noteˎˊ-this is purely from my imagination it is not meant to represent actual pandorian creatures, myths, or legends also this will probably be reposted on my main, repetition is intended
wc:ˎˊ- 1.7k
part one
siren seriesˎˊ- ao'nung ll neteyam ll lo'ak
°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡
Ao’nung had heard the same tale of old all throughout his childhood.
Sirens; creatures of the deep. Creatures who could become whatever your heart found most beautiful, only to use that beauty as a hook. A trap.
If you long for comfort, they soften.
If you crave challenge, they sharpen.
If you hunger for love, they become devotion itself.
Growing up among the reefs of the awa’atlu sea, the stories were told like warnings carved into bone. Never follow a lone voice. Never swim toward a silhouette you don’t recognize. Never trust beauty that arrives without scent, without clan, without history.
The sea gives.
The sea takes.
And sirens snatch.
Ao’nung had believed he would never be foolish enough to fall for their trap.
°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡
The water was painted gold, surface rippling like molten glass above him. He had been alone; hunting far from the reef, wanting silence after another long day of being watched, measured, expected to lead one day.
Out here, though, there was only the hush of currents and the distant crackle of reef-life settling for the evening. His spear rested loosely in his grip. He let the tide carry him, just slightly.
That was when the ocean went… quiet.
Not silent — the sea was never silent — but attentive.
As if it were holding its breath.
Ao’nung stilled.
A shift in pressure brushed along his skin. A ripple against his thighs that did not belong to the natural pull of tide. His eyes narrowed, scanning the glowing blue beneath him.
His ilu chirped frantically, clearly unsettled by the sudden shift.
Nothing.
Then,
A voice.
Soft. Close.
Not a song woven with magic. Not the haunting melody the elders warned of.
Just a whisper of his name.
“Ao’nung.”
His heart slammed once, hard enough to echo in his ears.
He turned sharply, spear raised.
You sat atop of rock, the scales of your tail shimmering. Sunlight fractured around you, turning your silhouette into something almost unreal.
Beautiful.
in the quiet, devastating way that felt carved precisely from his own thoughts.
Your features were more beautiful than words could describe; and only a fool would attempt, for if they did, they would never stop talking.
“You should not speak my name,” he said, voice low.
You tilted your head slightly. “Why?”
Because you should not know it.
Because I did not give it to you.
Because sirens learn you before you learn them.
His jaw tightened. “State your clan.”
A pause.
“I have none.”
The answer fell too easily.
Never trust beauty that arrives without scent, without clan, without history.
He circled you slowly, keeping distance. You did not retreat. Did not pursue. You simply watched him with an expression that was neither hunger nor fear.
Curiosity.
“If you are lost,” he said evenly, “I will escort you to safer waters.”
Your lips curved faintly.
“I am exactly where I intend to be.”
A current shifted between you, subtle, almost imperceptible. But he felt it in his chest. A pull. Not downward.
Forward.
If you long for comfort, they soften.
Your gaze gentled when his grip tightened on his spear.
If you crave challenge, they sharpen.
When he bristled, suspicion flaring, something sparked in your expression.. not submission, not defiance.
Equal.
If you hunger for love—
He cut the thought short, anger flashing hot.
“I know what you are,” Ao’nung said.
You blinked once. “Do you?”
The sea gives.
It had given him strength. Skill. A name spoken with respect.
The sea takes.
It takes the careless, the arrogant, the unguarded.
And sirens snatch.
They snatch certainty. They snatch breath. They snatch the quiet spaces in your heart and fill them until you no longer remember what existed before.
Ao’nung should leave.
Every lesson etched into him demanded it.
But you did not sing.
No hypnotic melody coiled through the tide. No unnatural glow bled from your skin. No monstrous grin split your face to reveal rows of waiting teeth.
You simply watched him.
Perched upon the rock like something born of it, tail draped in a cascade of iridescent scales, fins catching the molten gold of the sinking sun. The sea moved around you as though it knew you well. As though it had shaped itself to cradle your weight.
His ilu whined again, uneasy beneath him.
Ao’nung did not lower his spear.
“You are a siren,” he said, more to remind himself than to accuse you.
A small crease formed between your brows. “Is that what you believe?”
“You have no clan.”
“No.”
“You know my name.”
“Yes.”
His jaw flexed. “You should not.”
A pause.
“I have been watching,” you replied quietly.
He swam closer despite himself, stopping just beyond the reach of your tail. Up close, he could see the faint patterning along your scales. Not identical to any fish he knew, but not wholly foreign either. Your eyes held no unnatural sheen. No flicker of hidden hunger.
The words should have unsettled him.
They did.
And yet—
Ao'nung did not swim away.
“I thought your kind could sing,” Ao’nung said slowly, watching you carefully. “Is that not how you hunt?”
A flicker crossed your expression.
Not guilt.
Embarrassment.
“My song has not formed yet,” you admitted, almost reluctantly. “It comes later.”
“Later,” he repeated.
“When the voice deepens. When the cords strengthen.” Your fingers brushed lightly along your throat as if self-conscious. “I am not there yet.”
Not there yet.
The realization landed heavily.
“So you cannot lure me?” he pressed.
A small, almost shy smile curved your lips. “No.”
“Cannot?”
“Not with song.”
The way you said it made heat creep unexpectedly along his spine.
Ao’nung cleared his throat, straightening. “Then you are not much of a siren.”
You hummed in acknowledgement, a sweet smile tugging at your lips; the smile that made his heart warm.
Ao'nung frowned slightly, as if annoyed that his chest had betrayed him.
“You seem very calm for someone who cannot even use her greatest weapon,” he said.
“My greatest weapon?” you echoed, amused.
“Your song.”
You hesitated again, fingers brushing lightly along your throat. “It is not a weapon yet.”
“Yet,” he repeated.
“It forms when we are older,” you explained quietly. “When our voices deepen. When the cords strengthen enough to hold it.” A small shrug lifted your shoulders. “Mine has not.”
“I can sing, but it is not hypnotizing.”
He studied you more carefully now.
It was just… you.
“You cannot lure anyone,” he concluded.
“No,” you said simply.
The admission should have eased him.
It did not.
Because if there was no song—
Then why was he still here?
Why had he swum closer?
Why was his spear now hanging loosely at his side instead of poised to strike?
You shifted slightly on the rock, tail sliding with a quiet splash. The movement drew his eyes before he could stop himself. The faint shimmer of your scales caught the deepening blue of twilight, not brilliant, not blinding—
Just beautiful.
And real.
“You are staring,” you noted softly.
His ears flushed darker. “I am assessing a threat.”
“Mm,” you hummed, unconvinced.
Silence settled between you again, but it was no longer sharp.
It was… charged.
“I thought sirens were dangerous,” he muttered.
“We are,” you replied lightly.
“You cannot even sing.”
“Not yet.”
The words lingered.
Not yet.
He swallowed.
The water deepened into indigo around them, the last bands of gold fading above the surface.
Neither of you moved.
Out here, it felt like the ocean belonged only to the two of you.
Ao'nung became acutely aware of everything.
The way his ilu had stopped fidgeting beneath him, as if sensing the shift in him rather than the shift in the tide.
The slow sway of your tail where it draped over the rock, fins brushing lazily through the current.
The steady rhythm of your breathing.
He told himself he was studying you for weaknesses.
Instead, he memorized you.
“When your song forms,” he said quietly, breaking the hush, “what happens?”
You traced idle circles in the water with your fingertips, watching the ripples distort the reflection of the surface above.
“It will start as a vibration,” you explained. “Low. Barely noticeable. I will feel it first, here—” Your hand pressed lightly against your sternum. “Like a second heartbeat.”
His gaze followed the movement before he could stop it.
You smiled, taking his hand and guiding his hand to where you spoke.
“And then?” he asked, voice rougher than intended.
“Then it will travel up,” you continued softly, guiding his fingers to brush your throat. “It will stretch. Deepen. My voice will change.”
He froze at the gentle contact, the warmth of your hand guiding his own sending an unfamiliar heat crawling along his arm.
Not a lure. Not a threat. Just… connection.
“And what will it do?” he asked, swallowing hard, trying to keep his voice steady, though the tightness in his chest betrayed him.
You tilted your head, eyes soft, almost shy. “It will ripple through the water… through anyone nearby. It can make them feel… things they didn’t know were inside them.”
Ao’nung’s pulse quickened. The idea should have terrified him. The elders’ warnings had drilled into him for years: the siren’s song was a weapon. A trap. A hook.
And yet…
You were here. Your voice had not yet formed. There was no song, no power, and still, he felt the pull. Not of hypnotism, but of fascination. Of attention. Of curiosity.
He could not look away.
“I… I should leave,” he muttered, though he didn’t move.
You gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug. “You could. But you haven’t.”
The faint brush of your fingers against his hand lingered longer than necessary, and Ao’nung felt something shift.. something unspoken, a slow, aching blooming deep in his chest.
Not fear. Not desire exactly. Something subtler. Something that made him want to stay closer, to linger, to know every detail of you before the sea took him elsewhere.
His throat tightened. “You… you will be dangerous when it forms.”
“I don’t know,” you admitted softly. “But I hope… not for the wrong person.”
noteˎˊ-a little blurb for my baby neteyam since i’ve been neglecting him also i don’t know what age you’re supposed to tame an ikran so this was my best guess at a young age
wc:2.9k
It had been a long and strenuous week, stretching your patience thin.
You had no real obligation to fulfill the duties placed upon you, but you were not one to shrink away from such responsibilities, a desire to prove yourself to the clan whispering in your blood, passed down from generations.
You had first begun to feel the whisper when you were eight years old, when you believed that everyone doubted you. They didn’t, of course, but nobody told you that.
So, you did the most logical thing to do.
You tried to prove yourself.
In the dumbest way possible.
You decided you would tame something no one your age had ever touched.
Not a direhorse.
An ikran.
You had watched the older hunters return from the floating mountains with their braids woven with fresh beads, their shoulders marked with ash and pride. You had watched the way the clan looked at them differently after they bonded. And you wanted that look.
So you climbed.
You climbed higher than you were allowed. Higher than your father ever took you. The air thinned and the rocks bit into your palms, but you told yourself pain was proof. Proof that you were strong. Proof that you were worthy.
When the first ikran shrieked above you, your heart didn’t race with fear.
It raced with hope.
You leapt.
You don’t remember anything after that, except for the painful throbbing of your head as you made contact with one of the jagged rocks, quickly losing consciousness.
Your vision blackened at the edges like a vignette, and the last thing you had seen was Neteyam—Toruk Makto’s son’s-–face.
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The world returned in fragments.
The scent of crushed medicinal leaves.
Low murmured voices.
The soft crackle of a nearby fire.
Your head throbbed when you had tried to move, and a sharp hiss left your teeth before you could stop it.
“You should not do that.”
The voice was his.
You forced your eyes open.
Neteyam was sitting beside you, legs crossed, hands resting loosely over his knees. He looked older when he was serious. Too serious for someone your age.
“You fell,” he added unnecessarily.
You blinked at him.
“I leapt,” you corrected weakly.
His mouth twitched despite himself.
“That was not leaping.”
Heat crawled up your neck. “I would have bonded.”
“No,” he said, not unkindly. “You would have died.”
Silence settled between you.
You stared at the woven ceiling above. “They all think I am small.”
“No, they do not.”
“You do not know that.”
He hesitated.
Then, quieter: “I do.”
You swallowed. “I did not mean to make you climb after me.”
“I know.”
Another pause.
Then he reached over and nudged your shoulder lightly. “Next time you try something foolish, tell me first.”
Your brows pulled together. “Why?”
“So I can stop you.”
You huffed a weak laugh despite the pain.
He smiled then.
small, but real.
And that was how it began.
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Anyways, there was no use lingering on that embarrassing day, but your friendship has blossomed into something more.
Something you would never admit.
Dusk came slower than usual.
Or maybe you were just more aware of it.
The week had been relentless. Patrols along the outer forest where the humans’ machines had been heard again. Extra training with the younger hunters. Helping reinforce woven barricades near the recent attack spots. Listening to elders argue in low, worried tones when they thought no one else could hear.
You had barely slept.
Neteyam had slept even less.
You found him where you both always ended up when the day felt too heavy, halfway up the old tree that leaned over the hallelujah mountains, its bark worn smooth by years of climbing. Not too high. Not dangerous.
Just high enough to breathe.
He was already seated on the thick branch, back against the trunk, one knee drawn up. His bow rested beside him. He looked tired in a way he would never admit to.
“You are late,” he said without opening his eyes.
“You said dusk,” you replied, settling beside him. “It is still dusk.”
“It is almost night.”
“You worry about time now?”
A faint smile. “Someone must.”
You let your legs dangle over the edge, toes brushing the air above the water. For a while, neither of you spoke. The sounds of the forest carried around you — distant calls, the rush of the river, the soft rustle of leaves shifting in the evening wind.
It was different from when you were children.
Back then, your conversations had been loud. Competitive. Full of teasing and daring each other to jump farther, climb higher, run faster.
Now the quiet felt earned.
“You took the western patrol again,” you said eventually.
“Yes.”
“That is the third time this week.”
He shrugged lightly. “It needed to be done.”
You gave him a look. “So did the southern route.”
He glanced sideways at you. “You volunteered for that.”
“You did not have to let me.”
“I did.”
A small pause.
You nudged his knee with yours. “You do not always have to carry everything.”
His jaw tightened slightly; not defensive, just thoughtful. “I am the eldest.”
“And I am not fragile.”
“I did not say you were.”
“You did not have to.”
The tension wasn’t sharp. It never was with him. It was softer than that. A push and pull that had grown alongside you both.
After a moment, he exhaled and leaned his head back against the trunk.
“You were tired today,” he said quietly.
“So were you.”
“You did not eat enough.”
“You noticed?”
He gave you a look that said of course.
You tried not to smile too much at that.
“I was busy,” you said.
“You always are.”
There it was again — that careful concern he disguised as mild scolding.
You reached over without thinking and adjusted one of the beads in his braid where it had come loose from training. Your fingers brushed his hair, grazing the side of his neck for a fraction longer than necessary.
He went still.
You pretended not to notice.
“There,” you murmured. “You look less like you fought three people at once.”
“I did fight three people at once.”
“I know.”
Your hand dropped back to your lap, but the air between you felt warmer now.
“You were good today,” he added after a moment.
You blinked. “At what?”
“Training. You corrected Lo’ak without embarrassing him.”
You huffed softly. “That is a skill learned through experience.”
A quiet chuckle left him.
The river below reflected the first hints of starlight.
“You do too much,” he said again, softer now. “You try to be everywhere.”
You stared out over the water. “If I am useful, they worry less.”
His shoulder brushed yours deliberately this time.
“They do not worry less,” he said. “They just worry differently.”
You glanced at him.
“And you?” you asked.
His eyes met yours, steady as always.
“I worry,” he admitted.
Not dramatic. Not heavy.
Just true.
Your chest tightened in a way that had nothing to do with exhaustion.
“You do not need to,” you said quietly.
He didn’t look away.
“I know.”
Another pause.
Then, gently—almost teasing to lighten it—“But I will.”
The corner of your mouth lifted.
“You are impossible.”
“So you have said.”
You leaned back beside him, letting your shoulder rest fully against his now. No space. No pretending it was accidental.
He gently maneuvered you, laying you down atop the soft grass, the ferns comforting like Eywa’s embracing just you.
His hand lingered against the skin of your upper, warm and steadying, slight calluses roughening certain spots, testament to his hard work.
The ferns cushioned your back, their fronds cool against your heated skin. Above you, the canopy shifted, leaves whispering in the evening breeze. For a moment, all you could see was him — framed by twilight and the first shy stars.
“Neteyam,” you murmured, not as a warning.
Just his name.
His brows knit slightly, as if he were debating something with himself. His hand flexed once, then relaxed, grounding rather than possessive.
To you, at least.
“You looked like you were about to fall asleep sitting up,” he said quietly.
You huffed a soft breath. “So you decided to throw me to the ground?”
“I lowered you.”
“That was not gentle.” a biiiiig lie.
A faint smile tugged at his mouth.
“I can be gentler.”
The words hung there, light in tone, heavier underneath.
His hand shifted slightly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. His knuckles grazed your temple, tracing absentmindedly near the faded scar from years ago, the skin there now a soft blue instead of your deep sapphire.
You exhaled reply, feeling the tension slipping away from your body, exhaustion lacing each vowel that came out of your mouth. “Everything aches,” you murmur, feeling your eyes flutter shut.
His fingers linger against your shoulder, warm and steadying. The slight roughness of his calluses grazes your skin as if testing how much pressure it takes to ground you, and the warmth seeps deeper than your muscles, curling through your chest.
His response it’s words, just a hum of acknowledgement you can hear vibrating in his chest.
He shifts closer. The space between you is almost nothing looking down at you from his spot against the trunk. Every inch is alive with a subtle, electric weight. Your breath catches. The scent of him—cedar, sweat, and fresh air—floods your senses, distracting you from everything else.
His hand slides slowly down your arm, thumb tracing idle circles over your skin. You feel the pull of him, magnetic and steady, and for a moment, you can’t tell where your body ends and his presence begins.
The ferns beneath you cushion your back, but it feels like the world itself has narrowed to this small patch of grass, this quiet evening, this tension coiling between you. You’re acutely aware of the heat radiating from him, the sound of his breathing, his hand against your skin. Your eyes flutter open. You were just so exhausted..
Your body tenses instinctively at every small brush, the feather-light touch of his fingers through your hair, the stroke of his other hand on your arm, the tilt of his head as he hovers above you, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips that only you notice.
It feels like every movement is blurred, like the frame rate of your eyes cannot keep up with the pace of everything.
He made a soft noise of guilt—then affection—and gently adjusted you so you were lying on your stomach across in front of him, your forearms cushioning the side of your face.
"Let me take care of you," he said, voice low. His hands moved to your shoulders, strong fingers pressing into the tense muscles.
The moment he started kneading, a quiet moan escaped you.
Neteyam hummed. "Oh? That good?"
You could only nod again—the movement slow and lazy.
He chuckled. "That's what I thought." Another moan, louder this time—you couldn't help yourself. His hands felt so good.
He took his time with you—nails scraping over your lower back, thumb stroking the dip between your shoulder blades. Every bit of tension seemed to melt away under his touch.
"You have no idea…" he murmured, almost to himself. "The things I want to do to you."
You were not focused on a letter that fell from his lips; your pleasure consuming your mind fully.
His hands moved lower, working out the knots in your lower back. You practically purred under his touch, eyes closed and limbs loose.
"So goddamn pretty," he murmured, voice thick with adoration. "Like… you’re everything to me, you know that?"
His thumbs skimmed along your spine, tracing the dip of it. When he reached the curve of your ass, he couldn't help but squeeze.
"Just want to touch you…”
‘..everywhere." He finished, voice rough. "All the time…"
God, you were so pliant right now. So sleepy and soft and perfect in his hands. It was taking every ounce of willpower not to manhandle you the way he really wanted to.
He could practically feel your tension melting, slowly—almost lazily—under his touch. And as he continued to massage the knots out, he began to notice something...
"You know," he murmured, voice low like velvet. "I have another idea of how you can... relax."
Your eyes opened slightly, the action sluggish but interested. He chuckled, the sound dark and promising.
"Just… lay there," he whispered. "Exactly like that."
His hands moved lower, fingers skimming your backside, untying your loincloth. "Let me do all the work."
Your eyes were half-lidded, but you nodded. Something about your obedience made his chest tighten. You were so trusting right now, so vulnerable. He felt the overwhelming urge to possess you, to mark you, to—
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay focused. "Close your eyes."
You obeyed without hesitation, and for a moment, he could only stare. You looked like... well, like the prettiest thing he'd ever seen in his life. The last streams of light streaming over your face; illuminating the golden swirls of your irises.
"Keep them closed," he murmured, voice raw. He couldn't tear his gaze away from you. the softness of your face, the flutter of your eyelashes, the gentle rise and fall of your chest.
Eywa, you were beautiful.
Finally, he forced himself to speak, voice rough. "Keep them closed and don't move."
The command was quiet but firm. And you didn't question it.
He moved, shifting behind you. You lay there, body loose and relaxed. You didn't even twitch; like you trusted him completely.
It made his chest hurt. in a good way. A way that made his head spin.
When he placed his hands on your hips, your breath hitched. "Shhh," he whispered. "Just relax."
His thumbs brushed the dip of your lower back, tracing the swell of your hips. You shivered under his touch, almost unconsciously tilting your hips up toward him.
"Perfect," he rasped, voice thick. "Just... stay exactly like that."
Your breath was coming in short, quiet gasps now. He could practically hear the blood thrumming through your veins.
"God, you're so beautiful," he whispered, fingers skimming the curve of your ass. He took a deep breath, trying to gather some control.
"Can I do one thing?"
You nodded, not opening your eyes. "Mhm."
The sound made his cock twitch.
He groaned softly, his fingers tightening minutely around your hips. "I… need you to spread your legs a little more. Just…" He took another shuddering breath. "Trust me."
You hesitated only for a second—then, slowly—you did as he asked.
Neteyam let out a breathless groan at the sight, his fangs glinting in the dim light. "Perfect," he murmured, voice thick with need.
He leaned down until his lips brushed your ear. "Don’t move… don’t open your eyes… just feel."
And then, his hands slid forward.
His thumbs parted you gently, and when his tongue finally made contact with your clit—slow, warm, so deliberate—you were seeing stars.
"A—neteyam!" you gasped, fingers clawing at the grass. The sensation was too much—his tongue slow and sure, circling just right—and yet it wasn’t enough.
He didn’t stop. Didn't even flinch at your cry. Just held your hips down with firm hands and kept going.. licking deeper now, savoring every twitch of your body.
"Fuck…" he growled against you, sending vibrations against your slit, voice muffled but hot. "Taste so good."
You whimpered, completely undone—all thought erased by the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter inside you.
There was a damp patch forming against his own loincloth, simply from eating you out.
His tongue lapped at you like a dehydrated ikran finding a stream, and it seems that your fluids kept him going.
His dick was heavy against his leg, throbbing in its negligence, but he paid no mind to it.
He pulled away, a single millimeter to catch his breath, but the warmth of his breath fanned over your clit, and he watched as your pussy tightened around nothing needily.
His thick lashes brushed his undereyes as he debated something.
And then he dove back in, sliding a single digit in, feeling the tight warmth of you surrounding him, greedily pulling him deeper as his tongue swirled your clit.
You moaned at the feeling of something finally being inside you, your eyes rolling back into your skull.
He continued plunging his finger in and out of you in time with his swirling around the sensitive bundle of nerves that was your clit, he could tell you were getting close from the way you tried to
strangle his finger.
That's when he slid in a second digit, moving them both in time as he sucked your clit, his cheeks hollowing as he did so.
The sound of the chittering of the animals all around mixed with the lewd squelches of your pussy, and he loved it.
He scissored the two fingers he had within you, pulling away to your pussy gape, and you shivered at the breeze that caressed your insides.
“Ah! Oh my–” you began, but the words died quickly in your throat when he suddenly latched back onto your clit.
That was enough to make the band in your lower stomach–once stretched taut–snap.
Your orgasm ripped through you, causing you to gasp that morphed into a silent scream, clawing at the grass once again, creating bare lines where you stripped the grass to reveal the soil beneath.
Neteyam felt you pulse around his two fingers, and throb between his teeth.
Which caused him to cum.
In his loincloth.
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oh my gosh the ending is so bad i’m insanely sleep deprived i might remake this.. first neteyam work?? anyways.. suggestions for a better ending would be appreciated!!
warningsˎˊ- smut, aged up!ao’nung, obessesive ao’nung, ooc(out of charactar)!ao’nung,me using proper capitalization for the first time, ao’nungs lowkey a hypocrite, clueless author (idk how heat works), breeding,
noteˎˊ- i cringe at all the words used to describe dihs and stuff so i tried my best to make it non cringy.. idk if i was sucessful.. another work is coming this weekend!!! it's almost at 10k words!! eeek i cant wait to finish it!! i feel like stephen king on when he was on coke
wc: 4k
IN MY MOUTH — BLACK DRESSES & BATHROOM BITCH — HOLYCHILD
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Ao’nung had always been loud in the ways you were not.
You did not like it.
Where you moved like a whisper between the saltwater breeze, he moved like a breaking wave; inevitable, impossible to ignore. Even as children, he filled every space with confidence and laughter that carried across the water, with teasing grins and challenges shouted over his shoulder. You had learned early how to stand just out of reach of it, close enough to feel the warmth of his presence, far enough not to be burned.
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He remembered the first time you went under.
You had slipped under without a word, hair fanning out like dark ink in the blue. He had followed. When his lungs began to ache and the world narrowed at the edges, he had grasped onto you and he broke the surface while simultaneously gasping for air.
When he had finally surfaced you and pulled you up onto a nearby rock there was water streaming down your shoulders, your hair clinging to your back as you regained coherency.
When you realized what had happened, you looked at him with a softness in your eyes he hadn’t seen before and nodded.
“Thank you.” you whispered, with a small nod.
All he could manage was just a small nod, as if to say it was nothing.
It was not nothing.
Not even close.
Something sharp and electric sparked behind his ribs that day. Not duty. Not pride. Something far more dangerous.
As he grew, the clan’s expectations wrapped around him like ceremonial beads; future olo’eyktan, strongest swimmer, best warrior. He wore it all easily. Too easily. His confidence became a second skin, smooth and gleaming, and people mistook it for certainty.
But he was never certain around you.
Your quiet was no longer soft. It was deliberate. Controlled. You spoke only when you meant to, and when you did, others listened. You never wanted his attention the way the other village girls did, never lingered when he smirked or flexed or let his voice dip lower just to watch them flush.
You did not fawn over him.
And that unsettled him more than if you had.
Sometimes he would catch you looking—only for a heartbeat—before your gaze slipped away like a fish too quick to grasp. It made his jaw tighten. Made him step closer than necessary. Made him wonder what it would take to pull something real from you. A reaction. A crack in that careful stillness.
He was constantly teasing you.
Because it was the only way to hear your voice.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Your heat cycle had just begun. An aching deep within you that could make the simplest tasks feel much more strenuous than they were.
And your father was not one to let you near any of the warriors during this time.
Insanely overprotective he was, you thought.
So you were sent to the docks to weave, your foolish father thinking that it’d keep you far away enough from boys and clear your mind. It did not. Your fingers ached as they worked the sinew, the scent of salt thick in the air. The sound of the sea should have soothed you. It usually did. Instead, your thoughts drifted, heavy and restless. You could barely focus on anything other than the desire blooming low in your stomach and flowing through your veins. It clouded your thoughts and influenced your ideas.
Then the deep horn sounded—breaking you from the lustful images your mind was conjuring from pure desire—announcing the warriors return.
Ao’nung lays eyes on you from miles away. He doesn’t break away until he’s forced to when one of the villagers ask him about the fruitfulness of the hunt.
Ao’nung waits until the crowd thins, until the warriors are greeted and the dock settles back into its familiar rhythm. He watches you from a distance first. He sees the way your shoulders stay tense, the way your hands keep working even when you’re obviously not in the mood to.
He moves carefully, circling rather than approaching head-on, like a predator to prey, mindful of the way you startle at sudden noise. He remembers that about you.
He remembers everything about you.
He is close enough now to speak.
But someone else reaches you first.
A young hunter—Kewari—broad-shouldered, eager in the way boys are when they want to be seen, steps into your space, crouching beside you as you work.
“Aren’t your hands tired?” he asks lightly, already reaching. “Here, let me help you.”
Your fingers never falter. Even with the ache.
“I’m fine,” you say softly. “I’m almost finished.”
You offer him a polite smile and return your attention to the careful rhythm of your task.
He lingers anyway.
“But you shouldn’t be out here all alone,”
“She said she was busy.”
Ao’nung’s voice cuts through the air, level and stripped of warmth.
The hunter straightens as if struck. His hand drops immediately. The shift in the space is subtle but unmistakable.
“I was just—”
“Go.”
Kewari’s shoulders stiffen. A quiet exhale leaves him, sharp with embarrassment.
Then he turns, retreating in shorter strides than he’d arrived with.
With the Kewari gone, Ao'nung turns back to you, his expression softer, almost contemplative.
"It's a waste," he says, his voice low enough for only you to hear.
Your hands still, the motion of your fingers finally ceasing as you lift your gaze to meet his. Those strange sensations fluttered in your stomach once more, unbidden. "What is?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.
"This." He gestures around you—at the piles of unfinished sinew, the dock bustling with life around you. "You, here. Weaving. It doesn't suit you."
Hypocrite, you think.
Your fingers twitch against the sinew. You want to argue, but a reply refuses to form in your mouth. His gaze is steady, studying you without judgment. Just observation. As if he sees more than you intended to show.
“I’m great at weaving,” You shoot him a look, your hairless brows furrowing in distaste.
Ao'nung gives a dry laugh in reply. "No one said you aren't. That's not the point."
He takes a few steps closer, his eyes fixed on your hands as they resume their work, almost against his will. "The point is, you're wasting your time. You should be patrolling the reef or something. With me. Not here, doing work that's beneath you."
The unexpected compliment leaves you reeling.
You've always been diligent and obedient, never one to shirk duty. But hearing him say these words, with such conviction, brings a heat to your cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and a flutter of something else.
Eywa, why of all days, must he talk to you today?
You force yourself to respond, trying to sound more defiant than flustered.
"And what do you know about where I belong?" You raise your chin defiantly.
Ao'nung lets out an exasperated sigh, his hand moving to rub his jaw. It's a gesture you recognize all too well. He does it whenever he's trying to gather his thoughts or keep his patience in check.
"More than anyone else, I'd wager," he says, a hint of his usual arrogance creeping into his tone.
"I've seen you when you think no one's looking, you know."
Your fingers still again. You're not sure you like where this conversation is going.
“Stalker?”
Ao'nung barks out a laugh, loud, sharp, and entirely unapologetic. His broad tail flicks behind him in amusement as he leans in closer.
"Call it what you want," he says with a shit eating grin, "I just know my girl better than she thinks."
The way he says "my" makes your stomach flip.
He watches your reaction with too much satisfaction before adding, "Besides... if I were stalking you? I’d never admit it."
Your heart thuds uncomfortably in your chest, and you look away, pretending to focus on the sinew to avoid his gaze.
"I'm not yours." The words come out harder than you mean them to, though you don't know who you're trying to convince more; him or yourself.
Ao'nung makes a sound that's a mix of annoyance and amusement, like you're an irritating child that he almost has a fondness for. He moves to stand beside you, way closer than necessary, his shoulder brushing against yours.
The sensation in your lower stomach pooled thickly.
His scent washes over you, familiar and overwhelming--sea salt, something distinctly him. The proximity sets your nerves on fire, but you fight to stay still. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much he affects you.
Ao'nung notices anyway. He always does. He reaches out, his fingers finding a loose strand of your hair that had fallen into your vision. He tucks it back into place, his touch leaving a trail of goosebumps on your skin.
“Go away. You're disturbing my peace,” you mumble, shooting him a glance over your shoulder.
Ao'nung has the audacity to laugh.
It's not his usual, mocking laugh.. it's softer, almost fond.
With one hand still near your face, he uses the other to take the sinew from you. You don't offer any resistance. Mostly because you're too drowsy to respond.
"You look tired." His gaze flicks to your face, taking in the weariness in your eyes, the slight tremble of your hands.
“You look annoying,” you mumble snarkily, the emptiness between your legs diminishing your patience.
He just smiles and sets the sinew down, his attention fully focused on you once more. His hand moves to the small of your back, guiding you towards a nearby log.
"Sit." He gestures with his free hand while his other stays on your lower back.
“No.” You mumble, sounding like a petulant child.
Ao'nung's cocky grin grows wider at your defiance. He gently, yet firmly, pushes you down onto the log before taking a seat next to you.
"You're as stubborn as ever," he says, a hint of admiration in his voice.
You want to protest, but the exhaustion you've been fighting to hide catches up to you. Your shoulders sag, and you find yourself leaning against him without realizing it. The tension in your muscles starts to ease, the familiar scent of sea salt and him helping to soothe your weary mind.
Even if it’s not enough to soothe the need pulsing through you.
Ao'nung's arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him. It's an intimate gesture, one that would stir gossip if anyone saw, but neither of you seem to care.
"There. Isn't that better?" he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear.
You want to argue, to push him away, to remind him (and yourself) that this familiarity isn't appropriate. That your father would have weeks full of chores for you if he saw. But his touch feels oddly comforting. You know you should pull away, but you can't find the will.
Blood is rushing to your head and you huff.
Ao'nung feels your huff, an amused chuckle rumbling in his chest. "Someone's grumpy."
You muster just enough energy to glare at him.
Oh, it was more than just grumpy.
“You’re so full of yourself,” You mumbled, your nose scrunching slightly in distaste.
He responds by pulling you closer, the hand wrapped around your shoulder now lightly rubbing the taut muscles of your upper arm gently.
He doesn’t know you’re in heat. Your heart is booming rapidly in your chest and you look down at your hands to cover the haze in your half lidded eyes.
Ao'nung notices the way your gaze drops, the slight trembling of your hands. He feels the heat radiating from you, and for a moment, his teasing facade falters, replaced by a look of concern. He leans in closer, his nose almost brushing against your cheek.
"Hey," he says softly, his tone changing from playful to something more serious, "Are you feeling alright?"
Your breath hitches unexpectedly. His proximity, his touch, it makes it even harder to ignore the strange sensation blossoming within you. But you manage to find your voice and respond with another huff.
"I'm fine," you say, a bit too quickly.
A blatant lie.
Ao'nung doesn't believe you. He can tell something is off. Your cheeks are flushed, your eyes a little glassy. And your scent… it's different. He's always known your scent, but now something in it has shifted, grown stronger, more potent. He didn’t notice it before, but he’s noticing it now. It's making his head swim.
His hand moves to your chin, gently tilting it upwards so your gaze meets his. His eyes narrow as he studies your face, searching for an explanation.
"You don't look fine," he observes, his voice low. "You're flushed. Your eyes are dilated. And your scent..."
His nose briefly brushes against your throat, inhaling, and you shiver involuntarily. You know what he's smelling. and you know he knows what it means.
The feeling of his nose against the skin of your throat has you biting your lower lip to suppress the sound that threatens to spill out.
Everything in you is fluttering at the motion, your four fingered hand splaying across his collarbone as you lightly push him away from you, your chest heaving with a huff.
Ao'nung leans back, his expression a mix of surprise and understanding. He rubs a hand over his face, as if trying to clear his thoughts.
"You're… in heat."
His words hang in the air, thick and charged with tension. You're suddenly hyper-aware of your surroundings—the sound of the ocean, the smell of the sea salt, the feel of the log under your thighs. And the heat that courses through you—it feels like a fever, like a physical ache begging to be soothed.
“No.”
Ao'nung's eyebrows shoot up, then his toothy grin returns, wider than ever.
"Liar." He says it with a mix of amusement and something far more dangerous. His tail flicks behind him as he leans in again, this time close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his body too.
"You think I don’t know ?" His voice drops to a rough murmur against your ear.
You want to protest, to insist that he's wrong, but your body betrays you, heat pooling between your thighs as your thoughts grow more erratic.
Ao'nung's eyes dart down, taking in the way your breath hitches, how your hands grip the log, clenching and unclenching.
And your scent… Eywa, your scent..
It has his dick stirring in his loincloth.
Your pheromones are driving him wild, feeding that possessive, primal part of him that wants to claim you as his own.
He reaches out and takes one of your clenched hands gently in his, unfurling your fingers, your skin almost searing against his.
"You can keep denying it all you want," he murmurs, his voice a soft rasp. "But I know."
His thumb brushes across the pulse point on your wrist, feeling the rapid beat of your heart. Then his gaze flicks back to your face, noticing the way the flush has spread to the tips of your ears. The daze in your dilated pupils. Your little pout..
Ao'nung exhales sharply through his nose, a mix of frustration and desire.
His tail lashes once behind him before stilling. A silent turmoil he's not even trying to hide anymore.
The ache between your thighs burns hotter begging to be soothed. the itching deep within your womb insatiable.
You huff. Thinking feels too hard right now.
Ao'nung feels your huff, an amused chuckle rumbling in his chest. "Nothing to say, huh? That's alright." He murmurs the words against the underside of your jaw.
His words send a jolt through you, but you do your best to suppress the effect. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much he affects you.
"Come on," he coaxes, tugging you to your feet, "I need to show you something."
You let him pull you up without resistance, your head still dizzy from the warmth coursing through you. You almost stumble, but his hand on your waist steadies you, the touch has you practically dripping.
"Careful," he hums. "I don't need you falling over and giving yourself a concussion."
You shoot him a half-hearted glare, but your protests die in your throat. Right now, your body seems intent on obeying him (wonder why), despite your usually better judgment.
Ao'nung grins slyly, knowing he has you exactly where he wants you.
He leads you away from the dock, towards a more secluded part of the beach. You can feel the eyes of the other villagers following you as you walk by, whispering among themselves. But you hardly notice; your attention is entirely focused on the feel of Ao'nung's hand guiding you, the way your body leans into his.
When you reach a secluded cave shielded by rocks and dunes, he finally stops, turning to face you.
"There. This will do."
You look around, finally registering your surroundings. The secluded cove is tucked away from the main beach, hidden from prying eyes. The sunlight filters through the rock wall, casting a soft glow over the sand. It's quiet, isolated... intimate.
“This’ll do for what?”
Ao'nung steps closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over you. The air between you crackles with tension; your body is still throbbing, your mind clouded by heat.
"Listen to me," he says lowly, one hand coming up to cup the side of your face. His thumb brushes along your cheekbone in slow circles as he studies every flicker of reaction in your eyes. "I can fix it,"
A pause, then his voice drops even lower, "I can make it better. "
Your breath catches in your throat as the words sink in. You know what he's suggesting. What every fiber of your being is begging for. It's wrong, of course, in so many ways. But the aching emptiness between your thighs, the haze in your thoughts, the dizzying scent of him... it's all too much.
You open your mouth, trying to find words, but all that comes out is a soft, ragged whisper: "Ao'nung..."
Ao'nung's eyes darken at the sound of his name on your lips. It's all the permission he needs. In one swift movement, he scoops you up into his arms, laying you down effortlessly to the soft sand. The grains are warm against your back, warmed by the sunlight seeping through the cracks of the caves walls.
"I've got you," he murmurs, laying you down beneath him. "Don't worry, I'll take care of you."
His body covers yours, his limbs like a cage around you. The heat radiating off him is almost unbearable, sending your senses spinning.
His hands come around to undo your woven chest cover and loincloth, your breasts being exposed to the chilled air of the cave, your nipples hardening. Your pulse pounds in your ears, your breath coming in sharp gasps as you look up at him, eyes hazy with need.
"That's it," he croons, leaning down to press his mouth against the side of your neck, kissing the underside of your jaw. "Just let me take care of you. I know you need this."
He slowly peppered kisses down leading him to capture one of your pert nipples into his mouth, your moan hitching as he swirled his tongue.
The motion has you moistening the entire slit of your sex.
He pauses for a moment, lifting his gaze as he licks a line up your sternum before lowering down to your neglected nipple and giving it the same treatment as the other one.
Your pussy clenches repeatedly round nothing, begging to be filled. Hating the emptiness.
Your plush lips part as your back arches, a soft whine slipping past without your consent.
“Please,” the vowels intertwine with your whine, bouncing off the rock walls of the cave.
You don’t have nearly enough patience for this. Not now. Not ever.
“Please, fu-ck me,” you plead, your voice cracking in the middle of the word from the sheer desire overwhelming you.
“Aw shit, baby, don’t gotta tell me twice,” he rumbles, grinning toothily.
You watched as he undid his own loincloth with practiced ease, his length springing free and hitting his abdomen or a moment before resting on yours.
Showing exactly how much he’s gonna fill you up.
He leans in holding himself up with one hand and kissing your neck sensually while his other slides his pre-cum covered tip over your soaked folds.
You can feel him grin against the skin of your throat as he slid the broad tip in.
The itching deep within your womb paused, for only a second, you gasped, the stretch was delicious and overwhelming. Far too much but you didn’t want him to stop. Couldn’t bear for it if he’d pulled out.
“So wet,” he whispered, the warmth of his breath fanning over the side of your neck, awe lacing his words.
You moaned, the sound vibrating in your chest. He paused for a moment, letting you catch your breath.
He then buried himself to the hilt in one harsh thrust, your back arched and it felt like you were being choked. He watched as your eyes rolled back.
You screamed, your palm immediately bracing itself on his chest, he was big, yes, but you were aching for the feeling of being full.
He gave you to the count of three to adjust to the stretch, before he began moving again, knocking the air out of your lungs with each thrust.
the feeling had your mouth watering, saliva dripping from the corners of your lips.
“Please,” you moaned, begging him to keep the pleasure filling your entire being. The desire finally being satiated, even if just for this fleeting moment.
The thumb of his free hand rubs your clit, and it causes stars to burst behind your eyelids as your eyes roll. The band in your lower stomach stretches taut.
Each thrust has him hitting, no, bullying that spot that causes your brain to melt into a puddle, dripping out of your ears.
“Swear you’re made f’me,” you groans, his voice wavering, betraying his own pleasure.
The wet squelches repeats each time he rammed into you fills the cave, every time he pulls out (to push in again) you mourn during those few seconds of emptiness.
He harshly pinches your clit, causing everything to flash hot white, the band in your lower stomach snapping as your lips part in a silent scream while you tighten around him rhythmically.
“Now who's full of me, hm?” He smiles, working you through your orgasm as he kisses you.
The kiss is sensual, his tongue slides across yours in time with his thrusts, swallowing your mewls.
“Ah, shit,” he murmurs as you clench around him particularly tightly, his pace stuttering as he pulls away.
You feel him twitch and throb inside you, the feeling making everything hazy. Like this is the closest thing to the epitome of pleasure you’ll feel.
His chest heaves, and you feel the warmth pooling in your stomach, as he’s pumping you full.
He drops his forehead to the crook of your neck, his breath hitching as he inhales the sweet and potent scent of you.
He slowly pulls out, his cum trickling out of you as he does so, smearing against your thighs.
You stay laid against the sand, breathing slowly. Everything feels like it’s in slow motion. Like you are underwater, or swimming in honey. There is a slight sheen of sweat over your skin, and his pupils are dilated so much there's only a tiny sliver of blue left.
You know that this feeling of peace will not last long, that soon enough the desire to be bred will return soon.
And he can’t help it so he adds, “Are you my girl now?”
You turn to look at him, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Maybe,”
“Maybe.” He whispers back, smiling like he’s won something.
Because he has.
He finally won you over.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
sooo.. what do we think? notes and tips for more detailed smut or constructive critiscism would be appreciated!!
i finally got over my writers block (kinda) since my old work had very short sentences and little detail it'll be like a breath of fresh air so i can't wait to finish and upload it im so excitedddd!!!! Also after i post some of those works i want to write for someone new..
who should i write for next?!?! <3
jake sully
dark!jake sully
tonowari
dark!tonowari
aged up!neteyam
dark!aged up!neteyam
aged up!lo'ak
dark!aged up!lo'ak
aged up!ao'nung
dark!aged up!ao'nung
aged up!rotxo (my baby)
dark!aged up!rotxo
Voting ended onFeb 26
ronal and neytiri are also on the table i just ran out of boxes :'(
hiii! i am actually unwell after reading ‘let me under your skin’ 😭 it was literally everything.
for a part 2, can we please get some major angst?? like the reader is 100% spiraling and convinced she made a huge mistake by being vulnerable. she’s so scared of his reaction that she goes full ghost mode and straight up ignoring him at the docks, leaving the marui when he walks in, the whole bit. 💀
and aonung is actually losing his mind because she’s finally ‘under his skin’ but now she won't even give him eye contact. he’s so used to being the one in control, but now he’s just fumbling and totally desperate to fix it. he’s literally obsessed and it shows😭😭
please i am begging on my knees for this!! tysm for your amazing writing!! 💙✨️😚
𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔ˎˊ˗
stranger in you — ebril & I exist i exist I exist — flatsound
wc:2.3k
ao’nung x fem!na’vi!reader
part 1
angst, happy-ish moments (?), lots of repeated words (intended) , reader is her own biggest hater
note: hii!! I’m so glad you liked it 🫶!! also i love love love angst, so I might’ve gotten a little lost in the sauce 😓 and i dont know if i like the ending or if i should rewrite a more fluffy endinggg lmkkk 💕💕!!
ao’nung’s face falls, his lips parting in surprise.
the grains of sand are rough underneath your bare feet as you turn away from him.
you can’t bear to face him after what you’d said.
your throat feels tight like there’s a noose around your throat. there might as well be.
the wind is picking up, your hair is flowing to the right towards the sea.
you are drowning in fear.
you take one step, then another, as fast as your body will carry you.
the fear drives you mad.
you don’t know where you're going.
you just know you’re going far, far, away from him.
you reach a somewhat version of a forest, trees hundreds of years old hiding you from your fears and regrets. hiding you from him.
your foot catches on a shell and you’re barely coherent enough to put your arms in front of you to brace for your fall.
you know he isn’t after you. why would he be? he doesn’t care for you like that.
you were nothing but a warm body to him
right?
your palms sting from the friction of preventing you from falling flat on your face.
the usual blue of your palms are reddened with thick blood.
regret whispers in your blood.
you bring yourself to your feet, slowly.
there is no rush.
nobody will find you.
nobody would even look for you.
so you pick up the pieces of your shattered heart and begin the shameful walk to your parents' marui.
the blood from your palms drips down your fingertips, dark red circles drop onto the beige of the sand.
that was the thing with teenage love. it was a fragile thing, unstable and stolen, capable of making the heart feel impossibly full and suddenly aching. yours lived in secrecy, in laughter turned into tears, in hands finding each other in the dark when they were never supposed to. it was beautiful. and so cruel.
because it was never meant to last.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
morning comes whether you are ready for it or not.
the light filters through the flap of the marui, bright and unforgiving, painting thin lines across the floor.
you haven’t slept. not really.
every time you closed your eyes, his face would appear in the dark, frozen in that moment of surprise, lips parted as if he had something to say and had chosen not to.
that was the part that kept replaying.
not anger.
nor cruelty.
the hesitation.
you sit up slowly, your palms protesting as the dried blood pulls tight against your skin.
you know your parents had seen it, but neither had asked questions.
no one ever does.
the ache is dull, manageable.
it feels earned.
deserved.
outside, the village is already awake.
you can hear it in the distance. the bustle of people. the familiar rhythm of a life that has not paused just because yours has split open.
you tell yourself you will be normal today.
you rinse your hands in a shallow basin that is usually used for washing clothes.
you watch as the water stains red. the sting of the wounds grounds you.
you welcome it, actually.
pain caused physically is easier than the kind that binds tight around your lungs and throat.
the pain that refuses to let you go.
you sit there longer than necessary.
the basin water is warmer now.
your hands remain submerged, numb enough that the ache dulls into something distant.
you stare at the ripples like there will be a divine intervention that will intercept you so you will get to leave and never be seen again.
it doesn’t.
your stomach twists, empty and sour. the thought of food makes you nauseous. the thought of leaving makes it worse.
you dry your hands on your skin without caring.
red tinted water lingers on your skin like watercolour.
you tell yourself it doesn’t matter.
nothing about you matters enough for anyone to notice.
you stay inside until the light shifts, until the sounds outside settle into something steady and unavoidable.
you listen to footsteps pass.
life continues, persistent and cruel in its normalcy.
taunting you.
you imagine what it would be like to disappear. to be forgotten so completely that no one ever wonders where you went.
that feels easier than being seen.
every quiet moment drags him back into your thoughts. not the way he laughed, or the way his hands felt—your mind avoids those memories like open wounds—but the look on his face when you turned away. the pause. the time where he could have said something and didn’t.
you tell yourself that was the answer.
you tell yourself you were foolish to expect more. foolish to hope that what you shared meant anything beyond the dark, beyond secrecy, beyond convenience.
still, your chest aches like something vital has been removed and poorly replaced.
you press your palm flat against it, as if pressure might keep everything from spilling out.
it doesn’t help.
nothing does.
for a moment—a weak, traitorous moment—you wonder if he regrets what he didn’t say.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
ao’nung does not get any sleep.
you are haunting him. the moment keeps replaying.
he curses his tongue for not saying the words he desperately wished he’d said.
you are under his skin.
and he had tried to tear the flesh off his body to rid himself of you.
but it would not work.
because you had settled deep into his veins, his lungs, and his heart.
and made it your home.
from the moment he wakes up to the moment he falls asleep.
he waits for you to leave your marui by the docks, not daring to think about invading your privacy.
he tries to make himself look busy.
he sharpens spears that don’t need sharpening.
he ties nets that don’t need tieing.
he tells himself that you’ll come out.
you have to.
you never do.
yet, he clings to the childish hope that you will until the stars appear and he watches your mother return
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
“you must be hungry,” your mother murmurs as she returns from her gathering with a few of your favourite fruit.
from when you were younger.
“not really,” you shrugged, a big fat lie. you were always hungry when it came to those fruits that were rarely ripened enough for eating.
your mother hums a soft, low note of acknowledgment, a sound that seems to fill the marui as she begins to unpack the items she’s gathered.
her hands move with practiced ease, fingers brushing against the surfaces of the fruits as she sets them down.
she selects one of the plumper fruits, its skin gleaming under the warm light, and slices into it with a careful, deliberate motion.
The knife glides through the flesh, releasing a faint, sweet aroma that reminds you of your childhood, and she gently scoops out the seeds, placing them in a small dish off to the side.
the cut pieces tumble softly into a bowl, their vibrant colors catching your eye, and she nudges the bowl toward you, a small smile tugging at her lips.
“eat, Ma'itetsyìp. (my little daughter)”she whispers like it’s a secret.
you take a piece, gratitude sparkling in your eyes.
“thank you, sa’nu. (mommy)” you acknowledged before taking a bite.
your mother knows something is wrong. but she will not pry.
she will let you know she is there, though.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
ao’nung’s mind is filled with thoughts of you.
he’s itching to see you again.
to apologize.
to tell you everything.
he’s back at his parent’s marui, sitting cross-legged on the floor and just thinking.
his regret consumes him.
mind, body, and soul.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
you wake to the weight of your body before you wake to the day.
your limbs feel heavy, like sleep never truly left them, like the night has clung to you out of spite.
you don’t remember when you fell asleep.
or how.
for a moment you lie still, staring up at the faint curve of the marui ceiling, listening to your own breathing just to make sure you are still here.
morning light bleeds in through the woven seams, soft and undeserved.
it feels accusatory.
like it’s asking why you’re still hiding.
your palms throb in dull protest when you flex your fingers, the reminder immediate and unkind.
you sit up anyway, because staying curled in on yourself will only make it worse.
you tell yourself you are fine.
you tell yourself this ache is survivable.
you have lived through worse things.
outside, the village is louder now than it was yesterday.
people moving with purpose.
life insisting on itself.
the sound scrapes at you like pavement to knees, but it also pulls like a hand in yours.
at some point, you realize you can’t stay inside forever.
you can’t keep pretending the world has ended just because something inside you has.
so you decide to go eat.
The thought feels almost laughable—your stomach still twists at the idea—but it’s something people do.
it’s something you do.
each step toward the communal eating marui feels rehearsed, like you’re putting on a show.
you focus on small things.
the packed sand beneath your feet.
the warmth of the morning air.
the way the sky looks impossibly calm.
you tell yourself this will pass.
that you will sit, eat, nod when spoken to, and leave.
simple. manageable.
any chance at normalcy is brutally ripped from your hands when you see him.
ao’nung is there.
seated near the edge, and you know it’s more for duty than enjoyment.
for one awful heartbeat, your eyes meet. His lifts instinctively, hope—that he knows he shouldn’t dare to have—flaring sharp and reckless.
you turn away immediately, the decision made in your bones, already stepping back the way you came, already leaving.
the movement guts him.
his chest drops like he’s falling, breath knocking hard against his ribs as he watches you disappear into the crowd, retreating.
he doesn’t follow.
he just sits there, heart sinking, realizing that he is stuck.
that his legs physically won’t let him chase after you like he desperately wants to.
his body continues to betray him.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
it’s been days since that dreadful moment. four days to be exact.
and he hadn’t caught a single glimpse of you.
and, believe me, he’d been trying.
everytime he thought he saw you, his luck would turn and it wouldn’t be you.
though, as if Eywa had heard his prayers, he finally saw you, on the edge of one of the docks with the tip of your toes in the water turned to the sea.
it was late. the stars were shining above you.
everything seemed to pulse with the booming beat of his heart.
the feeling of being watched settled onto the nape of your neck and you turned.
him.
you got up, straightening your back, and walked past him.
like he was simply a figment of his own imagination.
he was desperate for your attention.
so he followed you.
his pace was a bit slower than yours, but he didn’t try to hide the fact that he was following you.
you wouldn’t even look at him.
he wanted you to turn around.
he wanted you to scream at him.
he wanted you to forgive him.
he wanted you.
you reached your marui, annoyingly aware of the footsteps behind yours.
you pushed back the flap that served as a door and took a step inside, leaving him standing outside.
he stands there for a long moment after the flap falls closed, the sound of it settling like a final judgment.
it feels harder to breathe now, like the air’s been stolen from his lungs.
his hand lifts, hesitates inches from the woven fibers, then drops back to his side, fingers curling into his palm like he can crush the mistake there, grind it down until it hurts less.
and still, even now, he doesn’t leave.
he can’t. not when you’re this close.
not when everything in him is begging for one more chance to be heard.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
morning finds him where the night left him.
taking up more space than necessary, pride long since abandoned in favor of proximity.
he hadn’t meant to sleep.
had told himself he would leave once the sky lightened, once it felt less pathetic.
but exhaustion had claimed him like it always does.
You don’t see him when you step out.
your foot catches on something solid and warm and unfamiliar and you gasp, falling forward the same way you did that day.
there’s a startled sound beneath you as his hands come up instinctively, gripping your forearms to keep you from falling flat into the sand.
the contact is brief but devastating.
everything you worked for is gone.
you freeze.
so does he.
for one horrible moment, you’re hovering over him, breath tangled with his, the early light spilling over his face with his eyes wide like he can’t believe his luck.
“I—” he starts, then stops, because your expression shutters closed so fast it hurts to watch.
you wrench yourself back like you’ve been burned.
“oh,” you mutter, the word thin and scraped raw, already stepping away.
embarrassment, fear, regret
it all flashes across your face before settling into something controlled.
he pushes himself upright too quickly, sand clinging to his skin, hands hanging uselessly at his sides. “I didn’t mean to—I just—I stayed,” he says, too honest, too late. “I wanted to talk to you.”
you don’t answer.
you don’t even look at him.
you step around him like he’s nothing more than driftwood washed too close to shore, ducking past without a second glance, and the sound of your footsteps retreating is worse than any words you could’ve thrown at him.
aged up!ao’nung x sully!reader (sully!reader wants to RETIREE)
smut, coercion (?), drunk sex
part 1
backstory to blurb: spit ᯓº·
inspo:
altitude
every night
one night only
what up you heard
————————
you don’t know when the tone of conversation switched, but you were certainly not complaining.
his hand that was on your upper arm skimmed up slowly, until his purlicue was resting at the base of your neck, his thumb slowly moving back and forth on your collarbone.
“i can take your mind off it,” ao’nung whispered, dipping his head and saying the words gently against the skin under your jaw.
it felt so good.
how could you say no?
“but..” you began, trying to find a reason to deny him.
you were too drunk to think of anything.
except him.
“let me help,” he pleaded against you, his breath fanning over your skin.
your eyes were still puffy and glossed with tears as you slowly nodded your head.
—————————
your senses were heightened and your defiance had extinguished long ago.
you were laid on your back, the grains of sand mixed with small shells were digging into your back. yet they didn’t feel rough anymore.
nothing did.
his large hands splayed on both your hips as he peppered kisses over your stomach, avoiding the thick stripe of white down your middle.
he was warm. so warm.
and so gentle.
you’d never seen him like this.
never felt him like this.
he was almost worshipping.
you stifled a moan by biting your bottom, your sharp canines sinking into the plush flesh, not hard enough to draw blood.
he trailed downwards until he was undoing your loincloth and peeling it off you slowly.
and when you first felt his breath against your clit?
you and your pussy were drooling.
he began lapping at you like a thirsty ikran at a stream.
“perfect fuckin’ pussy,” he murmurs against you, the vibrations making something coil low in your stomach.
“always wondered’ ‘bout you,” the confession was lost in between your legs as he ate you out like a man starved.
he didn’t stop until you felt the band in your lower stomach snap, a burst of sensation flowing through you.
“y’ready f’me now?” he asked, raising a hairless brow, his hands already parting from your hips to undo his own loincloth.
when you don’t respond, too lost in.. well, everything, he grabs your face, forcing you to maintain eye contact and squishing your cheeks in the process.
“are you ready?” he repeats slowly, like he’s teaching you something.
you nod.
your tongue feels too heavy in your mouth to wrap around syllables properly right now.
languidly, he taps his tip to your clit, watching the way you twitch in response.
almost lazily he slides just the tip in, eyes darting to yours as you mewl in response.
“shh, just focus on me,” he croons.
he slides in inch by inch.
until you stop him halfway with a hand on his chest—his skin soft underneath your palm—halting his movements.
“mm-mm. no more,” you mumble, shaking your head. you can feel the grains of sand embedding themselves into your hair for years at the motion.
he contemplates listening to you, but you’re so snug around him. so warm and perfect.
one of his hand comes up to yours, covering it and guiding your hand till your fingers are entertained with his.
“you’ll be fine,” he dips his head down, his free hand holding his body up, while he peppers kisses along your neck as he continues until he’s fully bottomed out.
it’s almost indescribable how you feel.
you feel so full.
he gives you a minute to adjust.
and it felt exactly like a minute, because, before you knew it, he was moving again.
he pulled out the tiniest bit, just to push back in.
and the soft pace continued for a little bit.
until he couldn’t help himself, and was soon moving so vehemently that your stomach was churning.
you think you came, but there was no way to know for sure, with your impairedness and the way that he didn’t offer a second to let you recover.
you weren’t sure if you were moaning aloud or in your head, your ears slightly ringing.
both his hands were now holding onto your waist, ensuring that you could not escape him.
every ‘mhm’,’please’, and ’yes’ that slipped from your lips just egged him on.
you didn’t even know you were saying the words, or how badly you were saying them. vowels and consonants slurring together into a jumbled mess.
“so perfect,” he’d rasp out every now and then.
you flutter around him, just barely comprehending the praise.
it feels like your brain has melted and is now leaking out of your ears into a puddle beneath you.
you felt him throb inside you, a telltale sign.
“ao’nung,” you whined, your dilated pupils causing your eyes to be so black that he could see his reflection in them.
“fffuck,” he groaned, filling you up with his seed.
the warm feeling settled low in your stomach, overwhelming to the point you were organismimg around his softening dick.
now he was the one whining.
——————————
I wrote this half asleep it may not make sense at all
aged up!ao’nung x sully!reader (sully!reader is TIREDDD)
angst, eventual smut (in part 2)
backstory to spit ᯓº·
inspo:
please don’t go
down, down, stream
i’ll be seeing you
little talks
forever young
over the rainbow - reprise
———————
your baby brother died.
it happened so fast.
you watched the life drain from his body. the way his pupils greyed and his laboured breathing stopped.
why did his breathing have to stop?
he was now stuck, forever young in Eywa’s embrace.
and you felt like it was your fault.
he was your baby brother.
yours to protect.
and you failed.
you held onto his body the longest, until you were stripped away and forced to continue to fight in a war that should have ended years before your birth. before his birth.
the words ‘i want to go home’ echoed in your head, your own voice now replaced with his. the way he said it made you nauseous.
he will never go back home.
———————————
your parents had just lowered his body, the glowing yellow tecntacle-sea-anemone-things gently cradling his rope bound body until you could no longer see any trace of him.
you would give anything to switch places with those.. whatever they were.. to be able to hold your brother one last time.
you couldn’t bear to see your family's sullen faces, so you trekked out to one of the beaches, enough beverages to inebriate a tulkun.
the grains of sand were rough but warm underneath your body as you settled down.
you were grateful for the grating sand on your skin. you did not deserve gentleness.
did you?
you drawed your knees to your chest, emotions weighing heavy on your heart.
your grief was so strong there was a physical ache in your chest at moments like this.
you turned your head to the sky, your left hand still wrapped around an untouched cup. your eyes closed as you felt them welling with tears.
and took a large swig.
the liquid burned down your throat, much stronger than you were used to.
but it was better than the burn of your throat tightening with overwhelming emotions.
you stayed there for a while. savouring the silence. the feeling of being so light.
you could almost pretend he was still alive.
—————————————
you’d consumed one too many drinks.
everything was so peaceful.
you looked out to the sea, the stars above you.
it was worth it.
right?
it’ll all work out in the end.
right?
quickly, all sensation of serenity and optimism was torn from you all at once.
good thing there was suddenly a presence beside you.
ao’nung? when did he get here?
your mind was hazy, he mostly looked like a blur of turquoise and black hair.
you felt as his thumbs wiped the tears from under your half lidded eyes.
“you’re okay,” he murmured, he sounded much closer than he looked.
your eyes fluttered shut in an attempt to gather your bearings. it did not work.
both of your hands wrapped around his broad fin-like wrist to ground you.
“i’m here,” he whispered, like it was some big secret.
and it was.
he was not nice.
he did not like your family.
he disliked you the most, actually.
but you couldn’t even think about that right now.
“you’re safe,” he uttered, his hand that was not in your grasp coming around to gently rub your upper arm.
you couldn’t see the desire in his eyes from your blurred vision.
soap — melanie martinez live & how deep is your love — mitski cover
ao’nung x fem!na’vi!reader
angst (?)
part 2
you didn’t know what to call what you and ao’nung had going on.
it was something of a relationship. some fucked up version of one.
you constantly had to be careful, one wrong thing and he’s snap.
I'm tired of being careful, tip-toe
ao’nung had just come back from a hunt moments after eclipse fell.
you had waited for him, words clawing at the inside of your throat in desperation to be heard keeping you up.
once he saw you, he looked you over an obvious question in his eyes.
you pulled him aside, far away from his group, leading him wordlessly to a desolate area near the edge of the water.
Trying to keep the water warm
“what?” he asked sharply, his hairless brows furrowing.
“i can’t do this,” you murmured, gesturing between the two of you.
“what are you talking about?” he questioned spikily. “what are you trying to say?”
“You act like this is nothing for days! then its precious for the hour!” you whisper-shout, your voice cracking slightly with emotion.
“It hu-rts! Do i mean nothing to you?” your voice crackles at ‘hurt’ and your question comes out softer than you want, your voice wavering.
You pause for a moment, the words that have been etched into your throat ever since this complicated arrangement began.
“let me under your skin!”
“what do yo—“ he begins, but you cut him off with a penetrating glare.
“you don’t even like me the way i love you!”
Uh-oh, there it goes
I said too much, it overflowed
Why do I always spill?
he takes a step back, his uncertainess radiating off him.
you can see how taken aback he is.
Guess I better wash my mouth out with soap
God, I wish I never spoke
you’re not well enough in control of your emotions to try to salvage the situation, so you let your words linger in the once languid air, now turned palpable.
everything seems to still. it’s so quiet that you can hear a tulkuns song.
Should've never said the word "love"
Threw a toaster in the bathtub
I'm sick of all the games I have to play
your stomach churns at the realization, and your ribs seem to be constricting around your lungs.
and he still hasn’t said anything.
but it’s clear he was not expecting his evening to go this way.
ao’nung didn’t welcome your family with open arms, to say the least.
he constantly made fun of your siblings for their ‘thin’ tails and ‘skinny’ arms.
and you were no exception. you got it the worse—verbally—out of all your siblings.
you’d hoped his comments would at least die down once your brother neteyam had, what a foolish thought that was.
instead something strange had happened. you had sex with him. clearly not in the right mindset! your baby brother had just passed away and you were so distraught and your heart just felt so heavy and he said he could make it feel better, it was the nicest he’d ever been towards you, okay!
you never mentioned it and neither did he, but it became a routine. By day, he’d be his usual cocky, mean self, but by night, he’d bury himself so deep in you, you thought he’d never pull out.
you were sitting on the warm grains of the sand on one of the many beaches—this one specifically being the one where the infamous fight happened between your brothers and ao’nung and his friends—the water lightly kissing the tips of your toes in rhythm with the waves. the water looked almost black now, reflecting the dark sky above you, the stars that once glimmered being almost imperceptible now.
you were deep in thought, accidentally biting on your lower lip too hard, your fangs pushing down on the plush of your lip for the tang of blood to fill your mouth.
“shit,” you murmured, standing up, and running your tongue over the wounds.
you were so focused on stopping the blood flow, you hadn’t noticed ao’nung approaching you.
until you felt his broad hand slide up your shoulder.
you turned around, half pissed at whoever had the audacity, half pissed at the fact that your lip was still bleeding.
when your eyes had settled on him, your hairless brows furrowed.
“can I help yo—“ your words were cut off as he kissed you, his tongue sliding over your bottom lip.
I'm tasting your blood, see
he whined at the taste of your blood on his tongue, his eyes fluttering shut.
when you pulled away he looked like a kicked puppy, his eyes slightly downcast.
“what are you doing! we’re in public!” you whisper-shouted, trying to get the idea of being caught through his impossibly thick skull.
“spit in my mouth,” he murmured, the words a low rumble in his throat.
I put out my tongue please
“what the fuck are you talking about?!” your brows furrow at his absurd request.
And I'm waiting, I'm waiting
I'm waiting, uh-uh
I'm waiting, I'm waiting
I'm waiting
“please,” he whimpers.
Make me beg
I've waited too long now
It's filthy disgusting
So ugly, I'm sure
“I'm ugly, disgusting, and filthy for sure,” you repeat the way he described you within hours of meeting you.
his breath hitched, and his eyes met yours, his pupils were blown so wide there’s only a sliver of turquoise left.
I hate you, I hate you
but you still lean in and kiss him fervently, deliberately spitting in his mouth, your blood coating his lips and your own.
bleed in the underground, go
“I hate you,” you whisper, pulling away, a thin red line of saliva connecting your lips.
https://character.ai/profile/kisslaced on c.ai for bot version.
ooooo you ate downnnn with bully!ao’nung 😮💨 i need more 🥲
𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲!𝐚𝐨’𝐧𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐫𝐲.
all characters are aged up!!!
i have no blurb ideas..this is the best I could think of 💔
hope you enjoy!!
bully!aonung whose obsession started off as a little pang in his chest when he saw your eyes water. not a pang of shame or regret, but desire. it was evident in the way he felt his dick twitch when he saw those salty tears begin to cling to your lashes.
bully!aonung who likes the way your lower lip trembled right before your eyes would begin to gloss over.
bully!aonung who likes to make you cry until you nearly choke on your own spit.
bully!aonung who’d overstimulate you till you would finally let him see those pretty tears.
bully!aonung who has to excuse himself when he makes you cry in public, just to palm himself and nearly cumming immediately.
bully!aonung who’d croon ‘poor baby’ in the fakest, most condescending tone when you’d plead with him to get him to be slower. gentler.
bully!aonung who licks the tears off your cheeks while he’s pounding into you relentlessly.
bully!aonung who doesn’t let you cum, slowing down to a stop when he feels you begin to tighten around him. until you cry from frustration.
bully!aonung who pinches your clit harshly as he fucks you, you eyes squeezing shut as tears overflowed.
bully!aonung who feels unaccomplished when he doesn’t make you cry.
this is my first time writing smut sorry if it’s awkward :(
ao’nung’s pace is harsh, unfaltering, every single thrust knocking the air straight out of your dumb omaticaya lungs.
you’re sprawled out on the sand—your back against the warm grains and your knees pushed to your chest—on one of the many beaches his village has to offer, hidden from the rest of civilization. eclipse had fallen awhile ago, the stars glimmering in the reflection of the sea. it was beautiful. not that you would notice. Too busy getting your brains fucked out.
your watery eyes were open just a sliver, watching ao’nungs tanhì shift with each movement of his body against yours. totally mesmerized.
you don’t even remember how it happened, the last coherent thought bouncing around in your mushy brain being you telling him to shut up. it must’ve been hours ago. it was still light outside when you had said it.
“stupid fuckin’ omaticaya bitch,” he snides, each word enunciated like a slur and punctuation with a cruel thrust.
everything he says goes in one ear and out the other.
he’s plunging into with such brutality that your tummy is turning and you’re lightheaded.
with sudden force, he flips you over, his stupid broad forearms flexing as he does. and oh eywa, he doesn’t pull out while he tosses you around.
you rested your head on your ‘skinny’ folded arms, elbows forming a loose rectangle on the sand, your ass in the air while your back arches. he’s still buried in you.
and then, holy shit, he’s moving again.
you babble into the dark blue striped skin of your forearm, your yellow eyes rolling so far back you swear you can see the puddle that’s left of your brain.
“you think you’re s-so much better than me still, huh? you’re nothing but a fucking waste of time.” the slight waver in his voice is the only signal of how affected he is by your tight little omaticaya pussy.
and, crucify him, he doesn’t wanna ever pull out.
“in my village? you’re my fucking bitch. y’hear me?” he leans down, the words rumbling in his chest and vibrating against your back. his bicep wraps around your neck, the band around his arm glinting in your face. the jerk has got you in a headlock!
his words and the loss of air do something. there’s a hot flood of pleasure bursting low in your tummy that causes you to flutter around him, and his ribs seem to constrict around his lungs. every. single. time.
he’s twitching in you, against your cervix, and you might pass out entirely from pleasure.
he tugs your tail, ensuring he’s fully bottomed out and flush against him. you whine, tears prickling at your ears from the mixture of pleasure and pain he’s brought you.
“poor baby,” he croons, so insufferably condescending. if you weren’t fucked dumb on his amazing gross dick, you’d definitely hiss at him for that.
the sound of your whimpers of pain push him over the edge.
because soon he’s painting your insides white like he can’t help himself, a warmth settling low in your belly at the new sensations. it makes your face burn and your ears twitch.
your eyes flutter, there’s a pool of drool on your forearm and your drifting out of consciousness.
