your muscles screamed from the distance, but you didn’t slow down.
Not once.
By the time the forest of the Omatikaya came into view, your chest ached with exhaustion and emotion tangled too tightly to separate.
Your ikran cried out as it descended near the village.
Immediately, people looked up.
Omatikaya warriors approached cautiously at first—until they recognized you.
“Wait” someone called.
More figures emerged.
And then your family appeared.
First was your father, Jake Sully, stepping forward with a serious expression already forming.
Behind him came Lo’ak and Neteyam, both staring in confusion.
Tuk ran out from behind them.
“Is that—?”
Kiri followed quietly, eyes widening slightly.
Spider leaned forward to get a better look.
And then Neytiri stepped out from the crowd.
“Ma’ite,” she breathed softly.
You slid off your ikran the moment it landed.
Jake stepped closer, scanning your face.
“Did something happen?”
You didn’t answer.
Instead, the moment your feet touched the ground, you ran forward.
Straight into Neytiri.
Your arms wrapped around her tightly, burying your face against her shoulder.
For a second, she looked surprised.
Then her arms closed around you just as firmly.
“My child,” she murmured, instantly sensing the storm in your breathing.
This can be read as the first part of A Very Obvious Secret.
Pairing: AgedUp!Aonung x Sully!Fem!reader
Summary: The eldest daughter of Jake Sully arrives at Awa’atlu, caught between forest and sea.
Aonung notices her first and doesn’t stop. What starts as teasing turns into something deeper… and by the time he confesses, it’s already something he can’t control anymore
Rating: Explicit (contains smut, sexual content).
The forest was quiet that morning.
Y/N knelt beside Rokan, her ikran, keeping a steady hand on his injured wing as he shifted slightly under her touch, still not ready to fly.
“I know,” she murmured. “Just a little longer.”
Behind her, Mo’at, her grandmother, worked in silence, sorting herbs like the day didn’t need words.
The Sully family was leaving.
From deeper in the forest, she could already hear it: movement, voices, the calls of ikran getting ready.
“You are staying,” Mo’at said simply.
“I know.”
No argument. Just fact.
Footsteps came fast through the trees.
Lo’ak first, then Tuk holding Kiri’s hand, Neteyam right behind them, with Jake and Neytiri following.
Y/N stood.
Tuk ran to her immediately. “You’re coming, right?”
Y/N crouched slightly. “Not this time.”
Tuk’s face dropped. “But you always come.”
“I’ll come later,” she said softly. “Rokan can’t travel yet.”
Tuk didn’t really understand, but she nodded anyway.
Neteyam stepped closer. “You’ll find us.”
“I will.”
Lo’ak looked away. “Don’t take forever.”
“I won’t.”
Jake stayed quiet for a moment longer than the rest.
When he finally spoke, his voice was lower. “You’ve always been the one I didn’t have to worry about.”
He exhaled, almost smiling, but it didn’t quite hold. “That’s not changing, right?”
Y/N shook her head. “No.”
He nodded, like he needed to hear it out loud more than once.
“Good,” he said, softer now. “Because I trust you.”
That landed heavier than everything else.
Then Neytiri stepped forward.
She touched Y/N’s cheek, then pressed her forehead to hers.
“My first daughter,” she said quietly.
Y/N swallowed. “I’ll come to you.”
“I know.”
One by one, they stepped back.
Tuk was the last to let go.
Then they left.
The forest seemed to breathe out with them as they moved toward their ikran and the sky.
Y/N stayed with Rokan, her hand still on his wing.
Mo’at returned to her work.
And everything continued, just not together anymore.
Her family’s reunion was full of tears, hugs, and quick, excited stories. They had been accepted, at least for now, into the clan and were learning the ways of the water.
But Y/N felt out of place. Her slimmer build, darker stripes, and curious amber eyes made her stand out. She felt like an outsider all over again.
It was at the evening meal, seated around a communal fire pit on the beach, that she first felt the weight of his stare.
Aonung, son of Tonowari and Ronal and future Olo’eyktan, sat with his friends, a group of young warriors laughing loudly like the waves. He carried himself like the ocean itself, broad shoulders, a confident smirk, eyes like a deep lagoon.
He was showing off a spear-throwing technique when his gaze moved over the newcomers and landed on her.
He stopped mid-sentence. The smirk didn’t disappear, but it softened a little, becoming more curious and focused. He looked at her like she wasn’t just a stranger from the forest, but something rare and interesting he had just noticed.
Y/N felt his attention on her and kept her eyes on her bowl of stewed mollusks. Still, the back of her neck tingled under his gaze.
The obsession began quietly, a subtle current beneath the surface of daily life.
He was there the next morning.
While Y/N struggled through the free-diving breathing technique, surfacing clumsy and out of rhythm, Aonung swam past like it was nothing, effortless, sharp, almost mocking. Rotxo, patient as always, tried to guide her.
Aonung’s voice cut through the water anyway.
“Your lungs are too small, forest girl. You breathe like a startled tetrapteron.”
But there was no real bite in it. Not like before. And he always lingered after, watching her resurface, hair stuck to her face, chest rising too fast as she caught her breath.
He started appearing everywhere after that.
When she collected shells for Tuk, he showed up with one already in his hand, brighter, more perfect than anything she had found.
“Found it first,” he said casually, like it meant nothing.
When she wove with Tsireya, he dropped a strip of stronger reef fiber into her hands, his fingers brushing hers just a second too long.
“For strength,” he murmured.
“The sea doesn’t forgive anything fragile.”
Even his teasing shifted.
During a spear-fishing contest, he surfaced with a massive fish and instead of giving it to his clan, he swam straight to her.
“A gift,” he said, water running off his shoulders.
"From the sea to the forest. So you stop thinking we’re so different.”
But Aonung was not the only one who wanted her attention.
Rotxo began leaving small carvings of sea creatures near her things.
“So you don’t forget the reef,” he said shyly.
Another warrior, Txe'lanay, left cleaned fish outside the Sully marui without a word, always with a respectful nod before disappearing again.
Even Tsireya’s usual admirers sometimes looked her way, curious about the quiet forest girl who didn’t quite fit, but didn’t break either.
And Aonung noticed all of it.
The teasing stopped first. Then the space around her started to shrink.
He blocked conversations before they reached her, cut into exchanges mid-sentence, placed himself between her and anyone who got too close. Always casual. Always controlled. But constant.
One afternoon, a group returned from a deep dive talking about a cave of glowing anemones. Rotxo immediately invited her.
Before she could answer, Aonung stepped in front of them.
“That cave has strong currents,” he said flatly.
“Not for beginners.”
“I can handle it,” Rotxo said.
Aonung didn’t look at him. His eyes stayed on Y/N.
“If you want to see something worth your time, I’ll take you. When you’re ready.”
That ended it.
That evening, during the communal gathering, Aonung did something that silenced the entire village.
The drumming was steady, the air full of voices and movement, when he suddenly stood up. Without a word, he walked straight through the circle toward Y/N.
At first, it looked like one of his usual provocations. Another challenge. Another way to stir trouble.
But then he stopped in front of her.
And pulled something from his belt.
A finely carved reef pendant, polished smooth by the water, marked with Metkayina patterns. Clearly intentional. Clearly important.
He placed it into her hands.
“I made it,” he said simply. “For you.”
Silence dropped so fast it felt like the ocean itself had frozen.
Then everything exploded.
Lo’ak burst out laughing immediately. “OH no. He’s serious-serious.”
Tuk grabbed Kiri’s arm. “He gave her a gift in front of eveyone!”
Kiri just stared at it. “This is how wars start.”
Neteyam covered his face. “I cannot deal with this family.”
And then Jake.
Jake did not laugh.
Jake did not smile.
Jake slowly stood up like a man accepting a duel he did not agree to.
“…No,” he said out loud.
Neytiri immediately grabbed his arm. “Jake.”
But he was already staring at Aonung like he was trying to decide whether to become ocean or violence.
“He just walked up to my daughter,” Jake muttered, voice rising, “in front of the entire clan—”
“Jake,” Neytiri warned again.
“And handed her a symbolic reef object like we’re in some kind of—of—of bonding ceremony he just invented?”
Lo’ak was shaking with laughter now. “Dad, breathe.”
“I AM breathing,” Jake snapped. “I am breathing very responsibly.”
Aonung, still standing there, didn’t move.
Didn’t back down.
Just looked at Y/N.
Tsireya looked like she was enjoying chaos on a spiritual level.
Rotxo whispered, “He’s going to explode.”
Y/N was left holding the pendant while the entire village suddenly became extremely interested in literally anything else.
Jake leaned slightly toward Neytiri, voice lower but still dramatic. “We are not ready for this.”
Neytiri didn’t even look at him.
“We were never ready for this.”
That night, under twin moons, Y/N walked alone along the beach. The sand was cool, the water whispering just ahead. She needed air more than rest.
She thought she was alone.
She wasn’t.
Aonung stepped out from the rocks, silent, like he had been there for a while.
“You’re always alone,” he said. Not teasing. Just observing.
“I’m still adjusting,” she answered.
“You don’t have to adjust.”
He came closer. The arrogance was gone, replaced by something quieter, sharper.
“They look at you like you don’t belong,” he said.
“Like you were dropped here. I don’t.”
He stopped in front of her.
“I see you.”
His hand lifted, hesitated, then touched her face carefully, like she might slip away.
“I see your strength. The way you hold yourself together. The patience in you. The way the forest shaped you… steady, grounded.”
His voice dropped. “And the sea is not steady. It pulls you.”
A beat.
“I don’t want to fight it.”
The words came rougher now.
“When they look at you,” he said, jaw tightening, “I lose control. When Rotxo smiles at you, when Txe'lanay stands too close… I can’t stand it.”
A breath.
“It’s like the tide pulling me under. And I don’t want out.”
Silence settled between them, heavy and alive.
His forehead almost touched hers.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered. “And I will.”
He didn’t move.
Y/N didn’t answer with words.
She closed the distance instead.
It was like diving into a warm current. His initial shock lasted less than a heartbeat before he responded with a hunger that stole her breath.
His arms wrapped around her, pulling her tight against the solid wall of his chest. The kiss was salt and heat and desperation, a claiming and a surrender all at once.
A low groan escaped him, vibrating into her mouth. “Mmmph… Y/N…”
He broke the kiss only to trail his lips down her throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin where her pulse hammered.
“Eywa… I have dreamed of this,” he muttered against her collarbone, his hands sliding down her back.
“Every night. The way you smell of earth and sky… it haunts me.”
Driven by a need that matched his own, Y/N’s hands slid over the powerful swell of his shoulders, down the defined planes of his back.
His skin was smooth and hot under her palms. She found the ties of his loincloth and fumbled with them, her fingers trembling. Aonung let out a sharp, ragged laugh.
“Eager, forest flower?”
He helped her, the simple garment falling away to the sand. In the moonlight, he was breathtakingly male, fully aroused, his body a testament to a life spent conquering the waves.
He made quick work of her own garments, his movements urgent but not rough. When she stood bare before him, the night air cool on her skin, he just stared for a long moment, his lagoon eyes dark with awe and lust.
“You are so beautiful,” he breathed, the words sounding like a prayer.
“My beautiful, strange treasure.”
He lowered her to the soft, cool sand, coming down over her, supporting his weight on his arms. The world narrowed to the feel of his skin against hers, the sound of the waves keeping time with the pounding of her heart.
He kissed her again, deeply, his tongue sweeping into her mouth as one of his hands slid between their bodies. His fingers, clever and sure, found her core, already slick and ready for him. She gasped into his mouth, arching off the sand. “A-Aonung…”
“Shhh, I know,” he soothed, his voice thick. He rubbed slow, tantalizing circles, watching her face.
“I will take care of you. Let me… let me show you what the sea can feel like.”
He added a second finger, curling them inside her, and she cried out, a short, sharp sound swallowed by the night.
Her hips bucked against his hand, seeking more. The coiled tension in her, built over weeks of his relentless attention, was unraveling fast.
“Please,” she begged, not even knowing what she was asking for.
He understood. Withdrawing his fingers, he positioned himself at her entrance, the broad head of his cock nudging against her. He looked into her eyes, his expression fierce, possessive, and utterly captivated.
“You are mine,” he growled, the promise and the plea fused into one.
“Say it.”
“Yours,” she whispered, the truth of it resonating deep in her soul.
With a single, powerful thrust, he sheathed himself fully inside her. The sensation was overwhelming, a stretch, a fullness, a searing heat that blotted out every other thought. He stilled, buried to the hilt, his body trembling with the effort of control.
A long, guttural moan was torn from his throat. “fuck… Yessss… Tighter than I dreamed… so good…”
He began to move, setting a deep, rolling rhythm that mimicked the ocean swells. Each stroke was deliberate, claiming, pushing her higher. The sand shifted beneath them, a whisper counterpoint to their ragged breathing and the wet, rhythmic slap of skin on skin.
He dropped his head to her neck, nipping and sucking at the skin, marking her.
“Mine… all mine… every warrior can look… but only I get to feel you… only I get to hear you…”
His words, filthy and possessive, ignited something in her. She raked her nails down his back, earning a hiss of pleasure-pain from him.
“Harder,” she demanded, her voice foreign to her own ears.
A feral grin spread across his face.
“As my paskalin commands.”
He hooked his arms under her knees, pushing them back towards her shoulders, changing the angle. The next thrust punched a scream from her lungs. “Aaah! Aonung!”
“That’s it,” he grunted, his pace becoming punishing, relentless.
“Scream for me. Let the whole village know who fills you, who makes you come apart.”
The crude words, coupled with the exquisite friction of his cock hitting a spot deep inside her with every plunge, sent her spiraling. Pleasure coiled tight in her belly, a storm about to break.
He felt her inner muscles beginning to flutter and clamp around him. “Come with me,” he ordered, his own control fraying.
His command was the final trigger.
She shattered with a choked, sobbing cry, her body bowing off the sand, her vision whiting out.
The intense clenching of her release pulled him over the edge instantly. He drove into her one last, brutal time and spilled himself deep inside her, his hips jerking erratically.
“Fuck! Take it… take all of it…!”
The aftermath was a slow return to the world. The roar of the ocean faded back in. The cool kiss of the night air on their sweat-slicked skin.
Aonung collapsed beside her, pulling her immediately into the shelter of his body, her back to his chest. His arms wrapped around her, his face buried in the hair at her nape.
They lay there for a long time, listening to each other’s breathing even out, feeling their hearts slow to a synchronized beat.
Finally, he nuzzled her ear, his voice a sleepy, satisfied murmur.
“When you came to us… I saw a forest spirit lost in the water. I did not know I would want to be the current that carries you forever.”
Y/N laced her fingers with his where they rested on her stomach, over the place where his seed was still warm inside her.
She said nothing.
She didn’t need to.
The peace in her spirit, the rightness of being in his arms, said it all. The forest girl had found a new kind of root, not in the earth, but in the deep, possessive, loving heart of the sea itself.
The gathering had ended hours ago. The village was quiet, waves brushing the shore, lanterns nearly gone out.
Y/N still hadn’t come back. Jake was already outside the marui when Neytiri found him, staring into the dark.
“She went for air,” he said.
“Air should not take this long.”
Neytiri crossed her arms. “Jake.”
“She is missing.”
“Jake.”
“She is with Aonung.”
“That is worse.”
From behind them, Lo’ak stretched lazily.
“She’s fine. They’re probably just talking.”
Jake turned instantly.
“Talking.”
“Yeah.”
“…At night.”
Lo’ak shrugged.
“It happens.”
Jake nodded once, too quickly.
“Right. I will observe from a safe distance.”
Neytiri immediately grabbed his arm as he started moving. From inside the marui Tuk called out,
“Is this kidnapping or romance?”
Neteyam didn’t even look up.
“I am tired of this family.”
Lo’ak leaned back, far too relaxed.
“Worst case, nine months from now we find out what happened.”
