summary you’re tsakarem from ta’unui clan who is visiting awatalu to congratulate your long time friends Aonung, Tsireya and Roxto on their first tattoo— and them you. but you didn’t expect to have the breath knocked from your lungs that same night.
a/n sorry if there’s so many transitions i’m trying something new , also happy new years!!
The moon over Awa’atlu did not simply sit in the sky; it ruled the horizon, casting a heavy, silvered glow that seemed to vibrate against the skin of the ocean. For you, a daughter of the Ta’unui clan, the rhythm of this reef was a softer, more fluid drumbeat than the crashing, temperamental surf of your home islands. Tonight, the air was thick with the scent of salt, crushed bioluminescent algae, and the sweet, fermented nectar of the celebration currently humming in the village behind you.
You were sitting alone on the cool, damp sand, the grains pressing between your toes as you watched the way the moonlight reflected off the calm waters. The reef was a mirror of stars, fractured only by the occasional ripple of a small fish breaking the surface. Your tail, long and muscular, twitched rhythmically behind you, leaving shallow sweeps in the sand. You had been waiting for this moment—the moment you finally saw them again.
The news had reached your clan days ago: Aonung, Tsireya, and Roxto were to receive their first markings. The children you had spent your summers with, diving for rare shells and racing through the mangrove roots, were now being welcomed into the fold of adults.
In the distance, the horns of the village sounded—a deep, resonating moan that vibrated in your very chest. It was the signal of the ceremony’s end, and a reminder that you were no longer just a visitor, but a witness to their transition.
Aonung had heard those same horns. To him, they weren't just a signal of tradition; they were a reminder of your arrival. The moment the ritual was complete, while the ink was still fresh and stinging above his brow, he didn't stay for the feast. He didn't stay to listen to the praise of the elders. He rushed to the shore immediately, Roxto’s laughter fading behind him, driven by a singular need to find you.
You were still focused on the water when the sound reached you. At the sudden, heavy thumping of feet against the packed sand, your ears swiveled backward, capturing the frantic pace of the approach. They were coming fast, the vibrations traveling through the ground and up into your palms. You felt the air shift, the wind of a runner’s momentum breaking the stillness of the cove.
Even more so, the footsteps slowed as they neared you. The frantic pace gave way to a hesitant, heavy walk—the stride of someone suddenly struck by nerves.
You turned your head toward the sound, and the breath hitched in your throat. Standing there, silhouetted against the soft, pulsing glow of the village walkways, was Aonung.
You stared at him with large eyes, your gaze open and unshielded. It was a look he often swore he hated—the curiosity and sheer admiration you had was always on display through them, clear as the shallowest lagoon. He had often teased you for it, calling you a "clear pool" that revealed every thought, but tonight, he didn't look away.
As he stood there, chest heaving with the exertion of his little sprint, you realized he had changed. He had grown larger, his frame filling out with a dense, powerful musculature that made your own heart hammer against your ribs.
He was truly beginning to take after his father, Tonowari—the broad, sloping shoulders, the thick cords of muscle in his neck, and a chest that seemed twice as wide as it had been only a few moons ago. He was no longer the lanky boy who tried to trip you in the shallows; he was a warrior of the Metkayina.
His mouth opened to speak, but the words died as his eyes trailed over your face. He froze as he saw your own tattoo, the one you had received just before your journey with your spirit sister to awa’talu. It was right above your eyebrow, almost perfectly curved into the crook of your nose, the ink dark and sharp against your teal skin.
His eyes lingered there, tracing the line of your new path to adulthood, before his gaze dropped to his own reflection in your eyes. Right above his eyebrow, in the exact same placement, was his new mark. It was a bold, jagged pattern that accentuated the heavy, commanding brow he had inherited from his father while the rest of his face was his mother’s. The coincidence—or perhaps the shared destiny of the timing—seemed to strike him dumb.
You jumped up happily, the motion causing the many shelled adornments on your chest and wrists to tinkle like a hundred tiny bells. The sound was bright and sharp in the quiet night. You had a familiar, radiant smile on your face, the kind that usually made him roll his eyes to hide the heat rising to his cheeks, but he couldn't find the strength to do it now.
To Aonung, you looked so much older than the last time he saw you. You were a little taller, your hair was longer and heavy with beads, and you wore new body adornments he’d never seen—bands of woven fiber and polished sea-glass that hugged your frame.
His eyes traveled down, helpless to stop themselves. They swept to the small of your waist, noting the way your body had matured, and followed the curve of your thighs before he snapped his gaze back up to your face. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his own tail lashing once in a nervous, subconscious arc behind him.
He cleared his throat, forcing his face into a mask of familiar arrogance, though his eyes remained wide with wonder. He smiled—the signature teasing smile that only showed his top row of teeth perfectly, the one he used when he was trying to hide how much he cared.
“Ta’unui!” he called out teasingly, his voice deeper and more resonant than you remembered. It was the name he’d often call you to be funny, a reminder of your distance and your clan, but tonight, it felt like a tether.
You didn't expect it—the way the moonlight hit the fresh ink on his brow, the way his larger shoulders seemed to block out the rest of the world, the way the simple sound of your clan's name from his lips felt like a weight in your chest. You had hid your feelings for the boy well, but as you stood there, looking at the young man your friend had become, you felt the crushing weight of holding back entirely.
The teasing smile remained on his face, but his hand reached up, his fingers hovering near the mark above his own eye. "You came," he said, the bravado slipping just enough for you to hear the relief underneath.
"I said I would," you replied, your voice soft, accompanied by the gentle clink of the shells on your hips as you took a small step forward into his space.
Every breath you took felt charged, the atmosphere between you and Aonung stretching tight like a drumhead, vibrating with every small movement.
But despite that, the smile never left your lips as you took another daring step closer, the sand shifting softly beneath your feet. The distance between you had always been measured in jokes and races, but now, it was measured in inches.
You reached out, your fingers steady despite the frantic drumming of your heart, and found the line of his jaw. His skin was warm, lips pressing into a line at your touch. You gently hooked your fingers beneath his chin, tilting his head to the side so that you could clearly see the dark, intricate patterns of his tattoo.
Up close, the ink was even more striking. It was bold, the lines sharp and aggressive, perfectly capturing the spirit of a warrior that was meant to lead. You traced the way it sat above his brow, a permanent testament to his strength. As you studied the mark, Aonung’s eyes flickered away, searching the darkened horizon as if the stars could offer him a reprieve from the intensity of your gaze.
His tail gave a sharp, nervous lash behind him, the thick end of it hitting the sand with a soft thwack. But the avoidance didn't last long. His eyes, dark and swirling with an emotion he couldn't quite mask, came back to yours, even though his head was still tilted in the opposite direction under your guidance.
“It fits you and your spiritbrother well,” you cooed, your voice dropping into a low, melodic register. You let a teasing tone dance beneath your words, a shield against the sudden vulnerability of the moment. “Fitting for the mighty warrior Aonung.”
You expected a sharp retort, a boastful remark about his prowess, or perhaps that signature bark of a laugh he used to dismiss anything too serious. Instead, the silence of the beach seemed to swell. The only sound was the distant, rhythmic tinkle of the many-shelled adornments on your chest and hips as you breathed, a tiny, crystalline music that filled the gaps between your heartbeats.
Aonung’s hand, larger and broader than your own, rose slowly. It was a deliberate movement, the muscles in his forearm rippling under his teal skin—another reminder of the power he now carried in his father’s image.
He didn't swat your hand away. Instead, his fingers found yours where they rested on his chin. His touch was unexpectedly soft, his calloused skin grazing your knuckles as he gently moved your hand. He turned his head back to face you fully, his eyes never breaking contact with yours.
He didn't let go of your hand. Instead, he used the momentum to close the final bit of space between you. He took this opportunity to cup your face, his palm large enough to cradle your jaw entirely.
His thumb rested just at the corner of your mouth, while his fingers spanned back toward your ears, the warmth of his hand seeped into your skin. He tilted your own head upward—copying your earlier gesture, but with a gravity that made the playful air vanish instantly.
The bioluminescent beads in your hair clinked softly against each other as he moved you, the sound like falling glass. He studied your tattoo, the delicate curve that hugged the bridge of your nose, with a focus that felt like a physical weight. You could feel his breath on your skin, a warm, steady rhythm that smelled of the ocean.
“And yours,” he began, his voice dropping into a deep, gravelly tone that vibrated through your very bones. “It is just as graceful, and beautiful as you.”
The words hit you with the force of a physical blow. Your ears pressed back against your head in surprise, and your tail went still, hovering just above the sand. You waited for the punchline. You waited for him to break into that shit-eating grin,for his brows to furrow in a mock-scowl, or for that annoyingly teasing tone to return to his voice. You expected him to laugh and call you a 'silly Ta’unui girl' for believing him.
But the mockery never came.
The words poured from his lips with a raw, genuine affection that you had never heard from him before—not in all the years of your friendship. His face remained soft, the harsh lines of his warrior’s build yielding to an expression of pure, unadulterated admiration.
You felt the air leave your lungs in a sharp, silent rush. It was as if the tide had suddenly pulled back, leaving you stranded in the wake of his honesty. You turned your head slightly, pressing your cheek deeper into the firm, warm hollow of his palm. It was an instinctive movement, a seeking of comfort and grounding as the world felt like it was tilting on its axis.
Your wide eyes searched his, darting back and forth across his pupils, looking for even the tiniest glimpse of a joke as your ears swiveled forward. You looked for a twinkle of mischief, a twitch of his lip that would signal a prank, or the familiar glint of a hunter about to spring a trap. But there was nothing but the reflected moonlight and a vulnerability that mirrored your own.
The warrior stood before you, his hands cradling your face as if you were the most fragile shell in the reef, and for the first time in your life, the "mighty Aonung" wasn't hiding behind a his banter. You were left breathless, the silence of the Awa’atlu night suddenly filled with the deafening realization that everything between you had changed irrevocably.
The air between you and Aonung were still vibrating from his words—a rare, unfiltered moment of honesty that had stripped away years of teasing armor. His hands were warm, firm, and grounding against your skin, and for a heartbeat, the rest of Pandora ceased to exist.
But silence in a village as lively as this one was a fleeting luxury.
Just as you stood there, anchored by his gaze and the weight of his palms against your cheeks, a call of your name rang through the air—a voice all too familiar, carrying a melody of pure, unadulterated excitement.
Tsireya’s voice sliced through the heavy tension like a polished blade through water. Your ears, which had been relaxed and softened under Aonung’s touch, darted back once again, swiveling toward the high walkways of the village. The panic was instantaneous, a sharp prickle of heat that started at the base of your tail and raced up your spine.
“I saw her spirit sister!” she yelled again, her voice closer now, accompanied by the rapid, rhythmic slapping of feet against the sand.
You felt your breath hitch, your chest tightening. The transition from the profound, soul-baring intimacy of Aonung’s confession to the impending arrival of his sister was jarring. You instinctively tried to pull your face from his hands, your eyes widening as you searched for an escape or a way to compose yourself. You weren't ready to be seen like this—not with your face cradled in his hands and the truth of your feelings written in the wide, dilated pupils of your eyes.
Aonung, however, did not share your alarm. As the footsteps got increasingly closer, his face began to contort into that signature grin once again. It wasn't the arrogant, mocking sneer he gave to outsiders; it was a triumphant, satisfied curve of his lips that reached his eyes, turning them into dark, shimmering pools of mischief.
Despite your panic, he remained entirely calm. His thumb gave a slow, deliberate graze across your cheekbone, a final silent acknowledgement of the moment you had just shared, before his posture shifted.
He didn't let go. Instead, his boldness flared—a steady, unshakable confidence that you found infuriatingly attractive, though you’d never admit it, not even to yourself. He seemed to relish the idea of being caught, or perhaps he simply wanted to claim the moment before it was gone.
Instead of pulling away, he threw his head back slightly and called out, his voice a deep, resonant baritone that harmonized with the crashing surf. “She is! Come see!”
Tsireya skidded to a halt just a few paces away, her chest heaving with the effort of her run. The bioluminescent dots along her shoulders and brow pulsed with a bright, happy pink hue.
She had definitely grown as well; though she was only a little younger than you and Aonung, the change was evident in the grace of her limbs and the steady light in her eyes. Despite her new markings and her height, you still saw her as the little sister you had spent hours teaching to weave complex reef-knots.
“Isn’t she so pretty with this tattoo, sister?” Aonung asked.
As he spoke, he squished your cheeks slightly, his fingers pressing into your skin to tilt your head back and forth, putting your new ink on full display. You felt your face grow hot, a deep flush of indigo creeping up your neck. You were shocked, embarrassed by his sudden return to his boisterous, peacocking self, yet the warmth of his hands kept you tethered to the spot.
“Aonung, stop it,” you hissed under your breath, though there was no real bite to it. You then looked to tsireya; “Hi reya..” To her, you looked like a captured reef-fish, eyes darting toward her in a silent plea for help.
Tsireya let out a small oop, her hands flying up to cover a growing, knowing smile at the sight of her brother being so boldly forward. Her eyes darted between your flustered expression and Aonung’s smugly proud face. She saw the way his hands lingered, the way he looked at you—not as a childhood friend, but as something precious.
She quickly cleared her throat and regained her posture, though the twinkle in her eyes remained. She nodded, her expression softening into one of genuine warmth.
“Yes, she does. It is beautiful!” she agreed, her voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. “It matches your spirit, big sister. Strong and deep.”
You finally managed a small, sheepish smile, your tension melting just a fraction under her kindness. But the moment of relative quiet didn't last. Just as she agreed, more footsteps followed, heavier and less rhythmic than Tsireya’s.
Out of the shadows emerged the rest of the troupe. There was Roxto, his broad face split into a wide, toothy grin, and beside him was Lo’ak. The Omaticaya-born boy moved with a different kind of fluidity, his tail longer and thinner than a Metkayina’s, trailing behind him in the sand.
Aonung finally let go of your face, his hands sliding slowly from your jaw as if he were reluctant to lose the contact. The sudden coolness of the night air on your skin made you shiver. Your attention turned to the approaching figures, your hands instinctively flying to your hair to smooth down the stray strands that Aonung’s palms had disturbed.
“Y/N!” Roxto happily greeted you, his voice booming. He wasted no time in stepping close, tilting his head to showcase the swirling ink that covered his eyebrow. “Look! The healer said I took the needle better than Aonung. Didn't even flinch!”
Aonung scoffed, crossing his massive arms over his chest—a pose that made him look more like his father than ever. “You cried like a baby, Roxto. Do not lie to her.”
As the boys began their usual bickering, your eyes drifted to Lo’ak. He didn't join the boasting. Instead, he slung his arm around Tsireya’s shoulders with a casual, easy familiarity that spoke volumes. He stood back, simply listening to the group and nodding along, his golden eyes observing the scene with a quiet intelligence and laughing at jokes. He caught your eye for a moment and gave a small, knowing nod, as if he had sensed the electricity still humming in the air between you and the future Olo’eyktan.
The shore was no longer a private sanctuary. It was filled with the sounds of laughter, the clinking of shells as Roxto moved, and the comfortable banter of friends who had missed each other.
You were surrounded by the people you loved, yet your skin still burned where Aonung’s hands had been. You looked at him—now laughing at one of Roxto’s jokes—and realized that while the world had returned to its normal rhythm, nothing would ever truly be the same again.
For a long moment, you stood there in the center of the group, your mind a turbulent whirlpool of thoughts. The sensation of Aonung’s palms against your cheeks still lingered—a ghost of heat that made your skin prickle despite the chill. You were trying to find your footing again, trying to transition from the raw, breathless intimacy of that private moment back into the role of the visiting friend, the Tsakarem from the Ta’unui.
But just as you began to think clearly again, you felt a large, calloused hand slide into yours.
The contact was sudden but certain. Aonung’s fingers entwined with your own, his grip firm and possessive. It wasn't the playful grab of a child; it was the steady, grounding weight of a man. You looked up at him, your ears giving a small, surprised twitch. He didn't look at you directly at first; instead, he watched the others, his silhouette tall and imposing against the bioluminescent surf. Everyone was starting to head back to the festival, their feet kicking up glowing sparks of sand as they turned toward the walkways.
Aonung gestured with a subtle tilt of his head toward the village, a silent command that was also an invitation. Let’s go.
“My parents will love to see you, Y/N,” he said. His voice was lower now, meant mostly for your ears, though the others were close enough to hear. There was a new weight to the way he said your name—a softness that sat strangely, yet perfectly, alongside the newfound muscle of his shoulders and the sharp ink on his brow.
Before you could respond, Tsireya was on your other side. With a joyful chirp, she grabbed your other hand, her touch light and energetic compared to her brother’s heavy warmth. Her other hand remained firmly clasped in Lo’ak’s, creating a living chain of friends between the shoreline and the village.
“They will!” Tsireya added, her eyes bright with the reflected light of the reef. “Mother has been asking since the first sun-high when you would arrive. She has missed your stories.”
Roxto simply nodded, walking in step with the rest of you, his large tail swaying lazily behind him in a sign of contentment. He looked over at you, his grin wide and easy. “It has been too quiet without you here to keep Aonung in check. He’s been insufferable lately.”
The five of you began the walk back, the sand transitioning into the firm, woven paths of the village. The bioluminescent plants that lined the walkways began to glow brighter as you approached, pulsing in shades of magenta and deep violet.
The sound of your shelled adornments created a rhythmic clatter—the tinkle of the shells on your hips and the click of the beads in your hair marking every step of the journey.
Aonung’s thumb moved in a slow, subconscious circle against the back of your hand. It was a rhythmic, soothing motion that made your heart skip beats. You felt a strange sense of belonging, walking between the two siblings, being pulled back into the heart of their home.
The peace, however, was once again short-lived.
Lo’ak, who had been uncharacteristically quiet while observing the exchange between you and Aonung, suddenly broke the silence. He leaned forward slightly, looking past Tsireya to catch Aonung’s eye. A mischievous, sharp-toothed grin spread across his face—the look of a boy who had seen exactly what had been happening on that shore.
“They’ll be happy to see her, sure,” Lo’ak started, his voice dripping with a playful, dangerous kind of mirth. “But definitely not as much as Aonung did.”
The comment hung in the air for a heartbeat, sharp and undeniable.
You felt the heat rush to your face instantly, your indigo skin darkening as a flush crept up to your ears. You tried to keep your eyes forward, focused on the glowing path, but you could feel the sudden tension radiating from the hand holding yours.
Aonung’s reaction was immediate. You felt his grip tighten—not painfully, but with a sudden, rigid defensiveness. His scowl grew, his brow furrowing deeply, which only served to make the new tattoo above his eye look more menacing. His ears darted back, flattening against the sides of his head in a clear sign of irritation and embarrassment.
“Shut your mouth, forest boy,” Aonung grumbled, his voice a low, warning growl that rumbled in his chest.
Lo’ak only laughed, a bright, barking sound that caused Tsireya to giggle and swat at his arm playfully. Roxto let out a boisterous hoot, bumping his shoulder against Aonung’s.
“He’s got you!” Roxto teased. “You ran down to that shore like you were chasing a rare fish. I’ve never seen you move so fast.”
Aonung didn't let go of your hand. If anything, he pulled you a little closer to his side as you climbed the ramp toward the main pavilion. The arrogance was back in his expression, but beneath it, you could see the flicker of the boy who had just told you that you were beautiful. He was trying to maintain his mask of the "mighty warrior," but with Lo’ak’s teasing and your hand in his, the mask was slipping.
“Ignore them,” Aonung muttered to you, though his ears were still pinned back. “They are children.”
You looked up at him, seeing the way the firelight from the village began to dance in his eyes. You felt a smile tugging at your own lips, the initial panic fading into something warmer and more grounded.
The celebration was waiting for you—the music, the elders, the dancing, and the formal greetings. You would have to sit with Tonowari and Ronal, and you would have to explain your own tattoo and the rites you took. But as long as Aonung’s hand was wrapped around yours, the weight of the night felt manageable.
You weren't just a visitor anymore. As the five of you walked into the golden glow of the festival, the laughter of your friends surrounding you, you knew that the breath Aonung had stolen from you on the beach was only the beginning of a much longer story.
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