#avatar aonung

[wingo5]

I love this trend (on tik tok) lmao

[tonowarii]

A Fine Warrior

aonung te tsika'u tonowari'itan x gn! sully! reader

Summary: Gaining his first tattoo, Aonung seeks you out.

WC: 0.9k

Warning/s: none, maybe aonung being romantic?? lmao, maybe a little ooc mb...

Note: i crave more aonung screen time and seeing him with that tattoo oh it was over for me- likes, reblogs, and feedbacks are most welcome and appreciated!

GIF is made by yours truly!

The communal area was filled with bright colors and the dancing of the flames, the sound of the drums beating mirroring your nervous heartbeat.

The festival for the young Metkayina, after passing through the challenging tests from the clan that challenged them with their tulkun and their own strength, before eventually being able to bond with their spirit sibling for the first time.

You watched silently, eyes taking it all in, no matter how long you’ve been here with your family, seeing these things for the first time was special.

And it was also extra special because of a certain boy.

The horns sounded once more and you snap your head up from the fishes swimming on the edge to see them file out one by one, the cheers growing louder from parents and clan-mates alike, seeing their youth with renewed pride and joy from their success in their iknimaya.

Your yellow gaze flickers from face to face, which every one of them wore smiles and laughter and gratitude.

Until you spotted that familiar grin, from which for the first time you laid eyes on him you wanted nothing but to wipe it off his stupid face. Now it was the opposite.

There was Aonung, all in his boyish demeanor, energetic, too much confidence and yet a level of honor. You saw how he looked around- not spotting you yet, and how he jokingly flexes to his friends much to the amusement of his parents and sister, showing off his new facial tattoo and the leather vest he now adorned. Now a warrior making his own path.

Something in your heart lurches seeing him be in his own element, his people, and how grown he now looked to be when it was not long ago, he was picking fights with your own siblings the first few weeks you got here.

And yet… something warm settles over you. You were proud, letting a warm smile slip from your lips even if he doesn’t see you through the crowd yet.

You let him have his moment and eventually the crowd gets a little too much for you, taking a small breath, you let your last gaze linger on Aonung for a little while longer before you turned on your heel, walking off on the bridge out the area, settling for the quiet crash of the waves against the nearby shore.

You sat yourself down on the sand, tail curling around your leg as you stared out, the noise of the festival muffled from where you were. 

The waves were calming, almost lulling you to sleep, ears drooping as your eyelids start to feel heavy. 

“Think you could leave without congratulating me?” 

Your senses jumped, tail lashing in surprise with your ears going up at the sound of a voice, eyes blinking and turning to find him standing there not too far from where you were, same smug expression but a hint of something deeper within his gaze. 

Aonung’s tone was playful, but also somewhat genuine, his eyes squinting slightly watching you. Unbeknownst to you, he did catch you leaving.

“No…” you trailed off, shaking your head to wake yourself a little more but his presence did exactly that already. 

He shrugs his shoulders before he saunters over, planting himself beside you as your eyes glued to his every move, now seeing his tattoo and his new garment up close, you were hit with that feeling again. 

Your fingers reach out without thought, tracing the garment now strapped to his chest, tracing over the weaving and the fish scales adorning it. 

Aonung tenses for a moment but he lets you, teal gaze locked down to your five-fingered hand before slowly turning his head to look at you instead, so focused and admiring every detail. 

All his boyish demeanor was gone, replaced by something quieter, observing…

When you finish inspecting his garment, your eyes and your fingers slowly drag up to meet his face, Aonung doesn’t flinch.

He keeps his gaze on you, and you lock eyes with him, heart skipping a beat before your eyes take in the new mark on his temple instead, fingers reaching up now, it makes him breathe out a little, like he was holding his breath for that moment. 

Light as a wood sprite, the pads of your fingers seem to trace the new tattoo with the same admiration. 

Knowing Aonung, he can’t bear silence… or maybe because he wasn’t used to this kind of silence. 

Clearing his throat, he turns his face afront so you could look at the tattoo better, though leaning into your touch just by a fraction, tail thumps soft against the sand. 

“First of many I’ll get.” He spoke, not with his usual arrogance, no, he sounded hopeful, a dream of his he doesn’t usually voice but lets his actions do the talking, and this makes him feel… exposed. 

But the smile that appears on your face after he says that washes away ounce of uncertainty in him. You understood. 

“You will make a very fine warrior.” You finally speak and it feels like a reward, your fingers trace the arch again before it lingers there, eyes looking back into his as he turned to face you, teal eyes scanning your face and your yellow eyes, an understanding passing between the two of you. 

His four-fingered hand moved to cup your wrist that were still by his face, much bigger than yours, before it decides to slowly trace up to hold your fingers instead, pulling them down to press your hand to his chest, a simple act that meant so much more now to the two of you at this moment.

“Your fine warrior, one day.” He murmured, that all too familiar smirk curling on the edge of his lips, eyes holding all the promise he couldn’t put to words.

But tonight, his dreams never felt more in sight.

[libraryafterdark]

Fem sully request! Reader gets majorly injured and hides it from her parents thinking Jake is going to be mad at her. The only reason they find out she’s injured is her collapsing into Neytiri’s arms, in pain. Ps sorry if this sends twice my requests aren’t working properly

Thought He’d Be Mad

Masterlist

You don’t mean for it to happen. That’s the worst part.

It isn’t reckless like Lo’ak. It isn’t brave like Neteyam. It’s just one wrong step during a scouting run along the cliffs near the reef a loose edge of rock beneath your foot, a sharp drop you don’t see until you’re already sliding.

You catch yourself before you fall far. But not before something tears deep along your side.

It burns. Hot and immediate.

You bite back the sound that wants to escape your throat and cling to the rock until your vision steadies. When you finally manage to pull yourself upright, your hand comes away slick.

The cut is bad. Long. Deeper than you want to admit. You stare at it for a moment, heart pounding, and the first thought that fills your mind is not I’m hurt. It’s: Dad is going to be furious. Not because he doesn’t love you. But because he does.

Because he is always talking about safety, about sticking together, about not taking unnecessary risks. Because the war is barely behind you and he watches all of you like something might snatch you away at any second.

You can already hear it in your head. What were you thinking. Why didn’t you call someone? You don’t run off alone like that. So you wrap it.

You tear part of your sash and tie it tightly around your ribs. You rinse it quickly in seawater, swallow against the sting, and straighten your posture before returning to the village.

No one notices at first. You’re careful.

You sit down slowly. You avoid stretching too far. You laugh when Tuk bumps into you even though it makes white hot pain shoot through your side.

At dinner, you stay quiet. Jake glances at you once. "You’re quiet,” he says. You shrug. “Just tired.” He nods, accepting it, but his eyes linger half a second too long. The bleeding hasn’t stopped.

You can feel it, warm and steady beneath the fabric. By the next morning, it’s worse. Your body feels heavy. Your head swims when you stand too fast. Every breath pulls against torn muscle.

You tell yourself it’s fine. You’ve had worse. You can handle it. You always handle it. Training begins like normal.

Jake is instructing Lo’ak on spear balance while Neteyam demonstrates form. Neytiri stands nearby, correcting posture with gentle touches.

You try to follow along. But when you raise your arm fully, the world tilts. Your vision spots. You swallow hard. Not now.

You take one step backward to steady yourself. Then another. Your mother turns just as your knees give out.

You don’t even realize you’re falling until you’re already in her arms. The pain hits fully when you collapse, no more pretending, no more holding yourself upright.

It rips through you so violently that a broken sound tears from your throat before you can stop it. Neytiri drops to her knees with you, cradling you instantly. “My daughter?” Her voice sharpens with alarm. “What is wrong?”

Jake is there in seconds. “What happened?” You shake your head weakly. “It’s nothing—” But your mother’s hand brushes against your side.

It comes away red. Everything goes still. Jake’s face changes. Not anger. Something worse. Fear.

He pulls the fabric away despite your weak protest, revealing the wound beneath, angry, deep, still bleeding.

His jaw tightens. “When?” he demands. You can’t meet his eyes. “Yesterday.” Silence. The kind that presses heavy on your chest.

“Yesterday?” His voice rises, not in rage, but disbelief. “You’ve been walking around like this since yesterday?” You flinch. And that that is what breaks him. You shrink back slightly, instinctively, like you’re bracing for anger.

Jake sees it. He sees the way you brace. And something inside him caves in. He softens instantly. “Oh,” he breathes. Neytiri is already pressing cloth to your side, calling for herbs, for help, her hands steady even though her breathing is not.

Jake kneels in front of you. “Why didn’t you tell us?” he asks, quieter now. You blink up at him, tears slipping free despite your effort to stop them. “I thought… you’d be mad.” The words barely make it out. He freezes.

“Mad?” he repeats. You nod faintly. “You’re always saying to be careful. I didn’t want to mess up.” For a long moment, he doesn’t speak. Then he moves closer, one large hand carefully cupping the side of your face.

“Listen to me,” he says, voice low and steady in a way it hasn’t been since you collapsed. “I don’t get mad because you make mistakes. I get scared because I can’t lose you.” Your breath stutters.

“You think I care more about rules than you?” he continues softly. “I would rather hear about every stupid decision you ever make than have you hiding something like this.”

Neytiri presses her forehead gently to your temple. “You are never alone in pain,” she murmurs. You didn’t realize how tightly you’d been holding yourself together until that moment. The tears come freely now. “I didn’t want to disappoint you,” you whisper. Jake’s expression cracks.

“You could never do that,” he says immediately. He presses his forehead to yours careful, grounding. “You’re allowed to mess up,” he adds. “You’re not allowed to disappear on me.” Neytiri hums softly as she works, the sound low and comforting, like when you were small and scraped your knees climbing trees you were told not to climb. The pain doesn’t vanish.

But it feels lighter somehow. Because you’re not holding it alone anymore. Later, when the wound is stitched and bound properly, Jake sits beside you outside the marui while the sun lowers over the water. “You scared me,” he admits quietly.

You glance at him. “Sorry.” He shakes his head. “No. I need to make sure you know something.” You wait. “You never have to choose between being honest and keeping me calm,” he says. “I’ll handle my fear. You just come to me.” You lean your head against his shoulder carefully. “Okay.”

His arm wraps around you gently. “Good.” And for the first time since the cliff, you let yourself rest without pretending you’re stronger than you feel.

[itzj4ylene]

Aonung slowly falls for a stubborn, quiet artisan who sees him clearly and challenges his pride, and their shared moments by the sea turn irritation into a soft, mutual love. word count: 2,650

Aonung x reader

Aonung has a problem.

He would never call it that out loud—never in front of Rotxo, never in front of his mother, definitely never in front of the sea. But it is a problem all the same, because it starts small, the way bad habits do, and then it turns into something that follows him.

It starts with you.

Not you the way he’s used to—another face in the village, another voice in the water, another pair of hands weaving nets and braiding reeds and carving shells. No, it’s you the way his eyes keep finding you without permission.

You’re crouched at the edge of the shallows when he notices. Knees tucked under you, shoulders bare to the sun, hands moving with that careful precision that makes Aonung feel vaguely insulted—like you’re handling something precious and the world should be more respectful about it.

A strip of kelp lies across your palm. You’re threading beads through it. Tiny, pale pieces of shell that catch the light and flash like fish scales.

Aonung slows without realizing it.

Rotxo bumps his shoulder. “You’re walking like an old ilu.”

Aonung scoffs, jerking his chin toward the water like he meant to stop anyway. “Shut up.”

Rotxo follows his gaze—and immediately grins. “Ohhhh.”

Aonung’s face goes hot. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Rotxo says, way too innocent. “Look with my eyes?”

Aonung elbows him, harder than necessary. Rotxo laughs and stumbles, splashing into the shallows with the dramatic suffering of someone who has never faced real hardship in his entire life.

You don’t look up.

That’s the first irritating thing about you: you do not react to him the way people usually do.

Most people, when Aonung walks by, straighten. Some grin. Some glance away like they’ve been caught staring. Some girls—especially visiting girls—get that eager flutter in their body language, like they’re waiting for him to acknowledge them.

You just… keep threading shell beads like the ocean will end if you stop.

It makes him want to stand directly in front of you until you’re forced to look.

So obviously he does.

He stops in the shallow water, close enough that his shadow falls across your hands. Close enough that the water laps against his calves and sprays your ankles if he shifts.

You still don’t look up.

Aonung clears his throat like a dramatic elder.

Nothing.

Rotxo, behind him, makes a choking sound like he’s trying not to laugh.

Aonung shoots him a warning glare, then looks back down at you, jaw tightening.

“Hey,” he says finally, voice sharper than he means it to be.

Your hands pause.

For a second, Aonung thinks you’ll keep ignoring him just to prove you can. But then you tilt your head up, slow, like you’re moving through honey.

And oh.

Your eyes are the kind of steady that makes people feel seen in ways they didn’t consent to. Not shy. Not worshipful. Just… direct. Like you’re measuring the space between thoughts.

You blink once. “Hi.”

No “Aonung.” No “Chief’s son.” No polite title.

Just hi.

Aonung hates the way his stomach twists like he’s about to leap off a reef.

He lifts his chin anyway, because he has pride and also because he has never in his life let a feeling win without at least trying to wrestle it first.

“What are you doing?” he demands, like he’s a council member conducting important village business.

You glance back down at your work. “Making a line.”

Aonung frowns. “A fishing line?”

You make a small sound—half amused, half tired—and lift the kelp strip a little. Shell beads glint and shift.

“No,” you say. “For weaving.”

Aonung’s brows knit together. “Why put shells on it?”

You look at him like he just asked why the sea is wet.

“Because it’s pretty.”

Rotxo fully snorts behind him.

Aonung shoots him another glare that says I will drown you, then returns his attention to you.

You’re not smiling. Not really. But there’s something at the corner of your mouth—like the idea of him being confused is mildly entertaining.

Aonung hates that it works. Hates that he wants to make it happen again.

He shifts his weight, splashing slightly on purpose.

Your gaze flicks to the water, then to him, unimpressed.

“You’re in my light,” you say.

Aonung blinks. “Your—”

“My light,” you repeat, like it’s obvious. “I need it.”

Aonung looks around, offended. The sun is everywhere.

“You can’t just—” he starts.

“You can,” you interrupt, and this time your eyes lift fully, landing on his face with that same intent from before. “Move.”

Rotxo makes a strangled noise. Aonung turns his head slowly, murderous.

Rotxo raises both hands. “I’m not saying anything.”

Aonung returns to you, jaw tight. “Do you know who I am?”

You blink again. “Yes.”

No awe. No apology.

Just yes.

Aonung’s pride bristles like a disturbed anemone. “And you still tell me to move?”

“Yes.”

It should be humiliating.

Instead it makes something spark in his chest, sharp and bright, like sunlight slicing through deep water.

Aonung huffs, stepping aside.

You immediately go back to threading shell beads, satisfied, like the world has returned to its proper order.

Aonung watches your hands for a second too long.

Your fingers are stained faintly from plant dye. Your nails are short, practical. You work like you’re carving meaning into the air. Like if you mess up the pattern, something inside you will itch forever.

Aonung doesn’t know why that makes him want to sit down beside you.

He doesn’t.

He’s not that easy.

He turns away with a scoff, motioning for Rotxo to follow, and stalks back toward the deeper water where his pride can breathe.

He tells himself it’s nothing.

It’s just a weird interaction with a weird artisan who has no fear of him.

That’s all.

Except.

The next day, he’s swimming past the shallows and his eyes still find you.

And the day after that.

And the day after that.

You’re always there—sometimes weaving, sometimes carving, sometimes painting pale designs onto a strip of manta skin stretched taut, your brow furrowed in concentration like the world keeps trying to interrupt you and you refuse to let it.

Aonung starts taking routes that “just happen” to pass by you.

Rotxo notices on the third day.

He doesn’t say anything at first—just swims a little closer, eyes wide with the kind of curiosity that makes Aonung want to bite him.

On the fourth day, Rotxo finally opens his mouth.

“So,” he says, dragging the word out. “You’re hunting… art now?”

Aonung flicks water at him. “I’m not hunting anything.”

Rotxo dodges, grinning. “Right. You’re just accidentally swimming by the weaver’s spot every morning.”

Aonung’s tail flicks, irritated. “It’s a good route.”

“It’s the longest route.”

Aonung glares. “Shut up.”

Rotxo laughs and swims ahead, spinning once like an idiot. “Tell her you like her.”

“I don’t,” Aonung snaps automatically.

Rotxo turns mid-swim, eyebrows raised. “Then tell her you hate her.”

Aonung bares his teeth. “I don’t hate her.”

Rotxo’s grin turns wicked.

Aonung wants to drown him again.

Instead, he surges forward and shoulder-checks him hard enough to make him yelp.

They splash and wrestle and pretend it’s about strength and pride and not the fact that Aonung’s thoughts have started doing something unbearable.

Because now, when he’s alone, he catches himself thinking—

What would you make if you weren’t worried about who would see?

And worse:

What would you make if you were making it for him?

It’s humiliating.

It gets worse.

Because one afternoon, he finds you in the shade beneath a woven canopy, surrounded by piles of shells and dyed fibers. Your hair is damp, your shoulders glitter with salt, and you’re arguing with an elder woman about whether a certain pattern is “too bold.”

“It’s not too bold,” you insist, voice firm. “It’s honest.”

The elder woman looks unimpressed. “Honest does not always mean wise.”

You scowl. “Wise is boring.”

Aonung, approaching from behind, can’t help it.

He laughs.

It’s not even a full laugh—just a short burst of sound, surprised out of him like a fish breaking the surface.

Both of you turn.

The elder woman’s eyes narrow, instantly recognizing him.

Aonung straightens automatically, putting on his best I am definitely not listening to women talk about art face.

The elder woman gives a small bow and returns to her work like he’s background noise.

You, however, stare at him with open irritation.

“What?” Aonung asks, defensive for no reason.

“You’re loud,” you say.

Aonung’s brows lift. “I’m not loud.”

The elder woman makes a soft, knowing sound and walks away, leaving you alone with him and your ridiculous honesty.

Aonung shifts closer to the canopy, peering down at the fibers in your lap. “What are you making?”

You hesitate like you’re deciding whether he deserves an answer.

Then: “A wrist wrap.”

Aonung snorts. “For who?”

You glance away. “For someone.”

Aonung’s chest does something unpleasant.

“Someone,” he repeats, suspicious.

You don’t rise to it. You just keep weaving, fingers quick and sure, pulling dyed strands tight.

Aonung leans in a little. “Let me see.”

“No.”

Aonung’s eyes narrow. “Why not?”

“Because you’ll judge it.”

“I won’t.”

You look up slowly. “You already are.”

Aonung opens his mouth.

Closes it.

Because the worst part is—you’re right.

He’s judging the pattern, the tightness of the weave, the choice of shell beads. He’s judging your stubbornness, your focus, the way you don’t soften when he stands close.

He’s judging how much he likes it.

Aonung exhales through his nose. “Fine. Don’t show me.”

You hum, satisfied.

Aonung watches your hands again before he can stop himself.

Your fingers are strong. Your movements are careful. There’s a tiny scar across one knuckle, pale against blue skin, like you once cut yourself and didn’t have time to care.

Aonung’s gaze flicks to your face—your lashes damp, your expression focused, your mouth pressed into a line of concentration.

He feels the urge to poke that line until it breaks.

So he does the next best thing.

He crouches down beside you, uninvited.

You freeze.

Aonung waits for you to tell him to move again.

Instead, you stare at him, eyes narrowed. “Why are you sitting?”

Aonung shrugs like it’s casual. “My legs were tired.”

You blink. “From swimming?”

Aonung bristles. “Shut up.”

You make that almost-smile again, and it hits Aonung in the chest like a stone.

For a second, neither of you speaks.

The sea breeze moves the canopy above. The fibers in your lap shift softly. Somewhere beyond, children laugh in the shallows.

Aonung clears his throat. “So. Who’s the wrap for?”

You pause, fingers stilling.

Then you glance up at him, expression flat. “Why?”

Aonung feels his face heat. “Because I asked.”

“That’s not a reason.”

Aonung’s jaw tightens. “You’re annoying.”

You nod like you’ve accepted this as truth. “You’re nosy.”

Aonung huffs. “So?”

“So,” you say, pulling the fibers tight again. “It’s for you.”

Aonung’s brain does a strange, abrupt blank.

“What?”

You don’t look up this time, like saying it once is enough. “It’s for you.”

Aonung stares at your hands.

Then stares at your face.

Then stares at the wrap again like it might suddenly explain the world.

“You’re making me a gift?” he says, voice too careful.

You shrug, still weaving, like it’s nothing. “You keep standing in my light. I figured I should make you useful.”

Aonung’s breath catches on something that is not laughter.

“That’s not—” he starts, but the words tangle.

Because the thing is, he knows your tone. He recognizes the way you hide sincerity behind sharp edges.

Aonung swallows, throat suddenly dry. “I don’t need a wrap.”

You glance up, unimpressed. “You will when your wrist gives out from showing off.”

Aonung’s pride flares instinctively. “My wrist is fine.”

You tilt your head. “It’s always the ones who say that who get hurt.”

Aonung scoffs. “You don’t know anything about me.”

You blink slowly. “I know you try to look invincible.”

Aonung goes still.

Your gaze stays on him, steady and intent.

Then you look back down at your work like you didn’t just reach into his ribs and squeeze.

Aonung doesn’t know what to do with that.

So he does what he always does when he feels cornered.

He gets cocky.

He leans closer, voice dropping into a lazy drawl. “You’re obsessed with me.”

You don’t even pause. “I’m obsessed with making things right.”

Aonung’s lips twitch.

“Same thing,” he insists.

You finally look up again, eyes sharp. “No.”

Aonung’s grin widens, because he’s found a crack. “So you’re telling me you didn’t make that for me because you like me.”

You stare at him.

Aonung can practically hear the gears turning in your head—how much truth you’re willing to hand him without losing control of yourself.

Then you exhale. “I made it because you’re… difficult.”

Aonung brightens. “That’s basically love.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s basically annoyance.”

Aonung leans back, smug. “Annoyance is just love with better boundaries.”

You stare for another beat—then, to Aonung’s complete surprise, your lips curve into a real smile.

Not big. Not dramatic.

But real.

And that’s when Aonung knows he’s done for.

Because he wants to see it again.

He wants to earn it.

He wants to be the reason your mouth softens like that.

It’s a terrifying thought.

So naturally, he makes it worse.

He starts showing up more.

He “accidentally” ends up near your workspace. He “doesn’t notice” when you sigh and make room for him anyway. He starts bringing you small things without explanation—fresh fruit, polished shells, a strip of woven kelp that’s sturdier than the ones you usually use.

You notice, obviously.

You always notice.

The first time he drops a polished shell onto your pile, you glance up, brows raised. “What is this.”

Aonung shrugs like he didn’t spend twenty minutes picking the prettiest one. “It’s a shell.”

You look at it, then at him. “Why.”

Aonung’s ears warm. “For your… stuff.”

You stare, unimpressed.

Aonung adds quickly, “It was in my way.”

You snort softly. “So you picked it up and carried it here.”

Aonung glares. “Yes.”

You glance back down, fingers brushing the shell once—just once—before you tuck it into your pile like it belongs.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, like it costs you something to say it.

Aonung’s chest tightens in a way that makes him want to pretend he didn’t hear.

He does not pretend.

Instead he grins, because he’s incapable of being normal. “You’re welcome.”

You don’t look up, but Aonung catches the faintest hint of a smile.

And he feels like he just won a hunt.

Days turn into weeks.

The ocean warms and cools with the sun, tides shifting like breath. The village moves through its rhythms—fishing, weaving, training, laughter, arguments, songs.

Aonung starts finding you in the edges of all of it.

Sometimes you’re sitting alone, sketching patterns into wet sand with the tip of a shell, eyes distant like you’re listening to something no one else can hear.

Sometimes you’re knee-deep in water, sleeves rolled up, hair dripping, scolding a child for tangling a net with the seriousness of someone defending the ocean itself.

Sometimes you’re up on the platforms, adjusting a hanging weave, arms raised, muscles in your shoulders shifting as you tug the fibers tight.

Aonung tries not to stare.

He fails.

And then one night, the sea is calm, the sky is heavy with stars, and the village is quieter than usual—soft voices, low fires, the hush of people settling into sleep.

Aonung finds you by the waterline.

You’re sitting on a smooth stone, knees pulled to your chest, fingers absently tracing the edge of something in your lap.

Aonung slows as he approaches, not wanting to break whatever spell you’re under.

But you speak before he can decide whether to leave.

“You’re stalking me,” you say, voice soft but flat.

Aonung stops, offended. “I’m not stalking.”

You tilt your head, eyes catching the starlight. “Then why are you here.”

Aonung opens his mouth, then realizes he doesn’t have a lie that won’t sound like a lie.

So he chooses truth, because apparently he’s lost his mind.

“I wanted to see you,” he says.

Your fingers still.

You look up slowly.

The ocean breathes at your feet. The night air is cool against Aonung’s skin.

For a second, Aonung thinks you’ll mock him. Thinks you’ll tell him to move out of your light again.

Instead, you watch him like you’re deciding whether to let him stand this close.

Then you lift what’s in your lap.

It’s the wrist wrap.

Finished.

Dyed in deep ocean blues and greens, shells woven in so they catch the moonlight when you turn it. The weave is tight, strong, deliberate—made to last.

Aonung’s throat tightens.

“You finished it,” he says, like he didn’t believe you would.

You shrug, but your eyes flick away, briefly. “You’re annoying. I had to stop you from breaking your wrist.”

Aonung huffs a laugh, stepping closer. “So sweet.”

“Don’t,” you warn, but your voice is softer than your words.

Aonung reaches out, then hesitates—because for once in his life he doesn’t want to ruin something by touching it wrong.

You solve the problem.

You hold the wrap out to him, steady, like an offering.

Aonung takes it carefully, fingers brushing yours.

A spark goes through him so sharp he nearly jerks away.

You don’t.

You just watch his hands with that same focused intensity you always have, like even this is something you need to get right.

Aonung clears his throat, suddenly unsure. “Can you… put it on?”

Your gaze flicks up to his face.

Aonung tries to look smug about it, tries to act like he’s just making a request because he’s lazy.

But the truth is simple and unbearable:

He wants your hands on him.

You seem to understand, because your expression shifts—just a fraction—like something inside you softens and you hate that it does.

You reach for his wrist anyway.

Your fingers are cool from the night air, careful as you wrap the fibers around him. You pull it snug, not too tight, your thumbs pressing lightly into his skin as you adjust the shells so they sit right.

Aonung holds perfectly still.

Not because he’s obedient.

Because he’s afraid if he moves, this moment will disappear.

You tie the final knot with practiced precision.

Then you let go.

Aonung’s wrist feels warmer where your hands were.

You glance up, searching his face like you’re trying to read whether it fits—whether it matters.

Aonung swallows.

“It’s perfect,” he says.

You blink. “It’s functional.”

Aonung’s grin spreads slow. “It’s perfect.”

You look away, ears warming.

Aonung’s chest does that tight-full thing again.

He steps closer before he can think himself out of it.

You don’t move away.

Your breath fogs faintly in the cool air. Starlight turns the edges of you silver.

Aonung lifts his hand—the one with the wrap—and hesitates.

“Can I—” he starts, then stops, frustrated with himself.

You look up. “Can you what.”

Aonung exhales. “Can I see what you’re holding.”

You glance down at your lap.

A small shell charm sits there, half-finished. A pattern sketched faintly onto it. It looks like the beginning of something—like you were carving your thoughts into it without realizing.

You stare at it for a beat too long.

Then you hand it to him.

Aonung takes it gently, turning it between his fingers.

“What is it?” he asks.

You shrug, too casual. “Nothing.”

Aonung tilts his head. “You don’t carve ‘nothing’ like this.”

You exhale sharply, the sound half surrender. “It’s… a charm.”

“For who?” Aonung asks, already knowing.

You don’t answer immediately.

Aonung waits.

The sea breathes. The night holds.

Then you say, barely above a whisper, “For you.”

Aonung’s heart stutters.

He looks up, and your eyes are on him—wide, steady, honest in a way that makes him feel like he’s standing too close to something sacred.

Aonung’s mouth opens.

No words come out.

Because suddenly all his usual teasing feels too loud. Too careless.

So he does the only thing he can think to do.

He steps in—slow, deliberate, giving you every chance to pull away.

You don’t.

Aonung’s fingers lift to your chin, gentle, tilting your face up the way you tilt your work toward the light.

Your breath catches.

Aonung’s does too.

He leans down.

His lips meet yours like the tide meeting shore—inevitable, careful, warm against the cold night air.

For a second, you go still.

Then your hands rise, fingers curling into the front of his chest wrap like you’re anchoring yourself.

Aonung makes a soft sound into your mouth—something like relief, something like victory, something like oh.

He doesn’t rush.

He doesn’t show off.

He just kisses you like he’s been holding his breath for weeks and you are the first air he’s had.

When you pull back, your forehead rests against his for a beat, breath mingling.

Your voice is quiet. “You’re going to be insufferable.”

Aonung’s grin blooms immediately, because of course it does. “I already am.”

You huff a laugh—small, helpless.

Aonung’s chest floods with warmth.

He brushes his nose against yours, smug and soft all at once. “So. Does this mean you’re going to stop telling me to move out of your light?”

You roll your eyes, but your hands stay on him. “No.”

Aonung laughs, delighted. “Good.”

You blink. “Good?”

Aonung leans in again, voice low, pleased. “If you stop, I’ll have to find another excuse to be near you.”

Your gaze flicks to his wrist—your wrap—then back to his face.

You swallow, expression turning serious for a heartbeat.

“Then don’t stop,” you murmur.

Aonung’s breath catches.

He kisses you again, because he’s not strong enough to do anything else.

And the ocean, patient as it always is, keeps breathing around you—stars above, water below, your hands and his tangled together like a weave pulled tight, like something made to last.

[luxthestrange]

Avatar Incorrect quotes#83 Mothers VS Fathers

The Fathers:

Jake, Tsu'tey, Tonowari *Looking at Their children*-Don't Pick a Fight, Kid, It isn't right

The children*Nods at her dad*Okie!

-

The Mothers:

Neytiri, Ronal, Y/n: WHOOP THAT MOTHERFUCKERS ASS!?!-AND IF THEY MANAGE TO LAND A SMACK!-I WILL SMACK YA NEXT FOR BEING A DUMBASS-

The children:...

In the OG version...aka funniest for us spanish speakers:

..Ok this sounds better in Spanish

Jake,Tsu'tey,Tonowari:No te pelees Mija/o,eso es malo...

Neytiri, Ronal, Y/n:DALE UN VERGAZO AL HIJO DE SU REPUTIZIMA BOMBA MADRE!?-Y SI TE PEGA UNA PUTIZA?YO TE PEGO OTRA POR PENDEJOS-

[wettvagina]

things turn steamy when AO'NUNG asks you to braid his hair notes：agedup!ao'nungxomatikaya!reader, established relationship, i'm back and i'll be posting more avatar fanfics, I haven't posted anything avatar since 2024 and I'm not sure if this will do well ngl I might flop but I'm writing for the fandom and for myself so enjoy, here are some translations if needed: vrrtep-demon, tsurak-skimwing, sevin-pretty. warnings： cunnilingus, dirty talking, praise, porn w/ minimal plot, wc：2.9k

You sat criss-cross on the taupe coloured woven walk-way outside your family's marui, all four of your blue fingers working diligently in weaving a new serape for sleep, since your youngest sister, Tuk, decided it would be a good idea to play dress up with her ilu, ultimately causing your article of clothing to be consumed by the ocean.

You sighed presently as you reminisced, fingers growing tired trying to harness the foreign ocean-sourced material your friend, Tsireya kindly provided for your dilemma, as you were used to the silky, wieldable forest fabrics of the Omatikaya, usually made from stringed plants and spun bark fibres.

These unfamiliar materials were harder to constrain and the colours were a bit too pale and exotic to your liking, nonetheless, you persevered, weaving intricate patterns you learned from young. The switch from mud, trees and grass to sand, mangrove and water was a stubbornly challenging accomplishment.

You knew of ikrans and direhorses, not traversing by ilu or the fierce volcano-coloured beasts the Metkayina called skimwings. You chuckled to yourself, recalling your first moons upon arriving at Awa'atlu, trying to conquer the water and harness the slimy ilus on first attempt, only to be ribbed by the chieftain's son—

"What are you making, forest princess?"

Speak of the vrrtep.

Ao'nung te Tsika'u Tonowari'itan, the Metkayina hunter that had decided to take an interest in you, despite your painstakingly obvious differences.

"Could you maybe announce your presence next time?" you scoffed, glancing behind your shoulder, allowing your canary coloured eyes to meet his soft blue ones, eliciting a shy smile from the implied perpetrator.

Your eyebrows raised slightly when you noticed his hair, his customary braided bun was given a break today and his long, loosely-coiled hair was free and tumbled around his broad shoulders. You returned his smile once he came and sat next to you, legs hanging over the edge of the walkway and emerging his feet into the water, his firm, muscular thigh pressed against your knee and you feel satisfied with the contact.

"I'm sorry, I had to be quiet, what if the great Toruk Makto was lingering, I'd be the beast's next snack." Ao'nung bantered, eyes fixed on the orange-tinted sea as Alpha Centauri sat inches above the line of the horizon.

"Lingering in his own home?" you questioned with a giggle, hands finding rhythm as they continued to weave. "Did you fight with a tsurak or are you trying to look more like your father?" you enquired, referring to his undone hair.

"I got sand in my braids and I had to let them out, plus my mother wanted me to try her new scalp oil." Ao'nung answered, lowering his voice when he spoke the second half of his sentence, his broad palm coming to rest on your knee, causing your skin to burn hot where his skin met yours. The sudden shiver as a reaction to his hand on your body almost made you lose track of the slightly embarrassing note he had just mentioned.

Dropping your weaving materials, you reach out to touch his hair, leaning in and getting a nice, hearty sniff, eyes closed and all. Ao'nung cracks a laugh, trying to hide the way his face suddenly becomes hot, "Smells nice, like a flower." you comment, leaning back to your original position with your hands still in his hair, combing through the curly strands that were slightly damp.

"Could you maybe braid it for me?" Ao'nung asks, barely even audible as he refuses to meet your intense stare. "Hm?" you ask again, despite knowing exactly what he just said, both hands now intrigued entirely with his hair, if he had known all it took was letting down his hair to get all this attention, then maybe looking like his father wouldn't be so bad after all.

Groaning internally, Ao'nung's face flushed purple, "I said could you maybe braid it for me?" he parroted, causing your hands to pause their motion throughout his curls, "Sure, if you want me to." you pause for a second before saying, your hands brushing his hair behind his shoulders before retreating to rest on his knuckles which sat atop your knee still.

" Well if I didn't want you to then I wouldn't of asked." he retorted playfully. You chuckled, standing to your feet, leaving your weaving materials on the woven pathway, "Come inside, I have some combs and string bindings." you invite him, expecting him to follow as you begun walking into your family's empty marui.

Ao'nung hesitated for a second, "Nobody's home." you call out from inside the marui and watch as he scrambles inside. Scoffing, you gather the comb you brought from the forest and some of your own oils to make the braiding process easier.

Ao'nung stood awkwardly inside your family's marui, eyeing the space, giving your environment a thorough inspection. Feeling self-conscious all of a sudden, your eyes dart around your marui, picking apart your surroundings incase it harboured any embarrassing items.

Spotting the crate your father used to stash his human weapons you suddenly felt your heart thud aggressively. You knew how most na'vi, especially the Metkayina felt about metal devices. Weapons of metal are forbidden. To touch them poisons the heart.

Ao'nung seemed to bypass your humanness when he decided to persue you romantically, however you could still recall his initial impression of you and your family, despite his countless apologies and forms of compensation—which you obviously accepted, you still couldn't get rid of the disgusting flare of embarrassment that came with being a half-breed.

In one swift motion, you planted yourself onto the crate, making yourself comfortable, acting like it was just a regular piece of Omatikaya-cultured furniture your eccentric family brought from the forest.

Your sudden movement caught Ao'nung's attention and he displayed a look of confusion, causing your nervousness to spike, "Come sit!" you eagerly spoke, in a shrieking tone, parting your legs slightly and setting the comb and oils onto the smooth surface of the crate.

Ao'nung's confusion dissipated and you let out a sigh of relief, as he settles between your legs, the back of his head facing you with his spine pressed along the crate, you take some oil into your hands and start combing through his hair.

"So have you decided what style you want?" you ask him while your fingers brush easily through his hair, the woody scent, familiar to you but foreign to him left a little marking of yourself onto Ao'nung.

"You know what I like, nothing different." he says and you can hear the smile in his voice, as he speaks and his chest vibrates you can feel the effect it has on you as the skin on your calves begin to burn, and as Ao'nung felt comfortable the back of his broadened shoulders pressed onto your calves, intensifying the heat.

You hum in response, enjoying the calming space. You pick up the comb and began brushing through his oiled hair, barely finding any tangles. But, when it came time to section Ao'nung's hair into parts, to start with the secure braids at the front, you needed him to move his head back.

"Ao'nung, can you move your head back slightly, I need to section from the front." you instructed, and he complied, well sort of. When he brought his head back and you used the comb to section his hair you felt some stray hairs tickle your knee, sending waves of tingles up your spine, yet you continued, or at least tried to.

Lazily, Ao'nung moved his head to the side, resting comfortably against your left inner thigh, his hair brushing the bare skin making you let out a sound that was somewhere between a whimper and a breathy giggle, which of course he noticed.

"I like that sound." Ao'nung declared aloud, causing your hand to jolt slightly, comb almost slipping out of your grasp, you let out a shallow breath but ultimately continue parting through his thick, lustrous hair. Seemingly motivated, Ao'nung continues to slowly rub the side of his head along your inner thigh, making you feel tingly and warm between your legs, his hair also poked your skin causing a ticklish feeling.

You let out a wholesome giggle and slightly jerk yourself forward, wanting to feel this tingly sensation on the more upper parts of your inner thigh. "Ao'nung you're tickling me with your hair." you snickered, trying to complain but your voice gave away how much you were enjoying this.

You could feel the corner of his lips grow into a smirk as the side of his cheek pressed against your inner thigh, he brings his hand and from under your legs he starts rubbing along the side of your thighs, slightly pushing your thighs closer to his face before planting a soft kiss onto the inner part of your thigh which was closest.

An affectionate smile forms on your face as you use the comb to brush his scalp, your movements almost mindless as you focus on the attention your thighs were receiving. Brushing inconsistent waves along the underside of your thighs, reaching dangerously close to your ass, but not quite there, Ao'nung presses wet kisses along the inner side, pink tongue coming out to swipe against your skin eliciting tingling pleasure at the sensation, essence of your arousal oozing out of your core.

"Ao'nung..." you moan, hand barely moving as the comb laid stationary in your palm, your body and apparently mind, was completely entranced by the way Ao'nung's mouth and hands worshipped your lower body, without even needing to touch your most sensi tive parts. The feeling was overwhelming but you could honestly receive this attention all day.

The hand on the underside of your left thigh was now attempting to pry your legs wider while Ao'nung sucked on the skin of your inner thigh, delivering a final kiss, he jolted upwards, turning around to meet you while still being on the floor below you. This was a view you could honestly get used to, Ao'nung settled between your legs, hair down and damp, cascading down his shoulders with his lips a glossy, supple pink colour and eyes that looked like they were ready to devour you.

You were awestruck, mouth parted, pupils blown wide and only carnal thoughts filled your mind, and the man situated between your legs just smirked.

"Spread your legs wider for me, sevin." he uttered, with one hand resting on either side of your legs, you opened up for him. "You don't know how bad I have wanted to do this." Ao'nung spoke, almost as if he was about to wake up from a dream, licking his lips and shaking his head in disbelief.

"Do what?" you ask tauntingly, playing with the strings of your loincloth, hips moving forward to press against the top of the crate which you sat on, to provide some sort of friction.

"Maybe you can tell me what you're going to do to me while I take off my loincloth, hm?" you suggested in a way which sounded more like instructions, but Ao'nung was willing to comply dutifully. As you slowly tugged on the strings of your loincloth on your left side you watched Ao'nung smirk, bringing himself closer to you.

"Make you feel good, using my mouth— my tongue." Ao'nung began, fingers spreading atop your thigh, moving up and down on the smooth skin as you finally pulled the strings loose on one side, nodding along to Ao'nung's words as he talked, thoroughly enjoying the pure filth he was going on about, but it was far from enough. You wanted more.

"I want to taste you, savour your sweetness, Eywa, I want to bury my tongue so deep into your pussy while you scream my name." Ao'nung groans, a silent growl leaving his lips as he speaks, his words were like music to your ears and fuel to the fire burning between your legs.

You whined in response, eagerly undoing the strings of the other side of your loincloth pulling the piece of fabric off of your heated core as soon as possible, it was as good as useless in this moment. Propping your hands behind your back you shifted yourself forward, keeping your legs spread as you revealed your throbbing, wet pussy to Ao'nung who looked like he had just seen a fresh fruit after months of starvation.

His tail thumped loudly onto the ground, "Can you please let me taste you?" Ao'nung begged, breath fanning your naked core at the proximity and you felt like your body could not do anything else but nod vigorously.

Upon approval, Ao'nung gripped your legs, pulling them further apart if that was even possible and you nearly slid off the crate, but your arms behind you kept you grounded.

His hot, broad tongue pressed up against your swollen clit, he began licking wide stripes against the sensitive area, tongue reaching your hole to move back up to your clit where he used your wetness paired with his spit to slide his tongue up and down your pussy, and everything became messy quickly.

His mouth was covered in clear juices of your arousal and he enjoyed every bit of it, the pads of his fingers dug into the plump, yet firm flesh of your thighs as he licked, sucked and swallowed your womanly essence. Your eyes rolled into your head as you were immersed in the tingly feeling, his tongue worked wonders on your pussy and you couldn't help but moan and whine, even shifting your hips forward to almost grind yourself on his tongue.

Soon, when his nose hit your clit, while he did as he previously stated, and explored your soppy hole using his tongue, you felt your toes press harshly into the underside of your feet, receiving a deepened tingle you've never felt before. His tongue was lodged deep into your weeping hole as his face moved side to side, he was completely busied with your pussy.

His hot tongue soon retreated from the tight dampness of your hole as he took some breaths, and immediately started sucking onto your clit as he regained his momentum. "Ao'nung, Oh! This feels so–" you dissmissed your own sentence with a throaty moan that emerged from your soul itself, when he took a finger and inserted it into your hole with a squelch.

His mouth withdrew from your clit and he looked up at you, your eyelids heavy and your bottom lip tucked behind your front teeth, heavy breaths went in and out your nostrils as your chest heaved, before his signature smirk could form onto his face he latched his lips onto your clit, sucking vehemently onto the swollen bud, fingers moving with the same excitement as they dove into your hole and came back out with the same speed at which they went in.

Ao'nung looked up at you again, in the midst of your eyes rolling up into your head, " Look at me." he grunts while quickening the pace of his fingers. You point your pitifully dizzy gaze down onto him and when you do he delivers another passionate suck onto your clit, followed by a wet lick. "C'mon, I know you're going to finish soon." he groans while looking up at you, punctuating his sentence with yet another suck onto your clit.

"Look at me when I make you come, so I can see the face you make when you fall apart just for me." he growls onto your pussy, fingers curling into your hole, feeling a spongy spot that produced the most disgustingly, sweet sounds from your mouth.

"Ah!Yes, fuck!" you whine out, feeling yourself uncontrollably react to all the attention Ao'nung was giving to your pussy, something in your lower stomach tightened and you remembered his words, trying your hardest to look down at his moving head, hair embarrassingly dampened and sticking all over, onto the side of his head, his neck, your inner thighs. And as his finger jackhammered into your weeping, pulsating hole, Ao'nung delivered a final suck to your clit, making you groan loudly in pleasureable fulfillment.

"Fuck! Ao'nung, I'm coming! I'm coming!" you whine out, toes curling and eyes threatening to close on itself, Ao'nung's face grew blurry as you rode out your high, and the muscles in your legs tightened rigidly before releasing, making you slump forward with a tired relief.

Your breaths heavy and uneven with each passing moment, slowly Ao'nung withdrew his finger from your slushy pussy, letting out a soft breath before cleaning off your release with his tongue. His action was barely noticed by you as you slumped forward, beads of your chest jewellery almost hitting him in the face and poking his eyes, if he hadn't held you up by the shoulders.

He chuckled at your state, a warm smile of pure satisfaction latched onto his face, resting your chin on top of his head as he held you up, you couldn't help but appreciate his hair for the millionth time that day, taking in the heady smell of your forest oils mixed with his mother's new scalp oil, you reach out to pat his head, like a 'good job' gesture.

"Your hair smells nice." you manage to say, feeling his thumb brush the skin on your shoulder, he chuckles in response. "Maybe I should leave my hair down, just for today." he asserted with an amused laugh.

[dollzstrology]

⋆.ೃ࿔ 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃 ᝰ 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐘 2 — 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐉𝐎𝐁

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆… Ao’nung

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒… When a villager speaks harshly about you and threatens to leak your relationship, Ao’nungs protective side arises. Watching him defend your honor compels you to reward him in the best way possible, sex.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓… Explicit! Mature audiences only! ᝰ porn w/ plot, Aged!up Ao’nung, fem!reader, sully!reader [daughter of Jake and Neytiri Sully] angst, fluff, smut, drama, kissing, secret relationship trope, established relationship [dating/courting] physical altercation, protective instincts use of na'vi language [with translations included]; dom/sub undertones, oral [m!receiving; blowjob/handjob], praise, face fucking/deepthroating, allusions to p in v, cum eating, orgasm

— this fic does contain aged!up character smut so if you don’t like that type of content please don’t interact and continue scrolling!!

𝐃𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍… 6.3k words

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑… Day Two of Kinktober is here! I’ve been wanting to post this fic for a very long time so I’m glad I finally finished it because I really like the plot to this! As always feel free to comment and reblog, I love reading y’all reactions! I hope you enjoy!!

𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒… event m.list・main m.list・event taglist

The sun dips below the horizon, painting the ocean in hues of orange and violet as you and Ao’nung sit together on the secluded area of the beach. Your head rests on his shoulder, his arm draped protectively around you, as you ramble about how much you love riding your ilu before sunrise, enjoying the moment where the sun rises and kisses the island with its warm rays.

The serenity of the moment wraps around you both like a cocoon, shutting out the rest of the world and its prying eyes. For now, it’s just the two of you, hidden away from judgment, basking in the freedom of your secret love.

While Ao’nung listens to your words, his thoughts begin to wander. His gaze drifts to the soft curve of your lips as you speak animatedly, your eyes sparkling with excitement.

He’s kissed you before—many times—but something about the intimacy of this moment stirs a deeper desire within him. He doesn’t just want to kiss you; he wants to feel the entirety of your connection in that kiss, to express everything he feels for you in one unspoken act.

Without a word, his hand gently cups your chin, tilting your face toward his. The sudden movement halts your speech, your wide golden eyes meeting his intense gaze. Before you can ask what’s on his mind, his lips press against yours.

The kiss starts soft, almost hesitant, but quickly deepens as his other hand finds your waist, pulling you closer. The sensation sends a wave of warmth through your body, the feeling of atokirina [woodsprites] fluttering wildly in your stomach. You smile against his lips, loving the way his hands wander your body and tighten on your hips as he shifts you onto his lap.

You straddle him now, your arms wrapping around his neck as his lips move from yours to the curve of your neck. His kisses grow more fervent, trailing along your collarbone, leaving a few faint marks, silently calming you as his.

Even though no one knows about your relationship, Ao’nung feels the need to stake his claim, to ward off the wandering eyes and flirtatious smiles of other men in the village. He’s tired of seeing his fellow clan members gawking at you, so he figured leaving hickeys will show them that your not searching for a lover.

While you and Ao’nung are having your heated make out session, running your hands through his curls as your head tilts back and breathy moans fill the air, a pair of envious eyes watches from the shadows.

Rilu, a young musician from the northern pods, stands hidden behind a cluster of boulders, his jaw tight and fists clenched. He’s harbored feelings for Ao’nung since they completed their Iknimaya [rites of passage], dreaming of courting the Olo’eyktan’s [clan leader’s] son. But when you arrived in Awa’atlu, all of Rilu’s hopes crumbled as Ao’nung’s attention turned solely to you. 

Now, as he watches the two of you lost in each other, jealousy and anger cloud his thoughts. The bitterness of rejection festers within him, twisting into resentment. You’ve taken what he believes should have been his, and he refuses to stand by and let it continue.

As your soft gasps and Ao’nung’s groans drift toward him, Rilu begins formulating a plan. A way to expose your relationship and drive a wedge between you because if he can’t have Ao’nung, then no one can.

—

Things are getting pretty heated between you and the Metkayina boy. His hands explore your waist, thumbs brushing slow circles into your skin before they drift lower, fingers tracing the edge of the waistband at your hips. His touch is careful but deliberate, testing boundaries he’s already aching to cross.

Just as he starts to tug at your loincloth, going to the base of your tail to loosen the strings, your hand closes gently around his wrists, stopping him in his tracks. “Ao’nung,” you whisper, your voice soft but steady. As much as you want your boyfriend to have his way with you in the sand, this isn’t the place to indulge in your sexual desires. You both must show restraint, at least until you have full privacy. “Not here. Someone could see.”

He exhales through his nose, frustration flickering in his eyes before it melts into understanding. Even though he wants to have his way with your body, place his tongue on your most precious areas, he knows that beach shore might not be the best place to have either of your bodies exposed, especially when a curious Na’vi could come around the corner and catch you two in the middle of a comprising position.

Ao’nung’s thumb rubs against the back of your hand, looking into your eyes with a newfound softness but still holding that lustful fire. “You’re right,” he murmurs, his tone low, intimate. Then, with a half-smile, he leans in, his lips ghosting over yours, as if he’s going to kiss you. “I don’t want anyone else seeing what’s mine anyway.”

You feel your cheeks flush at the possessiveness in his voice. He isn’t harsh, but protective, reverent. It makes your heart warm. He presses a tender kiss to your forehead, then to the corner of your mouth, before helping you up from the sand.

You brush the grains from your thighs, the sand sticking to your skin due to your swim prior to sitting down. When your boyfriend sees you trying to get the sand off, he can’t help but lend a helping hand. His palm brushes the sand from your thighs and legs, allowing him to feel the smoothness of your skin.

His touch lingers longer than it should, fingers tracing over the curves of your hips and somehow making it to your ass, allowing him to give your flesh a soft squeeze.  A quiet laugh slips from your lips when his hands wander a bit lower than necessary, and he just grins, pretending innocence even as his fingers wander your skin. 

Once the sand is no longer sticking to your skin, Ao’nung grabs your hand, leading you to the main part of the island. His touch is tender but possessive, protective in a way that sends a warmth curling through you. When his fingers slide down to your palm, he intertwines them with yours, his grip firm, steady, keeping you right by his side.

Together, you walk along the outskirts of the village, towards the cluster of marui pods, your shadows merging beneath the moonlight. Every so often, he leans close, whispering something low against your ear, something teasing and that makes your pulse race.

You laugh softly, nudging him, the playful spark in his eyes tempered by affection. You don’t let him have all the fun, you paint him naughty illustrations with your words, allowing his mind to picture what dirty things you’ll be doing to his body once you get him inside his mauri.

The teasing between you turns quieter the closer you draw to the marui pods, laughter fading into soft breaths. The air feels different here, thicker, heavy with things unsaid. Every brush of your hand against his, every whisper exchanged, seems to spark a fire beneath your skin.

Your tone dips low, sultry, full of promises you don’t have to speak aloud. The sound of your voice wraps around Ao’nung like a current, each word tugging him deeper into your orbit of sexual desire. 

His pulse thrums at the base of his throat, his focus narrowing until the world shrinks to nothing but you: your scent, your warmth, the way your eyes hold his as if you’re daring him to lose control. 

He doesn’t speak. He only looks at you, that deep, steady gaze that says everything he’s feeling but won’t yet give in to. The tension between you hums like a taut string, ready to snap at any second.

When you’re only a few strides from Ao’nung’s marui, the evening air still humming with the electricity between you and Ao’nung, a shadow suddenly cuts across your path. 

Rilu steps out in front of you, his stance tense and deliberate. You stop short, startled, and instinctively slip your hand free from Ao’nung’s before anyone else can notice. The motion feels like a small betrayal, but it’s meant to protect what the two of you share, something that’s precious in its secrecy.

“Rilu,” you say, your voice edged with irritation, trying to figure why he so rudely cut you off. “What is it?”

He doesn’t answer. His eyes move over you slowly, filled with disdain that makes your skin crawl. You can feel Ao’nung stiffen beside you, his presence a steady weight, silent but alert.

Rilu eyes trail your body before turning his head to face your boyfriend. Deep down Rilu thinks you're an attractive woman, he can see why Ao’nung chose you as a lover but his hate for you still runs deep. 

Watching the two of you so close, seeing the way you were all over each other at the beach, and the love Ao’nung has for you makes him angry. 

There’s something venomous in his stare, clear that his jealousy has sharpened into hatred. “So it’s true,” he spits. “You’ve lowered yourself to her.” His eyes focus on the brows that frame your face, then fall to your five-fingered hand that’s hanging by your side, looking at your features with disgust. “How could you be with this demon? Someone who isn’t even a true Na’vi?!” 

Your breath catches in your throat at his words: harsh, cutting, and dripping with venom. You’ve heard whispers before, felt the sideways glances and quiet disapproval from some Metkayina in the clan about you and your siblings who don’t appear as full Na’vi, but no one has been bold enough to say it to your face. Not like this.

Ao’nung’s body tenses beside you, the shift in his posture immediate and dangerous. His tail flicks once behind him, slow and deliberate, as if it’s a warning. “Watch your tongue,” he says evenly, his voice low and steady, but beneath it lies a threat sharp enough to cut.

Rilu lets out a short, bitter laugh. “Oh, you can defend her all you want, Ao’nung, but everyone can see it. You bring nothing but shame to the clan!” He steps closer, his voice growing louder, echoing off the woven walls of nearby marui's. “Do you truly want to mate and be bonded to her forever?!”

You can feel the weight of his words pressing down on you, each of his words feeling like stones in your heart. Shame prickles beneath your skin even as fury begins to boil in your chest. You’ve tried so hard to prove yourself, to show the Metkayina that you belong, that you are worthy to live amongst them but here Rilu stands, trying to rip all of that away with his cruel words.

You’ve been known to have issues with your temper, something you get from your mother and with Rilu yelling such hateful things, it’s only provoking that side of you to arise. Your hands curl into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms. “You don’t know a damn thing about me,” you growl, your voice trembling with restrained anger. “You don’t get to speak on things you don’t understand.”

Rilu’s lip curls into a mocking grin. “Oh, but I do understand. I see it every time you walk by. You think you fit in here, but you never will. You’re not one of us and you never will.” His eyes dart to your hand, your five fingers flexing in frustration. “You can hide behind our ways, our clan, but you’ll always be different. You’ll always be a freak.”

The air leaves your lungs in a sharp exhale. Your ears flatten, tail lashing behind you as you take a threatening step forward. “Say that again,” you hiss, your voice low and trembling with fury, your hands dying to punch him into a bloody pulp.

Rilu’s eyes flicker with satisfaction, having you right where he wants you. This is exactly what he wanted, to take you out of your element, to show the ugly sides of you so Ao’nung wont want to be with you any longer. “Go on then,” he taunts, stepping closer, flashing a mischievous smile. “Show everyone what you really are. An angry little half-breed who doesn’t know her place.”

That’s when the snarl breaks from your throat: raw, feral, unrestrained. Your body shifts forward instinctively, your fangs making an appearance with your tail thrashing behind you. You lunge forward, balling your fist to place across his face, but before you can reach him, Ao’nung’s arm shoots out, palm pressing firmly against your stomach, holding you back as his body shifts forward like a barrier between you and Rilu. 

You snap your head toward him, wondering why he stopped you. When you look into his eyes you notice the sharpness in them, the kind that can silence a crowd. Ao’nung knows you can handle the situation on your own, you’re a strong and powerful woman who isn’t afraid to speak her mind, but as your boyfriend he wants— no needs to protect you, emotionally and physically. What kind of future mate would he be if he wouldn’t?

“Syulang [flower], I got this.” Ao’nung murmurs, his breath brushing against the shell of your ear.  His tone is soft, but the weight behind it leaves no room for argument, despite you wanting to give him one. Your brows knit together, confusion flickering across your face. You want to fight back, every muscle in your body screams to let your anger loose, to make Rilu eat the words he so carelessly threw at you. You want him to bleed for them. 

But then Ao’nung meets your gaze. His cerulean eyes, usually warm and teasing, have hardened into something fierce and unyielding. The look he gives you isn’t a question, it’s a command, quiet but firm. ‘Trust me.’, the words his looks translate to. 

You know that Ao’nung would always protect you, he would never allow someone to harm you or say mean things toward you without facing consequences. So you swallow your defiance, though it burns in your throat, and take a small step back behind him. You can’t help the glare you level at Rilu, your tail twitching with restrained rage, but you allow Ao’nung to take the lead.

He steps forward slowly, each of his movements strategic and deliberate. His broad frame blocks Rilu’s view of you entirely and when he stops, they’re nearly chest to chest, Ao’nung’s hand lifting just enough to press a single finger to Rilu’s sternum. His voice, when it comes, is low and controlled, but it vibrates with authority. “I need you to respect her, Rilu.” he says sternly, holding back a growl. “Watch your tongue when it comes to her.”  

There’s no shouting, no wild aggression, just that calm, dangerous tone of a man who knows the power he holds and doesn’t need to prove it. Even without raising his voice, the air between them crackles with tension. As future Olo’eyktan [clan leader], he knows how to make his words powerful without presenting as aggressive, plus he doesn’t want to get into an altercation with a fellow villager, unless he feels forced to.

Hearing Ao’nung speak up for you only fuels the bitterness burning in Rilu’s chest. His lips curl into a sneer as he takes a step closer, his words dripping with venom. “Oh, I see how it is,” he hisses. “How would you feel if I told the Olo’eyktan and Tsahìk [spiritual leader] about your little secret? Because I’m sure Ronal would love to know her precious son is fucking someone so pathetic, weak, and repulsive as her.” He spits the last word like poison, his voice rising, clearly wanting others nearby to hear. His goal is cruelly simple, to humiliate you, break you, and drive a wedge between you and Ao’nung. 

For a moment, Ao’nung stands completely still. You can see his jaw tighten, his chest rise and fall in shallow bursts. He’s trying, really trying, to do what his father has always taught him: to be composed, to think before he acts. But Rilu’s words cut too deep. The insult toward you, the woman he loves, the threat to expose the blossoming relationship you two share, it shatters every ounce of restraint he’s been holding onto.

A low, guttural growl builds in Ao’nung’s chest, deep and dangerous, vibrating through the air between them. His shoulders square, muscles tense, and for a brief heartbeat, the world feels like it’s holding its breath. Then, before Rilu can even blink and defend himself, Ao’nung’s fist connects with his face.

The impact is brutal. A sharp crack splits through the night, echoing over the sand. Rilu’s head snaps to the side, blood splattering across his cheek as he stumbles back. Shock flashes across his face, quickly replaced by fear. He’s never seen Ao’nung like this before. His pupils are blown wide, his eyes have quickly morphed into a less blue shade and turned black with fury.

Ao’nung steps forward again and lands another hit, harder this time, square across Rilu’s eye. The force sends him crashing down onto the sand, a choked grunt escaping his lips. Within a few moments, an angry red mark begins to bloom beneath his swelling eye.

You stand frozen for a moment, your heart racing. The air hums with tension, the only sounds the crash of distant waves and the ragged breaths tearing from Ao’nung’s chest. You don’t know what to do at first but you definitely aren’t going to step in. Whatever Ao’nung does to Rilu, he fully deserves.

Ao’nung steps over Rilu’s limp form, towering above him with a calm but dangerous satisfaction tugging at his core. The bruises blooming across Rilu’s face is a testament to what happens when someone crosses a line, especially when that line is you. His lips curl into a faint, satisfied smirk as he studies the damage he’s done, his bruised knuckles still flexing from the impact.

“Listen closely, kurkung [asshole],” Ao’nung says, his tone low and edged with steel as he crouches beside him. His voice is quiet, but it carries the weight of a threat that seeps into the air between them. “If I ever hear you speak my woman’s name again, I won’t be so merciful next time. Understand?”

Rilu’s breathing comes in ragged gasps, eyes wide as he nods quickly. “Y-yes, I understand.” he stammers, feeling the blood dripping from his nose, all the way down to his chest. Taking those forceful punches, feeling all of Ao’nung’s anger in his fists makes the musician feel like he’s seeing stars.

Ao’nung tilts his head, studying him for a moment, looking at the fear in his eyes, the tremble in his lips, and the pitiful way he clutches at his bruised face. Rilu had spat all that venom, called you names, acted bold in front of others and yet here he was, sprawled in the sand like a frightened child. 

The sight makes Ao’nung’s jaw tighten, a sharp look of disgust twisting his features. “You talk big when you think no one will put you in your place, but look at you now...” his voice is flat, precise, the kind of cruelty that leaves no space for comeback. “Patheic,” he mutters, his tone low and dripping with contempt. “Weak.” he adds, the single word a verdict rather than an insult. 

Then, softer but every bit as uncompromising, he finishes, letting one last threat roll off his tongue. “If anyone asks, you fought with another boy. You didn’t see me. You didn’t see her. If you mutter a word about our relationship to anyone, you will have more than just a few bruises and bloody nose, got it?” 

Rilu gives another frantic, one that’s shaky and reluctant, showing that he doesn’t want any more trouble. His eyes dart away, not trusting himself to meet Ao’nung’s, afraid that just looking at him would bring forth another punch. 

Ao’nung pats the boy’s chest before standing up, doing yet another gesture to humiliate him one last time. He steps back without another word, leaving Rilu to gather whatever dignity he can before slipping away. Rilu scrambles to his feet, barely keeping his balance as he stumbles away into the dark, sand clinging to his bruised skin while running home with his tail tucked between his legs.

You stand frozen, your pulse hammering in your ears as you take in the aftermath. The way Ao’nung’s chest rises and falls, his knuckles still red and raw, the simmering fury that lingers in his eyes. But beneath it all, you feel something else stirring deep inside you. The sight of him like this: fierce, protective, dominant, sends a shiver racing down your spine.

You love how soft and sweet Ao’nung is with you, how he caters to your every need, treats you like a delicate flower, and is always loving on you but seeing him in this assertive state is making you feel aroused in ways you didn’t know were possible. Watching him defend you, not allowing Rilu to belittle you and taking care of the issue himself, makes your body run hot.

He turns to you, that storm in his gaze softening the instant his eyes meets yours. Yet, your body still hums with the aftershock of what you’ve just witnessed. The tenderness you know so well still lives in him, but right now, it’s wrapped in something darker, something along the lines of possessive, commanding, and intoxicating.

Ao’nung walks toward you, his sea-salt scent wrapping around with each step closer he takes. Your pulse flutters at his nearness, your body warms from the sight of him, the smell of him floods your senses, making you feel a stir in your lower region. No matter what’s going on around you, the waves lapping against the shore, the night humming with distant life, all you can feel is him.

“Thank you for defending me,” you murmur, placing your hand on his chest, voice soft but still trembling with leftover adrenaline. “It was… sweet of you.” You know the risk he took, the kind of trouble that could come from his parents for doing what he did. And despite that, he defended your honor without a single hesitation. 

Ao’nung’s gaze softens, his anger ebbing away to something far more tender. “No need to thank me,” he says, his voice low and steady. “You’re my future mate. It’s my duty to protect you.” 

The words strike deep, flooding you with warmth. The way he says ‘future mate’, like a vow, makes your chest tighten. The way he crafts his words makes you want to physically melt. You can’t pry your eyes away from him; every inch of his expression is sincere, every heartbeat of his presence feels like gravity pulling you in. 

The sexual tension between you and him is at an all time high, it’s like you both are back in the same atmosphere from when you left your spot on the beach. Even though you and him are still upset about the Rilu situation, you can’t help your desire for each other.

A small smile tugs at your lips, a teasing spark flickering across your features. “Still,” you whisper, your tone playful but sultry, your words filled with double meaning. “I think you deserve to be thanked properly.”

Your palm wanders his upper frame, moving towards his arm until your fingertips find his tattoo. Your fingers glide over the intricate designs of his tattoo along his shoulder and bicep, slowly rubbing against his skin. 

His muscles tense beneath your touch, not from restraint, but from how sensual it feels. His eyes narrow slightly, confusion clearly written across his face, trying to read what’s running through your mind. “What kind of thank you?” 

You lean in, close enough that your breath mingles with his. “The kind only I can give,” you say, a mischievous lilt to your words. You thought the signals your sending were clear, that he would easily catch on to what you’re implying but when you see he’s still not understanding you decide to give him a hint he can’t miss.

You move your hand down his body until it reaches his loincloth, placing your fingers around the strings that are securing it around his waist and lightly tug on them before letting them go and moving your hand down a little further. 

Your hand travels further down his body, slowly running your hands along his his waist until you reach the outer band of his loincloth. Your fingertips play with the strings of his waistband, lightly tugging against but not with enough force to take them off. Once your done teasing, your hand travels lower but not with a sense of urgency, your purposely taking your time. 

Ao’nung is still confused and doesn’t understand your coded words until he feels the palm of your hand cusp his cock that’s restrained by the woven cloth, causing a small groan escape his lips from the sudden act. “Does that answer your question?” You ask, a lustful smile spreading across your face, already loving how he’s responding from such a simple touch.

Feeling your hand rub against his cock, feeling nimble fingers stroke the outline his cock is making against the woven material, finally helps things click in his brain and understand your earlier statement and he can’t help but smirk at how him getting into a little scuffle makes you horny.  He didn’t know a situation like this could arouse you, but he’s definitely making a mental note of it. Seems like I need to punch people for you more often.” He teases, his smirk widening at how his sweet girl finds violence as a turn on.

Hearing him tease, knowing how much he loves to joke, makes you playfully roll your eyes. As much as you enjoy going back and forth with him, tonight you aren't in the mood for that. You have some emotions you need to be fucked out of you and you can’t do that standing in the middle of the village.

You turn on your heels, walking along the sand until you reach the spongy pathways, swaying your hips enticingly with every step you take. “Come before I change my mind.” You say sternly, your tail flicking behind you while you stride to his dwelling. 

When Ao’nung hears your words, his teasing seizes. He knows how quickly your moods can change and he’s not giving this fire a chance to sizzle out. The Metkayina comes behind you, grabbing your hand and practically drags you to his marui, making you let out a soft giggle at the urgency in his steps. 

When you both walk inside his home, being greeted by the sound the ocean, he ties the entrance flap shut so no one in the surrounding area can see the lewd acts that are going to take place. Once it’s secure, he makes his over to where you are, standing beside his makeshift bed.

“Lay down.” You command, placing your hand on his chest and pushing him backwards onto his spongy mattress, not giving him any room to do anything other than what you say. Ao’nung wordlessly obeys, laying flat onto his bed, legs a few inches apart, giving you enough room to do whatever your planning in your mind. 

You crawl into bed with him, hovering over his chiseled physique, placing your hand on his chest before leaning over and crashing your lips into his. His lips instantly return the kiss, moving in a synchronized rhythm against yours which allows you to slip your tongue in his mouth, exploring every corner of it. 

Your tongues begin to swirl around each other, slowly fighting the other for dominance, eliciting moans from both parties. Kissing Ao’nung is one of the easiest things on Pandora. With you and him being so in tune with each other, it makes things much more fun and exciting, especially when you both match each other's level of freakiness.

When you and him pull apart, allowing each other a moment to breathe, a line of saliva keeps you and him connected until you break it, needing your mouth so you can show attention to the rest of his body. You scoot down and begin to leave trails of wet kisses along his teal skin, starting from his collarbone and slowly making your way down to his waistline. 

Each time you tease a part of his body, trailing your fingers along his abdomen, gliding your warm tongue along his v-line, Ao’nung can feel his cock twitch in his loincloth. Your eyes settle on his aching bulge, desperately wanting to escape their restraints. 

Deciding to end his torture, you pull at the strings of his loincloth, causing the woven material to rub against his aching tip, causing a groan to fly from his lips. No matter how many times you and Ao’nung engage in sexual acts, you always manage to make him feel nervous, which is why the Metkayina places his hands over his face as if they’re a shield. 

“Don’t get shy on me, baby.” You whisper while leaning forward, pulling his hand from over his features so you can see his face. “I wanna see you.” Despite Ao’nung’s tough exterior, he always gets soft and gentle when it comes to you. Maybe it’s because you and him are similar in more ways than you would like to admit, or it’s because you give him the chance to put his guards down and be himself. Either way, you love this side of him.

Once your fingers are down fumbling with the strings of his loincloth, his cock springs free, slapping against his stomach before resting against his thigh. “I-I’m not being shy.” He manages to stutter out, noticing how your eyes study him like a Tsurak [Skimwing] watching it’s prey. If the harshness of your lustful gaze wasn't enough to make Ao’nung crumble, what happens next definitely does. You take a hold of his shaft and drag his throbbing tip against your plump lips, allowing them to become coated with his sticky pre-cum. 

“Then prove it.” You say with a wicked smile, deciding to turn up the heat and bring Ao’nung out of his shell. Before your boyfriend has an opportunity to reply, you part your lips, placing your warm mouth around his pinkish tip, allowing your tongue to glide over his slit. You look up at him and the sight of his flustered face and knitted hairless brows, along with the sweet sound of his mewls hitting your ears makes your cunt clench desperately, wanting nothing more than Ao’nung to relentlessly pound into your womb, but before that can take place you want to make sure he’s pleased first.

“Oh, fuck.” He groans suddenly, words and sounds begin to eject from his throat like a spear piercing through the crisp air. The way you work your tongue around his cock is magical, you have an effect on him that no other woman on this island has.

Around everyone else he’s filled with dominance and authority, but with you hollowing your cheeks, taking as much of him in your mouth as possible and pumping the rest of his cock, makes all that falter to allow his submissive side to arise.

Ao’nung’s cock is stretching your mouth, his tip hitting the uvula every time you lower your head, causing you to moan around him, sending a shock wave through your partner. After sucking for a while you come up for air, lines of saliva falling onto your dainty feather top, while your lungs begin to expand.

Once your ready to start again, you spit on his cock, allowing it to glaze his shaft before stroking his cock, giving it a few firm pumps before kissing his tip and taking him in your mouth like a pro.

The combination of your movements: you slurping his cock while stroking his base, making sure every inch  of him is being pleasured, makes Ao’nung hips spasm, forcing him deeper down your throat. You place your hands on his thighs, feeling them quiver, a sign that you’ve found the sensitive spot that’ll take him to his peak.

To coax his climax out of him, you decide to change your position. You lower yourself and place an arch in your back and perch your ass in the air, giving him the perfect view of it. 

With one of your hands secure on his thighs for stability, your head begins to bob at an agonizing pace, hallowing your cheeks and blowing a few spit bubbles in the process, while your free hand you begin to caress his balls, massaging them at slow to medium pace, wanting to add to his stimulation so you can milk them dry later.

“Oh my- shit, this –ugh– feels so– good, syulang [flower].” He whimpers with his eyes screwed shut, tangling his hands in your hair and wrapping them around the base of your kuru [neural queue], adjusting his fingers to get a good grip before he begins thrusting himself into your throat, bullying his cock into the depths of your open throat. 

You begin to breathe through your nose, relaxing your muscles so you could perfectly take all of him, wanting to all ten inches of him to perfectly settle inside the warmth of your mouth, pushing him further and further towards the edge of great release. 

Soon, his whimpers and moans turn into him mindlessly blabbering, his brain turns foggy from the overwhelming amount of pleasure surging through his body, especially when he feels your tongue grazing the underside of his cock, the moist tip pressing against his prominent veins. 

As he watches your eyes fill with tears and run down your cheeks from the force of his thrusts, hearing the enticing sound of you gagging around his throbbing cock, and seeing the small spit bubbles forming on the corners of your mouth, along with your moans and whimpers that make his body shudder, his orgasm comes full force.

“Mmm, fu-fuck, m’cumming!” He rocks his hips, forcing your head further down onto him, making your nose press against his groin, making it harder for your lungs to expand for air but in the moment you don’t care.

The sensation of him roughly fucking your face, using your throat as his personal cum dump, makes you clench your plush thighs, rubbing them rigorously against each other to create some friction against your sensitive clit. 

You love when he got this way, forcefully making an effort to plant his seed down your throat, it’s one of your favorite positions to be in.

You begin to hum on his cock, giving his body yet another reason to spill his seed, making his cock begin to twitch in your mouth. His legs start trembling while his breathing becomes shallow, and multiple rounds of praise shot through his lips, telling you how good you are at taking his big cock down your throat. 

His abs begin to tense, his balls spasm, and soon his thrusts become sloppy. With a few more moments of hallowing your cheeks, moaning around him, and giving his balls  one tight squeeze, Ao’nung allows a sharp moan to fall from his lips and soon you feel a warm substance. 

Thick ropes of his milky cum spurt into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat, while the rest settles on your palate. Feeling his seed settle on your tongue makes you moan, feeling a sort of joy thay stems from being able to sexually satisfy your future mate.

Once he’s giving you all he has, you swallow every droplet of his tasty seed before pulling him out of your mouth, resulting in lines of saliva dripping onto your hand. You tap his cock onto your tongue, making sure every ounce of his cum was released and once your positive you stick out your tongue, showing him that you swallowed every drop like the good girl you are.

When you flash Ao’nung a proud smile, he wraps his hand around your throat and pulls you toward him, his eyes looking down at you in a fucked out state, feeling like his soul has been snatched from his body. Once your face is leveled with his, he sloppily kisses you, tasting bits of himself on your lips and tongue but he could honestly care less. “That was fuckin’ amazing.”

“Thank you.” You whisper while a purple hue begins to form along your cheeks, feeling your face warm with Ao’nung’s lustful gaze watching you. “I just wanted to thank you for punching that shxawng [idiot] for me.” While the words fall from your lips, you can feel a change shifting in the air, as if the energy is quickly changing into another form.

"I would punch anyone for you." Ao'nung doesn't feel any guilt for what he did. He would punch anyone if it meant protecting you and your peace. While he speaks, his hands run down your back, reaching the base of your tail and untying the strings of your damped loincloth. Once it comes apart he flings it across the room since its services will no longer be required. 

He wraps his arm tightly around your waist and in one swift movement, switches your position so your back is against the mattress and he’s hovering over your petite frame. His pupil-blown eyes trail down your body, captivated by each and every curve he’s grown to love, his hand grazing over the valley of your breasts down to the roundness of your hips, making your breath hitch. 

Ao’nung gives you a look, one that expresses him asking for permission before going any further and once you give him the green light, a devilish smile spreads across his lips, ready to return the favor of immense pleasure. He pries your legs open, lifting one of them and placing it over his shoulder before grabbing his cock and sliding inside of your wetness, making a moanful gasp leave your lips, feeling his girth stretch your tight walls open nice and wide. 

Ao’nung allows you a few moments to adjust before increasing his speed, making your head fall back in pleasure, feeling your body transforming into a state of an elated high only he can provide. Now it’s Ao’nung’s time to reward you, and he doesn’t plan on letting you go until the sun comes up.

𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 — @hoodiepandaninja16 @n-ae-vis @naya-papaya @Morgan121905 @strawberriesvt @wolfhowling5234 @t-wylia @prettyinpikk @himikoquack @ikeyniofthetayrangi @jayy-24 @emilymikado @eme1hyst @o-kingston @erenjaegerwifee @Kaydoux @biaaaaaaaa1 @hikotaru @thisaintredwine @lexieeeeeeeei @that-gurl25 @simpingforbelphegor @Peanut713521 @anemonelovesfiction @jakesullyfatjuicypeen @makaylalovessmut @lustforlana4 @Anita @pandoraslxna @iris-xoxo-juhu @domineezy @hc-geralt-23 @ikeyniofthetayrangi @aonungmyaddiction @savagemickey03 @buble787635 @normspellmann @em-x0 @sliqeramx @lexasaurs634 @deadgirlrin @lina @merlinbtch @sussybaka10 @galactict3a @shima @rae @bigdikzaddy @roseblushpink1 @3xclusive_kylani @Bubble787635 @casualmilkshakecupcake @ninaa @atomicslimetoadstudent @shmaptainbonky @moonstidalwaves

— all rights reserved © 𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐙𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐘. all fanfics belong to me, do not copy, translate, repost repost on other platforms (ex. AO3 or Wattpad) nor recommend on tiktok any of the works seen here.

[dada-ars]

Some aonung doodles pls!

alexa play chulo parte 2 ❤️‍🩹. He´s a little age up in here... also the armband is Ronal's. btw I try to answer as many requests as I can, I swear it's been a busy week